I used to think studying abroad would feel cinematic. For years, I imagined what leaving India to study in California would be like: sun-drenched campuses, instant friendships, independence, and the kind of coming-of-age college experience movies promise you. It was a childhood dream. I worked toward it for so long that by the time I finally arrived, I expected to feel proud, brave, maybe even transformed. Instead, I felt quiet.
Not peaceful quiet; the kind of quiet where your phone doesn’t ring because everyone you love is asleep on the other side of the world. The kind where dinner is eaten alone at 9 p.m., and you realize you can’t casually ask your mom what she’s making or sit next to your dad while he watches TV. I had wanted independence so badly, but no one tells you independence and loneliness can feel almost identical at first. I missed ordinary things. Background conversations. My parents arguing about directions in the car. Someone reminding me to eat. Someone noticing when I was having a bad day without me having to explain it.
I didn’t tell them how hard it was right away. Like most international students, I thought I was supposed to be grateful all the time. This was my dream, after all, how could I admit that sometimes it didn’t feel like one? But parents know, mine especially. Last year, they decided we would meet for spring break, not in India, not in California, but in London. It was halfway between us, literally and emotionally. A place none of us had been together. London had always been on my bucket list, and they made it happen without making a big speech about why. They didn’t say, we know you’re struggling. They just showed up.
The moment I saw them at the airport, something in me finally exhaled. It’s strange how quickly you return to being someone’s child. I hadn’t realized how much energy I spent being “okay” in California until I didn’t have to anymore. I didn’t have to explain myself. I didn’t have to perform independence. I could just exist. We did everything. We went to the top of The Shard, and I remember looking out over the city, the Thames winding through it, tiny red buses moving below and thinking that the view was incredible, but the real reason I was happy was because my parents were standing next to me. We walked through Borough Market sampling food like tourists who had nowhere to be. We tried restaurants I had saved on TikTok for months. My parents paid for everything, the same way they always have my entire life.
We wandered through Covent Garden with no real plan. We shopped in Soho longer than my dad probably wanted to but never admitted. We even took a day trip to Cambridge. It was quiet and storybook-like. We crossed Tower Bridge at sunset, the sky turning gold behind the skyline, and for the first time since moving abroad, I didn’t feel like I was missing something back home because home was right there with me. I remember walking across Hyde Park thinking about how my parents had always given me opportunities they never had growing up. They’ve always made my dreams feel possible before I even believed they were.
Studying abroad may have been my dream, but they were the reason I was able to chase it. College culture tells you spring break is supposed to look a certain way: beach trips, big groups, matching outfits, and crowded itineraries with friends. And sometimes I feel a little awkward explaining that mine looks like museum walks, long dinners, and arguing over what to order with my parents. It isn’t the “typical” experience. But it’s my favorite one. Somewhere between jet lag and late-night conversations in a hotel room, a tradition started. We realized this was our time. A guaranteed week every year when the distance didn’t feel so heavy. A reminder that even though I chose to live 8,000 miles away, I didn’t choose to grow apart from them.
And this year, we’re doing it again except now the middle of the world is Japan. We’ve already started sending each other reels and articles: my mom wants to see cherry blossoms, my dad has a running list of food he wants to try, and I’ve been saving neighborhoods to wander through the same way I did with London. I don’t even know exactly what we’ll end up doing yet, but I know how it will feel. I’ll see them at the arrivals gate, and the distance of the entire year will collapse into a hug.
I used to think choosing family meant missing out on something. Now I understand it’s actually the opposite. Spring break with my parents isn’t a backup plan to a more exciting trip. It’s the one week a year where I feel fully grounded, not split between two countries, two time zones, and two versions of myself. In California, I’m learning to be independent. With them, I’m allowed to still be taken care of. And maybe that’s what growing up actually is; not replacing your family with a new life, but expanding your life without losing them. Different city every year. Same feeling every time. It might not be the “ideal” spring break people picture in college, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.
