A Letter to Home from Home, Thousands of Miles Away

by Nelson

Dear Ma and Ba,

“I miss home” is the least I can say about how I feel today. It’s strange how “home” has evolved so many times for me over the past few weeks. I thought I understood what it really meant when I left home in Quincy and arrived at the Tufts University campus to start my Civic Semester Orientation or even that morning when our cohort moved out of the Doodle House and transitioned into our homestays––which, I have to say, was quite emotional after having to say goodbye to the owner of the เจ๊นา อาหารตามสั่ง restaurant who cooked the most delicious pad see ew I’ve ever had. But after living in Chiang Mai for the past six weeks, sharing a space with 13 other (wonderful) people, and being part of the everyday life in the Huai Lan community these past few days, I’ve come to realize that home is much more than just a place––it’s the people, the small gestures of kindness, and moments of care that make home feel so much like home.

Living in the Huai Lan community these past few days feels complicated, especially having to adjust to a pace of life that is slower but fuller while, at the same time, quieter yet filled with the hums of familiar connections. But, in a way, it still feels so much like home. Ma and Ba, you might be wondering, “How are you doing with the language?” Well, to be completely honest with you, I’ve been stumbling my way through learning Thai (something I definitely have not been productive with), and though my vocabulary is still embarrassingly small, Meeh WanDi, my lovely host mom, has been extremely patient with me. I’ll probably never forget that night when my host family celebrated Pho Wanlip’s (my amazing host dad’s) 70th birthday, and I had to rely on a mixture of hand gestures and the few words I knew to navigate our small conversations around our dinner table.

That’s right, our dinner table. It’s strange to say, but somehow, our dinner table has become one of the most comforting places for me here in my homestay. The past few nights, we gathered around it, sharing food, laughter, and stories. Even when I can’t fully understand the words, I somehow understand the feelings behind them. Because here in Meeh WanDi and Pho Wanlip’s house, I’ve come to realize that small moments of care like these can speak louder volumes than words can ever do.

I’ve also been thinking a lot about our dinners back in Quincy and how it’s not so different here in the Huai Lan community––the evenings when you, Ba, would call me from my room when I was in the middle of watching my Netflix show to help chop some Chinese cabbages for our weekly family meals. Funny enough, how it’s so similar to my first evening here when Meeh WanDi knocked on my door, interrupting me as I worked on my history project, to ask me to help her cook dinner. The rhythm of life here feels so much like an echo from home. Just like how, Ma, you’d wake me up on the weekend mornings, urging me to set the table for breakfast, Meeh WanDi does the same––though here it’s 6:30 a.m., and instead of the table, I’m biking up the reservoir to help Meeh Wan Na (Liam’s host mom) pick mushrooms for lunch and dinner. It’s funny how small moments like these, no matter where I am, keep reminding me of home.

It might be strange to say that, in a completely new country 7,000 miles away from you all, where I’m speaking a different language that’s still so unfamiliar to me, it still somehow feels like home. And yet, at the same time, it feels exactly right. Somehow, in the midst of all this newness, everything feels right––like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Maybe it’s the warmth of the people or even the small, everyday routines that mirror my life back at home or just the small acts of kindness that I’ve been met with at every turn. It made me realize that the feeling of home is less about the place and more about the connections we build. Because at the end of the day, you don’t need to know the entire Thai language to find your way around here in Huai Lan. A few simple phrases are all it takes––like “sa-wat-dee khrap”, “khop khun khrap”, and, my absolute favorite phrase I say after every one of Meeh WanDi’s delicious meals, “A-roi mak mak!”

It’s these small moments of connection that remind me that even so far from home, I’ve found a second one here.

From your son, who misses you every day,
Nelson Chen

Originally posted here.