It’s 1 a.m. here in Bangkok and my room is so quiet I swear I can hear the fan spinning, all tired and slow. I’m missing Mom in that exact way — like when you think of ghormeh sabzi simmering and the sound of Farsi floating from the kitchen. But also, weirdly, I’m really grateful for this life I’m building here. One coffee, one yes, one long day at a time. Belonging isn’t always fireworks. Sometimes it’s just the dog curled up on your shin, the work waiting on your desk, and the quiet knowing you can carry homesickness without it breaking you.

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