Sometimes I wondered what the point of all of this was for my parents. Leaving their home to go to a foreign country where they were constantly playing catch-up. Where every choice, every moment lived, was an investment in their children. An investment that I was sure I would never pay off for them.
“Ouch!” I heard Rachel screech. “I’m getting eaten alive by mosquitoes!”
My head snapped up. Mosquitoes were my sworn enemy. One bite kept me swollen and itchy for days. One by one, everyone in the pond starting screeching and swatting at themselves. I felt it, too, then. A sting on my forearm. Then on my forehead. On my neck.
We left the pond screaming and slapping our skin.
* * *
My parents wouldn’t let me sleep in the car that night.
I tossed and turned between the edge of the tent and my mom. My face grazed the nylon. God damn it. I reached above my head for the netted pocket, feeling around for my phone.
It was only 10:00 p.m.
There was absolutely nothing to do at night when you camp but sleep. I was in for a long night.
I had a single bar of cell phone service. With the patience of a monk, I waited as Instagram loaded. Had anyone commented on my photo of last night’s sunset? I had managed to document this camping trip in the most interesting way I could. Cali does sunsets right.
My story feed was full of images from the London crew. Boomerangs of frosty beer glasses clinking each other. The city lights diffused by fog and rain. Videos that were indecipherable with everyone’s laughter distorting the audio.
I watched them late into the night.
* * *
The next day started off with a hike. It was a million degrees already despite it being fairly early. I covered my head with a lightweight jacket to shield my scalp from the relentless sun.
One of my aunts walked beside me, pumping her arms enthusiastically. Depressing that my middle-aged aunt was in better shape than me. She nudged me. “Did you have fun in London, Nari?”
I nodded, my feet picking up to match her pace. “Yeah, it was really fun.” Fun didn’t begin to explain it. When I had met up with my friends in LA, there weren’t enough words to describe my time there. But with my family, I just couldn’t get them out. I wasn’t able to be myself with them, lately.
“It better have been more than fun,” my mom muttered as she walked up to us. “It cost a fortune.”
Guilt seeped through me. Slow and sludgy. While the travel and lodging had been covered by the scholarship, my parents had paid for the extra month that I stayed there. They had even given me some money to travel a bit.
It’s not that I didn’t feel gratitude. I just didn’t like how I was supposed to be performative of this gratitude. Resentment now filled the spaces where I had only felt thankful and content.
There was just so much bullshit wrapped up in being a good immigrant kid.
So I set my jaw stubbornly and shrugged. “Not everything is measured by money, Mom.”
That made everyone laugh, but my mom flashed me a warning look. “Don’t talk back.”
Normally that would have me biting my tongue, not wanting to deal with Mom wrath. But it was hot. And I was irritated. And I hated this camping trip.
“Don’t be annoying, then.” A hush came over everyone walking near us. A heat that had nothing to do with the temperature flooded my face.
“What?” Mom’s voice was basically death.
I walked faster but my mom kept up with me. “I’m so sick of this trip.”
“We never should have sent you to London!” my mom shouted. “Ever since you’ve been back, you’ve been acting like a little ingrate! Do you think you’re better than your family?!”
Family members were bolting as far as they could from us. I turned around, then. “Yeah, I do! I can’t wait to just leave.” Before I sprinted off the trail, I got one last look at my mom’s face. The disappointment sucked all the air out of my lungs.
* * *
My feet crunched through leaves. Somehow, I’d ended up alone in a wooded area. We had climbed in altitude and it was cooler here. The sun was setting and the bugs were coming out. Shit. I wished my exposed limbs could shrink into my body.
It was fine. I was fine. I wasn’t a little kid. I would find the trail again.
Um...what was it that Bear Grylls always did? Look for a water source? Where there was water there was a trail? And then a trail led to a road. Which led to civilization. Right.
I stood stock-still, hoping to hear water. But why would there be water when we’d been hauling ass on these horrible switchbacks for hours? We had been walking straight up a mountain. But I was in the woods. There was water in the woods, right?
Suddenly all my knowledge about planet Earth disappeared from my brain. What even were mountains? Why were woods? Oh God, I was going to die on a camping trip with my dumb family.
I had stormed off so long ago that I had no idea when I’d stopped hearing their voices. The chatter that had made me shove AirPods in my ears had been replaced by ominous forest noises. Crunching leaves. An owl hoot. Owls were freaky, okay?
It was so late that I couldn’t see where the sun was setting in the sky, which would have oriented me. The sun set in the west, right?
Who cares if you know where west is? It’s not like you looked at a freaking map before hitting this trail. Get your head together!
I took a deep breath and tried to retrace my steps. But here’s the thing about trees: THEY ALL LOOK ALIKE. For about five minutes I tried to memorize the distinct quality of certain trees until I realized that distinguishing them now was absolutely worthless.
When the air was metallic with cold and my eyes strained to see in the dark, I started to cry. Crap. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like someone who was ready to leave home and start college.
I felt like a lost little kid.
Completely alone. Without the cocoon that was always there—suffocating, yes, but warm, too. Protective. I sat down on a felled oak tree and rubbed my arms for warmth, tears stinging my eyes. I feared death by bear, but mostly I feared the loneliness.
Who knew if it was seconds or minutes or hours that ticked by—but suddenly I heard a voice and saw a beam of light. A flashlight.
I stood up and started yelling. “HERE! I’m here!”
The voices grew closer, the lights brighter, and then suddenly I was surrounded by rangers and my family. Relief seared through me and I let my mom hug me, hard and fierce.
“You almost killed me,” she said, her voice high-pitched and furious.
My face was crushed into her shoulder. “I know. Sorry.” And I think she knew what I meant. That was the thing with my family. We didn’t talk about our feelings because, sometimes, it was completely unnecessary. Our emotions were plugged into each other, for better or worse.