The screen always turns on during dinner when I can’t slip into my familiar room and the smell of good food covers up the urge for mama to buy the next ticket home. I am forced to watch different faces I used to know with his prominent baldness, her deep smile lines, and always a pair of dark eyes reminiscent of mine, slowly become old and repeat that I should come home. Out of habit I always smile, nod, then reassure, Soon. They will forever see my crying face at the airport, with braided pigtails, and an unwillingness to move. But they don’t remember hands waving goodbye, my too tired mama reaching out to grab my hand, and my older sister by her side, scared and confused. They couldn’t have seen blurry faces letting me go turning into an orange sunset above the clouds, into the warmth of mama’s lap, into waking up in New York City with colorful people moving at every pace and infinitely tall buildings. Lost through the screen is me, here, at home. Doris Chen '19 (BHSEC Queens)
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