Belonging Everywhere and Nowhere, All at Once

Written amid a period of widespread uncertainty for international students, this piece reflects on identity, distance, and the search for home.

i saw a post once that said international students are immune to pain.

maybe it’s true.

we’ve built up shields of armor

from every time we hug our family goodbye, knowing it’ll be the last time for months.

from that pit-in-your-stomach feeling of being alone again — in a new city, country, or continent.

sometimes, it hits hardest during the quiet moments.

like watching your little sisters grow up through a screen.

missing her fifth-grade art exhibition.

hearing about her first heartbreak secondhand.

knowing you should’ve been there to bake her birthday cake, not just send a voice memo at midnight.

from every hour spent decoding paperwork and customs forms, because we don’t want to burden our parents, who are already worried sick from 8000+ miles away.

just when we start tasting the “princess treatment”

cradled by our mom’s cooking,

greeted by aunties down the street,

getting teary in our childhood movie theatre

the weeks are over, and it’s time to pack.

all over again.

“don’t worry,” we say on the phone, juggling two suitcases, a backpack, and the duffel bag we somehow bamboozled emirates airlines into accepting.

“i’ve got it all figured out.”

you don’t want them to know that their pampered princess (宝贝女儿) — who once didn’t even know how to use a dishwasher —

is now in the trenches.

you know your overprotective dad would book a flight the second he heard your voice shake.

you don’t want to worry anyone.

and so you hang up, take a breath,

and let the silence sink in.

i’m actually alone now.

it’s a heavy truth—but it’s quickly swallowed by the overstimulation of a new city,

new people to meet,

new things to learn.

the international student experience is weirdly in-between.

we grew up with western pop culture drilled into our heads,

but live in a completely different environment

at home, we were “whitewashed.”

but in the U.S.? we’re still not… American.

even with my perfect English and obsession with Love Island,

there was still a voice in the back of my head whispering:

“you’re different.”

and not because of an accent or a language barrier,

but because of the little, daily things

the micro-moments

that highlight dissonance

it’s trying to relate to childhood TV show conversations,

but hearing, “oh, we didn’t watch that here.”

it’s applying for internships and clicking “yes, I’ll need sponsorship in the future,”

knowing deep down: i’m so cooked.

it’s planning a weekend trip with your friends —

and realizing you need a three-month heads-up to check paperwork,

visit the embassy,

pray for a visa appointment in time,

before you can even start scrolling Shein for the perfect bikini (they’re cheap — don’t cancel me).

all while your American friends are blissfully unaware:

“Wait, what even happens during a visa interview?”

must be nice (i’m fighting for my life)

it’s already being in London

before realizing you needed a Schengen visa on top of your UK visa,

meaning your girls’ trip to Paris, Athens, and Rome?

gone. out the window. (clearly, this one’s personal)

the worst part? it was your responsibility.

and still wishing someone could have been there for you.

i was born in China, grew up in Vietnam, lived in LA, and studied in London.

and with every place came a new wave of impostor syndrome.

the dreaded question: “so… where’s home to you?”

….where is home?

it’s not China (i left when i was 7).

not Vietnam (i never fully grasped the language).

not LA (where the media constantly reminds me that i don’t belong).

i’ve never had a clear, geographic sense of home.

i always felt like too much or not enough for the places i lived in.

too privileged to complain,

yet navigating identity confusion, paperwork panic,

and the quiet, returning ache of never fully belonging:

not in the language, the inside jokes, the slang —

or the unspoken rhythms

where people just get each other, without ever needing to explain.

but i’ve learned:

sometimes, people feel more like home than places ever could

american friends who showed me their favorite childhood shows (i still need to lock in and finish friends).

vietnamese friends who took me cafe-hopping across saigon (egg coffee supremacy).

london friends who introduced me to my first proper sunday roast (yorkshire puddings are my new obsession).

chinese friends who explained trending rednote slang (that i definitely cannot repeat to my parents).

i don’t think i’ll ever have just one city or country that fully feels like home.

….but maybe that’s okay.

maybe it’s beautiful to have little homes scattered across the world,

places and people who i return to, and have shaped who i am.

so if no one’s said it yet:

to all my fellow international students,

or anyone

quietly carrying the weight of being on your own, in a place far from home,

or struggling to answer where “home” even is

it may feel lonely at times,

but there are people all over the world, silently rooting for you

and even if not,

i see you

and i’m so proud of you.

c: @astrajellies on pinterest