Through the thick of spoken German around me, I immediately heard American English spoken. At that moment, it was a gleaming crystal in the dust. I had been traveling in Europe for almost 3 weeks, aimlessly touring, trying to find my ground.

I was magnetized and looked to find its source.

It was a short Asian female standing on the train—clearly with white headphones speaking into her iPhone. I stared at her, perhaps too long, trying to let recognition sink over me.

And then it hit me. It was someone I knew from Method—she was from New York while I was in San Francisco. We never met in person and barely spoke on the phone. And she went to the same graduate school as I did in a nearly equivalent masters program…but a year right before I started.

I hesitated, not quite sure how to introduce myself—knowing how stalkerish and awkward I could be. She probably noticed that I was staring, but she professionally ignored it. At the next stop, she walked out of the train doors…and…I had to take my chances. What was the worst that could happen.

As she was going up to the exit, I tapped her and she paused in her walk. I seized the moment and said, “Are you…?”

The moments after affirmed that my 2011 new year’s resolution was valid. You’ll never know what will happen if you acknowledge someone that you recognize.

“Today is my first day and my last day,” I said on Tuesday in an unwavering voice with bright optimism and slight melancholy.

As with most journeys, there is an end. A neon sign that lights up with the words “You have reached your destination.” Sometimes, it comes up unexpectedly. Other times, it just arrives as anticipated.

On Tuesday, I had my last day at Palm. I also had arrived at my decision to stay in San Francisco—for now, at least. And with that, a big weight lifted.

A few months ago, a friend said to me, “I used to think that not having roots was essential, but now I realized that it really makes a difference.”

It’s not that I am unable to detach myself from everything that I know. Despite growing up here, I only got to know the city in the last 6 years in varying ways and the people I surround myself with are not those from my hometown.

It’s that the personality of this city is the personality that I want to adopt. Even with the overt hipster-ness. The laidbackness. The absurd location-based social networks. The clash of gentrification in the midst of yuppie diversification. It’s right here that I want to stay.

Because there is no other city like it.

In Dublin, London, Berlin and New York City…it was the typical answer.

Sometimes, I would get the pressure from a local—when will the stars ever align perfectly for you? I did it, so you should too!

And other times, usually from good friends, I would get, I know why it’s not for everyone.

Dublin: Cheap. Laid back. Center of tech. Easy to jump to other parts of Europe. Closest to the states. Beer. And leprechauns (not from local of course).

London: The English. The diversity of languages and people. Compact. Center of Europe. Little of everything. History. The supposedly wicked sense of humor.

Berlin: Personalities. 24 hour parties. Beer. Openness. Innovation. Creativity. Vast history. English as a second language. Graffiti does not mean it’s a bad area of town.

New York City: Compact. Diversity of industry and boroughs. Easy public transit. Food. Everything you want. It is the city.

They always have this sudden politeness that overcomes them when they speak English. I always wondered if it came from the British. They form the words carefully to make sure that I understand.

His eyes showed pity and he said, “I am sorry. You’re too late.”

Three hours earlier, I aimlessly wandered after the city bike tour. First stopping at a cafe for brioche and ginger/mint/lime tea. Then I found myself shopping, thinking of how to spend my last 25 euros.

An hour should be enough for me to get to the airport, I think.

I had waited a long time before my flight to Berlin at Gatwick and didn’t want to make the same mistake.

Somehow I didn’t think that was going to work this time…as I found myself feeling anxious as I got lost and lost.

I had walked in circles with my hands freezing carrying my two bags from the airport. Eventually, I pulled out my phone and reoriented myself to the correct German street.

And then I saw it. The buildings were all covered in graffiti. I sucked in my breath—yes I had pay a super low price for this room, but is this how it will be like? I ran the doorbell of the building…the host buzzed me in but then I noticed that the front door to the building didn’t close anyway.

The host didn’t look like his photo and upon entering, I was hesitant. Concrete. The place obviously wasn’t done up to be designy in anyway. It was left as if nothing had been personalized. Then I saw my room—it was as advertised. A small “Japanese” room as described.

The following morning, I woke up…and I realized how excellent it was.

“Frankly, I am people-ed out,” she said after having traveling after 5+ weeks. “I just want to drink coffee and read the news.”

She had said those words as we were sitting around in a late night pub in Dublin, Ireland. We had all met after the conference, finding fellow conference goers to tour around the city and hang out. She downed another Guinness after that, regaling us stories of her weeks in Thailand, Bali and Singapore.

Today I can officially say I am people-ed out. It has been only since the 30th of January…I am on my 14th day abroad. Soon, I will surpass the longest time that I have been away traveling. This morning, it wasn’t quite homesickness that I woke up to. I don’t miss the everyday patter. I miss the familiarity of people—that I don’t need to present myself all over again every day to someone new. I miss having a constant person who knows why I do the things that I do and why I say the things that I say. That is comforting.

Every other day, I wake up somewhere new. A hotel room. A small room in the in-law unit of a flat. A shared dormitory. A large English living room complete with gold-plated mirrors and multiple Ikea lamps. And tomorrow morning, a bedroom with orange painted walls.

I look forward to a day of mindless wandering alone. To be without the desires of another. To decide at a whim yes, I will go there or declare I am tired and in need of a drink. I decide. But I know for several moments, I would wish to have someone share the experiences with me. For now, Toad is my companion.

Like my parents, I always fight for the bill when I have guests and when I am a guest. It’s what I have been taught to show gratitude and appreciation for others.

Yet that’s often where it stops. In my expression of generosity.

Having been in Europe now for more than a week (and finally having real Internets), there’s something comforting about the way that people treat each other.

The choice of words.

In London at least, there’s the language—mind the gap, take care, everything ok?…it’s more sentimental, personal. Although it has the same motivation, the language itself suggests differing behavior. It suggests that we are more emotionally connected, a giving of ourselves to others.

The way people spend extra time with each other.

Perhaps it’s just the connections that I have—but what I thought was just lunch or just dinner…turns into longer walks, longer tours, afternoon tea, after dinner desserts/drinks.

The culture.

It’s clearly more nationalistic in certain parts, depending on the country. As it is clear in Dublin, that it is about Ireland. and in London, it is clear that it is about England. With it, there is an essence of nationalistic pride, a branding of everything—from English tea to Irish sparkling water. Yet there is a genuine curiosity about other cultures, especially where differences lie.

But I am still curious what “He’ll take care of you” means.

Unlike many times before, this time preparing for my international travel…I was very stressed out.

Paperwork, packing, eating, showering…but all done now, I hope!

“Let’s be spontaneous,” I said last weekend.

As the words tumbled out of me, I knew how it was very unlike me. I never was the one to suggest spontaneity. I rarely if ever was the one to pull someone else by hand to “let me show you something”. I don’t shout in glee from speed, with air blowing through my messy hair.

But there it was. A momentary glimpse past my usual reserve. A sudden desire for temporary ecstasy. In pursuit of delight.

We got there, but it was closed. So no slides.

Earlier, we walked past a swing. I did not mention my hesitation on getting on—not wanting in the spotlight, but also desiring to swing freely through the air. Faster, higher! Is that what would go through my mind? Push me!

Instead, I scampered up to the destination of the slides and scampered back down.

We made it! I said in delight.

What if I could be completely honest? What if I could be…radically honest?