In the two years since I parted from my friends, family, job, and an entire construct of a life in New York City, I have witnessed the melting, purging and expansion of a new reality before my eyes and within my being. In the levels of existential cliches, perhaps this one lands high — a lost twenty-something finds herself completely lost upon reaching a realized dream of working in the upper echelon of New York’s music industry. The knowledge of the inner makings of pop stars grows sickening as the veil between the illusion and the truth grows thin. The social climbing, guest lists, egos, endless access to parties and the drugs that meet you there. The shiny facade melts before her eyes.

I still remember the exact day that it all came crashing down around me. It was my 27th birthday and a blistering cold day in New York City. I had tears in my eyes as the elevator climbed to the Penthouse office overlooking Central Park. The elegant decor and expensive marble countertops were no match for a sudden heightened awareness that my existence had been shamelessly flirting in a realm of darkness and self-destruction for the past three years. The entire concept of Home and of Self had dissolved into ashes at my feet. I couldn't stop crying that day. I'm sure I looked insane, and I was. I had deep urges to end it all.

Fast forward a few months later and I’m in Hong Kong. It’s something like 3am and I’m lingering outside a club with a group of baby-faced skateboarders and a girl with godly features that I’ve just met. One of the boys approaches me and we start talking. He’s also half-Taiwanese. He tells me about the freedom of growing up in Hong Kong and in East Asia. At this point I haven’t been back to Taiwan since I was three years old. He speaks of the Island like some magical place — the lush nature, the kind people, the ease of life, and the wonder of living in this part of the World. Looking back, I see now that God gave me an Angel in the only form that I would listen to at the time - a cute skateboarder with not so pure intentions and a drinking problem.

I go back to New York and prepare myself to confront my true desires. Because change requires work and dissolution, but everything in my body was screaming for me to go. I’m pacing on a sidewalk in Brooklyn and I call my mom to tell her that I want to live in Asia. At this point, my mother is still quite a stranger to me. Her response surprises me - it’s unwavering when she tells me that Taiwan is a safe choice. It’s where she is from after all.

The fluidity of my transition from New York to Taiwan still surprises me. There were no tears leading up to my departure and very little friction in the logistics of it all. Once I let go and listened to myself, I was held and gently led to my next chapter.

Nine months after my 27th birthday, I landed in Taipei and caught my first glimpse of the city. I settled into a studio apartment where I would spend most of the next two years. Maybe there is no beginning or end in a story like this, just a continuation of awakening, of living. It is never a beginning or an end as long as we are still willing to fall headlong into the unknown.

I often think about myself in the parallel world where I stayed in New York City and kept partying and working at the same PR agency. Maybe I could have learned to become the facade, maybe it would have served me well. Maybe I would be successful and comfortable by now. Maybe I would be dead. I guess this is what makes up a life - these points where we have two options: to listen to our deepest desires no matter how scary, or to keep living in the known. ///