My Friend Group Is a Map

Emily, College Freshman, Next Gen, California, USA

Emily’s story beautifully reflects how ABC youth often find belonging not through similarity, but through shared experiences of in-between-ness. Her friend group becomes a map, not of geography, but of hearts that understand each other without explanation. This story reminds us that home can be people, not places.

In elementary school, I used to think friends came from the same places you did.
Same town. Same lunchroom. Same after-school routines.

Then college happened.

Now my friend group looks like someone shook a globe and picked five random dots.

There’s:

- Aditi, who grew up in Mumbai and can eat chili peppers like candy.
- Leo, from São Paulo, who thinks iced coffee should be illegal.
- Mei, who lived in three countries before turning twelve and still calls every adult “Auntie.”
- Rafael, whose grandma in Madrid sends him olive oil in giant metal cans.
- And me, the ABC kid who grew up in California but never knew how to answer the question, “Where are you from?”

At first, I thought we were just a random group of freshmen who ended up at the same dining hall table.
But the more time I spent with them, the more I realized something funny:

We are all from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

We have different cultures, but the same childhood confusion:

- correcting teachers on our names
- explaining lunchbox smells
- translating for our parents
- being told we were “so American” at home and “not American enough” outside

We didn’t match on paper.
But we matched in heart.

One night, while sitting on the floor with bubble tea cups everywhere, Leo said:

“Guys… if we put all our hometowns together, we basically make a world map.”

And we stopped and stared.

He was right.

Our group wasn’t built from similarity.
It was built from the shared experience of growing up slightly misplaced -
just enough to understand one another without explaining too much.

Now, whenever I walk into our tiny dorm common room and see everyone sprawled around - eating snacks from four continents, arguing about accents, trading childhood stories - I feel something unexpected:

Home.

Not the kind made of walls and addresses.
The kind made of voices, jokes, and people who get you without subtitles.

I used to worry I didn’t belong anywhere.
Now I realize belonging isn’t a location.

It’s a map made of people who hold the same kind of stories you do.

And somehow, we all found each other.