Tomorrow, I will reunite with my mother and little sister for the first time in 31 years. We have not been in the same physical space since I was 12. My sister was barely 2.A couple of years ago, during COVID,  my mother's green card was finally approved after decades of waiting to “get in line” “the legal way.”This whole event — this decades-long reunion — feels bigger than language. I am beyond excited. I’m also relieved, after decades and decades of waiting. And I’m also scared. How do you say I miss you to people you’ve been missing your whole life? How do you say I miss you to people — your mother, your sister, your family — you haven’t felt or touched or smelled or seen in 31 years?Watching the news, living in this anti-immigrant era, not only here in the United States but around the world, you’d think migration is all about walls and borders and mass deportations — what politicians and propagandists keep hammering about, as if human beings are nothing but political problems.What gets lost in the narrative of migration is that we're dealing with human beings. The politics of it leave no room for complexity and contradictions.I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. I might melt into a puddle. I might faint. I might feel nothing.I hope you circle back to watch what happens, though.