People Who Know the Places You’ve Called Home

“It’s good, but it’s not like the bao in that little shop in Chengdu.”

Our friends nod from the laptop in front of us as James and I cupped our twice-reheated coffees thinking about the bao buns we can get these days in our two cities. The morning sun lights up the windows of our little Southeast Asian apartment while their olive kitchen walls dim in the after-dinner hours. 10pm for them, 8am for us. They’ve already lived a whole day while we were onto the next- sipping our V60s after a morning walk past sweet old women selling sticky rice for breakfast.

How strange a thing it is- for people to connect across places and time and be anchored by something as small as a dumpling shop at the foothills of the Himalayas. 

That’s the thing about getting older. The people you meet along the way miss entire chapters of your story. Years of friendships you made when you moved to the new city,  your favorite cafe that held dozens of coffeeshop conversations and big life moments, the walking path through the woods you wandered down every week while calling your parents- it all gets condensed to “I lived there for 2 years”. 

It’s not that people don’t care, but there isn’t time to catch up. An entire season that shaped you gets traded for recency. You’ve now worked this job for 6 months, you’ve taken up pilates, and you frequent the specialty coffeeshop at the crossing of Westward and Heming. After a while, if you don’t keep those parts alive, they begin to disappear. They don’t stop existing, but climb into the back of the pantry shelf, replaced by newer ingredients that are reached for more often.

We must hold onto people who have known the places we’ve called home. The people who have tried out the new Vietnamese restaurant with us that become a Friday night rhythm. The people who moved you into your apartment. The people who sorted out life alongside you and will remember that version of you uniquely. 

I’m convinced one of the reasons we feel lonely is that we are always starting over. Whether we’re the ones moving or the ones helping friends pack up their homes with rewards of Domino's pizza, we turn a new page with every goodbye. The parts of us that were shaped before leaving still exist, but the people we spend time with now don’t know them. And they may not ever be able to picture your life getting breakfast every morning at the bao stand. 

Holding onto the people who have known the places you’ve called home can look like sending them photos that remind you of the season you shared. Call them and rehash the memories again. At a time in the world where we’re more mobile than ever, there will only be more leaving. A revolving door of goodbyes. But keeping the old parts of us alive reminds us that we weren’t alone in our other seasons, and some friendships we formed there will withstand the years. 

Part of living life is being known, and reminding others that they’re known. Across neighborhoods, states, and countries. Bring to mind cabin weekends and road trips, and other catalysts of friendships that brought joy in those seasons. Let them piece together the parts of your story that made you who you are by remembering the people who packed their bags with you. Even sharing moments as small as breakfast at simple bao shops on the streets of China.