When I heard the lyrics of the folk song *Shenandoah* at the National Centre for the Performing Arts in China, “Away, I‘m bound away, across the wide Missouri,” my thoughts were instantly carried back to the days I spent studying in Kansas City.
In 2021, I came here to study in high school and experienced a strong culture shock: everyone I met no longer spoke the language I was familiar with in my home country; coupled with the fact that the pandemic had not yet subsided, everyone wore masks and kept social distance, which made me truly feel like an outsider in this country. Growing up in Puyang City, Henan Province, a place rarely visited by foreigners, I had never experienced such a strong sense of being an “other”. The busy school terms followed one after another. At first, I could only communicate in the most basic English. The most relaxing moment of each day was video chatting with my family, and it was then that I realized that I was still a stranger to this community.
A month after arriving in the United States, Yikey moved into the room next door and became my roommate. When we discovered we were both from Henan province, we were pleasantly surprised and quickly became close friends. The next day, he brought out some Peony King white tea, a top-grade variety he had brought from China, to share with me. At the time, I knew very little about tea and could not appreciate its quality. Later, he found a tea shop in Kansas City on a map and immediately took me there to experience the differences between various grades of tea. Upon entering the shop, we saw that all the customers and staff were locals, so we assumed it was a store selling Western-style spiced teas, until the owner, Shang, appeared. He introduced each tea in the shop in Chinese. When Yikey saw familiar tea names, he proposed an impromptu tea-tasting challenge and took out the Peony King he had with him. Shang eagerly brought out the tea ware, and the three of us sat down to enjoy the tea together. After taking a sip, Shang exclaimed in admiration, “Excellent tea!” Yikey proudly replied, “This was made by Master Fang, a renowned tea artisan in China.” Shang paused for a moment, asked for the full name, and then immediately exclaimed, “He is my teacher!” Yikey was astonished. Shang then went to the storage room and brought out several collector’s grade teas from Master Fang. We drank and chatted as we sampled them. Throughout the afternoon, Yikey kept exclaiming, “Wow, this is excellent tea!”
Our shared passion for tea naturally extended our conversation from the art of tea to our personal experiences. When Shang asked about my hometown, I casually replied, “Puyang, a small city in central China. You probably haven’t heard of it.” His eyes immediately lit up. “I know it well! My home is near Puyang, and I started working and living at the Zhongyuan Oilfield at the age of 16.” I was astonished. Among the people I knew from Puyang, almost none had overseas experience, and my own family had deep roots in the oilfield. The Zhongyuan Oilfield was established in the 1970s as a key achievement of China’s “Great Petroleum Campaign,” bringing together oil workers from across the country, including my grandparents. To support the development of the oilfield, the State Council approved the establishment of Puyang as a prefecture-level city in 1983. However, the long-standing separation between city and oilfield administration only reinforced our identity as “oilfield people.” In that moment, our conversation flowed freely and joyfully. It was the first time I truly felt the warmth of home in the United States. After that, Yikey and I would visit Shang’s tea shop almost every week to chat and enjoy tea.
Time passed swiftly, like a white pony’s shadow flashing past a crack. In May 2022, Yikey and Peter left one after another to start their university journeys. When I stepped into the familiar campus again, a sense of emptiness and loneliness quietly crept over me. In response, Bobby drove me to Weston Bend State Park. We hiked along the Bear Creek trail, chatting and reminiscing about the days when we took online classes together and when Yikey and Peter were still around. Before we knew it, we arrived at the banks of the Missouri River and, without a word, stopped in unison and fell silent. In that instant, it felt as though nothing existed in my world except the mighty Missouri River before me, the gentle murmur of flowing water at my ears, the crisp sound of floating ice colliding, and the occasional gust of wind sweeping through the treetops, shaking loose dead branches. I had crossed this river countless times on the way from the airport to my host family, yet I had never gazed upon it from such a close distance. The sunlight refracted off the ice, making the wide river shimmer. At that moment, I was suddenly reminded of the awe and excitement I felt as a child when I first saw the majestic Yellow River in my hometown. The Missouri and the Yellow River, two great rivers, converged in my heart, soothing all my negative emotions and allowing me to feel, for the first time, a true connection to the land beneath my feet.
Upon returning to school, I realized that I needed to step out of my comfort zone and take the initiative to make more local friends to enrich my inner world. Fortunately, Cyrus and Matthew, my lab partners in physics class, were very talkative. When our group made simple mistakes during experiments, we would often burst into laughter before immediately setting out to correct them. I still remember a tug-of-war experiment we did. Cyrus, who had been working out for a long time, often easily defeated his opponents. Yet his unbeaten streak came to an end with me. After that, he challenged me repeatedly, even on Senior Day, but he always ended up losing. That was precisely why, when he founded a fitness club during our senior year, I was the first person he invited to join. Senior year arrived in the blink of an eye, bringing with it heavier academic pressure. To earn extra credit, I had to participate in the “Just Dance” activity in physics class, a tradition incentivized by a course-specific currency called “Spicer Specie.” I was initially resistant, finding my classmates’ spontaneous, often awkward dance moves utterly ridiculous. But my new group members, Connor and Max, encouraged and supported me, eventually persuading me to take part. I still remember how, when I danced for the first time, I found my own clumsy movements so amusing that I could not help but laugh. Yet my classmates cheered enthusiastically, without a trace of mockery. Thanks to their encouragement, tolerance, and even a bit of letting me win, I often became one of the few students to earn “Spicer Specie” awards in the activity. Through this shared laughter and camaraderie, I built close and genuine connections with nearly all of my physics classmates.
In organic chemistry class, we took exams in groups. Before each exam, everyone would gather around the lab tables for collective preparation. Connor would then look at Paranjay, a classmate with a deep understanding of organic chemistry, and say with a smile, “Let him cook.” So we would quietly watch Paranjay “cook” the organic chemistry problems. Sometimes the problems were so challenging that they “cooked” him instead, and Jack would always pat him on the shoulder and say, “I got you, bro.” In quantum physics class, we created a group chat called “really tiny physics” to discuss this abstract and challenging subject. I often saw messages in the group, and after exams, the classic question would arise, “Are we cooked?” followed by a flood of memes expressing our collective despair. In biology class, Michael, Joe, and I often did experiments together. One experiment that left a lasting impression was making ginger soda. We had added too much yeast, so we had to put in extra sugar to ensure the yeast could ferment the soda properly. Two weeks later, when we opened the bottle, there was a loud pop, and a stream of yellowish liquid shot straight up toward the ceiling, followed by countless droplets of ginger soda raining down around the classroom. Our classmates looked at us in shock at first, and then the entire class burst into laughter. We spent half an hour cleaning up afterward.
What left the deepest impression on me, however, was the Senior Walk. On that day, our entire graduating class walked continuously from the original site of our school to the current campus, covering a total distance of 12 miles. No one dropped out along the way. Everyone encouraged each other. I remember that when we finally arrived back at campus just before the end of the school day, we were welcomed by a corridor of applause from all the underclassmen lining up to greet us.
These unforgettable stories, each and every one, painted the canvas of my high school years. After graduation, at Michael’s graduation party, I looked at all the familiar faces and truly realized how swiftly time had passed. My four years of high school felt like a fleeting dream. Before I knew it, I had deeply integrated into the place beneath my feet, only to be carried forward by time toward a new journey. American culture was no longer the exotic, foreign concept I had known only through words; it had become woven into every afternoon spent with friends, every experiment gone wrong, every hike, and every “I got you, bro.”
Nowadays, whenever someone asks me where I’m from, I would reply, “A small city named Puyang by the Yellow River in central China, and Kansas City by the Missouri River in the middle of the United States.” The Yellow River and the Missouri River have nurtured me and taught me that cultural integration does not mean giving up one’s roots, but rather finding the soil on which life can continue to grow in a foreign land.
When the words “Away, I’m bound away, across the wide Missouri” echo in my ears again, I know that the Missouri River, like my friends, has been deeply etched into my memory. I cannot go back, but I do not need to go back, because I have already found my own sense of belonging in this land.
[Chinese]
陌途到归途
当我高中毕业后在中国国家大剧院听到民歌《Shenandoah》[] 的歌词“Away, I’m bound away, across the wide Missouri [但我必须穿过那辽阔的密苏里河，远走他乡]”时，思绪瞬间被拉回到在堪萨斯城留学的日子。
2021年，我来到这里读高中，遭遇了强烈的文化冲击：所有遇见的人不再说我在国内熟悉的语言；加之疫情尚未消退，人人佩戴口罩、保持社交距离，让我真切感到自己与这个国家格格不入。在河南省濮阳市，一座鲜有外国人到访的城市，长大的我，从未经历过如此强烈的“他者”感。忙碌的学期接踵而至，起初我仅能用英语进行最基础的交流，每天最放松的时刻便是与家人视频通话，我也由此意识到：自己对这个社区而言，仍是一个陌生人。
来美一个月后，Yikey搬来隔壁成为了我的室友。得知同是河南人，我们都很惊讶，很快成了好友。第二天，他就拿出从中国带来的顶级白茶牡丹王与我分享；当时我对茶所知甚少，品不出好坏。后来他在地图上发现堪萨斯城有家茶馆，立刻带我去体验不同等级茶叶的差异。 到店后，见顾客和店员全是本地人，我们误以为是卖西式香料茶的店，直到店主Shang出现。他用中文逐一介绍店内茶品，Yikey看到熟悉的茶名，当场提议斗茶，并拿出随身携带的牡丹王。Shang兴致勃勃取来茶具，三人共饮。他啜一口便赞：“好茶！”Yikey自豪道：“这是中国制茶大师方先生的手作。”Shang一怔，追问全名，随即脱口而出：“他正是我的老师！”Yikey震惊不已。Shang转身从仓库取出几款方先生的收藏级茶，我们边喝边聊。整个下午，Yikey不停赞叹：“哇，好茶！”
对茶的共同热爱，让Shang和我的交谈从茶艺自然延伸到个人经历。当他问起我的家乡，我随口答道：“中国中部一座小城濮阳，你可能没听说过。”他立刻眼睛一亮：“太熟悉了！我家就在濮阳附近，16岁起就在中原油田工作生活。”我十分惊讶：在我认识的濮阳人里，几乎没人有海外经历；而我家也扎根油田。中原油田建于20世纪70年代，是中国“石油大会战”的重要成果，汇聚了全国石油工人，包括我的祖辈。为支持油田建设，国务院1983年批准设立地级濮阳市。但长期“市油分治”，反而强化了我们“油田人”的身份认同。那一刻，我们打开了话匣子，聊得畅快——也是我在美国第一次真切感受到家乡的温度。此后，我和Yikey几乎每周都去找Shang喝茶聊天。
时光匆匆，如白驹过隙。2022年5月，Yikey和Peter相继启程奔赴大学，当我再次踏进熟悉的校园时，一种怅然若失的孤独感悄然涌上心头。为此，Bobby开车带我前往Weston Bend州立公园。我们沿着Bear Creek步道徒步前行，一路闲聊，回忆起往昔共同上网课的日子，以及Yikey和Peter尚在身边的时光。不知不觉间，我们抵达密苏里河畔，不约而同地停下脚步、陷入静默。刹那间，我的世界仿佛只剩下眼前浩荡的密苏里河、耳畔潺潺的流水声、浮冰相互碰撞的清脆响动，以及不时掠过树梢、震落枯枝的风声。我曾无数次在从机场返回寄宿家庭的路上跨越这条河，却从未如此近距离地凝视它，冰面折射着阳光，使宽阔的河面处处 shimmer，那一刻，我蓦然忆起儿时初见家乡的黄河波澜壮阔时的震撼与悸动，密苏里河与黄河，两条大河在我心中交汇，抚平了我所有的负面情绪，也让我第一次真切感受到自己与脚下这片土地产生了联结。
回到学校后，我意识到必须跳出舒适圈，更主动地结交几位本地朋友，以丰富我的精神世界。幸运的是，物理课上的小组成员Cyrus和Matthew非常健谈。我们组做物理实验时常常犯下一些低级错误，而每当意识到问题时，总会先开怀大笑一阵，而非立刻着手修正。 我至今还记得一次关于“拔河”的实验：Cyrus因长期健身，常能轻松击败与他拔河的同学。然而，他保持不败的纪录在我这里戛然而止。此后，他多次向我发起挑战，甚至在我们高年级的“Senior Day”当天也不例外，但均以失败告终。正因如此，当他于senior year创办健身俱乐部时，第一个邀请加入的人便是我。高年级学年转瞬即至，随之而来的是更繁重的课业压力。为了获取课外学分，我不得不加入物理课上的“Just Dance”活动,这一传统项目以发放“Spicer Specie”一种课程专属代币作为激励。起初我对此十分抵触：看着同学们生涩而即兴的舞蹈动作，只觉得滑稽可笑。但我的新组员Connor和Max给予了我大量鼓励与支持，最终说服我参与其中。至今仍记得第一次跳舞时，我竟被自己笨拙的动作逗得忍俊不禁；而全班同学却热情欢呼，毫无嘲讽之意。正因如此，在全班的鼓励与包容以及放水下，我屡次成为少数几位在活动中胜出、成功赢得“Spicer Specie”奖项的同学之一。也正因这场共同的欢笑与协作，我与物理课上的几乎所有同学都建立了紧密而真诚的联系。
在有机化学课上，我们采用小组合作考试的形式。每逢考试前，大家便会围坐在实验桌旁集体备课。这时，Connor总会望向Paranjay,一位对有机化学原理有着深刻理解的同学，笑着说：“Let him cook.” 于是我们便安静围观Paranjay“cook”有机化学难题；有时题目难度过高反将一军把Paranjay难住了，这时Jack总会拍拍他肩膀说：“I got you, bro.” 在量子物理课上，我们创立了一个名称为”really tiny physics“的群聊来一起交流这门抽象的高难度物理，我经常在群里看到，以及在考试过后一句经典反问 “Are we cooked?”这时候大家都会附上很多我们完了的表情包。 在生物课上，我和Michael以及Joe经常一起做实验。其中一次令我印象深刻的是制作姜汁汽水：由于我们加入了过量的酵母，不得不额外添加糖分，以确保酵母能充分发酵姜汁汽水。两周后，当我们拧开瓶盖时，“砰”的一声巨响，一股米黄色的液体柱直冲天花板，随后无数姜汁汽水液滴如雨点般洒落在教室四周。周围同学先是惊愕不已，随即全班哄堂大笑。事后，我们花了半个小时才将教室清理干净。
让我印象最深的还有“Senior Walk”。那天，我们整个毕业年级从学校最初的旧址出发，连续步行12英里，最终回到现校区。全程无人退出，大家彼此鼓励、相互支持。我记得，当天下午放学前，我们终于抵达校园,迎接我们的，是全体低年级同学列队鼓掌的热烈欢迎。
这些一件件难以忘却的故事，为我的高中生涯画卷添上了浓墨重彩的一笔。毕业典礼后，在Michael的毕业派对上，望着一张张熟悉的面孔，我这才深刻体会到光阴荏苒——高中四年竟如黄粱一梦；不知不觉间，我早已深深融入脚下的土地，却又被时光裹挟着奔赴新的旅程。美国文化不再是我曾通过文字想象的异域风情，而是融进了与朋友们共度的每一个午后、每一次实验事故、每一场徒步、每一句“I got you, bro”之中。
如今，每当有人问起我来自哪里，我都会回答：“中国中部黄河畔的一座小城濮阳，以及美国中部密苏里河畔的堪萨斯城。”黄河和密苏里河滋养了我，也让我明白：文化融入并非放弃自己的根，而是在他乡找到让生命继续生长的土壤
当“Away, I’m bound away, across the wide Missouri”再次回响耳边时，我知道密苏里河早已和我的朋友一样，深深烙进了我的记忆里。我回不去了，但也不必回去，因为我已在这片土地上，找到了属于自己的sense of beloning。