Mom, I'm Sorry… I Just Wanted to Go Home

On the first day of every month, my mom will give me my allowance based on the number of times I had checked in with her last month.

"You'll receive 20 dollars for greeting your parents once in the morning and once in the evening. But last month, you only hit ten days' worth of quota, so you can only receive 200 dollars. This also means your 300-dollar punctuality fee will be deducted as well.

"After adding on 150 dollars for your basic necessities, you shall receive only 350 dollars for this month's allowance. Remember to write a reflection report on your lack of punctuality later. I'll only transfer you the money if your report is acceptable."

I become so overwhelmed by anxiety that my voice starts trembling.

"I was busy with my finals last month, Mom! I had to line up outside the library at 5:00 am every day just so I could secure myself a seat! That's why I couldn't call you in time!"

In a choked-up tone, I plead to my mom, "I need 600 dollars for the train ticket all the way home during the holidays! 350 dollars really isn't enough for me! Mom, can you please—"

But my mom cuts me off firmly, "The allowance system is something that I've specifically designed for you so that I can help you get rid of the bad habit of wanting to receive everything without putting in hard work! Why can't you just understand that I'm doing this for your own good?"

After that, she ends the call mercilessly.

Just as I'm filled with despair and helplessness, a blond appears before my eyes. He's willing to buy my train ticket for me, but in return, I need to leave with him.

I hung my head in shame. "But I don't have the money to pay you back."

The blond guy and his friends froze for a moment, staring at me like I was stupid. "You don't have to pay. Just have dinner with us, and I'll give you the money for your ticket right after."

It only took one meal to earn enough to return home. The thought made my heart leap. I wanted to go back so badly.

Last week, Grandma had gone out of her way to call me from the corner store in the village.

She said she had already restuffed my quilt with the softest cotton and had dried a whole batch of my favorite raisins in the yard. She wanted me to take them back to school to share with my classmates and teachers and asked them to take care of me.

Grandma had raised me on her own. She was 78 years old this year and had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer last year. Every visit felt like time slipping through my fingers. Even thousands of miles away, she was my home. I had to get back to her.

I clenched the 350 dollars in my pocket, took a deep breath, and