The Resilient Dollar

A Long-Awaited Reunion

I haven’t posted much in the last two weeks—and for a very good reason. For the first time in the eight years I’ve lived in the U.S., one of my family members was finally able to visit me—my little brother.

The three of us—my mom, my brother, and I—now live in three different countries. My mom is in Vietnam. My brother lives in Germany. And I’m here in the U.S. He’s dating a German. I’m married to my American husband. Somehow, in the most unexpected way, we’ve become a global family.

The idea of an international/global family sounds glamorous—full of cultural richness, career opportunities, inclusivity, global experiences, travel… All the shiny things you see on the surface.

The goodbyes

But what no one really talks about is the silent, aching cost of it: the goodbyes. The heartbreak of parting. The way the airport becomes not just a gateway to adventure, but a place where your heart quietly breaks.

For most of my life, I’ve always been the one arriving. I’ve been the daughter or the sister stepping into someone’s waiting arms, overwhelmed by the joy of reunion. The airport, to me, was a place of smiles, of hugs, of people I love finally becoming real and close again—not faces on a screen.

I remember how my brother, once a boy in my memory, now stood tall and warm beside me. How my mom, a little smaller and thinner than I recalled, still gave the same comforting embrace.

And when I was the one leaving, I never really noticed how painful it might’ve been for the ones staying behind. The distractions of customs, security, baggage—everything kept me moving forward.

But this time was different. This time, I was the one who waited.

I stood at the airport for hours just to see my brother walk through those sliding doors. And when he did, I shouted his name. We laughed. We hugged. For a moment, the airport felt like magic.

And then, just like that, it was time to say goodbye.

My husband and I drove him to the airport. I hugged him tightly. I tried to stay strong, to not cry in front of him, to pretend I was okay—because adulthood sometimes makes you lie to yourself.

But I wasn’t okay. Not at all. I cried like a child the whole ride home.

I miss my brother. I miss my mom. I miss the old days—when family dinners didn’t require international flights and visas and time zones. I miss the time before adulthood, when being together was simple and constant.

So today, I just want to say this: if you are near your loved ones, hold them tighter. Share more meals. Take more walks together. Laugh a little louder. Because distance changes everything—and even though technology connects us, nothing replaces presence.

And if you, like me, have a global family—know that it’s okay to feel the ache. The love that stretches across oceans is still real. It’s deep. And even in the goodbyes, it reminds us that our hearts are still very much connected—no matter how far apart we are.

Until next time!