யாதும் ஊரே, யாவரும் கேளிர் - Kanniyan Poongundranar Jagan stood at the chennai airport, holding his one-way ticket to the USA. His heart was heavy as he glanced through his papers one last time, knowing his family was still waving behind the glass. It had always been his dream to move to America, to work in New York, but now that the moment had come, a lump formed in his throat. Everything he loved—his parents, his girlfriend, his mother’s cooking, the familiar noise of chennai streets—was being left behind. The plane ride felt endless, giving him too much time to think. He stared outside the window, the city lights of chennai fading below, replaced by the dark, endless sky. He had imagined this so many times—this adventure, this fresh start—but now he couldn’t stop worrying. What if he couldn’t make a life there? What if the distance between him and his family felt too wide? When he arrived in New York, the city greeted him with its cold winds. Nothing felt familiar. The streets, the faces, the language—it all seemed so distant. His small apartment, though clean and modern, felt empty, missing the warmth of home. Late at night, he would stay awake, listening to his favourite Ilayaraja’s playlist, while missing the comforting sounds of his family chatting in the next room. Days passed, and each small things—buying groceries, taking the subway, all felt like a battle. At work, he tried to focus, but his mind would often go back to Chennai. He tried to call home every night, but the time difference meant his dear ones were often asleep. Every phone call ended with the same words “miss you. Come here soon.” And each time, it became harder to hold back the tears. In the early days, he couldn’t get rid of a deeper worry that bothered him —his differences. His skin, his accent, the way he dressed—it all marked him as different. He wondered if people would see him as an outsider, if they would make assumptions about him, or if he would ever truly fit in. The fear of being judged started growing in him. As the weeks went by, things slowly got better. He met a colleague who reminded him of his friends back home, and they explored the city together. He also found a small Indian restaurant that served his favorite food, and for the first time, he didn’t feel as lonely. As he stood one evening on a Bridge, watching the city lights glitter on the water, he noticed something: the city itself was built on differences. Everywhere he looked, there were stories like his, people from all corners of the world finding their place, just like he was. He slowly began to see the beauty of the city —the energy, the people, the differences and all the opportunities. He realized something important: moving to a new country didn’t mean losing who you are. It meant bringing your roots with you, finding bits of home in new places, and creating something fresh. As the time passed, he made more friends, and soon, their group felt like a family. They celebrated festivals, birthdays and many special moments together. Even though he missed his home deeply, the new place finally felt like home to him. Because, after all, “Home is people, Not a place…..” and immigration is an art of embracing the world as a home. To everyone who has left the comfort of home for the unknown, remember: it’s okay to miss what you left behind, and it’s okay to feel lost sometimes. But with each step, you are building a bridge between two worlds and only the brave can do that. The memories of where you come from will always be with you even as you discover new parts of yourself in the places you go. Hereby, Gowtham