When I was younger, I would wake up before the rest of my family and run down the dirt road that winded in front of my family farm to a lavender field. I walked, I sat, and I walked back. Dawn broke early halfway across the world. I woke to a bright pre-summer sky at 6 o'clock in the morning. Looking back, it was a sun that was harsher than New York's — hotter and less forgiving. It was freer in the Chinese countryside, no midday traffic droning down concrete streets or towering skyscrapers stopping me from hopping towards an endless sky. The meadow was one and a half miles away. On the very last morning before I had to leave for America, my legs ran me to my cousin's room instead of out the door at the break of dawn. I made a beeline for her window and threw her curtains apart, the light attacking every last inch of her room with an intense morning glow. “Jin-Yi! Get up! Let's go somewhere!” I shouted, jumping onto her bed. Her eyes flew open, about to burst with curiosity. “Where?” “Let's go!” was all the information I gave up before pulling her out of bed and pushing her towards the doorway. I had her chasing me down the stairs and out the door in less than ten minutes. And if she had not been fully awake before, the blinding hello of the endless wheat fields and eccentric sky forced her into full consciousness. A slight draft sneaked past us and I breathed in the fresh air as it pressed against my skin. Jin-Yi gaped at the sunkissed tint of the morning. Her eyes bulged as she stepped past the security of the house, as if soaking in the scene of a world she had never before seen. I broke into a sprint and a moment later, she followed. The road under us clapped to the beat of our clumsy race, a round of applause encouraging us as we ran. By the time we were doubled over, panting, we ran into our family cows. We watched them while trying to catch our breath. They were slowly gnawing at the grass, eating early breakfasts without a care in the world. I made eye contact with one, and she held my stare while finishing a mouthful of grass. She eventually grew bored of me and started strolling in the direction of the lavender field. Jin-Yi and I walked alongside her. “Let's call her Olivia,” Jin-Yi suggested. “Olivia?” It was a foreign name for a Chinese cow. “Yes,” she responded. “An American name for an American girl.” She smiled at me before launching into another short sprint. As the three of us traveled, we tried to stick together. Olivia helped herself as we went along, munching on the edible blanket of grass at her feet. Twice, there were irresistibly tasty patches and she would stop to revel in the taste. Although she had invaded our party of two, we couldn't find it in our hearts to leave her behind so we waited for her to finish, even though we knew she would be fine. Calm flatness was all that surrounded us. No man-made structures disturbed the crisp horizon-like border between the ground and the sky. Time trickled by like water leaking out of a broken faucet unnoticed. After we had walked far enough, the grass grew wilder, taller and darker. Having journeyed the path more times than I could remember, I charged into the grass in front of Olivia and threw my arms out to my side, drawing a cross with my body to protect the visible sea of lavender behind me. “You can't walk into the lavender field, Olivia. Go back.” Olivia stared me down with blank eyes, chewing slowly. She turned and walked away, her tail swaying side-to-side behind her, as if mocking me. I turned to my cousin, “You can't let her in the field. She'll eat the lavenders. Remember that.” She nodded her understanding. With an elated smile, I shouted “Then let's go!” before barreling towards the meadow. I buried myself in the middle of the lavenders, collapsing onto the ground and letting the flowers tickle my face as I lay on my back. A laugh bubbled in my throat and escaped to the same effect as a bird song in a serene forest. My cousin danced around me, throwing flowers in the air. Clouds had begun to form, blocking out the sun so that all I saw as I stared up were fluffy white clusters being strung across the sky. Bathing in the warm breeze, I let out a sigh and let the scent of fresh petals hug me. That same day, I packed my bags, and got into my parents' car, squishing my face against the window and trying to melt into the disappearing countryside on our way to the airport — a journey West. There was a simple freedom in those excursions that I took while the world was still sleeping, prancing down a blank road, seemingly leading nowhere. I never forgot about that lavender field, or any of the walks there. That purple heaven and the path lying before it belongs to Jin-Yi now. She wakes up at 6, she walks with Olivia where I walked alone. She sits, and she walks back.