Almost a fortnight since I got back to sunny LA again.
I was finally home after a series of long flights, Budapest to London, London to LA, and LA to Shanghai at last. Forty hours of dry and uncomfortable flight didn’t kill my thought of Budapest. I felt something called cultural shock, and it was stronger than when I first stepped on the land of North America.
Lying in my own cozy bed in China, I could easily recall when I was rumbling on the Audrassy Street with my roommate. A beautiful Asian girl stared at me with her smiley eyes, eagerly asking me if I was Korean. I hesitated for a second and told her the truth. The girl left with an unsatisfactory response from me. I was a bit apologetic because suddenly I got a strong feeling about, what I would say, a cultural connection. It’s about blood and culture. Sometimes it could be a big thing resulting from incompatibilities and disjointing in the high-paced globalization. An Asian face was so rare that once spotted, it could be a cultural thing. I love Budapest and the thoughts helped me dig deeper.