As soon as the clock struck noon, my Chinese teacher dismissed us for break. I shut my textbook and rushed out into the sweltering Taiwan heat with one goal in mind: get my salt butter roll. Two minutes later, the bakery’s logo, a simple sketch of the owner’s face, was within my line of sight. I walked right in, the cool AC and smell of fresh bread washing over me. The owner, a short lady who resembled my Taiwanese aunties, instantly recognized me and smiled warmly. Before I could even speak, she handed me my favorite salt butter roll, fresh out of the oven. I handed her a small coin and took a big bite into the roll; crisp, buttery and soft.
After each break, I’d return to school with a full stomach and heart. My teacher would laugh, teasing me for eating the same treat every day, but I didn’t care.
That bakery, Rolling Eyes 麵包與咖啡 (bread and coffee), became my refuge during my summer studying Mandarin in Taiwan. Thousands of miles from home and stumbling through conversations with my broken Chinese, I often felt a mix of loneliness and shame. Yet in that tiny shop, with its six bar seats and the same couple working side by side every day, I felt safe. Time seemed to slow down amid the delicious aroma of sweet bread and quiet chatter.
Three months later, I often think of this bakery and my time in Taiwan like a homesick child, reminiscing of the place where I felt safe, peaceful, free.
It didn’t start out like that, though. Taiwan didn’t start to feel like a second home until I found my routine, filled with go-to spots like Rolling Eyes. These routines became something I could always rely on, despite being in a foreign country.
Now, as a first-year at Northwestern navigating the transition to college life, I look back to Rolling Eyes as hope that I’ll eventually feel at home on campus. Slowly but surely, I’m creating a routine just as I did in Taiwan, discovering new corners on campus where I feel like I truly belong.
Rolling Eyes taught me that home doesn’t have to be one place. Instead, it’s the feeling of peace and familiarity that we find wherever we are. One day, I’ll look back at Northwestern with the same tenderness and nostalgia I feel for that little bakery in Taiwan, and that’s when I’ll know I’ve found home once again.