And inside? Well, it’s like stepping into a warm embrace. I’ve been crashing on the same bed in the guest bedroom every time I’ve come here during my vacations, and every morning, I’ve woken up to rays of sunlight falling into the room through the off-white lace curtains. In one corner of the room is a comfy reading chair begging you to sink in and relax, and there’s a fireplace as well that adds a bit of whimsy. But it’s really all about the little touches that Aunt Mannie adds, like the fresh flowers in every room and meals that fill you with warmth, that make this place feel like home away from home. Trust me, once you are here, you’d never want to leave her place. There’s so much love she embraces everyone with. She’s the kindest, purest soul alive, and I love her a lot.

I remember vividly how she made this journey in America easy for me. Sometimes, all you need in life is a little love and comfort from another human being, and that’s exactly what she gave me. Especially after I had my first panic attack. I used to feel so intensely homesick back then that I’d often wake up feeling extremely nauseous in the middle of the night. It made me question my choices and my decisions and forced me to challenge my values on a day-to-day basis. I felt like I was running through heavy fog, and I couldn’t see what was there to my left or right. I didn’t know where I was headed. There was a huge lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow, and on some days, an intense piercing pain would practically rip through my heart and leave me gasping.

The real wake-up call came one night when the pain in my chest got so bad that I thought I was having a heart attack. Thankfully, I was in San Francisco, and Uncle Joe and Aunt Mannie rushed me to the emergency, where we were told that it was a panic attack. Heck, I didn’t even know what a panic attack was back then!

I still remember feeling very bad about the fact that Uncle Joe had to bear the heavy expenses of that trip to the hospital. Unless you’re insured, medical facilities are extremely costly in the West. Unlike in India, where you have easy access to doctors and hospitals, people here self-medicate until they have no choice but to see a doctor. Once, my Indian classmate at the university fractured her arm and she had no choice but to make a rough cast with some cloth and wait for a month until she flew back home and got it treated by a doctor in India. As terrible as it may sound, that happens for real.