What it feels like to not have a home

Hey. This is my story.

I was born in Sydney, Australia in 1994. My family moved to Shanghai, China when I was three. I didn’t have a hard time adjusting to the culture in China because…1) I freaking looked just like the other one billion Chinese people and 2) I knew way too little about Australia to care. Heck, I don’t even think I possessed the necessary “consciousness” at the time to recognize what was going on…Anyway, I considered Shanghai to be home because I lived there for the most of my life and I built some pretty serious friendships during my 15 years there.

Check out a time lapse video of Shanghai here.

Oh yeah. It was awesome being a foreigner in a booming city like Shanghai. My friends and I could pretty much get away with anything by speaking English. I remember going out to bars and clubs when I was in middle school. No one ever gave me trouble because I was a foreigner. Other than the crazy night life, the city itself was a quite a beauty. There was always something to do, something to see.
Most foreigners send their kids to international schools in China. I was lucky to attend one of the most prestigious international school in Shanghai called “Shanghai American School“. Although most of the students came from the US, I was exposed to cultural backgrounds from all over the world. I loved it man. It was a tight-knit community. It felt like home.

However, as I matured, I started to question my own identity. I constantly asked myself “where am I really from?” I was an Australian passport holder who grew up in China under an American system…like what the hell right? This question still bothers me today. I remember having to introduce myself during college orientation week. It was tough because there was no way for me to answer where I’m from in a single sentence.

Whatever. “Homeless” could also be interpreted as “Global citizen”. My lack of self-identity has cultivated my adaptive personality. But still, it would be nice to know I belong somewhere…