My dad asks me, How was your flight from Chicago to Kathmandu? And I correct him, from pounds to kg’s, miles to kilometers, from Fahrenheit to Celsius, not from Chicago to Kathmandu. From “Neephal” to Nepal, from “Myaansi” to Mansi. This time it was not like noticing the fogs in between the mountains, not focusing on the next window, next step, next chapter, next stage. It was about right that moment. Entering my house after so long, I melt like the salty butter placed on fire. And my five years old sister, stares at me for a while. I think it’s hard to believe that the voice you’ve been listening only on a phone for so long actually has a body with glasses glistening. Maybe you are noticing the extra dark spots of acne on my cheeks. or that the girl who left with a braid is back with a bun on fleek. And if you are actually able to see that something’s missing. Can you replace it with your stupidity and curly hair flipping? The kitchen counter has new boxes with spiced homemade pickles. And between salt and pepper, I see my grandma with more wrinkles. In a while, she asks me what I have been studying. Uhhh… English, under my voice, I am muttering. She says okay, My grandma says okay but she wants to say, I thought you’d be a doctor one day. She says okay, but she wants to say, At least I expected you to sit on a cubicle and work on a laptop. She says okay but she wants to say, Staying seven thousand, five hundred and forty five miles away from home, you tell me all that you’ve been doing is writing poems. Are you kidding me? And all that I can do is smile. But when I smile, I mean, there’s just one life. I mean, I don’t wanna play it safe. I mean, living at the edge grandma. I mean, when you got married at the age of ten, you are the one who taught me how to play with the real world.