One afternoon in early May in the small town of Kentwood, Michigan. The sun was shining brightly, and after last night's heavy rain, the sky appeared especially blue, with large clouds floating by. Feng Aihua was lying in her son's bedroom on the second floor of his house, half asleep. She would scroll through short videos on WeChat for a while, then nap for a bit. In the open kitchen downstairs, dozens of dumplings were neatly arranged on the cutting board, which she and her husband had made earlier that morning. Around 5 p.m., the garage door started to move, and the dog began barking. Feng immediately perked up out of reflex, quickly ran downstairs, turned on the stove, and began cooking the dumplings. A few minutes later, her son came in through the front door, and a pot of steaming hot dumplings had already been placed on the dining table by Feng. "I see you've lost weight again recently," Feng said, sitting across from her son at the dining table. This scene in the late afternoon outlined the picture of her daily life. The place where she was staying was a beautiful gray-and-white single house located in a newly developed community, with other houses still under construction nearby. Six months ago, her son and daughter-in-law bought a new house and moved in from an apartment in Kentwood. And about two months ago, she and her husband traveled to the U.S. again to visit their son and daughter in-law. In recent years, the number of middle-aged and elderly new immigrants has rapidly grown in the United States. According to data from the U.S. Census Bureau, from 2011 to 2022, the proportion of middle-aged and elderly people (55 and above) among new Chinese immigrants has increased from 15.24% to 20.81%. In the past decade, like Feng's son, tens of thousands of Chinese international students have come to the U.S. to study and then stayed to work. These young people, who are mostly millennials and grew up when China's One Child Policy was still in effect, are mostly only children. Their parents worked hard in the first half of their lives and sent their only child studying abroad, not realizing that this decision would change their own later years as well. In order to reunite with their children, some of these only-child parents, like Feng , migrate back and forth between the U.S. and China like "migratory birds." Others, more resolute, have bravely emigrated to the U.S. in their middle age. Whether out of necessity or willingness, they all had to accept the change in their later lives because of their children. The Moment of Being Tested "My parents are coming in September, and I'm already feeling anxious." One morning in April, someone left this message in a WeChat group with 500 members. Most of the people in the group are millennials who work or study IN Washington, D.C. area. Most of them immigrated to the US within 15 years. Normally, the discussions in the group are lighthearted, focusing on local cuisine and everyday living. Today's topic is a bit different from usual, yet it hits a pain point for everyone. Most of the parents in the group, like Feng , have chosen a "migratory bird" lifestyle, flying back and forth between the U.S. and China after their children settled in America. This choice has directly collided with their later years, as well as the lives of their adult children. Sparked by one person's comment, others in the WeChat group have started to vent their frustrations. One young woman recounted how, when her mother came to the U.S. to visit her, they had all sorts of conflicts, from waking up times to using phones. She put a sighing emoji in the group chat, then said "We were like water and fire, all my gray hairs appeared during that period." Many others agreed and shared similar experiences. This ordinary WeChat group discussion, though happening among a group of young people, reflects the daily reality of many middle-aged and elderly Chinese immigrants. It also highlights how the lives of Chinese growing up under the One Child Policy who studied abroad have changed the later years of their parents, who have had to adjust to their children's decision to settle overseas. 35-year-old Wang Yu is also one of the young people in this group. Her mother, Zhang Li, saw her later years change because of her only daughter's decision to settle in the United States. In early 2020, as the COVID-19 pandemic spread worldwide, after three flight cancellations, Zhang finally made it to the U.S. before China went into lockdown. Wang had come to the U.S. to study since high school, and after over ten years, finally she was living under the same roof as her mother. But soon after, the affectionate atmosphere faded. Wang quickly felt she had lost her personal space. Due to the language and cultural barriers, her mother couldn't handle simple daily tasks by herself. Wang recalled that when her mother first immigrated to the U.S., she would complain about being useless. Wang Yu felt that her mother had a strong sense of loss during that time. Her mother was very scared to take the subway alone in the New York City. When Zhang's car needed repair, she would drive it to the auto repair shop and call Wang, handing the phone to the American mechanic. "Completely, everything needed you to handle, everything needed you to worry about," Wang admitted, saying that for more than half a year, she felt a lot of psychological pressure. She paused and then added, "Maybe they felt this way when they raised me.” Wang Yu is originally from Chengdu. She now works as a professional investor at a family office in Manhattan, New York City. Like all Chinese Only Children living abroad, she was separated from her parents in her youth. After reaching the age of 30, she reconnected with them, and this familiar yet unfamiliar feeling made their relationship more complex and subtle. Because of the language and culture barrier her mom facing, Wang Yu often had to take on the responsibility of taking caring for them much earlier than her peers who lived in China. "At that time, she was like my crutch, my translator, my mouth, my feet," Zhang also understood her daughter's struggles. Not long after, the mother and daughter jointly purchased a single house in Long Island. Zhang had worked hard for half her life and felt it was time to prioritize quality of life. Before coming to the U.S., Zhang had been the head nurse of the Pain Management Department at West China Hospital of Sichuan University. This top-tier hospital received a large number of patients during the pandemic. Zhang worked on the frontlines until just two days before her flight to leave China. She had to leave because if she didn't enter the U.S. soon, her green card would be at risk of being abandoned. Across the ocean, her only daughter, who had been living in the U.S. for over ten years, was waiting for her. After purchasing the house, the daughter took on tasks like installing security cameras and repairing the roof, often using a power drill and climbing up and down alone. When her mother arrived, Wang Yu felt much busier than when she lived alone. However, she also realized that after her mother arrived in the U.S., New York for the first time gave her a sense of "second hometown" — a feeling of having a family. While she still lives in her apartment in Manhattan, she would visit her mother on Long Island from time to time, venting the frustrations in work to her mom, which gave her more psychological support. "Set goals for your parents." In the WeChat group, Wang Xiang offered his advice to ease the anxious atmosphere in the discussion. He is a father of two, and his parents, along with his in-laws, take turns coming to the U.S. He set a Bitcoin Mining task for his father as a daily goal. His long-term goal for his father was to get a driver's license. His father took the tasks seriously. After achieving the long-term goal, Wang Xiang praised his father and took the whole family to Washington D.C. to celebrate the Cherry Blossoms. "I have to be the manager," Wang Xiang added, "and my parents are the team members." Wang Xiang's management theory made many people in the group chat laugh, while others said they would give their parents tasks the next time they visit. Perhaps more than their parents' language barriers, what weighs heavily on these Chinese Only children is rethinking their relationship with their parents. The gap between them is harder to bridge due to cultural differences between the East and West and the long period of separation. "I did grow up in China, but actually, more than half of my life has been in the U.S.," Wang Yu thought for a moment and said, "I think my thinking is actually more Westernized." Wang Yu believes that Western culture places more emphasis on individualism, where taking care of oneself is the responsibility of every adult, but her mother does not share this view. For instance, when there is a relative who needs help, her mother always thinks of Wang Yu first. If they needs her to review English materials, a phone call comes through from her mom, "You must look at it tonight!" Wang Yu explained to her mother that she was in meetings outside and worked until 8 or 9 p.m. After dinner, she was already exhausted when returning home. If her mother had given her a week's notice, she could have planned her time. "In her eyes, I'm still her little child, and when she needs me, it's very natural for me to be available anytime," Wang Yu said. "I'm happy to help, but sometimes I feel overwhelmed and have no time to arrange everything properly." "Older people don't have a strong sense of boundaries. The house is small, and when there are more people, there's no room to move around," Wang Xiang continued in the WeChat group. His parents had been staying for eight months, and he started thinking about moving to a larger house. Someone responded quickly, saying, "Don't live together." What Wang Xiang refers to is not just physical space, but more about psychological boundaries. An article titled Boundary Awareness: The Social Needs and Construction of Young People in Modern Society points out that social boundaries have become a new demand for young people in China. The ideal state of intimate relationships for them is "mutual support without restraint." Among those Chinese Only Children WHYNOT interviewed, "no personal space" and "huge differences in living habits" were the most frequently mentioned conflicts with their parents. "I would very subjectively build a wall," Liu Achun shared in the group. She lives in Fairfax, a county in Virginia having large Asian population. Her mother and stepfather have both retired in China and are part of the "migratory bird" parent group. She mentioned that for many years, she has emphasized to her mother, "When you come to the U.S., you are a guest in my home. There is only one owner of this house, and that is me and my husband. In other words, when I go back to China to visit, there is only one owner of your house, and that is you and your husband." She said that because they respected each other's ownership," her relationship with her parents is now harmonious. I'm the one who need to wean myself off my daughter In fact, the parents are not entirely unaware of the divergencebetween themselves and their children. They are also trying to reconcile with their children. Feng's son also came to the U. in high school. In the 12 years since, she has visited her son three times. She felt that she has become more tolerant and accepting. She follows a vegetarian diet and pays great attention to health. But her son smokes e-cigarettes, drinks beer, and eats late-night snacks—all things she used to forbid. In the past, she couldn't help but criticize him loudly, arguing with him until their faces turned red. But now, she has come to terms with it. Sometimes, she even proactively hands him a glass of wine. "He has already gotten used to this lifestyle. Why should I stop him?" After coming to the U.S., Zhang gradually understood that, after separating from her daughter, "she should be an independent individual, with her own life." During the interview, this professional woman, who usually speaks in a straightforward and efficient manner, showed rare tenderness as she slowed down her words. "I'm the one who need to wean myself off my daughter. She doesn't need me anymore." A couple hours before WHYNOT's interview, Zhang had just returned from her work to her house in Long Island. Around 3 p.m., the traffic on Highway 495 was gridlocked during rush hour. While driving, she quickly checked the map on her phone. Now, she is adept at using Google Maps, weaving in and out of the highways and side roads, trying to find the fastest route home. When stuck in traffic, she also used Google Translate to look up a new word, "meal," which was written on the truck in front of her. Zhang Li proudly recalled what her daughter recently praised her, "You used to only be able to say individual words, but now you can form English sentences." In fact, according to her daughter's original plan, after immigrating to the U.S., Zhang would no longer need to worry about earning a living. Wang Yu belongs to the high-income group, so supporting her mother in retirement was never a problem. However, Zhang can't stay idle. She loves to learn new things. She also wanted to earn some extra money to ensure her financial security in retirement in the U.S. She went to nursing school and later passed the test to become a certified phlebotomist. Now, she is working at a clinic in New York. Zhang calculated that she would need to work in the U.S. for 10 years to qualify for the retirement benefits in U.S. The normal retirement age in China is at least 7 years earlier than in the U.S., meaning that most middle-aged and elderly immigrants can still legally work in the U.S. even after reaching retirement age in China. However, due to language barriers, most are unable to pursue highly specialized jobs and are limited to working in roles like driving for Uber, delivering food, working in Chinese restaurants, or as nannies. Liu Ling, who has been in the U.S. for less than a year, started working as a nanny for Chinese families. "My peers back in my hometown are all retired, spending their days playing card at home," she told WHYNOT, while pushing a stroller back and forth, "I expect to keep working for another ten years in the U.S." Meanwhile, the discussion among the children of "migratory bird parents" continues in the WeChat group—how to keep their parents busy in the U.S.? Liu Achun's parents love outdoor activities and have explored all the forest parks around Washington DC. Some others encourage their parents to start a "second career," such as opening a private Chinese restaurant or catering business at home. Some also suggest sending their parents to Chinese churches. Whether the parents are migratory birds or permanently immigrant to the US, the parents of these overseas Chinese Only Children leave their hometowns in the name of their children. They all need to think about how to rebuild their lives in their later years in this new land. Like Zhang Li. some who return to work, learning English on their own and reintegrating into society. Additionally, some parents huddle together, seeking out communities and starting a new life as immigrants. At 9:18 a.m., the Route 64 bus stopped by the community Center in Gaithersburg, Maryland, and several elderly individuals with gray hair got off. They are all Chinese, some wearing blue masks, and others carrying backpacks with badminton rackets inside. Over 20 cars were already parked in the lot. Every week, nearly a hundred elderly people gather here to learn English, dance ballroom, sing karaoke, practice calligraphy... They enjoy the rare social time outside of family life, a luxury in the U.S. In a small classroom on the right, the space has been transformed into a makeshift karaoke room. Two men are holding microphones while a small television in front plays the MV of a song called Clouds of Hometown. Three women sit nearby, cheering them on. They are lost in the music, as if transported back to the 1980s in China. They took turns singing , while controlling the volume to avoid disturbing their companions across the room, who were practicing Tai Chi on the basketball court. On the blackboard in front of them, the the perfect tense in Chinese word is circled, a remnant from the last English class. The article New Elderly Immigrants in the United States: Challenges, Responses, and Intervention Strategies points out that, aside from language and cultural barriers, close to half of the older immigrants in the U.S. reported having emotional problems.. In recent years, in cities with large Chinese population, an increasing number of Chinese groups have been applying to local governments to register as nonprofit organizations, providing various services for elderly Chinese immigrants. Larger ones have their own office buildings, while smaller ones can only rent different venues. This community center in Gaithersburg, Maryland is one of them. About half an hour later, two elderly men emerged from the classroom, one dragging a speaker and the other carrying a television. They walked through the crowded corridor, greeting and chatting with fellow seniors in Chinese, then hurried off to their next class. WHYNOT reporter chatted with them and asked why they had chosen certain songs. They smiled but couldn't immediately explain. "Singing these songs makes me more patriotic," one of the men, wearing a cap, said after a brief pause. "It's China," he added. Originally from Fujian, he and his wife immigrated over ten years ago to help their daughter take care for their grandson. Before he knew it, his grandson was already in college. "At our age, we definitely can't fit into American society. We just stay with people with similar backgrounds," he continued, crossing his arms and turning his head toward the other elderly men sitting at a nearby round table. "Look, we just stick together to keep warm." Two staff members were at another table, organizing meal tickets. One of the benefits of the joining this group is providing affordable lunches. Typically, people over the age of 60 who have Medicare are eligible to enjoy subsidized government meals, which range from $0 to $10, depending on state Senior Nutrition Programs and other policies. Here, the meal costs just $2. Not everyone qualifies for the discounted meals, but local residents aged 60 and over can participate in all activities by paying a one-time $5 membership fee. "Here, we run on love," said one of the center's leaders, originally from Chiayi, Taiwan. Wearing a blue scarf around her neck, she is small and energetic. "At home, they just sit with their iPads watching TV. Here, time passes faster," she added. As she spoke, her eyes occasionally scanned the room to ensure the safety of the seniors. At this center, from the teachers to the president, everyone works without pay. The website of the Chinese-American Senior Association states, "There are more than 10,000 Chinese elderly people in the Greater Washington area, most of whom retired and moved to the United States to live with their children. They are unfamiliar with English, unable to drive, and loneliness is inevitable. The Chinese-American Senior Association was established in response to this need." In this complex little community, members address each other with a mix of English names, WeChat usernames, and Chinese names, maintaining relationships that are neither too deep nor too shallow. One long-time member said, "As Chinese, children is our priority." However, living in a city with fewer Chinese residents, Feng was far less fortunate—there were no large-scale Chinese community organizations here. Neither she nor her husband could drive, so most of the time, they stayed at home. She cooked for her son, took care of his two dogs and a cat, spent her spare time learning to grow vegetables in the backyard, but most of the time, she was scrolling through WeChat. Feng said that she could endure loneliness, but her husband found it difficult to bear. She comforted both him and herself, saying, "Chinese people used to say, 'Home is wherever your parents are,' but I believe that home is wherever your children are." Migratory Birds Are Tired, Where Do They Settle? Since getting married, Liu has begun to think about the issue of her parents' retirement. "I could never give up my job and life in the United States." Liu is an engineer specializing in land development. Both she and her husband enjoy the relatively relaxed work environment in the U.S. and are unwilling to return to China to live. How to care for her parents in their old age? On 1point3acres, one of the largest online forums for Chinese international students and immigrants, the Parents' Retirement Plan is always a hot topic. Many Chinese children feel confused, fearful, and even feel that there's no solution, because the first issue is whether their parents are willing to come to the U.S. Many people mention that parents often find life in the U.S. boring, even likening it to "being in prison." Every time Liu brings up retirement plans with her parents, she notices that their attitude seemed indifferent. Traveling, volunteering in the community, running marathons... Liu listed off to WHYNOT what her parents are doing in their retirement life now. "They really enjoy the present and are in good health. They refuse to come out of China." But she also said with some frustration, "But I have to think for them, what if their health declines?" In Liu Achun's plan, once her parents get U.S. citizenship, they can apply for Medicaid. Alternatively, they can use their assets in China to apply for Medicare. Most new elderly immigrants' health insurance falls into these two types. To make their life more convenient, Liu and her husband might consider moving to a city with a large Chinese community, like New York City. "But I strongly feel that they don't really want to come. I think they would prefer to go to a nursing home in China rather than come to live with me in U.S." Liu has also made the worst-case plan—if her parents really don't want to come, she can take a long leave and return to China to take care of them for half a year. "As the only child, I can't imagine my parents living in a nursing home by themselves. I'm afraid they won't receive proper care." What made Zhang Li decide to finally come to the U.S. was the image of elderly people lying alone in hospital beds. When she was a head nurse in China, Zhang often had to visit retired professors from West China Hospital. Those elderly individuals were lonely and unconscious, and upon inquiring, she learned that their children were all abroad. "Isn't their current situation my future?" Zhang Li thought, feeling pity for both herself and her daughter. "My daughter, she doesn't have any siblings." Overseas Only children face the same troubles as their peers back home, as the consequences of the One Child Policy become more apparent. Both parents and children are each other's only family members. The migrant parents are conflicted, torn between the desire to reunite with their only children in the US and their reluctance of leaving their comfort zones in China. As they confront their aging bodies, they must make a decision where to settle when they are no longer able to travel. "We would like to go to a nursing home e in China, we're more accepting of that," said Feng. During her previous visits to the U.S., she witnessed her son's college graduation, his marriage, and his purchase of a house. This time, she finally settled in her son's house with her husband. "Some people may not be willing to accept it, but why not? If you go to a nursing home, wouldn't the children feel more at ease?" She reasoned with WHTNOT. Her mom lives in a retirement home in China, and she and her brother take turns caring for her. An article titled Loneliness of Elderly Immigrants, Immigrant Age, and Depression: A Moderating Effect mentions that family relationships are crucial to the psychological health of elderly immigrants because they can be a source of both stress and support. For Feng, her son's business is just starting, and her daughter-in-law is pregnant, having quit her job to prepare for the baby. "This is the time when money is tight," Feng doesn't want to add more financial burden on her child. As long as she is in good health and able to travel back and forth, she doesn't plan on settling permanently in the U.S. Feng and her husband both worked in Chinese government agencies for a lifetime and have full medical benefits in China. "Why come here and waste money?" she retorted to WHYNOT. Every time her son mentions bringing them to the U.S. for retirement, she just smiles, "I can come to help you look after the kids, no problem." Feng would then evade her son by replying, "Who knows what will happen in the future? Let's talk about it later." She has made a "five-year plan," in which she plans to continue being a migratory bird for another five years, helping her son and daughter-in-law take care of their children. "When I can return to China, I can still live a normal life," she mused. "Yes, my real life in China." (To protect the privacy of the interviewees, Wang Yu, Feng Aihua and Wang Xiang are pseudonyms.)