Traveling Home During Covid

Leaving Hong Kong, the city felt quiet but tense, like the world had shrunk behind masks and closed borders. I boarded the flight to Hangzhou with my suitcase full but my heart even fuller, counting the many months since I’d last hugged my parents or sat around a table filled with the taste of home. The journey stretched on — temperature checks, health codes, endless paperwork, and then, the long days of quarantine. Alone in a hotel room, I stared out the window thinking of the village streets I used to run through as a child. Each passing day brought me closer to home..

When I was finally released, arriving back in Anhui felt both familiar and surreal. The cool winter air, the quiet countryside, and the smell of home-cooked food in the distance instantly brought back memories. As I walked through the gate and saw my parents waiting, a wave of relief and happiness hit me. We hadn’t seen each other in so long, and the past months of isolation and uncertainty suddenly felt worth it. There were no big words — just smiles, a few tears, and the simple comfort of being together again.

Back at home, things were just as I remembered — but also different, because this time, I noticed every detail more sharply. The sound of my father’s slippers against the old tiled floor. The crackle of a wood-burning stove. The way my mother quietly placed my favorite dishes on the table without saying a word. Home was never just a place — it was a feeling I had been longing for. And finally, I was back in it.