Familiarity in the unfamiliar

People often talk about finding familiarity in the unfamiliar when they move to a new place or start a new job. They try to settle in by looking for pieces of home in their new surroundings, like a favorite kind of coffee shop or a rhythm in the way people walk down the street. For me, it has always been about people.

When I meet someone for the first time, I instinctively look for a connection. Not through shared interests or small talk, but through something quieter. A gesture. A look. A way of speaking that reminds me of someone else. It helps me feel less like a stranger in the world.

One morning, I was driving to school when the tire pressure light came on. I pulled off the freeway and stopped at a Costco to fill up my tires. Next to me, a woman in her fifties was fiddling with the air hose. She looked flustered, glancing around for help, but the workers were too busy to notice her. She reminded me of my mom. She drove the same Lexus SUV, had the same fast-paced walk that almost every Korean mom seems to have. I could have stayed quiet, filled up my tires, and left. But instead I walked over and asked if she needed help. Her face brightened. She asked me how much air to put in, and I guided her to the settings inside the car. Showed her where the recommended pressure was written. Held the air hose steady while she watched. I taught her the way I'd teach my mom, not rushing, just explaining until it made sense. After I finished, she told me her son was around my age. That I reminded her of him. She reminded me of someone I loved, and I think I reminded her of someone she missed. It didn't feel like helping a stranger. It felt like returning a favor I hadn't realized I owed.

Another time, I was riding my motorcycle through the Berkeley hills. I had just finished classes for the week and decided to take the long way home, through Grizzly Peak and down into the city. As I turned onto Telegraph, a little boy on the sidewalk caught my eye. He was waving at me with both hands, full of excitement. I didn't catch it in time to wave back, but something about him stuck with me. I looped around the block and came back down the one-way street, pulling up to where he stood with his grandfather. I gestured for him to come rev the engine. He hesitated. I remembered I was wearing a full black leather suit and helmet. Probably looked more like a Power Ranger than a person. I lifted the visor and smiled with my eyes. His grandfather gave him a nod, and the boy reached up with both hands to grab the throttle. The bike roared. He jumped back, startled by the sound, and then laughed. His grandfather laughed too. He stepped forward, hand outstretched for a high-five, but when I raised mine, he grasped it instead. Held it. Gave a small squeeze. Looked me in the eye and said, Thank you.

In both moments, there was no need for names or introductions. Just two people finding something familiar in one another. A reminder that even in a world that can feel fast and isolating, we are not as far from each other as we think. Some connections don't need time to grow. They just happen. Quietly. Clearly. Like the way a stranger can feel like someone you've known your whole life.

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