With “Sycamore Springs” and a bright yellow star plastered across the front, the green T-shirt sat in the middle of my bed, comically small in comparison to other scattered pieces of clothing. It was surprisingly soft.

I held it to my face, imagining to myself lingering scents. The one specific type of Glade which welcomed me every weekday morning. Melting chocolate that I received in return for my first successfully completed homework assignment. The clean aroma of freshly cut grass which stung my nose during recess. Images of my first grade teacher, the class, and my first memories of the U.S. flashed through my eyes.

Ms. Wilson, the nicest woman I have ever encountered. She met my illiterate 6-year old self with confidence, supporting my struggles through the alphabet with take-home tests and never ending patience. Yet, she never failed to reprimand me in just the right moments, like when I found a confidante in another Asian girl during class, gossiping in Chinese and ignoring the rest of the class. God forbid I talked to anyone that spoke English. We were immediately placed on opposite sides of the classroom. Though I resented the public shame more than anything else at the time, I recognize that this forced separation did much to improve my social and English capabilities.

The familiar T-shirt compelled me to pull out a tattered keychain that held a picture of me from first grade. I wore the same exact T-shirt during this picture. The tan was ever present, a much more appreciated feature in the U.S. in comparison to the judgmental eyes of every other parent in China. I’d smiled widely for my first school picture, my eyes curling into crescents. I remember a little kid making fun of my “small eyes”, no doubt a product of the white-dominant community in the small town of Cookeville, Tennessee. My reaction landed me a demotion to yellow card for the week, my only offense ever, but I had no regrets.

Staring hard at the T-shirt in my hand, I decisively threw the T-shirt into the “Keep” pile. I wouldn’t ever wear the children’s small shirt again, wouldn’t ever be able to truly return to those simpler, exciting times. Yet, having it around was enough. I could settle for a trip back in time, even if it meant returning to reality in the very end.