Last month in Hong Kong, I went to the New Territories, a part of the city I’d never visited before. It was only half an hour from bustling Kowloon, but it felt like a totally different region.
On the eve of my departure, before I’d fly to Tokyo and then to Los Angeles, I was feeling anxious.
I went for an hour-long run, my longest in a while. I set out just as the sun was setting and ran along the water, looking at the Kowloon skyline across the narrow harbor.
I felt as if I were completely alone in the world, a pilgrim on a journey of discovery that would lead me back to my hotel. I wasn’t alone, of course—all around me were island residents walking dogs and pushing strollers. But I didn’t know them, and even though I came to Hong Kong often, it wasn’t my home.
I was just another traveler, out in the South China Sea, dreaming of my projects and soaking in the mix of disorientation and nostalgia that came from being in Asia again.