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I’ve never cried for home. For leaving home to be exact. If anything, leaving home always meant a certain freedom gained and a sense of duties fulfilled. Home for the last few years has been difficult to say the least. A constant juggling of fulfilling parental expectations (remarried parents means double the expectations) and a continual reminder of how broken home actually is. A continual having to put my “important” life on hold while having to attend to all the random things there is to do at home.  A certain unbearable discomfort as home becomes less and less like home and I feel more like a stranger to my nativeland. And yet last night as I left my dad’s house after a short 4 days, I felt a tinge of sadness in my heart.

Before I left, my dad gave me one of those side hugs. You know those awkward ones that Asian fathers like to give, and said something to the extent of “drive safely” (Asian father talk for “I love you”). My dad is probably one of the kindest and most generous men I know. I rarely have seen him raise his voice, and I daily watch him Read the rest of this entry →