As a child of Vietnamese immigrants, I have not had many opportunities to travel­–now growing up this did not hinder my childhood in any way. Do I wish we went on more family vacations? Do I wish I had the chance to visit a Disneyland or two? Heck yes. However, my immediate family is the only family I have in the United States. My entire extended family resides in various places of Vietnam, a place I so desperately wish to visit but a trip across the Atlantic was never in the cards for us.

Nonetheless, this meant that I had the opportunity to travel damn near every nook and cranny of South Seattle and its neighboring partners. I lived too far from Dunlap Elementary but too close to Asa Mercer Middle School-public transportation became my new best friend as school buses were no longer in the cards for me. With that being said, I got the chance to explore Beacon Hill. I learned the shortcuts, different routes, as I followed into the abyss to get from point A to point B. I spent a lot of time walking and as I am reflecting in my university library today, I feel as though all that time I spent walking around was never wasted.

Seattle is undergoing some major gentrification with that being said as the cost of living has skyrocketed within city limits, families like myself who would like to live in a place bigger than a mere shoebox have been pushed out. For my fellow Seattleites-I live in Renton which is damn near close but just not quite enough. Anyway, whenever I catch myself driving back to the city I am always overwhelmed with nostalgia. I can see the younger version of myself spending hours on the trails, getting splashed by the 36, and just without any urgency. I miss this. I miss the ability to simply exist without responsibilities. I miss the days where adulting was simply a vague notion and not reality.

“Excuse me, I would like to not renew my adulting subscription!”

Anyway, one of the points in my article (there’s more than one and I am going on tangents really-in honor of Virginia Woolf’s birthday) for this week is this: Seattle is my home and has always been my home. I love the rain, the nature, the coffee, all the clichés, and so much more. Growing up, I remember wanting so desperately to get away from Seattle, a fresh start if you will. This want became a fantasy, a dirty secret, a unicorn; but I will always want to be able to have the opportunity to plant my roots elsewhere (the root of my fear of commitments really). I suppose that if someday I find myself somewhere else, either on the side of town or the world I just wanted everyone to know that I am from Seattle. Born and raised.

Nevertheless, I do personally find it interesting how your place of origin can have so much to do with one’s identity. I mean I love cold weather and coffee. In contrast, I also find it equally as interesting that an origin point can have little to nothing to do with one’s identity. For example, a friend of mine who is from California hates the rain but prefers Dick’s Burgers over In-N-Out (obviously). Thus, everyone is different. Everyone has their own sense of home. They have their own version of where they’re from and how they use it to define themselves. An origin is simply the starting point. It is up to you on where you’ll end up.

“Oh, the places you’ll go!” –Dr. Seuss

I don’t know how things will turn out five years from now, heck I don’t even know my plans for tomorrow evening. I do wonder if I’ll get the opportunity to leave Seattle. I’ll wonder how I’ll be in a different area. How my upbringings will help or hinder my new experiences. As time progresses I cannot help but allow the pieces fall where they may. Perhaps I’ll find myself somewhere as equally as pleasant as Seattle or even better. Life’s a little crazy that way.