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Today, we took a two-hour drive to visit the village where I was born and grew up. Among all the government policies, I believe the “returning farmlands to forests” initiative is successful and meaningful. The road that connects the town center to my home village is built along the mountainside. The land in the area is full of stones and sands, making it unsuitable for planting crops like corn, potatoes, or beans. A few years ago, the government encouraged people to plant trees on these lands instead and provided free food to the landowners as compensation.

The once barren lands are now covered in lush green trees, reflecting the early summer sunshine. The road is shaded, cool, and tranquil. The green leaves perfectly complement the blue sky and white clouds. I couldn’t help but worry about the drivers on the road. If they were to veer off, their cars could roll down the mountainside, resulting in a disaster. About 20 years ago, a drunken man fell off the hill and wasn’t found until his wife dreamt about his whereabouts. However, now with the trees in place, I believe they can prevent cars from going over the edge and minimize harm.

I can’t remember how many times I’ve dreamed about the village and the mountains. When I stood on the land, observing and touching it, it felt like my dreams had come true. I wanted to climb the mountains and take some photos, but my mother-in-law and husband were tired. It was already noon, and everyone was hungry, so we only spent about an hour in the village. We drove back to the town and visited my mother’s brothers, where we had a delicious meal. One of my uncles is a chef, and one of my aunts cooks the most delicious fried beef.

All my uncles treated my family and me very well, even giving money to my son as a gift.

In the evening, we returned to Jinsha city, where my friends invited me for a meal. I left my husband, son, and mother-in-law at the hotel and went to a small restaurant to have a late supper with three girls and one of the girls’ husbands. The unique thing about the restaurant was that they used a flat stone as a roasting pot. The roasted smelly tofu tasted excellent. However, it was a lively place. People from the next table were playing a drinking guessing game, and some women spoke loudly, sounding like they were shouting. I couldn’t hear what my friends were talking about. That’s the city life. I used to live like that—every night, playing Mahjong, gathering for drinks, or singing at KTV. Time slipped away from my grasp, and I only realized it when I contemplated my life and reminisced about a solitary rainy night. Compared to life in the city, living in America may be too lonely, but it allows me to find calmness and engage in meaningful activities. I can study writing, read and write novels, learn Korean, and more. I don’t regret wasting my precious twenties because without those experiences, I wouldn’t have known that my current life suits me. I also don’t regret living here in solitude, for it has taught me the value of a quieter and less hectic lifestyle as I grow older.

When we finished the meal, it was already midnight. Two of the girls walked back with me, and when we reached their house, they turned left, while I continued walking straight. There were fewer people on the street, but the parking lots were packed with cars. The streetlights cast a long and lonely shadow. In that moment, I was reminded of the feeling I had when I was single and lived in this city. Every night, after playing Mahjong, drinking, or leaving the KTV room, I would walk alone on the empty street, experiencing a sense of emptiness, being lost, and feeling lonely. I quickened my pace towards the hotel, eager to be with my husband and son.

In middle school, I was famous for always being the top student, so many students knew me, but I didn’t know them. There was a boy who was one year younger than me, and when he entered Grade 9, I had already graduated. I had been recruited by a Normal school, which was a big event in my hometown, and I was admired by people. Grade 9 was an important year, and its term started in the summer when new books were not yet distributed, so the students borrowed books from the graduates. When that boy’s father came to borrow my books, I wasn’t home, but my father lent the books to him.

A few years later, that boy became a doctor and opened a clinic next to the school where I was teaching. My colleague and I visited him once, and he was a shy boy with a round and smiling face.

About a week ago, he heard about me from my brother (they were once classmates) and added me on WeChat. Today, he sent me a message inviting my family and me for supper. Before going to the dinner, I had imagined a small gathering with him, my brother, my brother’s friend, and me, sitting in a cozy room, eating and reminiscing about our middle school life. That would have been fun. However, when we entered the room, there were more than 20 people, and all of them were his relatives. He had become a mature and successful man, a millionaire with a clinic and several supermarkets. He was no longer shy but talkative. He kept expressing his gratitude to me for lending him my books, but he seemed to have forgotten that we had seen each other at his newly opened clinic.

I don’t know why he invited his relatives to join us for a big supper. Perhaps it was a good opportunity for him to show his gratitude to his friends, or maybe he was excited to introduce my husband and mother-in-law, as their foreign faces were quite rare in the city. Regardless, the food was excellent, and everyone spoke modestly and warmly welcomed my family and me.

After dinner, my middle school classmates invited me to join them for a get-together. There were two girls and one boy. We ordered roasted fish, which happened to be one of my favorite dishes. The fish was cooked with potatoes, onions, radishes, and coriander, and it was tender and flavorful. We enjoyed some beers as well. One of the girls was divorced and dating a man who was nine years younger than her, and he had not divorced his wife. She had three kids, and he had three as well. She knew that having an affair was wrong and had attempted to break up with him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She loved him but had no plans to marry him because if they did, they would have a total of six kids, and to strengthen their relationship, they might even have one more child, making it a seventh. According to her, that would be a disaster. It was a difficult situation, and though we tried to persuade her to end the affair, she confessed that she felt heartbroken every time she tried to break up with him. We didn’t know what else to say. Love can be incredibly complicated.

Compared to other places, my hometown city of Jinsha is considered very fashionable. My classmates told me that divorces and affairs are quite common among young couples. Something seems to be amiss with the people there—perhaps they are too lonely, too isolated, too focused on appearances, or too simplistic in their pursuit of true love. No one could provide a definitive explanation, and I am equally puzzled.

I was intoxicated. When I arrived back at the hotel, my husband greeted me at the door, and it was the first time I had left my son to sleep with his dad. I couldn’t help but feel guilty.

Although I have been in America for more than five years, I still haven’t obtained my driver’s license. Whenever I practice driving and my husband gives me directions, I become confused. Even if I were to get my license, driving alone would be challenging for me. I struggle with distinguishing directions and remembering the roads. Even in the place I lived in for years in China, I can’t figure out East, West, South, and North.

This morning, I held my phone with a navigation map given to me by a friend, but I still managed to lose my way after two hours of walking. I called my friend multiple times, and it wasn’t until she explained that the building I needed to go to was across from the largest hotel that I finally found it! Two hours of walking left my legs tired.

After finishing my work, my brother picked us up from the hotel. As the car drove through the streets of Guiyang city, it felt like I was revisiting my past. I had spent two years studying in college in this city, and it was the happiest time of my life. I didn’t have to worry about tuition because we were teachers before entering the school for further studies, and the schools covered our expenses. I didn’t have to worry about finding a job after graduating because I would return to my previous school to continue teaching. We were carefree. We would even request sick leave to play card games in the dormitory, take trips to the countryside, dance in the hall every weekend, date the boys we liked, and visit classmates who lived nearby.

I used to stroll down the narrow streets, shopping for clothes and books, or holding hands with my boyfriend. That was 13 years ago. How time flies! The scenes may have changed, but the emotions they evoke haven’t—living in a dream where I’m still in my early twenties, unafraid of the future, and not concerned about getting older.

We arrived at my brother’s home in Jinsha County, where the village of my birth and upbringing is located. My brother, parents, relatives, and most of my friends live in Jinsha. My parents had already prepared food for us, including smoked meat and tofu, which I missed the most in America. The taste was even more delicious than I remembered!

After dinner, my cousins came to see me. It had been a long time since I last saw them, and some had grown old or become sick. I’m sure in their eyes, I have also aged.

We stayed in a hotel across the street from my brother’s building. It seemed nice, but when we returned at night, my son spotted a large cockroach on my mother-in-law’s room wall, and she was scared.

I feel sorry for her.

We arrived in Guangzhou in the morning, with my mother-in-law arriving 15 minutes earlier than us. If OneTravel hadn’t changed our flight, we would have been in Guangzhou one night earlier, allowing us to get some rest before heading back to the capital city of my home province, Guiyang. My brother, who lives in Guangzhou, had bought tickets for us. We took the subway from the airport to the high-speed train station, traveling from the very north to the very south of the city, and it took us an hour and a half.

Guangzhou was hot and humid. For the first three stations, we managed to find seats, but when we transferred to line two, we had to stand among the crowded people for the remaining 20 stations! Finally, when we arrived at the station and made our way to another building to collect our tickets, we emerged from the underground and saw the sky of Guangzhou—a grayish-blue sky, basking in the strong sunshine.

During my time in Guangzhou, working as a salesperson for a foreign trading company, I had taken high-speed trains many times, accompanying my customers to places like Shenzhen, Dongguan, and Zhongshan to visit factories. In my memories, there were many quiet and cool restaurants in the station where I had planned to take my family to rest. We all desperately needed a break; we were utterly exhausted!

We climbed up to the third floor, went through the check-in process, and arrived at a vast waiting room that didn’t have enough seats, leaving many people sitting or standing on the ground. On the floor above, there were several restaurants encircling the big hall. Carrying our large luggage and my son, we walked from the first restaurant to the last one, assuming that the food would be delicious based on the pictures displayed outside. However, once we sat down, we realized it wasn’t as cool as we had hoped. The restaurant was open to the big hall, lacking air conditioning, and a fan was blowing hot air in our direction. The food also didn’t live up to my expectations! Both my mother and my husband, Tyler, had no appetite, even though I knew they were hungry.

Even I myself couldn’t bear the hot weather, let alone my mother-in-law, who always keeps her room temperature at 66 degrees, which is 6 degrees cooler than my room. I noticed she looked pale and very uncomfortable, and I worried that she might faint.

At the elevator entrance, a company representative gave us a name card that said “rest house with air-conditioning.” We decided to go there. The price was 98 RMB for three hours for every three adults, while kids were free. As soon as we entered the air-conditioned room, we immediately felt refreshed: it was so cool, comfortable, and quiet! I’m proud of China’s rapid development, with its huge and brightly lit airports and train stations, high-speed trains, and convenient subways and buses. However, I hope more attention can be paid to details, such as ensuring comfortable air-conditioning and clean restrooms in the waiting areas.

We took the 2 pm train to Guiyang, and my friend picked us up at the train station. She then invited us to a local restaurant to have sour soup fish. Three girls who were my roommates in college, along with their husbands, joined us, as well as a friend who, like me, used to be a teacher but resigned due to being tired of teaching. Now he is a sales leader at a medical company.

It was so enjoyable and pleasant to reunite with all of them. We had many exciting memories and stories to share! Our laughter filled the air. Here in America, I don’t have any close friends, and I had almost forgotten the feeling of being surrounded by friends. Despite feeling exhausted, with wrinkled clothes and greasy hair from not washing it for 48 hours, I didn’t care; I simply felt happy. Thanks to the warm-hearted welcome from my friends, my journey started to reveal its charming side.

After a lengthy negotiation with OneTravel, we were still required to fly to China separately: my husband, our son, and I had a flight at 6:15 am, while my mother-in-law’s flight was at 6:15 pm. She kindly sent us to the airport. I had barely slept and felt guilty for waking up my three-and-a-half-year-old son at 3:00 am.

Despite the early hour, the airport was bustling with people. We flew from Minneapolis to Chicago and then from Chicago to Los Angeles, where we had a 12-hour layover. My original plan was to explore Los Angeles, find an authentic Chinese restaurant, go shopping, or watch a movie. However, as we struggled to navigate through the crowd with our bulky luggage, our enthusiasm for visiting the city waned, and we decided to stay at the airport for the entire 12 hours.

We entered a restaurant and had lunch there. My poor baby was exhausted and soon fell asleep. We arranged two chairs to create a makeshift bed for him, using my husband’s folded T-shirt as a pillow. After lunch, I approached the waitress to inquire about our stay duration, and she informed us we could stay for one more hour. Timidly, my husband Tyler ordered ice cream to prolong our time in the restaurant.

Eventually, I carried our son to a waiting chair, which was not long enough and had immovable armrests. I had to hold him until he woke up. We bought him some toys to keep him occupied and alleviate the boredom. Tyler dozed off here and there, while I yearned for some sleep myself. My eyes were dry and sore, but my mind was too alert to drift off.

Finally, the airplane took off, and we found ourselves soaring over the Pacific Ocean. I forced myself to sleep for a few broken hours. I had no inclination to watch shows or play games; instead, I fixated on the flight map, anxiously counting down the hours: nine hours left, seven hours left, six hours left… Time seemed to crawl on the flight from Los Angeles to Guangzhou.

On an early fall afternoon, the warm sun rays enveloped the entire high school, caressing it tenderly and softly, akin to a young mother’s hand touching her newborn baby. The wind rustled through the trees, causing a few leaves to gracefully float and settle on the ground near the roots. In just thirty minutes, the first afternoon class would commence, and the school grounds were teeming with students. They chatted, shouted, laughed, chased one another, ran, and played.

A blue SUV parked in the lot between two white cars, and a man and a woman emerged from it. The man stood tall, around 185cm, while the woman was noticeably shorter, measuring less than 160cm. The man wore a white V-neck T-shirt under a light pink casual suit, paired with bell-bottom jeans and white high-top shoes. His hair was styled in bangs that gently framed his large, single-lidded eyes, which had a captivating deer-like quality when he focused his gaze on someone. The woman sported black-framed glasses, short hair, and fair skin. She was his stepmother and twelve years older than him.

Hand in hand, they strolled towards the teacher’s building, drawing the attention of many students who couldn’t help but glance their way. The girls, in particular, would steal glances at him and then exchange whispers and giggles. Whenever students greeted them, she would respond with a nod and a smile, while he would wave cheerfully in return.

He leaned towards her, gesturing with one hand, sharing something in a hushed tone. She tilted her head towards him, attentively listening. Balancing two books in her arms and a bag hanging from one shoulder, she walked alongside him, while he carried a brown and yellow bag, his wristwatch sparkling in the sunlight.

In the distance, the elderly headmaster, his hair partially grayed, approached them. “I’ll greet him in Korean,” she said. “What?” He paused, looking at her curiously. “Let me surprise our headmaster,” she replied mischievously, a playful smile forming at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t. You’ll startle him,” he cautioned in a hushed voice. “That’s precisely what I want to do. Scare him a bit,” she insisted.

They quickened their pace, hastening towards the headmaster. As they reached him, she bowed deeply, just as she had seen Koreans do on TV shows, and uttered, “A li ha sai yo.” The bewildered headmaster stared at the young couple for a moment and finally said, “What’s wrong with her? Is she okay?”

Straightening her posture, she burst into laughter, and he joined in, leaving the headmaster standing there, looking bewildered. They laughed heartily, bending over and clutching their stomachs. The headmaster chuckled and asked again, “What did you say just now?” “She greeted you,” the young man explained, trying to stifle his laughter, “In Korean.” “You know Korean?” the headmaster exclaimed. “Yes. She can speak four languages now: Korean, Japanese, English, and Chinese,” the man proudly stated. “You naughty girl!” The headmaster playfully patted her shoulder and laughed. “You were teasing me, weren’t you? Be more mature; you’re with your stepson, and you should set a good example for him.” “Sorry,” she managed to compose herself, suppressing her laughter. “I was just joking. I wanted to see you smile. You see, the students are afraid of you.” “I’m aware. Thank you! The class is about to start. Head to the office,” the headmaster instructed.

Watching the headmaster depart, he turned towards her and said, “You’re as mischievous as a little girl, even smaller than the students. Look at how they laugh when they see you.” He naturally patted her shoulder and held it gently.

“But that’s precisely why we like you,” he murmured. As he gazed at her proud and smiling face, a broad smile filled with admiration, praise, and tenderness spread across his sparkling eyes and cheeks.

In the center of town, on a bustling market fair day, people filled the streets, engaged in buying and selling. I navigated through the crowd, feeling shy and reluctant to greet acquaintances who would inquire about my job, love life, and family—questions I grew tired of answering. Subconsciously, my thoughts drifted to him, just as they did during our middle school days when I hoped and feared running into him at the market. Now, as a middle-aged woman, I didn’t expect such an encounter, considering he had gotten married while I seemingly remained single. My dreams hadn’t provided a clear answer.

One of the grocery shops in the middle of the street belonged to my uncle. Before stepping inside, I cast a final glance at the people behind me and spotted him amidst the crowd! To my surprise, he wore glasses—unnecessary for his good eyesight, as it was me who needed glasses. We stood out among the crowd. My heart raced as I entered the shop and engaged in conversation with my uncle, who appeared much older than I remembered. Unexpectedly, he entered the shop and sat across from me. Some old classmates had mentioned that he had betrayed his wife and was involved with a female colleague. I found it hard to believe since he had looked down on me in middle school when I shared my admiration for a handsome singer. He gave me the impression of someone uninterested in romantic affairs, always serious, speaking little, and seldom smiling. How could such a man engage in flirtation?

Nevertheless, he started talking to me as if we had seen each other every day, even though we hadn’t crossed paths in over twenty years! I couldn’t recall the exact details of our conversation, but the atmosphere felt harmonious and exhilarating. He smiled, and I mirrored his expression. Suddenly, a woman appeared, seemingly searching for something, but her gaze fixated on me. It was his wife, as he had shared her photo with me on WeChat. I pretended not to recognize her, fearing that she would suspect our contact. She didn’t appear as friendly as she did in the photo. He remained oblivious to her presence. I shifted the topic of our conversation to praise how beautiful and understanding his wife was, hoping it would please her.

Nervousness overwhelmed me, and I failed to hear what he said next. Suddenly, someone tapped my head, and when I turned, I saw his wife. I stood up and shook her hand, introducing myself and assuring her that I had no intention of stealing her husband, as I respected her. I mentioned that I was friends with her elder sister, which was true, as we had all been in the same middle school classroom. However, she seemed skeptical and spoke to me disdainfully. Worried that my uncle and aunt would notice something amiss, I hastily excused myself and left. My heart brimmed with sadness. He appeared so pitiable in front of his wife, and I felt sorry for him.

I arrived at the crossroad where my three uncles were waiting. On my mother’s side, I have a total of six uncles, with the second one having passed away last year. It was peculiar that my second uncle resembled the first, the third resembled the second, and so on, with each successive uncle resembling the previous one. With my uncles by my side, I felt safe and no longer concerned about his wife physically assaulting or insulting me. He followed me on a motorcycle and offered to give me a ride home. I was pleased by his boldness but declined the offer. Suddenly, his wife reappeared, as if she had discovered some evidence regarding me and her husband. However, under the protection of my uncles, she stared at me in anger but refrained from scolding or attacking me. He approached me closely, speaking tenderly, smiling at me, and looking at me passionately. His wife was beyond furious and seemed irrational.

I escaped with my fourth uncle and went to enjoy a bowl of cool rice noodles that his wife—my aunt—had handmade. I left the crossroad, leaving him and his wife behind. I didn’t feel happy or satisfied that the boy I had a crush on twenty years ago was finally showing affection towards me. Instead, I felt sadness, a sense of loss, and pity for him.

Then I woke up in my bed, realizing that my interactions with him were limited to just two conversations on WeChat. I had learned about his love affair with another woman last year, and I hadn’t seen him in nearly twenty years.

The elementary and middle school where I had worked for eight years appeared in my dream, featuring the same new buildings as in many of my other dreams. However, unlike reality, the background color in my dream was grayer, reminiscent of a black-and-white film.

As is often the case in my dreams about being a teacher, I felt a sense of regret for quitting teaching. My former colleagues appeared happy, and there were many new faces among the teaching staff. This time in my dream, after studying hard, I had been recruited by a government office. Interestingly, one of my colleagues, Lee, who had actually relocated to another city, received the same offer.

Lee and I made our way to the school, engaging in conversation along the road. We discussed a retired teacher who had a long-term girlfriend. According to Lee, the old teacher had sold all his houses and become poor because of his tendency to support underprivileged students. We assumed that most of his money was taken by his cunning girlfriend, whose lazy and greedy daughters and son disliked their father’s partner. The teacher’s son, who happened to be gay, had severed ties with his father, and the feeling was mutual. The conversation then shifted to a tragic incident involving two high school students, a boyfriend and girlfriend, who drowned in a large lake. The girl was beautiful and academically gifted. When their bodies were recovered, they were placed on either side of the private high school gate, which was half a mile away from my school, for one week as a means to extract compensation from the headmaster. Strangely, despite being a forgetful person, especially when it comes to names since having my son, the names of those two high school students remained clear in my memory. Even though I had never met or seen them, I had heard about them from others, and the incident had occurred thirteen years ago.

Upon entering the school, we noticed a newly added straw roof building adjacent to our old dormitory, its windows polished and gleaming. As we ascended to the upper levels, we passed by some new classrooms. Inside, we observed teachers conducting exams. Among them were two former colleagues who had taught the same grade as me—while I taught English, they taught Chinese and Mathematics. They were engrossed in their work and didn’t notice my presence. In another classroom, there were unfamiliar faces of new teachers, yet their appearances were vivid and distinct. When I woke up, I couldn’t fathom why I dreamt of these strangers with such clarity. I was certain that I hadn’t seen their faces in any television shows, movies, or pictures. One new teacher even laughed at himself, saying, “I don’t want to answer these trivial questions, but I’m already thirty-six. If I don’t work hard, I might lose this job, and I doubt I’ll find another one.” His words made me feel fortunate, knowing that I had already received an offer. I shared this with Lee, and she laughed as well. Then it dawned on us that we might be running late to sign our names for the new job. We hurriedly left the school.

Outside the school gate, we encountered a woman who used to run a small store selling toys and food for students. In my dream, she had moved to a small guardhouse where she was cooking a hotpot—a reflection of her exceptional culinary skills in real life. She sat beside the stove, knitting sweaters, hats, and shoes, displaying her talent in knitting. Lee asked if she felt hot in the small room with its cemented roof, to which she pointed at the electronic switch and informed us that the room was actually quite cool, so she had turned off the air-conditioner. In reality, the school had never been in stalled air-conditioners.

We left the lady, and at the entrance of the road leading to the gate, I noticed a man placing a doll on the smooth ground. It was the same doll I had seen yesterday afternoon when I took my son to the playground on the right corner of my house. A mother was holding it for her daughter.

Unfortunately, my dream did not reveal whether we were late for our new job or not because I woke up.

In olden days in China, when people were poor and couldn’t afford meat, they would substitute tofu instead. Tofu was a cost-free alternative since they didn’t need to spend money on growing beans and processing them into tofu. Scientists have since proven that tofu is rich in nutrients and even healthier than meat.

When I was young, my mom would always prepare a large dish of tofu on festival days or when we had guests visiting. It was a skill known by all the women in the village. Making tofu was considered an important event during significant ceremonies such as weddings, housewarmings, birthdays of the elderly, and funerals. Prior to the ceremonies, at the village meeting, the village leader would assign the task of making tofu to at least four women and two men, who, in the absence of tap water, would need to fill the water tanks.

The first step in making tofu is soaking the beans. Then, two or three people would grind the beans using a stone grinder made by the village craftsmen. The grinder consists of two round stones, one stationary and the other rotating around a wooden core. Each family owns two pairs of grinders, one for grinding dry powder and the other for liquid substances. During the grinding process, one person stands beside the grinder and pours water-mixed bean particles into the hole of the upper grinder, while two (or one) people hold and pull the wooden handle to rotate the upper grinder. The soybean milk is squeezed out of the grinders, flows along a wooden channel, and drips into a pan. Once the grinding is complete, the raw milk is poured into a large iron pan placed on a stove fueled by charcoal, dry tree branches, corn cobs, and bean tree wood.

When the milk reaches boiling point, the chefs strain it through gauze to remove the bean dregs, then return the pure milk to the pan and bring it to another boil. At this stage, the tofu-making expert adds melted brine to the milk until it solidifies. From what I’ve observed and heard from my mom and other women in the village—I myself have never made tofu—they usually add the brine to the milk three times. During the solidification process, the heat is kept low. If people prefer firm tofu, they can boil it for a longer time once the entire pot of tofu has solidified.

Once all the dishes are ready, tofu is always served last and placed in the center of the table, appearing white, vaporous, and delicately trembling. A special spicy sauce is prepared specifically for tofu. It involves heating rapeseed oil until it boils, then pouring it into a bowl of chili powder and adding soybean sauce, salt, chopped green onions, chopped coriander, and cordate houttuynia. When a piece of tofu is dipped into this spicy sauce and placed in the mouth, a tender, trembling, hot, and spicy combination of flavors instantly awakens the senses.

Apart from the plain tofu dish, there are variations such as stinky tofu, tofu with mildew, and tofu with blood. Additionally, Chinese cabbage leaves can be added to the unsolidified soybean milk to create “leaf tofu,” which offers a different taste and is lower in fat content.

Tofu is available in Asian and American supermarkets here, but it tastes different from the tofu in my hometown. Even within the same village, different people make tofu with distinct flavors. I am most familiar with my mom’s tofu, which has left a deep imprint on my taste memory. I believe that is what is often referred to as “mom’s taste,” and all the tofu I have consumed should embody the essence of “hometown taste.”

While tofu used to be an affordable and easily accessible food, for me, it feels distant and expensive to obtain now.

At 5 am, I woke up from my late sleep last night. My body felt heavy and my mind was spinning. Even if I got out of bed, I couldn’t concentrate on reading or writing, and I knew I would spend the entire day in a dazed and low mood. I closed my eyes, trying to continue the unfinished imaginings from before I fell asleep. It was a romantic story, and I was the protagonist. However, the yellow light from the street lamps and the cars passing by in front of my house disrupted my reverie. Nothing felt romantic or beautiful; instead, a sense of fear slowly enveloped me.

Where was I? What was I doing? What would I do? Where would I go? I had no answers. The bed, the house, the sounds—everything seemed unfamiliar to me. I forced myself to think about the romance in order to overcome the fear, but the fear and romance collided in my mind. In a daze, I drifted into a light sleep.

I found myself walking on the road next to my aunt’s house, which connected the primary school and middle school where I once studied. I spotted a few old teachers, but I felt too shy to greet them, so I turned away and pretended not to see them. An artist famous in my hometown was playing the flute nearby. I picked up the sticks on the table in front of him and tapped on a stainless plate, but I couldn’t catch the rhythm of the flute. Then, out of nowhere, the handsome man from my imaginary story walked beside me. He was dressed in a pristine white suit and jeans, and his bangs were cut and combed up, making him look more mature. On his shoulders sat a girl who was our daughter. We were on our way to visit my aunt. A boy I had a crush on during my teenage years stood at the edge of the road near the school gate, watching me, my handsome husband, and our daughter. I lifted my head and felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

As more cars passed by, the noise grew louder. I had a sense that I was in a dream, but I couldn’t discern where I was lying, as the road where the cars were running resembled the one that connected the primary and middle schools. So, I must be in my hometown, in the remote town in China. But no, the crossroad to the left of our neighborhood flashed in my mind. I realized I wasn’t in China; I was in the US. I wasn’t in my youth; I was middle-aged.

Though my mind yearned for clarity, I didn’t want to let go of my dream and that sweet feeling. I struggled to return to the dream, to the past. However, my son called out to me, wanting to play games. I opened my eyes, and the dream and the feelings faded like a fleeting film, leaving me empty and lost. Just like every awakening dawn and sleepless midnight, as soon as the bright light filled the room and touched me, the fear receded, along with the sweetness.