Home at last but it took getting used to

The cab wound around the streets of Manhattan like I was being driven around in Chaoyang district in Beijing. Very fast. I held on to the car door latch trying not to get tossed around in the back seat. I was exhausted from the 14-hour flight, I didn't have the energy to fight speed.

I was furiously trying to call my friend Merlin to tell her I was on the way with about 20 minutes to spare but I couldn't get hold of her. Silly me! My phone was still calibrated to China and there's no way I could talk to anyone until I got a US number. How's that for commonsense technology, Cristina?

The cab stopped outside a fancy Park Avenue building that was to be my home until I got settled in. My driver unloaded two packed suitcases — one big, one small, both heavy — and left them at the lobby. Fifty-two bucks plus tolls and tip? I never paid Didi this much in Chaoyang, and I certainly didn't tip because tipping is a no-no in China. Welcome to Manhattan, the richest borough of NYC, a neighborhood made of money.

I got settled into my friend's old apartment with a room all my own. The next day, she took me to a phone shop where I got a US number. It felt weird having a new set of digits that is easier to memorize because they're shorter. With a new phone and a Wi-Fi connection in my room, I announced my arrival to the world. Guess who's back?

In the coming days, I tried to learn how to navigate my Murray Hill neighborhood. Where's the post office, the nail salon, photocopying shop, the closest deli where I could grab lunch? I found them all, as I did the M34 bus to Penn Station (so I could visit my brother in New Jersey) and the Q32 that took me to Queens (where the best Filipino restaurants are). I learned to navigate the walk to Bryant Park (so I could revisit the Philippine Consulate on Fifth Avenue) and the short hop to Grand Central (where I could meet my friends). The Catholic Church was a block away.

Although I had updated COVID shots from Beijing United Hospital, I still got revaccinated at Walgreens. After that, I felt ready to face the world.

Until a feeling of helplessness overcame me. I didn't remember a thing! NYC used to be my playground, but now everything was a blur. I stood in front of the ticketing machine to buy a MetroCard but I didn't know how to begin. I watched people do it until a lady asked if I was OK. I replied, "I think so." She showed me how to begin the machine, how to insert the credit card, where to retrieve the MetroCard. What she didn't know was I couldn't tell a penny from a nickel.

Slowly, I was able to get back into the life I had four years before, when I left for China. Going out to meet friends helped. How could I have forgotten life in NYC, I kept asking myself? How did four years in China override more than two decades in NYC? My friends were telling me to go slow and everything would return to my memory.

They were right.

I can now move around the city on my own. I still have not taken the subway because of this bugaboo called anti-Asian hate. It's this irrational notion that blames all Asians for the pandemic.

Otherwise, I'm fine. I'm home.

Cristina Pastor is a subeditor at China Daily Online Services. She lives with her husband in New Jersey.