I’m Now A Stranger To My Family
Moving away from home has a way of changing people.
It had been a long time — almost two years.
I’d visited with my aunt and uncle and other relatives for every Christmas since I could remember. They were participants in the warmest memories of my life.
And it had been almost two years since I saw them last.
I had moved out of the country, out of a necessity to save money and pay down student debt that wouldn’t go away, despite fifteen years of on-time payments.
It was a move I assumed everyone close to me would understand. Take out the new country name and erase the border lines and it was just me going somewhere that allowed me to reduce my spending and put the excess towards those loans.
In my mind, it was both simple and clear. Forget passports and plane rides. You move somewhere for a better opportunity.
The front door opened and my aunt and uncle welcomed my mother and me into their home. My aunt offered a hug, and my uncle a handshake. They chatted with my mom as shoes were removed and jackets were hung.
“Pizza will be here shortly,” we were told while taking seats in the connected living room. We sat in silence for an awkward beat, before my aunt spoke.
