Bouncing between Manhattan and Queens every day, I switch between languages, lifestyles, and dietary habits. Sometimes it feels like the 7 train, suddenly stuck somewhere; myself stuck in a place where I can't seem to belong. 

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A Chinese saying - “民以食为天” Food is prime for folks. I bring this issue to "the dining table" -one that many Third Culture Kids encounter in their upbringing. Choosing between different tablewares is essentially choosing a way of life. Am I abandoning my cultural heritage? I oscillated between feelings of rootlessness and rootedness.

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Wearing socks with motifs representing the transformation of immigrant identity, it reminds me of the phrase "standing in someone's shoes". Not completely belonging to any side, yet understanding. I project my culture and life in New York onto the food, but also gradually lose it while dining. And then, grounding roots once again. Just like the coffee served in blue-and-white porcelain cups.