I’m finally back home. After 13 months of living in Hong Kong, some generous individual paid for my ticket back home. A 16 hour flight later, I’m sitting in my dusty, moldy, garbage filled home, eating chick fil a, salads I’ve missed so much, and all nuts my mom buys way too much of.

And then there’s my dad. He works from 10a – 9p, and I’m jetlagged, so I don’t get to see him. But I briefly saw him, on the way to bed, and I didn’t say anything because I was tired.

But this morning, nobody else was home, just me and him. I sat upstairs, typing away, and he was in the kitchen, doing something. I couldn’t bring myself to go to say hi. That’s it. He was on the way out anyways. I could’ve just said a quick hi and ran back upstairs.

But instead I sat in my chair, racking my brain thinking why was I such a straight up pussy? Excuse my language and derogatory term, but clearly I’m not kind to myself in my head. It’s my dad. Why can’t I just go downstairs?

What was hitchiking over 30+ times? In Asia, the middle east, and Europe? What was knocking on strangers’ doors and sleeping in their house? What about shaving my luscious locks because I wanted to exercise not caring about what people think of me? Or wearing one shirt every. single. day. Where is my courage? What have I been doing in Hong Kong? Dicking around? Have I not trained for this? I’m a 24 year old who’s scared of talking to his dad. Put that on my resume. Wow.

I will talk to my dad before I leave this country again.


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