I was born in Taiwan. At 15, my parents sent two younger siblings and me to the U.S. while they stayed in Asia to take advantage of the booming economy. To them, an American education equaled a secure future. Since the 80s, families from Taiwan, Hong Kong, Korea, and China have sent their kids abroad unaccompanied to escape military service, grueling educational systems, and political instability for a better life.

Our first years were chaotic. We lived with my uncle, but soon he moved us out on our own: three teens without adults. My mother planned to live with us part-time but grew ill after one visit and passed away two years later. We lived unaccompanied as my brother, and I grappled with our queer identities. As our lives continued in the US, my father remarried in Taiwan. My brother struggled with schizophrenia, which may have been brought on by his experience. Our regrets remain unresolved, even though we know that everything was done with good intentions. After 30 years in the US, a pandemic brings me back to Taiwan. As I reconnect with family and other adult parachute kids, I may finally be able to make sense of this event that has defined my life and this place I once again call home.