22

I have a thing with the number 22. Things just seem to happen to me or around me that involve that number. I'm in NO way superstitious. It just happens that way. I'll be put in the 22nd seat on the plane. My room number will be 22. I'll have 22 peanuts in a package. It'll be the 22nd anniversary for a Museum I go to. My bill will be $22. I'll like a picture on the 22nd page of a book. Stuff like that. It happens a lot. And for a second...I forgot if I was 21 or 22. And yes. I'm 22.
This is my 22nd blog. Yay for blogs!






Yesterday I went to the Museum of Flight...which was awesome. I had a BLAST. They had a video on the Flying Tigers, the American Volunteer Group that was sent to protect the Burma Road and was primarily stationed in Kunming, where I grew up and lived most of my life. The older generation of people there still remember them and sing their praises to this day. My mom and I actually were on the same flight as several of them when they were flying back to Kunming for a semi-reunion. I got to shake Dick Rossi's hand. So the video and P-40 Replica at the Museum of Flight was a big touch of home and it meant a lot to me. It was a lot more extensive than I was expecting and I learned a lot more than I knew before about them. I am not really patriotic. I grew up overseas and so being patriotic for a country I'm not familiar with feels...unnatural...strange...out of place. Much like if an American was expected to feel patriotic towards China. But this piece of history makes me proud to be...whatever I am. An American raised in China? Having the opportunity and privilege of growing up there? The chance to say somehow this is part of my story even though it happened before I was born? One of those...or maybe a combination of them all.