I sat back into the seat, reclined by plane’s quick climb of altitude from the ground to the skies above. Blanketing the rumbles of engine and the screams of wind with the melodic and angelic vocal layers in Sampha’s new Lahai album, I watched the Chicago skyline melt into the Earth until all verticality of skyscrapers disappears into a bed of artificial electric stars. I became detached from my current 24 year old life, witnessing all the progressional efforts, accumulated accomplishments, and twists of fate, which contributed to my current reality, wash away underneath callous clouds thousands of feet in the sky. In short order, the plane began its descent, penetrating the clouds that masked civilization below. Soon, a new bed of stars confronted me, albeit this one much more sparse and barren. The large concrete structures that defined the city, which composed my current experience, were replaced by the small houses which group to become the suburbia of my childhood experience.
I was on my annual pilgrimage back to where my life started. I was going home.
As I landed in the airport and began the drive back to my childhood home, all the unused familiarity began flooding back to the forefront of my attention. Along the way, I saw the bright green sign of the Chinese supermarket, which defined my parent’s home cooked meals when it opened to great excitement and fanfare, the frozen grounds of farmland, which, along with the local radio, entertained me every weekend on the drive out to badminton practise, and the two story houses, which composed the quiet neighbourhoods I once biked along a decade ago and observed from the sky only an hour ago.
My childhood home exhibited a similar familiarity as well. After bringing my suitcases into the front door, I ventured upstairs to a room I knew much too well: my office. Holding nothing more than a L-shaped desk propped in the far corner, a mismatched plain black office chair, an old bed I used to sleep in as an adolescent child, and a bookshelf harbouring old relics of high school year books and math textbooks, this room was where I lived my existence as an only child in a small quiet suburb. Accepting and warm, these four white walls sheltered me from any external judgement and nurtured the spectrum of my growth as a teen, witnessing the dopamine fuelled addiction of extensive gaming, the celebration of acceptance into an enrichment program, the early morning grind of SAT multiple choice practice exams, and the wistful tears of my first heart break. I sat down on the worn office chair and swivelled to face the window, staring out at the lamp post shining yellow light into the dark evening night immediately outside the house. It was here where I worked, failed, cried, and accomplished.
Most importantly, it was here where I dreamed.
…
Although the house radiated in familiarity, there are some slight differences that are ever so apparent. The small plant which once sat at the corner of the stair case now pokes at the high arching ceiling that attempted to contain it. The once pristine electrical outlets now subtly dim yellow in age. The couch where I spent a whole summer religiously playing Call of Duty is much more wrinkled than I remember. The differences are also present in my reversion towards my childhood habits. Instead of turning the lights off before bed by standing up and using the switch by the door, I stay in bed and reach over to an extended switch by my bed instead. Instead of watching movies in my family living room, I migrate to the newly finished basement and its wide screen TV. Instead of turning on the hallway lights to sort through the shared clothing closet, I simply open the closet doors to the welcome of motion censored LED lights.
While these differences serve nothing more as harmless observations, they nonetheless are reminders of the movement in time. Akin to my present progression of life away from home through university and into the professional world, my simple childhood life, which was centred on hedonist happiness maximization and free from the inhibitions of responsibilities, ambitions, fears, and expectations, drifts further and further out of reach. While I will always reminisce for those everyday moments of childhood, those details become progressively fuzzier with time. Just like those minuscule differences which make the house a little more unrecognizable, these experiences grow more unfamiliar.
This is certainly a reminder to cherish every given present moment, for it will be my younger self- my life now- I long for when I age older as time inevitably moves forward. The unique combination of steady cash flow, low marginal living expenses, and youthful energy and health serve as opportunities to not only actively and aggressively search for what I deem meaningful, but also to enjoy the boundless amounts of possibilities present: travel to the far reaches of the globe, attempt new budding hobbies, explore perpendicular industries, and build as many meaningful connections with others, who also brim with similar exuberance for the greater world. Whilst the details of my present life in the future may become blurry, the impression of the day to day will forever be impactful.
…
Just like every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after school and Sunday morning 8 years earlier, I put on on my gym bag and trudge towards the little plaza which the neighbourhood gym is situated, tracing the route I must have taken at least 500 times. Along the easy 5 minute walk, I look around at the quiet idyllic suburban streets, a far cry from the downtown cores of Toronto, New York, and Chicago- cities I have inhabited since leaving the quiet suburbs.
Upon feigning interest in joining the gym and obtaining a trial membership, I quickly change and walk through the section with machines to upstairs with all the barbells and dumbbells, a place I refrained from entering for fear of judgement from jacked guys as a flabby beginner.
Oh how times have changed.
After waiting for 30 minutes, I set up camp at a deadlift platform and began by traditional deadlift warm ups- foam roaming to increase blood flow, dynamic stretching to loosen up the muscles, and focused contractions to emphasize the mind muscle connection prior to lifting heavy. I looked around at the sea of people packed into the poorly ventilated upstairs weight room. Was it always this humid? Did it always reek of un-deodorant-ed body odor? It feels like there is a mist of sweat and fog in the air- that I need to burn my gym clothes when I got back home to truly cleanse myself of the grime and stickiness. Did I always work out like this as a teen?
Having since worked out at my alma mater’s sports performance gym for varsity athletes, various boutiques akin to Equinox, and specialized powerlifting gyms filled with calibrated kilo plates and chalk bowls, I warm up with quick deadlift reps at light weight, progressively decreasing rep count as I increase weight. This is the gym where I first fell in love with fitness. And now warming up with what once was my maximum deadlift, I am proud of my progression in the all encompassing journey in fitness and beyond from that teen to who I am today. Surely there are bumps and areas I wish I done more, but the overall change can never have been predictable.
It’s also interesting to see how an accumulation of experience shatters the conceived standards of what I once adorned so dearly. I mean this in the most unpretentious way possible: this gym will always be where I started my fitness journey, but it will remain only as the beginning, for I cannot continually train here anymore. I’m unsure if I can eventually acquiesce to the packed gym, the grime, the waiting around for equipment, and the sinking feeling that there is no upward trajectory- that I am stuck and will always be stuck in this gym.
…
The week back home saw a wholly consumption of childhood joy- where life was much simpler, free of the illnesses of ambition and the responsibilities of adulthood. I seep into all day and late night gaming sessions- what I presently see as degeneracy, but what my younger self saw as happiness.
In many ways, the comfort and solidity of childhood memories are very heartwarming. They are perhaps some of the few things which remain predictable and unchanging in a young adult life defined by uncertainty and dynamics. My life and experiences outside this quiet little sanctuary of my childhood home are fast and unforgiving- the problem sets and exams of university, the internship at various companies, the vacations to Hawaii, Italy, and Korea, and the recruitment of full time positions all were reached for by my own accord and played an active role in propagating my life towards my current job, relationships, and perspectives whilst living in Chicago. As I let the welcoming warm arms of familiar childhood take ahold, I found an opportunity to truly relax- to not be all out consumed by the illness towards ambitions and satisfaction of my own insatiable barometer of expectations.
And while the relaxation is great, it is important not to keep clutching to it on the transition back to current life. The qualities that make my childhood city and home warm are the same qualities that pushed me to leave in the first place. It is like a bubble. No one ever needs to peer outside its confines towards the greater experiences and larger institutions which constitute the depth of human knowledge and wisdom lived by others. And why should they? Life in the bubble is simple. Life in the bubble is happy. Life in the bubble is comfortable. Ignorance is surely bliss for the torment of curiosity and knowing the diversity of the world abroad is truly tempting and incites envy in the search for larger meaning and happiness in the upward baseline trajectory of everyday experience.
It is without a doubt that home will always be home. And now I proceed next year with building many more memories~