Essay: Navigating University as an International Student 

The fun fact I can always share when meeting someone new is that I grew up on the other side of the world. It’s something people are intrigued by, and in many ways, it’s definitely amazing. I have wonderful travel photos and interesting stories to share with people. 

But behind the pictures and tales are quieter realities — endless culture shock and homesickness. For international students, life at university comes with a different kind of learning curve. 

I grew up 9,294 miles away from Chicago in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. My parents are teachers at the international school I attended, and they moved my siblings and I across the globe from Indiana to Malaysia when I was 1 year old. 

Even now, after my first year at Loyola, I sometimes feel like a stranger to the U.S. Before coming to Loyola, Malaysia was all I’d ever known. I’d stayed in the U.S. during summer, but I’d never actually lived here. 

Malaysia will be my forever home, and there’s no doubt it’s been a major adjustment living in the U.S. full time. 

I know I’m privileged in so many ways. I’ve traveled to different countries in Southeast Asia just for sports trips. Over winter break, I got to escape the brutal Chicago winter with the everyday heat of Kuala Lumpur.

But sometimes it’s hard to remember this privilege when I’m missing home so much. Being so far from Malaysia has been like a light going out, often leaving me sitting on the floor of my dorm looking through photos from home with heavy sighs and a heavier heart. 

I know I chose to attend Loyola — and I don’t regret it — but I didn’t expect to miss home so much. 

My friends complain about missing home, but it’s sometimes hard to feel sympathy for them when I know they could take a quick flight or train ride back any weekend. At the end of the day, it’s all in the same country. 

Going home for me means a 25-hour trip and at least a $1,000 plane ticket — and that’s if I’m lucky with good layovers and connections. I have to wait until the longest breaks to be able to go home, leaving me only a few months a year to spend with my family. 

During my first semester at Loyola, two of my friends were talking about how much they missed home, and I just snapped. 

“Respectfully, you both have no right to complain,” I blurted out. 

It was rude, and I regret it. But it’s hard knowing everything they grew up with is still so familiar and relatively accessible. 

Home, no matter how far, is different for everyone. A dorm room is strikingly different from a personal bedroom, and the dining hall is different from a mother’s cooking. I understand that. 

But it often feels like everyone I meet at Loyola has grown up in the U.S., making their stateside experiences all they know. Feeling so isolated because I know that my childhood and teenage years were so different eventually gets exhausting. 

I’ve had to explain everything from WhatsApp to the metric system and Southeast Asian geography far too many times. I’m tired of pulling out a map and zooming in on where Malaysia is. 

Being far from home and in a radically different culture means an astounding lack of a support system. At the beginning of college, it seemed as though my roommate would call her dad at least four times a day. This was completely valid — starting university is an intense process that usually requires a family’s support. 

Nonetheless, it was hard to see her laugh and chat with her dad over the phone. When I needed something from my parents in this new and frightening part of life, they were usually asleep on the other side of the world. 

The time difference between Chicago and Kuala Lumpur is 13 hours — 14 during daylight savings. Extensive planning at odd hours just to talk to my mom has become disheartening. 

One time, after teasing this friend about calling her dad so much, she jokingly retorted, “At least I can call my dad.” 

Though she was only kidding, the comment broke me — because it’s true. I barely get to talk to my parents and almost never spend time with them. 

Oftentimes, my friends from the U.S. list off restaurants and grocery stores they grew up going to. I have to constantly ask for clarification about what each of those places are. When I try to do the same and relate to them, they don’t know what I’m talking about. 

While I adore my friends at Loyola, sometimes they don’t understand. My friends from home are largely international and they get it, but I don’t get to see them often. 

We can’t always all go home during breaks since they struggle with many of the same travel barriers as me, like the expense and time it takes to travel. So I never know the next time I’ll be able to see some of my high school best friends. 

We have to schedule phone calls weeks in advance, which always proves difficult. Those in Europe go to bed when us in North America are in class. 

However, the homesick burden has somewhat diminished as university life has progressed. I’ve been able to teach my friends at Loyola new things and allow my roommate to borrow clothes from my high school because she once sweetly told me she loves wearing them because they’re where I’m from. 

This burden has become lighter — but I know it’ll never truly leave. Malaysia will forever be my home — nothing can change this, or how far it will remain.