Dear Lucky,
I know you are so nervous and worried about what is ahead. I know you have a lot of questions, doubts, and uncertainties. I wish I could give you a hug, long enough to cheer you up and encourage you to always believe in your bright future.
You are about to leave behind everything familiar. You will experience lonely and isolating feelings that you have never felt before. However, this journey will be the beginning of the softest, hardest, and most defining chapter of your life.
Trust me and be ready. You will love it!Best,
Your future self
April 22nd, 2022
I still remember the day my family left Huế. It was April 22nd — a date that now lives in my memory like a bookmark in time.
The goodbyes began at our house — or more truthfully, our home. Family, friends, even our neighbors who couldn’t make it to the airport all gathered in our front yard. There were hugs, laughter, well wishes, and tears that shimmered with emotion. For a moment, everything felt still — like we were all holding onto something sacred before it had to change.
That morning reminded me of how deeply connected we are in a small town like Huế. It was a kind of warmth I’ve only ever felt there. I watched as my mom and my grandma embraced each other tightly, their tears falling quietly. That’s when it truly hit me: we were leaving. Not just for a trip, but for something much bigger. The flight took off, and just like that, home began to fade into the clouds.
The Flight
The plane was silent, but my thoughts weren’t.
I don’t even know how many questions ran through my mind as we crossed the Pacific. I thought about the life I was leaving, the one I was stepping into, and all the space in between. I was excited, but more than anything, I was nervous. Nervous for my family, for myself, for a future I couldn’t see yet.
What if I couldn’t integrate?
What if I couldn’t make friends?
What if I wasn’t ready?
I didn’t have answers.
First Night in America
We landed in Los Angeles around 7 PM. The sky had dimmed, but the city pulsed with energy. I saw headlights, neon signs, and people moving fast like they had somewhere important to be. My aunt and uncle picked us up at the airport, and soon we were on the road heading to Bakersfield, where we’d begin our new chapter.
I stared out the car window the whole ride. Everything felt unfamiliar: the architecture, the highway lights, the way the streets seemed to stretch endlessly. It didn’t feel real yet.
I kept turning to my mom, asking, “I can’t believe we’re in America now.”
Even then, even now, it’s still a question. I was there, but part of me hadn’t arrived yet. I was still wondering what my future would look like, how I would find my place here, and if this version of home would ever feel like mine. And from where I stand today, I want to tell this younger version of me that that’s okay. Some stories take time to unfold.