Sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision to stay home for college. Honestly, I kind of regret it sometimes. I chose to stay because I wanted to be there for my parents. Coming from an immigrant family, I felt this responsibility, like my presence might make things easier for them, like I owed them that much after everything they had sacrificed.
At first, it felt like the right choice. My parents were happy I stayed, and there was a kind of comfort in being home. It felt easier in a way. I got to stay in my room, sleep in my bed, have my own routine, and just be the old me. I also liked being around if they needed help with something, like paperwork or errands, or even just to sit and talk. It felt like I was doing the right thing, for them and myself.
Over time, things started to feel different. Staying close meant I was there for everything. Not just the warm family dinners or quick chats in the kitchen, but also the tension, the arguments, the quiet disappointments. I don’t know exactly when it shifted, but once college started and I settled into my routine, I began noticing things I hadn’t before. The closer I stayed, the more clearly I saw them. Not just as my parents, but as people. I started seeing the cracks in how they speak, how they handle stress, how they show love, and how they fail every day.
The more I see, the more I want to run. Not because I don’t love them, but because I know them too well.
Sometimes, I regret that I’m not growing the way others are. My friends who live on campus talk about doing their laundry at midnight, cooking instant noodles together, and pulling all-nighters in the library. They tell stories about navigating awkward roommate situations, learning how to budget, arguing with friends, and fixing it on their own. They’re learning how to be adults.
I, on the other hand, come home to food that’s already made. I don’t worry about whether the laundry machine is available or if the communal bathroom is clean. I’m still someone’s child in this house, not quite my own person. And when I fight with a friend, I don’t go knock on their door two floors down and talk it out at 2 a.m. I just sit with it. Alone.
There are times I want to tell my friends I made this choice for a reason. I stayed to help my parents, to be present, to save money. But still, I feel like I’m not becoming the version of myself I thought I’d be by now. I want to say all of this out loud, but I don’t.
Instead, I nod along when they talk about dorm drama and late-night adventures, even though I can’t relate. I laugh when they joke about bad dining hall food while I’m washing dishes at home. I say I’m doing great, even when I’m not sure what I’m doing at all. It’s easier that way. Less explaining. Less chance they’ll look at me with that mix of pity and confusion, like I’ve missed out on something I’m supposed to want.
And maybe I have. But I’ve also gained something they haven’t.
I’ve learned how to be there for people, even when it’s hard. I’ve learned how to show up every day—not just when I feel like it, but because someone depends on me. I’ve learned how to be still. How to be grounded when everything feels uncertain. Living at home hasn’t just kept me close to my family, it’s brought me closer to myself. I’ve noticed how my mom sighs differently when she’s tired versus when she’s disappointed. I’ve memorized the quiet routines that make this house function, the invisible labor that held my childhood together. I’ve gained the kind of strength that doesn’t announce itself. The kind that comes from choosing the hard thing, over and over, without anyone clapping for you. The kind that builds slowly, through early mornings, through uncomfortable silence, through the ache of watching life happen elsewhere.
It’s not loud. It’s not charming. But it’s mine. And one day, I think I’ll look back and realize this was a version of becoming, too. Just not the one I expected.
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By Marzia Seemat
Marzia Seemat is a sophomore at NYU studying civil engineering and creative writing. She loves being close to nature, especially at the beach. Her favorite things include good food, morning tea, hour-long movies, and spending time with the people she loves.
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