We woke up feeling as though we were still dreaming.
This labor weekend, a friend took our friend group on a hometown visit. 1h and 26 minutes of train ride took us to the heart of another American home in Doylestown, PA. Generously spacious brick house nestled in the woods, a hospitable family awaited us.
New York City wouldn’t have been the same if I hadn’t found this group of friends. They are sensitive, gentle, and raw-hearted in the best way possible. Their enthusiasm for inviting friends to their hometowns is infectious. We’ve explored Milan, Italy, and Tidioutte, Pennsylvania together. It’s hard to believe I’ve only known them for <a year.
American hospitality isn’t something I’m naturally accustomed to. Growing up in a working-class family in China, we never had the habit—or the time—to curate cozy gatherings from scratch. Experiences were often outsourced, more out of necessity than anything else. So, I feel humbled to be so warmly welcomed into one friend’s family home after another.
Time spent with this group always puts me in a flow state—slow, unguarded, saying whatever comes to mind. I can be as cuddly and touchy as I want with each of them, never feeling like I’m crossing any boundaries. We give each other ~5 hugs a day.
The backyard of an American countryside home is like a mini heaven, perfect for reconnecting with our kiddish selves. There was a sense of familiarity, even though this wasn't the typical childhood for me. We spent an entire afternoon having water gun fights around the pool, watching two endearing friends fall in love, savoring the subtle yet powerful energy shift between them. The pool water, though not fully warmed by the late summer sun, made our skin glow.
Many of us were first-timers at Wawa; a quick lunch visit followed by a front-church picnic brought us so much joy. We then visited our friend’s high school, driving in two separate cars but sharing a cheeky moment of dialing in on the phone, so she could give us a live tour, recounting stories in the land where she grew up.
Our friend’s parents embody the best of quintessential American sports enthusiasts, their lives seemingly fueled by the energy of the game. The mom even arranged a pickleball tournament in their backyard court—a luxury we never get to enjoy in the city. We let our competitiveness take over, laughing and running around with boozes in hand. Exhaustion never felt so satisfying.
As dawn settled in, we sat by the poolside, gazing into the sizzling fire pit, our vision blurring into a dreamy, relaxed state. We finished off bottle after bottle of prosecco. Conversations flowed from hair loss and love entanglements to culture and our vastly different childhoods. We are a group of 6, hailing from 5 different countries, and we never run out of perspectives to share.
I’m the only one among us who sees a never-ending future in New York City. The others know they’ll leave within the next five years. One friend is losing his visa and will have to return to South Africa in less than six months. Yet, none of us seem worried. We know we’ll find a reason to reunite somewhere on the horizon. Though we met in adulthood, we connect as if we’ve shared our childhoods.
As the night deepened and the fire dwindled, we found ourselves wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The stars above seemed closer in this small town, as if they, too, were part of our circle. There was a sense of timelessness in the air. We didn’t need to say it aloud; we all felt it. No matter where life takes us, this bond—born of shared adventures and unspoken understanding—will always find its way back to us. And as we drifted into sleep, the dream carried on, not as an escape, but as a promise of many more nights like this, many more journeys like this to come.
