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I loved flying. From playground swings, pretend magic carpet rides, and rollercoasters that make you puke out all the colors of the rainbow, I loved the feeling of having the world beneath my feet as the wind brushed through my hair.

 

I was ecstatic on my first plane ride. Being the stubborn six-year-old that I was, I insisted on sitting on the window seat. I dreamt of seeing people as tiny ants and houses so small they could be picked up by my chubby fingers. To pass the time, my sisters and I competed to see who would finish word search puzzles faster. We added our twists to make the challenge more interesting. Some puzzles were done upside down, some were done by using our left hand, and some were done with our eyes squinted. It was the most fun I had in the entire year. As I got older, we went on more trips. We flew to Spain to eat their churros, to the States to see the big Hollywood sign, to Dubai to shop till we dropped, and so many more. These family trips would always be the highlight of my year. I would want nothing more than to hop on a plane to see the world with the people I love. 

 

All this started to change once the pandemic hit. Living in Manila became a death wish. My parents then decided to move our family to China in hopes of a safer life. So we did. I packed my entire life into one big navy blue suitcase that included some books, clothes, and memorabilia. That was it. I couldn’t fit in my friends, my room, or my old life. I left it all behind. I got this strange feeling as I stepped foot on the plane. Like I won’t only miss the place I am in at this time but because I’ll never be the same person again. This was the first flight I wasn’t exactly happy to go on. It was probably the most dreadful one of all. Once we arrived, everyone spoke in a foreign language that felt strange to me. The air was cold and it smelled like Chinese medicine, the bitter ones my mom would force me to take when I was sick. The place looked like it came out of a black-and-white movie, the ones our grandparents would watch. 

 

Two years later, I started school in China. My dad and my siblings went back to the Philippines for work. I chose to stay here with my mom to chase a brighter future with a better education. It was hard adjusting to the new culture, language, and curriculum. I somehow always managed to mess up or make someone irritated with my broken Chinese. The people here were impatient and I grew terrified to even speak at all. Eventually, I found my crew and things got a lot easier. I adapted to how things worked here. But I still did not fit in. I was that puzzle piece that did not fit in with the picture. 

 

I thought this feeling would disappear once I had the chance to finally go back to Manila and visit my family over break. I was sure that I would instantly feel at home as I stepped foot into the hot sun-bathed lands. But coming back made me realize everything I missed out on. There were new inside jokes between my siblings that I did not understand. I missed out on countless birthday parties. I wasn’t able to graduate from middle school with my friends. I lost out on irreplaceable memories that could have lasted a lifetime. I could barely speak the language here. Thinking about it again, I don’t think my home changed that much, it was me. 

 

Being a first-generation immigrant is hard. Going back to a country you’re supposed to call ‘home’ is even harder. But, going back to a place you once called home to see that everything had changed seems impossible. You are constantly in a guessing game wondering if you’re supposed to call it home. When someone asks me where I’m from, it’s always a challenge and a long story ahead. Usually, I say I’m from China, it’s the easiest and shortest answer. In reality, I don’t even know where I’m from. I live in two worlds, one where my ancestors lay and one where my roots stay. But I belonged to none of it. I guess the closest I’ll ever belong to is the plane that bridges these worlds together. My place is on the plane, looking out of the minuscule window forever wondering, when will I ever find home