The End of My Gap Year

I am enraptured.

The sunset sky of last night was invigorating: a pastel concoction of pink and orange, dotted with foam clouds graying with foreshadow of the coming nightfall. The atmosphere fell heavy upon the erect buildings, much like a drawn curtain though without the corrugation. The division between man and heaven blurred in such a way that touching the sky seemed not plausible but promised for whoever allowed themself to stretch out their hand. The cityscape seemed to detect my gaze and so forthrightly returned it; the skyline stared back at me, imposing the might of its glistening steel majesty as if attempting to draw my attention to the significance of the attending moment.  As darkness inevitably fell, I was left with a stirring impression: hope, awe, uncertainty, excitement — realization.

More than three months later, “I woke up in Hong Kong today” is beginning to sound more normal.

I would never deny the excitement of living in Hong Kong, but neither would I claim to be perpetually traveling. I have moments of leisure and I sight-see often, though these times coexist alongside responsibilities. I rooted myself to a new home, routine, and life— as many college graduates do, I simply moved somewhere new to live. While it is true that this “somewhere” is a new country, I nonetheless wake up to my own share of responsibilities like everyone else.

I teach English full-time. I am paid to be in a certain location for allotted hours each week. I have a Chinese bank account. I go to the grocery store. I have a gym membership. These are the intravenous injections of normalcy that remind me that I do in fact live here.

Yet, what has become my “normal” has been an exacting period of growth, upwards development at a anomalous rate. Heightened independence, poise, confidence, and a more resolute disposition in the face of chaos—learned nuances cementing themselves in every particle of my being, pushing and pulling me in new directions, each mite of novelty revealing small truths about myself. Adhering to Hong Kong’s long hours of work, adjusting to a social life conducted in Chinese, and navigating days in interminable haste have each imposed refinements—improvements?—in my habits. Cultural inklings and new propensities are things I’ll carry as part of my education, life lessons as readily deployed as the information learned within formal schooling.

Before graduating, I—like innumerable other 20-something-year-old’s—fell under the romantic allure of taking a gap year. The label itself seemed to shroud what exactly I was taking a “gap” from, though ostensibly this was a respite before pursuing a graduate degree.  A graduate degree may remain in my future, but I have learned that this adventure holds far more gravity.

There is danger in using my geography as an excuse to compartmentalize this chapter separate from my life. What I once called a “gap year” is now becoming as much a reality as the previous years of focused, dedicated study in school. Who was I to summarily dismiss an entire year—a chapter dense with experience—as a break from my ordinary existence?

The misnomer of “gap year” inhibits the possibilities, opportunities, and visions before me while I’m abroad. An entire year navigated under the guise of “gap year” threatens the possibility of my idling in lieu of living, premeditating an expiration date on a chapter that remains inescapably open-ended. These three months have already guided me towards more questions, answers, and soul-searching (even some soul-finding) than I’ve encountered before—what an education it’s been! Instead of a gap year, deeming this as an intermediate between “experiencing experience” and “intentional living” seems more apropos.

My next step remains nebulous—both the destination and the road map—though, as it happens, I’ve mapped out many detours. Like a stray balloon, I float towards the uncharted and I can only speak with certainty of where I hail from. I am guided by a spirit made volatile by wanderlust and an indiscriminate hunger to exist in the world. I chose to move to Hong Kong in the hopes of meeting life unembellished, to come face to face with experience, that blunt and timely teacher that doles out lessons steeped in wisdom for those who are willing to listen.

Each year of my life is a piece of the continuity I’ve forged since my conception. Each step is both a point of departure and one of destination. Inches and strides within my own journey overlap and lace into a web of context and perspective—an inextricable, criss-crossed reticulum which makes little sense as it fabricates though in retrospect is crystalline and mosaic.

What began as a gap year has now become part and parcel with the very blood in my veins, an ongoing escapade etched into the youthful creases under my eyes. Pivotal or paltry, each experience is written into me with permanent marker, one wielded with the indifference and practice of an old farmer’s branding iron.

This is the end of my gap year.

Life itself has seized the reins, ousting “gap year” from my very lexicon while propelling me towards eternity. If I have learned one thing during my time in Hong Kong it is this: there are no breaks from this beautiful existence.

I am compelled now to reiterate my opening remark: I am enraptured.