Hey everyone! Big thanks to all the new subscribers! 🎉 I’m so thrilled people are resonating with my writing. It means the world! Honestly, I’m always tinkering and learning with each post.
Speaking of trying new things, 🏗️ today’s essay has a new feature: AUDIO! 🎧 Just an experiment... maybe it’ll be handy for those of you who like to multitask and listen while you conquer your day. Let me know what you think! 😄
As I stared at the ‘permanent address’ field on the scholarship application, my fingers hesitated. Should I list the house I grew up in, or the apartment with an expiring lease in the city where I’ve lived for almost 8 years? What seemed like a simple question sparked a hint of doubt — where did I really belong, and could I ever really call a place that isn’t mine to begin with home?
In 2018, months after Lady Bird first came out, my partner C and I huddled over our laptops, a tangle of headphones and stolen movie files our makeshift cinema. I remember her asking me if I resonated with the rebellious protagonist, and not fully understanding it. All I really remembered was the scene where Lady Bird throws herself out of a moving car while her mother lectures her about being selfish. How many times had I wanted to do the same?
Now settled in our jobs and lives, revisiting Lady Bird proved more painful than I anticipated. Just as Lady Bird views Sacramento as a symbol of her own limitations, I too have often felt confined by my hometown. There was something uncomfortably familiar about her restlessness and the way she sought escape.
One scene, in particular, stood out to me. Lady Bird and her mother are out thrifting a dress for a Thanksgiving dinner, and, in the middle of the tension and passive-aggressive conversation, my childhood flashed before me. Despite their bickering, they were still determined to find one. Here was Lady Bird’s mother, helping her out for what seemed like an important occasion, even though it meant they wouldn’t have their usual Thanksgiving as a family. In fact, we later learn this is Lady Bird’s last before she moves out for college, and she plans to spend it with her boyfriend’s family — people she’s meeting for the first time. Despite the protests, her mother still makes sure Lady Bird has a dress for the occasion. When they finally find the one, both share the triumph of their “this is it” moment. Her mother carefully alters the dress that night while Lady Bird sleeps — a gesture of care that moved past their friction from earlier. This scene reminded me of my own complicated relationship with my mother, where love isn’t always expressed in the ways I hope for. While Lady Bird can be harsh towards her mother, she remains fiercely protective when others share the same criticisms.
I realize my initial disinterest in this movie comes from how closely it mirrors my own complex longing to break free from expectations, especially the pressure to pursue a more “traditional” career path. Yet the further I step away, the more I come to understand the ways home has shaped the person I’m becoming.
Home is a fluid concept for people like us who’ve uprooted ourselves from where we grew up. Is home the smell of my mother’s cooking, the freedom to decorate without asking permission, or the independence to make decisions without judgement?
What if no one is around to help me when I get sick? Will they think I’m selfish for wanting to be on my own? What if my parents need me and I’m not there? Am I ever going to feel like an adult? How can I show my mother that I can handle life without their constant watch and still be part of the family? What will happen if being alone gets too much? Will I always feel like a guest in my own home — never truly settled? How am I supposed to cook three times a day? What if my family doesn’t understand how I’m changing, and the gap between us grows too wide for me to cross? Why isn’t there an instruction manual for “adulting?”
In Filipino culture, family plays a central role in guiding major life decisions. Choices about career and personal milestones are often discussed not just within the immediate family but with grandparents and extended relatives. This emphasis on collective decision-making reflects a deep-rooted value of family unity, which contrasts with the strong individualistic streak seen in many other cultures. Lady Bird’s rebellious nature and her desire to escape her hometown reflect a drive for independence and self-determination that don’t exactly align with the communal expectations of my Filipino upbringing. In my culture, leaving home is typically connected to marriage or career opportunities abroad; her determination to leave for college fueled purely by personal desires highlights the difference in how independence is valued within our respective backgrounds.
Moving to a larger city was my first taste of “true” independence. Unlike the familiar streets of my small hometown, the sprawling city offered anonymity and limitless possibilities. It was here that I became financially independent. Every purchase, from necessities to bigger investments, was proof of my self-reliance. More than just changing locations, this meant changing how I saw myself and my place in the world. For the first time, I wasn’t just living somewhere. I was actively building my own life, completely on my own terms.
I always thought my desire for independence stemmed from wanting to escape my family at times. But later, I realized all I wanted was to be treated like an adult capable of managing my own life without feeling like a burden. Just as Lady Bird struggles to navigate high school life and balance social expectations with her dreams, I face the same tension between my Filipino values of family and community, and my individual drive for self-determination.
There’s no doubt though that something has changed in my relationship with my parents. Like the boundaries that limited our parent-child roles have somewhat softened. Our conversations feel more like ones between adults — we talk recipes, household tips, or even debate refrigerator models. Maybe the days of feeling powerless in my own life are behind me. Still, I hold back some parts of myself. I rarely talk about financial struggles or my work troubles, hesitant to seek their advice.
Somehow, I want to find a way to reconcile both — to honor my family, and to carve out a sense of agency within the life I’ve chosen for myself. As I navigate this delicate balance, I’m learning that home is less a place than a state of being. All the forms can keep asking for a permanent address, but my internal compass will always refuse to stay fixed on a single point.