Ahhh, the city life.

I imagine a metropolis, whether it be Seattle or Tokyo, and a million sights and sounds flow through my mind. Here, things are constantly happening. Street performers, frenzied peddlers begging for your attention, fancy suit-wearing businessmen who hurry to and fro with a coffee cup in hand and a briefcase in tow. And anytime someone's muffin decides to shed a crumb, the sight of a flock of pigeons drifting to that glorious plot of concrete is enough to stop you in your tracks. There is a certain energy radiating through a city's streets, illuminating the beauty concealed in grim alleyways, in flashing neon lights, in people's aching but passionate hearts.

I think the city suits me well because I am fond of chaos. I know it sounds somewhat absurd, but there are good reasons I've come to this conclusion. I grew up in a suburban town situated 15 minutes from downtown Toronto. This city is where my dad used to lift me up onto his shoulders because five-year-old Claire would not have been able to see through the masses of people gathered for the annual Santa Claus Parade. This city is where my family - and seemingly every other Chinese family - had dim sum on Saturday morning. And this city continues to be where I can sit inside a coffee shop and feel time standing still, even as I observe the rush of people moving about their messy, chaotic, beautiful lives just beyond the window.

I have become trapped in this hustle and bustle, and I still haven't found - nor do I hope to find - a way to escape.