6am in the morning of Vegas, still working and running on NY time. In about 3 hours I’ll be heading to the convention center and set up the booth for Magic Show.
Coming to Magic marks the beginning of 2012 for me. In fact, years and years of my life have always been marked by some sort of travelling that I wish I never have to do.
I left my mother at 20 days and was sent away on China Airline. From there, I traveled every 6 months to see my parents from Taiwan to California, and from Taiwan to Texas when my brother was born. Most of the times I was accompanied by my Grandparents, and only one rare occasions my parents were there.
My Grandparents started to died one after another around the age when I entered school, and without any comprehension of sorts, I started to develop this fear of flying in the worst kind of way. Though it progressed terribly in the last 15 years, I still have been unable to break the cycle of moving every 4 years to a new country, taking flight every 4-6 months to get things done.
While my family bragged about the fact I was able to complete 14 schools in 3 countries and 7 cities without much issues, they simply missed the price I had to pay in silence.
Though I’m able to speak 2 languages fluently and half ass the third, having to deal with this relentless sense of longing and fright is not an easy thing.
I don’t remember much from 19-25 except I worked constantly and flew every 3 months. From 23-25 I didn’t come home once, sleeping from hotel to hotel and worked from factory to factory, customer to customer.
If my memory is correct I celebrated my 23rd birthday in NYC, 24 in Beijing, 25 in Milan, and only after I got sick I returned home.
In the quietest way, I smile a little when I see my Grandparents on the road.