Tomorrow I leave for Shanghai. The initial fear that overwhelmed me has completely dissipated, and I am left with only the pre-departure exhilaration and nostalgia to be leaving my dear friends for four months.

Although I love the idea of having one place familiar enough to call home, I am at heart a gypsy, and my feet grow restless when I stand on the same soil for too long. Time and time again I long for the clapping waves and buzzing marketplace of Mallorca, or the stunning architecture and eager street artists of Paris, or the bubbling language and foreign roads of somewhere entirely unexplored.

People keep asking me what I plan to do in Shanghai — as if going there to study and immerse myself in a fresh culture wasn’t enough of a plan. The only thing I can say for certain is that I absolutely must see the ocean. Water is how I define and separate the places I’ve journeyed; when a country I’ve visited conjures up no memory of sea or river, I almost feel as though I’ve never truly been there. New York’s dusty shores littered with stones and broken glass and miscellaneous pieces of junk are somehow endearing and reminiscent of the city’s raw traffic and cultural amalgam. The Seine River at night is lined with lights that smile back at themselves in the water and charm tourists who stroll around and forget the water’s stench in their admiration of the city. The Mediterranean’s chalky sands and lively waves are simultaneously juxtaposed and disjointed, and steam swirls where the sky meets the sea in a competition to see who is the brighter shade of blue.

What riveting thoughts will Shanghai’s rivers bring me? And what might China’s side of the Pacific inspire? I can’t wait to find out.