Hong Kong was my home— I was born in this tiny landmass packed with tall buildings, and spent much of my childhood at father’s office. Although it was compact, the office was familiar and cozy. The different kinds of paper piled everywhere and the cutting tools on the tables emitted the atmosphere of a graphic designer’s studio. There were also boxes filled with trinkets, and one of them contained many plush dolls.

Within the pile of dolls was a big, yellow Pikachu. I had always liked Pokémon, and I wanted the plush doll. After some time of convincing my parents, I was finally able to take it home to our small apartment space. My Pikachu sat at the end of my bed, and it watched over me in my sleep for the next few years. It was there when we ate pizza on Sundays for dinner, it watched all the yearly fireworks out the window, and it heard all the arguments within the house.

My father’s business started to decline. We gradually became less able to afford things. My mother and father became increasingly more stressed. Finally, my mother decided to look for work in New York. She took me with her, and I took my Pikachu with me.

Pikachu stayed beside me every night just like before. It was piece of home in an unknown territory. Hong Kong was my home, but with this small solace and some time, so would New York come to be.

By Jamie