“Please, please come home.”

As the Delta variant grew, so did my mom's worry. She could not sleep, stressing over me in Seattle. And so she texted, begging.

“Come home now. You can do whatever you want at home. Please, please come home.”

When I did not respond immediately, she called, texted and called until my throat ran sore.

I did not want to go. I remembered having to wait a week to open packages. I remembered a yelling match over eating a stem of basil unwashed. I remembered a fork doused in boiling water till the plastic melted away from the rest of the handle.

I remembered my sister screaming at my parents. I remember my dad screaming at his parents. I remember my parents screaming at each other. It happened so much my mom started pestering me about my chronically wearing headphones.

Over a year in that space, I kept telling myself I would get out. I would travel the country guided only by my will. And now I felt indignant at the prospect of being dragged back in.

No.

NO!

No.

I had my own money, my own job. I could do what I wanted now, having spent over a year fulfilling whatever filial piety, whatever blood duty, I owed. If my parents didn't trust me, I would trust myself.

I felt enough rage to consider blocking my parents, until my Aunt called. My Aunt, not related by blood, who convinced my mom to have a second child (me), and loved me like her own son. My Aunt, whose husband died a few years ago. I could not express anger to her, especially over family matters. Somehow, she worked her magic, and extinguished our brief, fiery argument.

“In a Chinese saying, our little bird has grown wings strong enough to leave the nest and see the world.”

The grace shook me. Only hours before, statistics about the Delta variant I did not care to hear, and now, my mom spoke words of beauty.

Have you seen Lady Bird? Christine, from Sacramento, wants to become Lady Bird, from San Francisco, cool and worldly. Against her mother's wishes, she applies to college in New York, and when her mother finds out, they stop talking to each other. The film ends when after moving to New York, Christine calls her mom:

When I first watched it, I felt only vague emotion. However, when my mother's words flowed through me, I watched the final scene again, and I finally understood. I understood how bittersweet my mom felt when I was finally leaving, and the desperation to have me back a little longer. I understood the fear for important people outside your reach. I understood the homesickness, realizing that for the first time I was actually permanently moving out. I cried.

I cried, and called my mom. I told her “I love you,” and I cried even more.