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Eight years ago, when I first moved to the Philippines, it felt like a symbolic death of my former self. My Philly identity was dying, and I was being reborn in a new land. The transition was both exhilarating and disorienting. I went from believing I would never live outside of Philly my entire life to living on the other side of the world in a completely unknown place. I was dealing with a new culture, language barriers, new friends, new recreational activities, and a new family to fit into. Back in Philly, acquaintances I had known and talked to gradually drifted away, and even my close friends and I spoke less often. In the Philippines, I had to carve out a new identity for myself, and the life I had known in Philly seemed to fade as the days, weeks, and months passed by. As much as possible, I would try to return yearly to reconnect with friends and family, and each year I would feel more and more distant, more and more foreign, more and more disconnected. Even my accent w...