August 2026
Are you okay?’ A softness of kind mumsiness enters my space. I had wondered how I’d react when the plane took off, whether I’d feel elated, or tearful, or numb. Sitting in seat 8C, all three emotions seemed to have joined hands in some peculiar ritualistic circle, not quite singing ‘kumbaya’, but acknowledging that each had an equal right to exist in non-contradiction in the space that was me, on 18th July, 2026.
‘Yes, I’m happy’, I sobbed, ‘we’re moving back to Taiwan’.
Tears have circularity, it seems.
In September 2022 I stood, in a no-man’s-land of grief and resistance, unable to make myself take those defining steps from the end of airport security towards passport control. Tears poured. Sobs made me a spectacle, as my husband spoke gentle words. I heard his voice: ‘she doesn’t want to leave’.
‘It’s okay’, said a female voice, belonging to the immigration officer. ‘She can come back’.
So four years later, almost to the day, we did.