Description: Overpowered 1. HOME, SWEET HOME It all started with a stupid sandwich. Chicken curry and spinach stuffed inside a homemade pita pocket. I found it in my backpack one Friday morning when I was getting ready for school. Neatly wrapped inside a neon-green plastic bag, one of those flimsy sacks used by the local Bangkok markets, along with a handwritten note, which tumbled out: Nica: Remember to recycle! Love, Mom. "What''s this?" I stood in the doorway of my mother''s bedroom, dangling the suspect package in front of her face like it was radioactive plutonium. "Your lunch. I made it last night." Dressed in a colorful peasant skirt and ivory silk blouse, she grabbed her oversized shoulder bag and swooped by me, out of the room. "What possessed you to do that?" I followed her into the kitchen. "You don''t like chicken curry?" She was rummaging through a stack of magazines and guidebooks on the kitchen table. "By the way, have you seen my notebook? I know it must be here somewhere. . . ." "No, I love chicken curry, Mom," I said while handing her the book, which was lying on top of the fridge, right where she''d left it the night before. She was always misplacing things. "That''s not the point." "Well, the point is, Nica, you''re sixteen and you need to take better care of yourself. A bag of prawn crackers is not lunch. Not to mention you need some nutrition with kickboxing practice this afternoon." My mother dropped the spiral notebook into her bag and then rushed out the front door of our large 1930s colonial Bangkok apartment with me close behind. I would not let the conversation end. "Which I''ve had every Friday for like the last six months. All of a sudden you''re auditioning for Mother of the Year?" If I sounded a wee bit suspicious, it was with good reason. My mother never made lunch for me. Ever. * * * Let me rewind: I''m not saying that Lydia (aka my mom) had never once made my lunch since I was born. But she certainly had not since we''d moved overseas ten years ago. I''m not complaining or trying to be all Judge-Judyish about her less-than-stellar parenting skills. Honestly. I''m not even suggesting that she was a bad mom or the least bit neglectful (though the word "maternal" doesn''t immediately pop to mind when describing her attributes). All I''m saying is that my mother was always preoccupied. Enthusiastically self-obsessed, with her own life and the fate of the world, for starters. Concern for my food intake and emotional well-being ranked way lower than, say, worrying about the vanishing polar bear population or where she could find a good Ashtanga yoga workshop. * * * Not quite buying Lydia''s newfound concern, I chased her down the stairs out to the busy street in Soi Tonson, determined to get to the bottom of things. If there was one thing I knew for sure in my young life, it was when my mom was trying to butter me up, getting ready to lower the boom about something or other I wasn''t going to like. And that day she was most definitely avoiding me big time. "We''ll discuss it all later, honey. Hurry, or you''ll miss your bus." She kissed me, pointing to the approaching bus, anxious to leave. She was going to check out the quaint Thonburi canals along the Chao Phraya River for an article she was writing for some travel magazine. "The next one''s in eight minutes." I stood there at the corner, not getting on, refusing to budge. Not till she came clean about what was really on her mind. "Tell me what''s going on. What''s the big secret?" My mother knew she couldn''t dodge me any longer. She took a deep breath, sighed, and said, "Antarctica." "As in the continent at the South Pole? What about it?" World geography was most definitely something I was up on. "They want me to go. National Geographic magazine. To do a cover story." "Mom, that''s awesome. When do we leave?" I was all ready to find my passport and hop on the next plane south. Not that I didn''t love Bangkok. I did. It was insanely beautiful, with golden palaces and ancient Buddhist temples. It was also insanely crowded, with twelve million people, but incredibly welcoming, with the most delicious seafood I''d ever tasted. The weather was hot and humid and always felt like summer. Shopping heaven with everything from inexpensive clothing and jewelry markets to fancy bazaars. All in all, a fantastic and totally amazing 24/7 metropolis that never slept. But we''d already been in Thailand more than nine months. Our longest stretch ever, anywhere. It now was time for us to move on. Traveling had always been my mother''s passion, bordering on mania. She was an ecotravel writer (her description, not mine)--a globe flitterer who loved immersing herself in far-flung, exotic locales for months at a time. Living among "the people" and not in fancy five-star hotels, soaking up their culture and respecting their way of life, hopefully without inflicting too much damage, while she wrote about all the exciting adventures awaiting the daring tourist. As a result, we''d moved around the world as often as some people changed Facebook status. Nineteen times over the last ten years (with as many schools), from Zanzibar to Patagonia, with stops in Morocco, Kazakhstan, Tasmania, Botswana, India, and Thailand, among many others. In fact, I''d lived on every continent except Antarctica. And now I''d be able to cross that off my list of things to do before I died. It was going to be epic. I knew I was kind of a freak. Not a two-headed circus type or bearded-lady variety. But more like the "Really, you lived where? You did what?" type of freak, which I totally didn''t mind at all. Believe it or not, I was happy. I loved seeing the world. Not having a permanent home or school seemed kind of liberating. Really. No emotional complications or bad breakups with boyfriends (not that I had ever really had a serious one yet). No big expectations or letdowns from friends. No realizing you were hanging with the wrong crew. And most important: no obligations. I would move on to the next place and dazzle the kids at my new school with my sparkling personality before life got messy and confusing. My mother apparently had other ideas. "You''re dumping me?" I felt sucker punched, like the wind had been knocked out of me. "You''re going to Antarctica alone? Without me?" "Honey, they want me to live at McMurdo Station for nine months. There isn''t a school at the South Pole." "Who needs a classroom? You can homeschool me." I admit I was grasping at straws. McMurdo Station, Antarctica, was the most remote outpost on earth, according to Lydia. A science station and research center, it had about one thousand residents in the summer but fewer than two hundred in the winter. She hastened to add, "We''re talking months with no sunlight. Not to mention being confined indoors twenty-four/seven." My mother had a point. Antarctica was hardly the place for a teenager who loved exploring new cities and cherished her independence. And yet I wasn''t prepared to give in without at least putting up a fight. "I''ll adapt," I insisted brightly. "You know how great I am at fitting in to new places." "Yes, but you''re a teenager," my mother was quick to remind me. "You should be hanging with kids your own age. Not holed up in some climate-controlled research station in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of overeducated scientists." "Sounds like a perfect learning opportunity. Think of how much I''ll get out of the experience," I retorted brightly, desperately trying to put the best spin on my argument. "Besides, you always said I was precocious." "Believe me, I''d do anything to take you along," my mother admitted. "Then do it. Take me, Mom," I pleaded, playing on her heartstrings, feeling her resolve weakening. "We''ll have so much fun together. We always do." "I know," she replied with a remorseful sigh. "It''s just . . ." "Just what?" I asked with trepidation. Still, I wasn''t quite prepared for the biggest shock yet to come. "Honey, it''s just not possible. Besides, I''ve been thinking . . . about your future and all." Always a bad sign when my mother uttered those three words: "I''ve been thinking . . ." "What about my future?" I held my breath, anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop. And boy, did it ever. * * * That is how I ended up jetting solo from Bangkok to Denver on a fifteen-hour red-eye flight less than two weeks later. My mom shipped me off to live with my dad in some Podunk hick town in southern Colorado. For the next two years, until I graduate. (Please, just shoot me now.) My free-spirited mother suddenly thought a traditional high school education with all the homespun trimmings in small-town America was the best thing for her worldly daughter. It made no sense to me. She had lived there with my father briefly after they got married nearly twenty years ago. I thought she never had any intention of going back, since my dear old mom got the hell out of there with me when I was two and never looked back, though s

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