1. Way Back Home (Where I’m Lost)

"Remember when I told you."

"No matter where I go."

The sun hangs directly above the city, moored by the blue summer sky, peeking lazily through the trees, its soft, tender light pouring through the window. It was not strong enough to warm the black car leather nor bright enough to be dazzling. Its light was lost and dazed, unable to focus, dispersed right before me. It’s ironic that I hate scattered things even though my life has never been fully put together. Perfection does not have an earthly form.

I sat in the car on the way home from my basketball game with my AirPods in, half listening to my song, trying to catch some sleep. I had my windows closed so I didn't feel the strong wind outside as it swept away heavy piles of leaves, nor did I see the chickadees that flew so carelessly against it to find a way back to their nest.

Last night, my insomnia revisited me, keeping my eyes wide open in pitch-blackness and my brain strained and stressed like a circus man walking on a tightrope. Like him, my journey to the destination seemed long and difficult, my harness was invisible and my projected serenity was a self-lying facade. Sometimes I liked being awake at night: the peacefulness numbed my sensitivity and irritation, and the solitude was a wave that washed away the ugly voices that plagued me. But, this numbness only lasted long enough to delay the feelings to the next, which reached an indisputable height in the suffocating car. My relationship with my mother has been capricious lately, and we frequently got into fights, so I often resorted to fake sleeping to fill the awkward silence in the car. Today was such an occasion.

"曦曦?/XiXi? (My Chinese nickname) "My mum's voice from the front seat could not be silenced by my AirPods. I couldn't afford to answer, slowing down my breathing to match one of a sleeping person. Remembering our argument from the day before, it was better to stay low. "曦曦, 我有事情要跟你说, 别装了/I want to talk to you. I know you're not asleep."   

"I'll never leave your side."

"You will never be alone."

Not bothered enough to put up a fight, I obediently opened up my eyes, blinked to adjust to the light, and paused the song. As I waited for her to talk, I grasped tightly onto my phone as if it would shatter. She'll probably never understand how much, at that moment, I craved for her apology. Like a child who'd made a mistake, I wanted her forgiveness, but unlike the child, I'm a few years older. I now have pride and persistence, and I now have learned to bury my feelings. 

My mum asked the question tonelessly, "Are you sure you want to go?"

I knew immediately what she was referring to. It was the type of rapport that came from years of being together. I was accepted to my 'dream' boarding school a week ago, the Thacher School, and she's been convincing me not to go ever since, even though she was the one who coerced me into applying. 

"Yeah, sure," I replied in the same toneless fashion. My hand on my phone released, and it fell onto my lap. I couldn't help but let out a quiet, bitter laugh that my mum couldn't hear. As if... My mother was not the type to apologize. A silence fell, so I put my Airpods back on. 

"Even when we go through changes."

"Even when we're old."

"You'll miss home," my mum suddenly said, out of the blue. I frowned and took off my AirPods. She rephrased her words, "Don't you think you'll miss home?"

"..." I didn't know how my mum wanted me to respond to that. Moments later, I decided to play it safe, "Thacher did advertise itself to be a second home."

"It's not the same. You know what I'm talking about," my mum responded sharply. Her eyes quickly flickered to the car's rear-view mirror to notice my expression, and I leaned more to the side to hide from her gaze. "I'm talking about this home."

"Yeah," I mumbled back, and my hands began to play uncomfortably with the phone. I knew exactly what she was talking about. The intensity of the silence made me open the window and rest my gaze outside. Her words echoed in my head. 'It's not the same.'

Australia? China? The US? or Sydney? Beijing? Shenzhen? Ojai? Which one was home?

She was right. It wasn't the same. The word 'home' meant something special. I've moved schools seven times across three continents in the past fifteen years of my life, and every time, 'home' was labeled differently. In my limited experience, it's unrealistic and selfish to wish for a stable 'somewhere' or 'someone' that could potentially make me feel safe or make me feel loved forever. I'd go further to say it's impossible, even for my family with whom I'm always most 'at home' because they get angry, they get weak, they get violent, they get irrational, and they get human. At the peak of their emotional distraught, love and safety are luxuries, which is also why I have a tendency for peacefulness and solitude at night. Who doesn't love a little silence when the world is already so loud? I plugged back in my AirPods. 

"Remember that I told you

I'll find my way back home."

Then, what is 'home'? I asked myself. I let my thoughts take off. But, I didn't get my answer that day, nor later that month, not even I repatched my relationship with my mother. The question became a tiny, sharp needle at the back of my head, prickling me once in a while, not enough to hurt but enough for me to wince from time to time. I tried to bury it over and over again, but as one person after the other asked me where home was, like a stubborn little cactus, it survived without my watering. 

2. We're Rich. (Where I'm rich.)

"At the end of the day, it isn't where I came from. Maybe home is somewhere I'm going and never have been before." ― Warsan Shire.

It was the last day of my camping trip at the end of my sophomore year. By then, I was accustomed to boarding school life, had primarily gotten rid of my insomnia, and had a tighter bond with my family. I was sitting on the van's second-row wide awake while everyone else except the driver slept after our five-day camping trip. When we finally reached our van, utterly exhausted, the satisfaction and contentment I felt were unreal. At that moment, sitting in the car, a breeze blowing by, I felt 'at home,' like there was not another place in the world I would rather be. Then a moment of epiphany struck.

My 'home' didn't have to be a place or person. My' home' can have many layers: My culture, my family, my friends, my own confidence, satisfaction, happiness, and even the peaceful solidarity in the dead of night felt like a piece of home. 'Home' is the journey to a place where we are the most content, fulfilled, and whole; the safe feeling of our mother's womb.

Then, why must I surrender what is mine to go home to a foreign land? Greed, perhaps. Ambition, maybe? Humanity, definitely. It seems to be ingrained in my blood that I must fit into the mold of the world I'm in. Why must I bury and bury until I have nothing left inside of me so I can start anew as someone I barely know? Why must I sacrifice so much in the chase for a fragile layer of my' home'?

In this light, 'home' is more like the water than a lighthouse. A little bit of 'home' is everywhere, even when I'm completely alone on an island, and I'll find oasis after oasis if I just keep chasing. Some may take forever to find, and the water in my body will exhaust and turn into fuel, but I must still go on even with loss after loss. Here, water is worth more than gold, the richest substance in the world. If I'm lucky, I might find a river and live the rest of my life off it. If not, I can spend the rest of my life peacefully searching and seeing beautiful landscapes, one after the other. It may be a colder life, a more distant life, but as long as there is a single droplet left of my family, friends, and identities that I value, I am still rich. 

Life is a reverse journey. We just want to find where we started. No matter what our ambition is, to be an astronaut, an athlete, or a writer, we are all aspiring to find 'home' in the process. We all become rich in the process.

I'm 16, and at that age where the world is mine. Naive, youthful, and full of endless possibilities, I am invincible. I don't need pillows to fall back on or a shield to protect me; I need a sword and a destination. I only want to move forwards. My home is out there. 

I looked down and opened my phone. Ding! 523 unread messages. The Majesty, my mother, Dad, my father; Albert, my brother; and five other familiar usernames popped up on my screen. My lips couldn’t help their upward tilt. They were the reason why the chickadee could fly easily against the wind. 

I clicked on The Majesty’s messages, ‘send me your flight number.’ ‘Tell me when you arrive home.’ ‘Are you back from camp?’ A dog emoji. A heartbreak emoji. A bored emoji. I bit on my lips to resist my laughter and replied, ‘just opened my phone, I’ll send you the flight number once I get back to school campus.’ A love emoji. I couldn’t help but feel that my texts seemed a little empty, a little perfunctory so after two seconds of hesitation, I added, ‘I miss home.’ A cheeky face emoji. Satisfied, I closed my phone.

With a smile, I looked outside. On the midsummer day, the sun shone brightly and boldly, its shine scattered amongst the fields, waiting to be found. As the wind swept, the weeds of my desires swayed from side to side as if it was truly free. Unable to be wholly cut nor burnt, they grew so tall that they could almost touch the sky. I saw 'home' in the distance, above the clouds, ready to embrace me. I'm scrambling, stumbling, and braving my way back home. 

Only then, at the end of the day, can I say that I've known home, I've seen home, and I've always been chasing to find a way back home, collecting big and small coins as I went. 

Home is where we are richest.