Shanghai has been sunny, blue and warm straight for a month and a half. The omni-present cool sleeping weather during the night, the right combination of temperature, moisture and sun during the day provide so much comfort, one almost thinks about pardoning Shanghai for the impossible torching long summer…

Something is bothering me these days. And it took me a while to realize that I may be missing America.

That is a strange concept, isn’t it? I am a Chinese. I was born in China, I grew up in China, and although I spent ten years in America. I have never changed my nationality and all along have considered myself a Chinese. And here I am, living working breathing in China soil, poised to settle down, with a home, a husband, and now almost a baby. And I feel homesick.

Am I allowed to miss America? Am I allowed to miss the quiet lab life I spent in Minnesota? My quarky professor who experimented to use the liquid nitrogen to freeze down the corn in his feet? My friendly talktive labmate who tried to persuade me that a particular kind of packing peanut is bio-degradable by stuffing a bunch from the box and eating them? And the African dancing class, the driving in the forest, and the lake-side cabin covered in snow.

Am I allowed to miss the corner of 44th and 9th Ave. in a crisp autumn morning? Am I allowed to miss the purchuto mecerrela with fresh spinach and grilled red pepper? Am I allowed to miss the creativity, the luxury and the humor in the display window on upper fifth Ave? Am I allowed to miss the CBGB night with coworker’s band playing?

Our pasts are romantic. The present pain and suffering are usually over-emphasized as we focus on resolving the issues, overlooking the beautiful, the interesting, the touching aspects that asked for less attention. When that present became the long past, we wake up in small hours of the night, remembering those sweet little things, wishing we’d enjoy it more, wishing we’d cherish it more.

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