A month and four days is what it took for me to lose my grip and cry on a phone call with Baa. I was here on this side with a nasally, blocked voice, blowing my nose and Baa was there showing me the marigold garland that he made and put up outside my room today. It didn’t even take me a second to start crying.

I have held the duty of making garlands at home for years. I love the whole process of watching flowers that my dad plants and my mother tends to each year bloom and glow under the warm winter sun. I have watched dew settle in on hundreds of petals at the crack of dawn. Then in Tihar, I get to select and pluck the flowers and group them together to make garlands that, I feel, stretch for miles. Tihar at home is unmatchable. The smell in the air, the colors, the lights, the food, the beauty of it all - is unparalleled to anything else.

My mother was on the phone earlier and she said “You could have stayed home and studied here, why did you go this far away?” My dad chuckled and told me mother has been complaining for a while now that he let me go this far away on my own. The funny bit is - when I was at home, my dad was the one who sat me down and laid out options for me to choose other than coming here to the UK for school. My dad told me about all the possibilities back home - of course with a dash of emotional tug telling me how he would be alone here if his daughter went away. While he did all that, my mother was the one who said I should go, that I would be home again later anyways and that I should definitely go, be good and study well. Maybe my parents are taking turns to feel this way. Maybe this is what parents do. Act brave and put up a show.

Since the last month, I have cried after every phone call with anyone back at home. Never during the call but as soon as I hang up, I realize I am here in this room with a huge window and scattered pieces of home but not in my valley of love, my dear Kathmandu. I realize that I am the one who is distant now. And I can’t help my tears. On the phone with my parents, I share silly shenanigans and show them all of my meals, tell them not to worry and that I am doing just fine. I will wave at my tiny screen, take time to read the pixels and see their faces to check for signs of relief and then a second after I hang up, the water works began. Maybe this is what children do. Act brave and put up a show.

“My parents aren’t heroes. They’re just like me.” - Sasha Sloan

I think it was inevitable that I would one day snap and cry on the phone with my parents. One can only act brave for so long, after all. But here in this lifetime, we’ve learnt to fake it till we make it so that is what I will do again.