Leaving home, to find your place in the world.

Those are the words I currently live by.

I recently rewatched Baan, a short animated film by Gigguk, and one of the greatest accomplishments I’ve seen from an aspiring creator and an anime fan. But today, I do not want to talk about the film itself. I want to talk about the feeling it captures so painfully well.

Let me tell you a short story about my life.

Earlier this year, I started one of the biggest journeys I’ve ever taken: I moved countries, from Mexico to Singapore, to start my PhD. It was not an easy decision. Moving out of your parents’ house is already hard enough in this economy, now imagine doing it to go to the other side of the world.

Still, becoming a researcher has been one of my biggest dreams for a long time. I cannot imagine myself working in industry. I love research. I love learning, sharing what I know, and teaching others. The path to getting accepted was not easy, and earlier this year I wrote about how, in some of the hardest moments, Hoshimachi Suisei helped me keep going.

Leaving was heartbreaking for my mom.

If you know Mexican culture (especially in the north) you know how central family is. We have big families. We stay close. I am the youngest child, and the first one to ever move away.

I love my mom. If there is anything about myself worth being proud of, it exists because of her constant support of whatever strange idea I came up with. I’m not a parent, and parents aren’t taught how to be parents, but I could never have wished for a better one. She supported my creativity endlessly: from basketball, to guitar, to card magic, to buying me the newest Pokémon game on my birthday, to letting me try music production, to encouraging my love for physics.

Now that I’m “independent,” I finally understand how much effort went unnoticed when I was younger. We weren’t rich, but my mom always wanted me to be free, to grow, even if letting me go so far away hurt.

Even so, I cannot deny that I sometimes feel alone.

I’m a bit… weird, to say the least. Growing up in a household where no one is in academia or the exact sciences can make you feel like an outsider over time. Part of wanting to leave was also about finding myself, finding where I belong. Leaving home to find my place in the world.

I left my family full of hope, ready to eat the world. But nothing goes that smoothly. There were ups and downs: stress, new friendships, medical problems, and learning to solve things on my own. On top of that, I came from a strong position during my master’s, only to start my PhD in a completely new field. It felt like starting from scratch. After being productive for so long, I suddenly felt like I had done nothing for months.

And then Garnt released Baan.

If you’ve seen it, you probably know why I cried so hard. Any migrant can see themselves in Rin. The journey, the excitement, the loneliness, the longing for home. Garnt portrayed that feeling perfectly, and Kevin Penkin’s music elevated it into something unforgettable.

What I loved most were the small details, the moments that tell you everything without saying a word. Baan understands animation. It trusts the viewer. And it hurts in exactly the right way.

Life continued.

Medical expenses piled up, and for a while I was not sure I could go home for Christmas. Then, something fortunate happened, and I could. I had not really felt homesick these past months. I was too busy, too tired. There was no time to miss anything.

But a few days before my flight, it hit me. The nostalgia. The excitement. It had been a long time since I felt genuinely excited for Christmas.

And then I arrived.

Six months is not that long, but everything felt different. I felt different. My mom made me a huevito, and I completely broke down.

Today is Christmas Eve. I’m spending the holidays at home.

And I think I finally understand what Baan had been trying to tell me all along:

Leaving home doesn’t mean you lose it.

Sometimes, you have to leave to understand what home truly is.