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While I was packing, I kept on trying to bring too much stuff. I'm the type of person who will bring 4 pairs of socks on a 3-day trip where I know I'll be spending most of the time in flip-flops, just in case. My mom kept on grabbing stuff out of my suitcase and repeating, "You don't need that. It's not like you can't buy it there. You're going home." It didn't strike me as strange until I realized that I've been waiting for this place to feel like home since I got here. I mean, I know this city like the back of my hand. This isn't my first or last time here, and I've already done the whole "finding your roots" thing. I would even love to play the spoiled CBC (Canadian Born Chinese) card and complain about the lack of hygiene, pollution, how obnoxious Cantonese sounds, the humidity and claustrophobia. But I don't hate it here. There are days I freaking love this cement block. It's just not home. You would think that "home" is supposed to come naturally, but honestly, I just miss seeing the sky.
I can feel my ancestors rolling in their graves as I type.

Happiness Meme, Day 25
I got to spend the majority of my day with some funny people in awkward situations. (My life is awkward. Nothing new.) I wish there was a way to describe that smile you give to each other when you're thinking the same thing.