• Beth Graham and her brothers cared for their mother for four years after she had a stroke.
• After their mom died, the siblings decided to spend the $75,000 inheritance on a trip to South Africa.
• Spending quality time with her brothers helped her deal with the loss.

I grew up in one of those weirdly close families where we all genuinely enjoyed spending time together.

My dad died young, at 56, leaving my adventurous, spirited mother a widow. I'm the youngest of three kids, with two older brothers, and we all share a love of travel.

Five years ago, during a visit back home to Florida to see my mom, she came into my room early in the morning complaining about "the worst headache of her life." It was confirmed later, at the hospital, that she had a stroke.

For the next four years, we were her caregivers. Thankfully, her long-term insurance covered most of the expenses, but my brothers and I chipped in to cover things like round-the-clock caretakers and a new stereo so she could listen to soothing music.

As a wealth manager, my middle brother managed her larger assets and took care of things like selling her home, paying off her mortgage, and settling her estate. After she died and all of her outstanding expenses were covered, we were left with about $75,000 of inheritance.

Our initial thought was to split that among her three grandchildren to help jump-start their young adult lives. But one of my brothers doesn't have children, so it didn't seem fair. We began talking about how best to honor her with those remaining funds.

While it may sound selfish to some, we determined that she would have wanted to treat us with something — she was the kind of mom who always put our needs ahead of her own.

Caregiving is hard, and we all experienced burnout at different times, both emotionally and physically, so we wanted to find a way to unwind from the past few years.

Including grandkids was too complicated

As my brothers and I all enjoy traveling I suggested we take a trip in her memory. Getting everyone to agree to that was actually the easy part. Deciding where to go proved more difficult.

The original plan was to include everyone on the trip: my husband, my sister-in-law, and the three grandkids. I suggested we rent a chateau in the south of France or a villa in Italy since my mom was such a foodie. But because of our range of interests — some like museums, others like organized tours, and others crave adventure — we concluded that a relaxing vacation in a home wouldn't work.

We settled on a trip to South Africa that would include a one-week safari and another week in Stellenbosch wine country — paying tribute to my mom's love for great wine.

We soon realized that including our kids, some still in college and others just starting new careers, would not work. They wouldn't be able to take two weeks off. So, as disappointing as it was, we decided to leave them behind. We were also very aware that this would give us the extra money to plan a more luxurious trip.

A trip to honor our mom

We flew business class from New York to Cape Town and spent two days exploring the region with a local guide. Then we traveled to Kruger National Park to our luxury resort in the private Sabi Sands Game Reserve and spent five days tracking the Big 5. We saw all five almost every day.

I ordered three small memorial key chains. Each sibling was to bring along some of my mother's ashes so that she could join us on the trip. One evening, we gathered at the resort's bar, poured a glass of wine for her, surrounded by our keychains, and toasted her for our amazing lives and sibling relationships.

After a memorable — and emotional — week, we journeyed on to our luxury Airbnb in Stellenbosch to toast her some more as we sampled the wines of the region. The end of our trip was bittersweet because we knew our time together honoring her with this trip was coming to an end.

We spent all of that money and then some, but none of us had any doubt that she was looking down on us and smiling. As an adult, it's rare that I get time to properly catch up with my own siblings. That quality time together was special and, hopefully, exactly what our mom would have wanted.

Got a personal essay about reconnecting with family that you want to share? Get in touch with the editor: [email protected].

• Nina Unlay fulfilled her dream of working in London when she landed a reporter job in 2019.
• After only 10 months, she got on a flight back home to Manila and fell in love soon after.
• She's unsure if the Philippines is where she wants to start a family, but she knows it's where she'll retire.

When I landed a job in my dream city, I thought the hard part was over.

In 2019, I got my master's degree in journalism in London and was hired as an entry-level business reporter, making $36,000 a year.

Journalists back home, in Manila, Philippines, where I grew up, earn an average annual salary of $7,000. So, despite this being on the lower end for the UK, where the median gross annual salary for a full-time employee is about $45,400 — I was thrilled. Also, after having studied in London, I knew that this was enough for me to get by.

I soon learned that if I managed to stick around in London for five years, that's all it would take for me — a non-EU citizen — to get permanent residency.

This year, 2024, was the year when I may have gotten my permit — if I had chosen to stay.

Living in London

My life was so cool. I lived in a warehouse conversion with five other Londoners. Our living room could fit a DJ and a hundred dancing people. Our rooftop overlooked Victoria Park. I paid $1,075 a month in rent for my room.

I made great friends in London, many of whom, like me, were also journalists in flux. We spent our free days having picnics and discovering new parks; our nights barhopping around East and North London.

I was in love with the city. I never felt alone; I enjoyed every morning stroll through Broadway Market, every new café I discovered in my neighborhood in Hackney, and every afternoon spent people-watching along the pathways by Regent's Canal.

Despite the cost of living in London being 150% higher than in Manila, the salary bump at my new job was enough to greatly improve my quality of living: reliable transportation, air quality, healthcare standards, and the whole shebang. Many of the places I enjoyed — markets, museums, and parks — were free to visit.

I did miss certain things about living in the Philippines, such as the reliable presence of the sun, quick getaways to white-sand beaches, the cheap and delicious food, and, of course, family.

But in London, it felt like I had a life where anything was possible.

When the COVID-19 pandemic was declared in March 2020, I had to make a decision. Just a few days later, my things were packed, and I was on a flight back to Manila.

A dramatic exit from the diaspora

During the two years I spent living in London, I started having an irrational fear that if one day planes lost the ability to fly, I would never go home again. The pandemic made that fear feel less silly and more real. It forced me to choose: Did I want to build a life around my favorite city, or build a life around my favorite people?

Moving abroad is a popular narrative in the Philippines, one that I was fed growing up. My parents talked about the opportunity to work abroad with me often, pointing out relatives who had done it in the past and almost using them as role models. I developed a belief that there was a "better life" waiting abroad. And it's not wrong.

According to this year's global ranking of liveable cities, according to the Economist Intelligence Unit, Metro Manila, ranked low, at 135 out of the 173 cities surveyed. The EIU bases its Global Liveability Index on a range of factors including availability and quality of public and private healthcare, culture, education, and crime.

The city is one of the most densely populated regions globally.

Migration is part of the Filipino identity. Up to 10% of the population lives abroad, thanks to a system of government-funded training programs that focus on the high-demand career skills required of overseas workers and departments and agencies that streamline the migration process.

It's part of the reason the Filipino diaspora is so huge. I've said goodbye to so many family members and friends throughout my life — my video calls are to family based in cities that include Vancouver, Toronto, Portland, and New York.

But the truth is that the majority of Filipinos who leave aren't doing so because they want to explore the world. They leave because they feel compelled to — that they need to either for themselves or often also for their families. I am just one of the fortunate few who had the privilege and the means to choose for myself.

Manila, my Manila

In Metro Manila, I never feel alone. The people here are the city's best part. They make Manila what it is; an imperfect place, held up by tape, with good food and people who know how to make the best of a crappy hand.

It is not a dream city. It is hot and humid, but full of heart. I try to enjoy how bright the sun is here — especially when compared to the gray and foggy skies in London. I still remind myself that I am privileged to be home, where I can afford a life that keeps my loved ones close.

Four years after returning from London, I've shifted to a career, working at an advertising and communication agency in the Philippines. I moved into a new apartment, and found the person I plan to marry. It is our little inside joke that I traded London for the chance to find him here.

My fiancé is a Filipino-American who was born in Virginia and moved to the Philippines when he was 5. Sometimes we mull over the possibility of moving to the US and attempting to get citizenship for me. We talk about the possibility of having children and how this might give them better options for their future. We feel compelled to at least consider it.

But whenever we think about retiring, it is always, gratefully, in the Philippines; in our warm, crowded Manila, in the presence of the people we love most.

• Paul Chai is an Australian dad with two teenage sons — one is 18, and the other is 14.
• Chai says his younger son doesn't make friends quickly and Snapchat has helped.
• He's not convinced that a social media ban on young teenagers is what Australian parents want.

My 14-year-old son often rolls his eyes when I talk politics, but he has taken a keen interest in the topic lately, since Australia's government has decided to ban everyone in the country from accessing social media until they turn 16.

He got his own phone and started using social media earlier than I would have liked. It was 2021, he was 12, and Melbourne had been in lockdown for over six months. Melbourne's lockdown during the pandemic added up to 262 days, the longest cumulative lockdown in the world.

At the time, my wife and I decided that giving our son a phone seemed less harmful than months of isolation. Looking back, he has become quite attached to his device.

I recognize that social media can harm children. It can do the same to adults, to reputations, and to democracy. But what concerns me about my country's new policy, which was announced on November 21, is the lack of nuance and public discussion.

Losing the good with the bad

With his parents' help and guidance, my son now has what I consider a pretty healthy relationship with social media. He is online, but he also loves travel, gets out a lot with friends, runs in Parkrun, and plays drums in a couple of bands.

Online, he uses TikTok to discover new music, Snapchat to keep up with friends who live far away, and Signal to communicate with his grandparents who live abroad. He and I share a love of movies, and I enjoy how he is almost always ahead of me when it comes to the latest releases and entertainment news that he finds online.

We have a family group chat on WhatsApp that helps us manage our daily lives and allows us to share memes with each other.

My son is worried the ban will cut him off from far-flung friends. He has also talked about wanting to get his first job as soon as he turns 15 and wonders if he will face barriers to work communications. His older brother, who just turned 18, has been receiving his work shifts via social media chats for a few years.

Australia's government has said the social media ban will apply to Facebook, Snapchat, Reddit, Instagram, and X. Certain chat-based social media, including Messenger Kids, WhatsApp, Kids Helpline, Google Classroom, and YouTube, will not be banned. A decision on other messaging apps — like Signal, Discord, and Google Chat — has not yet been made.

"We know social media is doing social harm," Prime Minister Anthony Albanese said in the November media release. "This is a landmark reform. We know some kids will find workarounds, but we're sending a message to social media companies to clean up their act," he continued.

The government has announced that tech companies have one year to stop minors from logging into their social media platforms or risk up to 49,500,000 Australian dollars, or $32,000,000, in fines.

Albanese also said that neither underage users nor their parents will face punishment for violations.

But what I worry about is that the ban will sweep away all the positives of my son's online life in an attempt to tackle the negatives.

In June, just a few months before the social media ban was passed, Australia's eSafety commissioner, Julie Inman Grant, suggested that a ban on social media for kids may not be a cure-all. "Social media may also provide a range of opportunities that are protective of mental health, such as inclusion, social connection and belonging," the commissioner said, per The Guardian.

Grant's statement reminded me of my own son using social media to build friendships. It also made me think of the under-16 LGBTQ+ Australians and rural communities who have formed friendships and found acceptance online.

Is this what parents want?

While I have read a lot about Australian parents supporting this ban, it was only recently that I came across someone who agreed with it.

A father I spoke to, who was in favor of the ban, has a teenage daughter. He told me that she's obsessed with her phone and has even threatened to self-harm if it were taken away from her. He said that a nationwide ban will help him wean her off her online addiction.

Within my community, most parents I've discussed this with have said they don't want the government to control their parenting any more than they do their bodies.

My son doesn't make friends quickly, and many of his current friendships have grown stronger online. I don't see it as a replacement for their IRL get-togethers but as a complement.

Many of us who grew up without social media tend to romanticize our childhoods. While I did a fair bit of running around the neighborhood with mates as a kid, I also remember spending hours on the phone talking to girlfriends when I was a teenager.

I also had pen pals in America with whom I would spend hours corresponding; in-person communication is not the only way to form strong bonds.

• In college, Wendy Altschuler studied abroad in India.
• She traveled back 20 years later, eager to bring along her husband and three sons.
• It showed her how different it feels to travel in your 20s alongside students versus exploring with kids in tow.

It was dark when I arrived in India, the air was slothful with a gluey viscosity. I was still in college and had never traveled this far away from home before.

I hadn't decided to study abroad in India on a whim. I had spent months preparing, saving, and studying. Delving deep, I was fully immersed in my classes, reading every book on the recommended list and watching every film.

I also spent a lot of time wandering along Chicago's Devon Avenue, or Little India, which was home to 15 blocks of South Asian restaurants and shops at the time.

Of course, none of this prepared me for what I experienced in Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur: the Golden Triangle.

Studying abroad in India

During my last year in school, as part of my study-abroad program, I volunteered at a children's home about 90 minutes south of Delhi. Through my work, I learned the power of Jugaad, a Hindi word — an ethos, really — which compels one to make the most of what one has, even if it's very little.

After a day of serving others, I'd return to the YMCA, my home in New Delhi at the time. I'd meet up with classmates to chat about the day's discoveries. I'd share about how generous and selfless it was for the home leaders to help. Others would discuss how difficult it was to witness families living on the street.

More than once during my first stay, a stranger welcomed me into their home, often just two rooms for their entire family. They would offer me a hot cup of tea or a bangle for my wrist. The people who ostensibly had the least seemed hell-bent on giving the most.

This was a formative time in my life, an era of tipping my toe into what might be possible for my future. The kindness and sincerity of the people I met in India, both at the children's home and also in other places I visited, made an indelible impression on me.

I returned 20 years later with my three sons

So, when I got the opportunity to bring my three boys to India two decades later, I raised my hand.

As a travel writer, I've had the opportunity to visit many countries around the world, and as a result, I've accumulated a fair amount of airline miles. My husband, who also travels for work, does the same.

We decided to cash in our miles and book a family trip to South and Southeast Asia, taking advantage of extended layovers. This included four days lighting up all five of our senses in India.

We made the most of our limited time by visiting some of Delhi's landmarks, including Red Fort, Chandni Chowk, Humayun's Tomb, India Gate, Lotus Temple, and Jama Masjid. These were all the same locales my feet had wandered through as a university student.

We hired human-powered cycle rickshaws to explore the constricted streets of Old Delhi, where hundreds of snaking power cords blocked out the sky above. I watched my sons' eyes widen as we narrowly avoided itinerant goats, men and women carrying hefty bundles on their heads, beeping motorbikes, and green and yellow tuk-tuks.

The most distinctive stop for me was the timeworn YMCA. I didn't recognize it, truly, until I saw the hallway leading to the bedrooms where I could picture myself running down the stairs, a palpable sensation where I remembered unerringly how I felt when I was young, well before the demands of adulthood and motherhood.

In a snap of a finger, so powerfully poignant that errant tears escaped down my cheeks, I was now standing there, in the exact same spot, with my husband and three children. Time is wild.

Later, we'd leave Delhi and travel to Agra, stopping off at the famous Taj Mahal. A multi-generational family of women smiled and asked to have a photo with me at Agra Fort, and each time I spotted them around the grounds, we would all wave and giggle, verifying that the warmth and adoration were mutually felt.

In Jaipur, the Pink City, my 15-year-old middle son met a man who coaxed a green bird out of a cage. The bird then selected a red card with his beak, a delightful fortune of goodwill. When the rain poured down in sheets while visiting Chandra Mahal and City Palace, my boys dared each other to step out from under the safety of the overhang and get soaked — a dare my youngest took hook, line, and sinker.

Looking at the photos that my kids had taken later — elephants walking in the road, magnified details of gems stuck in walls, garbage on the ground, and plenty of goofy selfies — I recognized that they were going through something completely different on this journey than I was, which is the magic of travel.

Sojourning in India during my 20s with other students was undoubtedly a much different opportunity than seeing the country with my family in tow. We can all wander through the same destination together, but our ages, life experiences, and circumstances will always dictate a unique, personalized adventure. It's up to us to assign meaning to what we experience.

India is fragrant smoke, turmeric powder, mustard seeds, and dangling strings of chilies; tight round marigolds, fresh jasmine, and bursting bougainvillea; raucous tuk-tuks and inert cows. It's humidity, then a deluge of rain then beams of sunshine. It's smiles under draping colorful scarves and a bob of the head. There's an effervescence that must be experienced firsthand to comprehend, to believe, to feel.

My boys will likely be unpacking their journey for years to come, just as I am decades later still; and perhaps, in 20 more years, we will meet in the country of curry, textiles, forts, and flowers once again.

• In September, Katka Lapelosova took a solo trip to Greece.
• While she enjoyed the six days in Zakynthos, it wasn't the stress-free vacation she'd hoped for.
• If she could do it over, she'd travel there with friends and rent a car.

Now that I live in Europe, I love how easy it is to visit different countries. Since leaving New York City in 2020, I aim to travel at least once a month.

In September, I decided it was time for a solo trip to a Greek island to live out my "Mamma Mia" dreams. My friends recommended Santorini and Mykonos, but those islands were expensive, and I was nervous about them being overcrowded.

I researched a few alternatives, like Corfu, Zakynthos, and Rhodes, and settled on Zakynthos, partly due to photos of a shipwreck I'd seen on Instagram.

I wanted to see if the water was really the color of Colgate toothpaste, but more than that, I just needed a seaside break to relax and help me reset. My beach vacation in Greece was very much what I needed, but there are some things I would change if I had the chance for a vacation redo.

1. Spend time in Athens

I had an overnight layover in Athens, so I spent one night in the city center before heading to Zakynthos. Friends had told me I only needed a day in the city, saying that there wasn't much to see or do. The city took me by surprise, though, and I wish I'd had more time there.

Outside the incredible historic Greek archaeology, I didn't have enough time for the art museums or festivals. While the residential architecture wasn't as charming as what I saw on the island, the mix of classical designs, modern restaurants, and cocktail bars all looked worthy of a visit.

2. Avoid the party zones

Once I got to Zakynthos, the energy level changed. I was greeted by the chaos of gap year travelers living out the last days of summer. I had read that the island was a hot spot for college-aged travelers, but I figured it was big enough that we could keep our distance. But despite my accommodation being just outside the main party zone of Laganas, I shared a floor with a group of eight rowdy college kids. I was thankful that I'd packed earplugs.

In hindsight, I should have done more research on other parts of the island. While some locals told me Zakynthos has parties wherever you go, others said that renting a villa can be a good alternative for finding a bit of peace and quiet. They said that visitors who stay more inland can rent a car and drive to the beach, as most coastlines can be reached in a few minutes.

3. Rent a car to explore more of the island

Renting a car would have been a great idea overall, but my plan had been to take buses. In true island fashion, these ran on their own schedule

One day in Zakynthos, I waited over an hour for a bus that never came. Taxis proved to be just as unreliable, with many canceling or not showing up when I tried to book them by phone.

While I was able to make the most of Laganas, the island's village and beach resort, I feel like there was more I could have explored. I was limited to the nearby beaches, which were not super crowded but not very serene or peaceful either.

I also didn't realize that it was much easier to get to the shipwreck by car. Only one tour company offered to drive people there, so I had to work around their schedule to see it.

4. Travel with friends instead of going solo

Normally, I opt for solo travel. I find it to be the least stressful. But I often felt lonely on Zakynthos because I saw big groups of people everywhere I went — not just college kids either, but multi-generational families and honeymooning couples, all having fun in the sun around me.

I watched a lot of them enjoying the outdoor and water activities that Greece has to offer. Small boats can be rented to sail around the island, take tours of water caves and go diving or snorkeling, grab a few mopeds or four-wheelers and drive around, party on a booze cruise, or enjoy inflatable water playgrounds along the beach.

While I could have done some of those things on my own, I knew they'd be more fun with a big group of friends to share the excitement.

5. Understand the difference between beachfront and beach access

One of the biggest things I'd change about my Greek island trip is booking a hotel that had beach access. "Beachfront" doesn't necessarily mean you can just walk right out to the beach from your hotel, or at least not on Zakynthos.

While my accommodation was next to the beach, if I wanted to spend time lounging in the sun, I had to pay for a crummy cappuccino or an overpriced bottle of water for the privilege.

I didn't realize this before I booked my trip, but locals told me it's common. Many cafés, restaurants, and bars own beach access, and while most just ask that you purchase some food or drinks, some require you to rent a beach chair and umbrella or even buy a day pass.

Next time, I'll read more reviews or even contact the property and ask if they have a beach for their guests. I only saw "beachfront" on my booking website and realized after spending a few days there that what I needed was "beach access" or "private beach."

• Sinead Mulhern has been living in Ecuador for six years.
  
• Earlier this year, she spent a week in the hospital due to a collapsed lung, a severe complication of pneumonia.
• The support she received from the hospital staff and her friends confirmed that moving there was the right decision.

I was lying wide awake on a hospital bed in Ecuador, hoping for sleep yet fearful that if I dozed off, I'd miss something crucial.

Everything had come as a big surprise. The day before, I was standing by lime-green valleys, planning mountain adventures. As bachata beats blared from market stalls and birds of prey soared above, I thought about camping nearby and watching the sun sink below a sea of clouds. Or, I could return to the Monopoly board-like Andean town nearby and explore its river valleys.

But as I was daydreaming about adventures, I noticed something was wrong. I'd been having trouble breathing for a few days. As an avid runner and hiker, it felt strange that I could barely climb the steps to my apartment.

At the hospital in Cuenca — the city where I have been living for the past six years and about 200 miles south of Quito, Ecuador — I had a tube running between my ribs into the space between my lungs, an oxygen mask, and some answers. While I'd been in the countryside, my right lung had been collapsing. A severe — and rare — complication of pneumonia.

It got serious quickly

I returned to the doctor's clinic for a second visit after it was clear that an asthma inhaler and the medication hadn't helped. I had assumed I was in for a course of antibiotics and an early night.

Instead, I was sent for X-rays, and based on the technician's questions, I sensed this was more serious than I thought: "Were you in an accident?" "Are you a heavy smoker?" "Did you fall?" "Could something have caused blunt-force trauma?" I raised a brow. No to all of the above.

"We have to go to the hospital right now," my doctor told me after confirming that my right lung had collapsed. "I'm surprised you're even standing up talking to me right now."

It was a whirlwind evening. I messaged my friend Sanja, asking her to meet me at the hospital and bring a few essentials. I had been told that a surgeon was on her way and that they would perform a bronchoscopy, a procedure that involves inserting a tube between the lungs to examine the airways. Following this, a catheter would be inserted in between my lungs to drain the air buildup that had caused the collapse.

I was asked if I had family who could help me buy my medical supplies. I told them that would be Sanja.

I met Sanja in 2018, and she has become like a sister. We've supported each other through the ups and downs of expat life. She arrived shortly after the surgeon had explained in detail what she was about to do.

I felt scared and focused on my friend as the surgeon told me to hold my right arm above my head and stay still. Sanja asked the questions I was too in shock to ask for myself. I'd have been lost without her.

Medical care in South America

I grew up with access to Canadian healthcare. How would my hospital stay here compare? Would I be able to continue to live in Ecuador at altitude? Were my running and mountain adventures over?

I called my friend Jonathan in the morning, and he came right away. An Ecuadorian-American, he briefed me on what to expect and told our friends where I was.

My hospital stay lasted a week. As my anxiety subsided, I noticed differences in how things are done here. Many of them I preferred.

Visiting hours were relaxed, so I had friends popping by every day. I could see the mountains from my room. The pharmacy next door played Latin music. When I closed my eyes and listened, I felt the sun on my face and briefly forgot where I was. It was less formal too, which I preferred.

My insurance plan didn't cover this — a personal oversight I made because I figured I was healthy and possibly even invincible. Lucky for me, the care was high-quality and ended up costing a little over $3,000. I never had to wait for a room, procedure, specialist appointment, or check-up.

According to KFF, a nonprofit health policy group in the US, the average cost per day for an inpatient in a US hospital in 2022 was over $3,000.

I had no family but had built a community

I also saw the value of my personal connections and the caring Ecuadorian culture. People I didn't know well would call to check in, and friends of friends would send well wishes.

My doctor called my mom in Canada. A new friend drove me to an X-ray appointment. My friends brought tea, meals, and books. My Pilates instructor helped me regain strength.

As a foreigner in Ecuador, I sometimes feel out of place and lonely. In the hospital, though, I realized what a strong community I had built over the years.

My "chosen family" comes from the US, Ecuador, Australia, South Africa, England, and Venezuela. They are all the results of personal relationships I have built during the good times: parties, road trips, and adventures. Now, I understand that community is an investment in health, too.

From the outside, living abroad can look pretty convincing. My highlight reel is packed with nature, street art, slow mornings, and vibrant celebrations. But this was one of my lowest moments in Ecuador. And guess what? That gave me a different kind of reassurance.

Three months later, my body has healed, and I'm cleared to go up into the mountains again. Recently, I spent a bright sunny day hiking past sparkling lagoons, yellow flowers, and tangled forests. I'm grateful to know I'll have many more like this.

Got a personal essay about health emergencies while traveling that you want to shareGet in touch with the editor: [email protected].