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What does it mean to belong to a specific place? Is it the language you dream in, the streets that are ever so familiar, or the people who feel like home? If so, I am a seamless plane of glass, yet a mosaic of different puzzle pieces put together.

My dreams are always in English, bright bursts of colour and with a dash of adventure, every dream unique, yet I gaze into the eyes of familiar people, surrounded by a world I feel like I’ve walked upon for thousands of years, yet never understood it truly. English was the language I learnt when I was young. I was born in Malaysia, and though I never learnt Malay, I held a Malaysian passport and lived there for the first two years of my life. My memories of life there are blank and lost; I can recall my dreams better than what life was like when I was a young child.

I vividly remember the streets of Beijing, where I spent the majority of my younger childhood. I can recall the pathways I walked upon, the fun memories that I shared with friends still bright and fresh in my mind, moments that I hold onto dearly. Each one contributed to a journey of creating my identity; those experiences shaped me. Whether it was setting off fireworks with my grandparents or having stupid little crushes on boys at school, they have all become part of me in a way. Even though the sky was polluted, dull from haze and smoke, my life still felt so vibrant.

But now I’m in Singapore, parted from my grandparents, separated from the friends I had known for years and no longer tethered to a muted city (Beijing). I’m still surrounded by my family, and I’ve met new people that I’ve become incredibly close to. The streets of Beijing I walked upon for years were replaced with new pathways across Singapore. Closer than ever to the country where I was born, yet still feeling estranged.

I still struggle to answer when I am asked, “Where are you from?”

I don’t feel bound to a singular place. I have lived in a few homes, met many people and have seen the world through a lot of perspectives, yet wherever I am, I am still under the same sky, under the same stars.

Maybe my identity isn’t rooted in a location because a location cannot define who I am. I am a collection of memories and connections, held together by the places I’ve been, the voices I’ve heard, and the cultures I’ve embraced.

Perhaps the next time I am asked where I am from, I may just smile at them and tell them I am half Malaysian, half Chinese. But it’s not as simple as that, and it never will be.