April 26, 2026. Dear James. My dear baby.

A week ago, Uncle Chen messaged me, said he wanted to visit you sometime. He first met you when you were only three, and then watched you grow into that tall and handsome young man of almost seventeen, and five eleven.

He lives quite far away now. So I told him that we really appreciate his kindness, but he doesn’t need to. Yesterday afternoon, we went together to visit you. Almost as soon as we came, the cool and nice spring day started to turn. Random, baby raindrops splattered on the grass first. In no time, they grew into a serious and intense rain, washing away my tears as they came out. And I still couldn’t say more than a few words to you before choking, my dear James.

Uncle Chen sent me an essay, a reminiscence, he started writing on the fifth anniversary. He couldn’t finish it back then. It was just too hard. He just did finally. So he shared it with me a week ago. I told him I would have to hold onto it a bit. I needed to prepare myself. Just like I am still not able to open any photo album of you, I am too afraid to open a new memory vault.

In the quiet of the early morning hours, I finally gathered enough courage to click open the essay. It is eloquent, deeply so. It is beautiful, like your heart.

Uncle Chen recalled you falling asleep, little chin resting on my shoulder as a toddler; speeding down the ski slopes backward and knocking your front teeth loose with your own ski pole as a young teen; and offering to help him with his equipment and locker with the kindness and patience typical of you; and you in Six Flags as a sweet young boy.

It brought more tears to me. Bittersweet ones. Uncle Chen’s essay also gifted me precious memories I didn’t know about, or faded long ago. For that, I owe him my eternal gratitude.

People say the past is written, and the ink is dry. It is. And it is not. The past is my present. The past is my living. Almost six years. Almost twenty-three years. Every moment is as fresh as this morning spring air.

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

April 19, 2026. Dear James. It seems this world has been getting stranger by the day. Even the weather. The past winter lingered for way too long, and more fierce than we ever saw together. This spring was too slow to come. It was finally in full bloom yesterday. Mom’s gardens blossom in high spirits, sprinkling lively colors all around the house.

That was just yesterday. But spring is in full retreat on this gloomy morning, yet again. Strange as it gets. Right, my James?

Took a rare mid-afternoon nap yesterday after a walk with mom earlier. And I actually did fall asleep. And right there on the couch, you came to me in that short nap.

It was just like the spring air outside, warm and bright and full of colors with soothing scents. We were in two casual conversations. I was asking you something that was bothering my mind. And you were just there, sitting on the next couch, facing me, with the usual smiles straight from your gentle heart, knees together, almost touching mine, patiently helping me sort through the problems.

I was just there listening, watching you. So close, feeling like a dream.

And then I woke up, looking at the clock on the wall, yes the same clock on that kitchen wall of that house so many years ago, my James. It was 4:35 in the afternoon.

The sun was still bright outside the window, though much lower. The rays shone through the window blinds now. The house was somehow brighter than earlier. So bright I couldn’t recall anything of what we talked about. Only that it was a beautiful springtime dream. Only that the dream happened.

I miss you my Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

April 5, 2026. Qingming Festival. It’s such a misnomer to call this day, isn’t it, my James?

It’s a day of remembrance. Just like any other day. Maybe more so on this day. But is it?

Call it Remembrance Day. Or Qingming Day. I just don’t like calling it a festival. It is just not.

Through all those years, you had helped me with so many peculiar English words. You would have on this one too. In your gentle, patient, and kind way of James.

Spent much of the last month in New Orleans. Spent much of the time running around in the streets, alleys, and paths. Finding memories in my subconscious. But avoiding remembering.

Still memories flooded in persistently, for the time we spent in that city. It was just two days and a half, sandwiched between Baton Rouge and Huston after, and Phoenix, Flagstaff, Las Vegas, Death Valley, and Los Angeles before. It was during the winter break of 2017. Another one of our crazy ventures.

We just climbed Camelback Mountain in Phoenix at close to 100 degrees in the morning, and then waited for more than an hour in the chilly winter drizzle outside Preservation Hall for the iconic New Orleans jazz in French Quarter, that same evening on Christmas Day.

While waiting on the street, I asked you to go inside the store nearby to stay dry and warm with little Sister and Mom. But you being you, you would come out to wait with me every few minutes.

The next evening, little Sister, you, and me would be sitting in the highest and farthest row from the court to watch the NBA game between the New Orleans Pelicans and the Brooklyn Nets. The most vivid excitement, to me, was we only spent $28 per ticket, instead of the $450 had we watched the Los Angels Lakers and the Golden State Warriors just over a week earlier. The next fun was I got to cheer for either team at random. Eventually you told me, quietly, “Dad, you need to stop doing that. People may think you are weird.”

And you would be holding a baby alligator and snakes on a swamp boat the next morning. Always the one to tell you to be brave and try new things, I was the one being too scared to even get close.

We went to the oldest family-run restaurant in America. There was countless memorabilia on the walls, tables, and floors, throughout the restaurant. Almost two hundred years of memories on display.

On this quiet early morning of our Remembrance Day, we don’t have any for the eyes to see at home, my James. I am still too afraid. We are still all too afraid.

It was just two and a half days out of seventeen days short of seventeen years. I had been thinking why New Orleans stayed with me so deep.

And then it dawned on me on one of those mindless jogs. We flew into New Orleans. But we never flew out. Instead, we got a car, and drove on.

It’s like Hotel New Orleans. We checked in. But we never checked out.

I miss you my Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

March 28, 2026. For days. I was walking and running around this city. Just letting my feet lead me. Letting the glimpses of memory resurface. Letting the sweet moments take over.

Until this quiet morning in the hotel room. Somehow I saw you come back into the house, all sweet smiles, your dimple flourishing on your right cheek. Just like every day. It’s such a warm breeze flowing all over me. Flooding into the depth of my heart. Like the peak of spring. Like there is only perfect. Like it’s always like that. Like life is only warmth, smiles, and sweetness.

Then I saw you walk around the corner of the hallway, into the bathroom right before your bedroom. I was still looking your way. Waiting patiently. For that sweet smile to come out again.

Then, I suddenly, for whatever reason, realized that I had lost little Sister. How could that be? Our little princess never let me worry before. How could I have lost her? And gone?

I began to cry. And cried harder. And harder. In total panic. In complete despair. In the hotel bed. And cried myself awake.

Then I didn’t see you anymore. And I texted little Sister.

It’s not fair, is it, my James?

I miss you my dear Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

January 10, 2026. My Dear James. It’s yet another year already.

Mom’s on a trip for work. Sister just drove back to college earlier. It’s just Milo, Felix and me, and a couple of beer cans. Watched a movie, Ben-Hur. No idea what it was about by the title. Then found out it was a clever way to tell a story about Judah. A perspective of Judah I would never have thought of. Love. And redemption. Broken. And a reunion. Happily ever after.

A week ago, we went back to Whitetail Ski Resort. The first time since we went there, together, ten years ago. A lifetime ago, my James.

Late into the day, I ventured onto the short slope called Drop In to cut into the backside of the mountain, where we spent many a day through the years. Right beneath the top of the slope, I saw a young man, probably your age, head down, legs with his skis up, arms flailing, struggling and slowly sliding down the slope. I shouted over to him, “Do you need help?” He was exhausted and probably scared already. I couldn’t make out his answer. So I went over and helped him take off his skis, and guided him down the slope, on his butt. It is a short slope, but a very long way to go down on his back, and particularly with his head leading the way.

He really had no business getting onto a black diamond slope. But a boy is a boy. Right, my James?

Turning left at the bottom of Drop In, right there, was the familiar sight of the lift to the top of the back mountain. I looked at the big map. And there it was. The slope on the very left is called Bold Decision.

I had totally forgotten the name of the slope, after so many years. But that winter morning of 2013 always played on whenever skiing came to mind.

It was the second year since our family started skiing. But you were already going everywhere for a while with other kids.

Yet, I had a silly thought of catching up with you. So for whatever reason, even though I absolutely had no business getting on a double diamond slope that year, I went for Bold Decision by myself that morning.

Of course, I tumbled down half the slope. Only able to recover enough to slide down to the bottom, on my butt. Then you saw me, asked me what happened, and asked me where my skis and poles were. Somewhere up the slope, I pointed.

Then you told me to wait.

And then I saw you headed for the lift.

And ten minutes later, I saw you again, arms holding my skis and poles on your chest, gliding down Bold Decision, gracefully.

My ten year old boy to my rescue.

That late afternoon a week ago, I looked up at Bold Decision, for the first time since 2016. It felt so gloomy. It was deserted.

I could only ask myself, “Should I do it?” Even when on the lift, I was still looking to the left at the slope the whole way, trying to find the spots where you had picked up my scattered skis and poles thirteen years ago.

Getting off the lift, I ended up turning to the right, and went down the regular black diamond slope instead. Because you wouldn’t be there to my rescue again that day.

Bold Decision. My dearest James. Bold Decision.

I miss you so much my Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

December 25, 2025. Christmas Day. Six more Christmas Days. My dear James. Merry Christmas, my baby.

It was quite warm yesterday, Christmas Eve, when we visited you. Little Sister too. She is back for the winter break of her second year in college already. Hard to believe, right, our big Brother?

While there with you, the nice, quiet, clear and warm weather brought back my memory from Christmas Day just ten years ago. It was even warmer. So warm, we broke our annual ski trip routine and went hiking in the Old Rag Mountain in Shenandoah that day. You were already a big boy, the same height as mine. You already took over the backpack filled with water and snacks from me. And you were always looking out for and helping little Sister, and especially, another little five year girl in our group.

Ten years, my James. The giant rocks, our picnic spots, you turning around to wait for us ahead in the trail, every clip still living vividly in my memory. It is just, my dear James, also like ten lifetimes ago.

Last Sunday afternoon, Mom, Sister and I went for a stroll in downtown Leesburg, just because we had never been there. It was cold that day. But holiday was in the air, on the streets, inside the stores and shops. It was four o’clock. But I saw a lot of people sitting at long tables at a bar, eating. I was trying to find a word to describe what they were doing at that hour.

And then all of a sudden, I blurted it out loud, “Linner”. Sister asked, “What did you say?” I repeated, “Linner”. Sister asked again, “What is that?” I answered, “ A combined lunch and dinner.” Sister laughed at me, “ Nobody says that.”

Somebody did. I thought to myself quietly. And quietly, I walked on with Sister and Mom.

Somebody did. My dear James. To this day, I couldn’t remember exactly when I heard it from you. But it had to be at our breakfast table in that house you loved, when you were 12, 13, or 14 years old. You got up late, and were eating a late breakfast. Then I said, “So you are eating brunch. What should we call it if people are eating between lunch and dinner time?” You gave it almost no thought, and said, “Linner.”

Linner.

Nobody else ever said that to me.

Merry Christmas. My dear Xiaoyang. 

November 9, 2025. Dear James. Winter is setting in already.

This morning, it wasn’t until I was on the way back home, when it dawned on me that I forgot to tell you about the dream last night when I was just with you a moment ago.

In the dream, I was staring at a simple train route, just one straight line, with a big dot somewhere close to the center. I was directing mom to take that train to some place. But however we tried, mom could never get to the right stop. We were both beyond frustrated.

And then in my sleep, I heard a cat throwing up nearby. I opened my eyes, turned on the light, and saw it’s Milo. He doesn’t throw up much. But last night it was him. I got up and cleaned up after him.

I looked at the phone and it was past 2 o'clock. Didn’t think I would be able to fall back into sleep, but eventually I did. And I fell right back into the train ride dream.

But this time, it was me on the train. Just one train, one straight route. And endless rides. Because wherever I got off the train, it wasn’t the right station, even though you were calling to guide me along the way.

They all felt wrong as soon as I stepped on the platform. So I kept rushing on, and off, that same train, with a clear map of the railway that was just one straight line in my head, north to south.

Until I jumped onto the second to last station. Standing on the platform, I saw vaguely many many things, even though nothing was clear. But they all felt familiar. And I knew at that moment that was the place I had wanted all along.

But at that moment you stopped talking to me.

Did you, my James?

I miss you my Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

November 2, 2025. Dear James. Just got home finally.

From half a world away. No real planning ahead. Random destinations. Totally strange places neither of us had been to. Just some last minute flights.

Just your Apple Watch. Your iPhone Eight Plus. And your AirPod Pro. And a backpack. Just the two of us. For eight days.

Most days I just walked on miles and miles of strange streets. Not a single place that I recognized. Not a single face that I knew. Most of the time the air was filled with languages I didn’t understand.

But I never felt lonely. I kept taking peeks at the watch on my wrist. For the time maybe. Though I still don’t know how to use it. Really just to see again, and again, the watch was there, on my wrist.

This familiar world. That strange world. Or the entirely different world that I will be joining you in.

As long as I have your watch, your phone, and earbuds with me.

I miss you my Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

October 5, 2025. It is 5 o’clock in the morning, again, my dear James.

At this same moment two mornings ago, I was on my walk to the metro station for work as usual. And I somehow just looked up into the countless stars, all sparkling quietly in the chilly night sky, and every one of them mesmerizing. There was this one much brighter than all others, high to the south, lightening the path ahead.

And at that exact moment, a casual conversation with a friend the weekend before came back to me. She asked why I go to work so early. I remember saying so that I could come home early too.

But with you not home, with Sister not home, I don’t really have a reason to try to come home early every day, do I?

The Milky Way is so far away. Many of the stars above are yet much farther. Still they all reached down to me at that moment. Even though I can’t reach any of them back.

At that exact moment, I knew the true answer to the friend’s question that I never really asked, nor answered, myself.

Was it the same 5 o’clock starry sky you last saw, my James? Before you became one of them, and now looking down at me, my dear baby?

For so long, I had to stop listening to your Spotify playlist. Because it was bringing too many tears.

But at that moment, tears were already blurring and straying the starlights. And Linkin Park was already playing all over me on its own, the lyrics dancing in my vision. Or maybe it was playing to the stars, maybe at least one of the stars?

“

Should've stayed, were there signs, I ignored?

Can I help you, not to hurt, anymore?

We saw brilliance, when the world, was asleep

There are things that we can have, but can't keep

If they say

Who cares if one more light goes out?

In the sky of a million stars

It flickers, flickers

Who cares when someone's time runs out?

If a moment is all we are

We're quicker, quicker

Who cares if one more light goes out?

Well I do

“

September 30, 2025. Dear James. It’s 6 o’clock on the rainy streets of Washington, DC. The city is waking up. But the sky just won’t let it yet. The sense of quietness is surreal.

Just a couple hours ago. It was totally different. I was wandering aimless in the usual bustling crowds in bright daylight. But everything, and everybody in the crowds, were strangers. Until your sweet face suddenly appeared. And everything else, the people, the buildings, the cars, and the streets, all faded into blurry smudges.

It was a face from when you were five or six. Still with the lingering baby fat. The high dimple on your right cheek had a smile on its own, even when the sweetest, blossoming smile was flowing all over your face.

And that smile was all I saw. Everything else ceased to exist for that moment.

And you were saying something to me, in your usual gentle, and boyish, voice.

But I was drowning in that smile. I was so eager and hungry to take in every bit of that boyish face. I didn’t hear what you were saying.

So I asked you, “James, what did you say?”

And right with that question, your smiley face disappeared into the blurry smudges all around. I started calling, “James. James. James………”

The world all around was just dull smudges in dull daylight.

I miss you my Xiaoyang. I love you forever my dear baby. 

September 13, 2025. Dear James. Fall is upon us again. The morning chill is here to remind me every day on my way to the train station in the dark.

Last summer, the lawn totally failed. So I re-seeded it last fall. It was lush, think, the greenest of green, full of life again, for a few months. Then the young and fragile grass failed again under the summer heat, because of my absence and neglect.

Disappointed. So I tried again as soon as fall arrived. Asking an AI, and switching to a new grass type. I would water them at 5 in the morning before work, so that I can water them again early in the afternoon under the still blazing sun.

And they have germinated. The tiny blades pierce the soil. Life comes back to the dead lawn. Again.

The sixteen-year old me would have seen a lot, a lot more, in those little green shoots. Might even have imagined the tip of those green blades would somehow grow into a ladder to the cloud one day.

Yes. My dear James. Something is that easy. But something is just too hard.

I miss you my Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

August 13, 2025. Grand Central Terminal. New York.

Dear James. It’s the same Grand Central Terminal, which we rode into on a Metro North train from New Canaan, Connecticut, together, for the first time, sixteen years ago. Right away, I took you and sister to the whispering gallery, leading you to one corner under an arch, and Sister to another faraway. I asked each of you to say something as quietly as you can towards the arch. And magically, you were able to hear each other clearly even amidst the loud noises all around in the train station.

You were two months from turning six years old. And Sister was just three. And we just moved to Connecticut from Virginia a month before.

Tonight, the same Grand Central was still as noisy. But I heard nothing. 

Tonight, I walked to one of the big monitors, and saw right away the New Haven Line train schedule. There it was, the train to New Canaan

at 7:03 PM. It had been over thirteen years since I took that train for the last time, before we moved back to Virginia, after I took it almost every weekday for three years, unless I was lucky enough to catch the 6:09 PM train, which didn’t happen much.

By the time I got home, you and Sister were usually sound asleep already. By the time you woke up, I would be on a train going to Grand Central again. Sometimes I would leave you something as a surprise. Even though I wouldn’t be around to see your reaction, I knew I would have brightened up your days.

Were all those really that many years ago, my dear James? The train schedule hadn’t changed a bit. I am thinking maybe the platforms haven’t changed either. Looking at all the people rushing to their trains for home after a long day, I think the workday train rides would still be boring. Except for the few times you and Sister were riding with me.

But all those days, even those weekdays you didn’t get to see me, were happy days, weren’t they, my James?

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

August 4, 4:48 AM. You would love the numbers. You would have loved the date. My dear James, this is your twenty-second birthday.

We will all have your favorite cheesecake. The same cheesecake I got you in July 2020 for no reason.

Happy Birthday. My dear Xiaoyang. 

July 19, 2025.

To the dear friends of James: Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts, for the kind messages, sent or unsent, on the fateful day.

And to the friend who always quietly lays the matching bouquets or daisies at James’s before us on the day: Thank you. Thank you. Thank You.

Joe, on behalf of James.  

July 18, 2025. Five years passing us by. My dear James.

Many years ago, when I started reading in English, I soon realized almost all the books were written in the past tense. I think one of those books was even titled “Past Tense”. It makes sense, right, my James?

But I always had a special feeling for those few written in the present tense. Didn’t know why. But didn't bother to figure it out either.

Until I had to. My James.

And every time I have had to make that choice, in the past five years, it is that merciless knife etching yet another fresh, and deep, scar in the path of time.

And now the five-year marker looms, taunting, and mocking with its cruelty.

Right next to me on your bookshelves, and in that closet behind the closed door, were boxes of your clothes, arts, books, and all kinds of things you used, made, or liked, every one of which I packed in the darkest daylight, soaked in countless tears.

But all those tears I tried to box up with your belongings have flooded into this present moment, seeping into the forever now.

My dear James. I hadn’t turned on your computer for a while. I am sorry. But when I just did, and signed in as James Huang, your photo of that beautiful seagull taking off over the blue waters of the Seattle bay in the setting sun leaps onto the screen just as before. The computer is still running strong five years after you last signed off. And before that, it had already been running strong for five years after you built it in middle school. I know, James, it wouldn’t be up to your standards now. But it is perfect for me. Forever.

And it is perfect for me to write to you on. For this moment. For eternity.

My dear James. You chose your room to rest in. You wanted to stay home for eternity. You kept everything clean, tidy, and perfect. But you wouldn’t know we would have to move out of the house. You couldn’t have known. You were still just my little boy, of dreams, imagination, and longing.

You are so full of care. You thought so little of yourself and so much of us. But my James. Just staying in that house had become too much to bear for us.

We had to move away from the house not because we don’t love the memories of the house. It’s just too much of the fond memories there that have turned it into a crushing space for us. Just as I still can't open your photo albums after five years. The love and memories are so overwhelming they would grind whatever that’s left to shreds.

Dear James. While in my mind’s eye, I still keep looking out of your bedroom windows at that quiet courtyard in the front, at the cardinals perching on the cherry tree in the spring, at the fox sneaking by in the summer, at the red and brown and yellow leaves brushing by the lawn in the fall, and at the serene snow blanket all over in the winter, I know what isn’t there any more. Dad knows. But dad didn’t know. And dad doesn’t want to know.

This world moves on. I am still at that quiet corner watching the relentless one way flow of time. It is a carnival out there. But no, I just can not join it. Or there will be less, and less, of the past that my fingers can hold on to, my James.

Sometimes, when I forgot to turn down the volume on my laptop computer before powering it off, the machine would chime a few times before going dark. The loud beeps of the computer would bring up anew the moment when a thirteen-year old little Sister asked me, “why did your computer do that?” Yes. That was one of the moments when you were also walking by us at the breakfast table in the kitchen. That was early 2020. That was when everything was shut down by the virus, and all of us were home all the time. And that was when my big, handsome boy would come in and out of my sight many, many times a day.

Life moves on. The world spins on. Even little Sister is in college for a whole year already. Most people would say empty nesters would have all the time in the world to pursue what they want.

But that is not true for everybody, my James. There is really only one thing I want. And it is forever out of my reach. Maybe only in my dreams. If dreams are what can still be hoped for. But some voids can never be filled back in.

You made a drawing in the third grade, of a Greek myth, about Sisyphus being punished by the gods to push a boulder up a hill. Of course, he was never meant to make it.

Back in May, for some impulsive reason, Mom and Sister and I went to Yellowstone and Grand Teton. It was a trip the four of us were going to make in the summer of 2019. On one of the hikes on the mountains, I decided to drive ahead and leave the car at the end of the trail, then walked back to meet them to save them some of the walks. But as soon as I started the hike back from the end, stumbling into the thick ice and snow, and thinking about the wild animals that might be lurking in the woods, I got worried. And soon I started running up and down the winding hills along the trails. Then I finally saw them, taking in the breathtaking views, and pictures.

At that moment, another memory came to mind. It was when you were thirteen years old, during a school break, you, Sister and I went to tour the US Capitol. On our way back to the parking garage, the spring rain started pouring. I saw a bus stop with a roof on the side of the road. I asked you if you could wait with Sister there until I came back with the car. You assured me that you would, and you would watch over Sister. I ran all the rest of the way to the car. But I wasn’t really worried. You were already taller than me. And you assured me.

But on that day on that Yellowstone mountain in May 2025, I was very worried. Or more precisely, I was scared. Because you weren’t there.

Some people are now saying there is the chance this world is just a simulation. Everything we see, everything we hear, everything we touch, in this world I know, may just be that, one simulation out of many. Dear James, you would be the perfect one to explain to me about all that, just like the way you explained to me about the logic and meanings of traveling between parallel universes when you were fifteen.

Five years flowing by, ruthlessly, and from time to time I still catch myself asking myself “Is this real”?

Dear James. The dreams I used to have came in bright day lights. And dear James. The dreams I have now only came in the deep, dark nights. And every so often I find myself pondering in which realm the soul resides.

In a hotel room in Salt Lake City two months ago, Sister and I were having a small chat about something. I don’t even remember the subject. But I do remember one thing she said, “Dad, you need to stop living in the past.”

She was using my iPad that day. And the background picture on it was the four of us under the Eiffel Tower, all squinting because of the sun in our eyes. Yet our happiness was shining over the summer sunlight. It was in August 2014. You were 11, and Sister 8.

We miss you Xiaoyang. We love you forever, James, Brother, and Son. 

June 15, 2025. Sunday. My James.

People call it Father’s Day. One of the days I dread the most, among the days I have tried to forget. Nevertheless it keeps coming, for the fifth time since then.

Another door that I pretend to be closed opens. The darkness beyond merges naturally into this moonless night. Any pretend sleep is futile.

From behind that door, there is always that PowerPoint slideshow you created ten Father’s Days ago, “Where Is Dad?” As an eleven-year old boy, your hilarious sense of humor still brings me smile for a moment, even in this dark of the night.

A few days ago, with the kindest intention, somebody asked me that question again, “Do you have kids?” After almost five years, I still stammered, and struggled for the answer.

I would give everything to have that door open, and out comes the voice, calling “Ba Ba” to me.

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

May 31, 2025. Dear James.

It’s the last day of May. Tomorrow, it will be International Children's Day. A day we never celebrated. Or jokingly so at most.

Last night was also the first night sleeping on my own bed after another week of travel. It was a long and deep sleep to make up for the week.

And we spent a big part of it making dumplings.

And it was a lot of fun. All laughters. I walked onto the front porch of a house, saw you and Sister sitting on the opposite sides of a long table, you to the farther right, Sister on the closer left, a big bowl of dough between you two on the table. A lot of dumpling wraps were already on the table. The two of you made them, with wooden hand rollers. Flour everywhere, on the table, on the floor, on your faces, and hair.

And we made lots, and lots, of dumplings. Plates and plates of them. All pan fried. The way you like them. The way we all like them.

We knew there was no way we would be able to eat them all by ourselves. We began to invite random people in to help. Lots of people came and there still seemed to be an endless supply of pan-fried dumplings. In no time the small house became chaotic like a little family eatery. But everybody was happy and laughing. And eating pan-fried dumplings.

But not you.

In the chaos of frying and delivering dumplings to the tables, I was trying to find you. But you were not there helping me cook them. Neither were you there at the table enjoying the fried dumplings, the fruits of our hard work together.

Everywhere I looked, I couldn’t get a glimpse of you.

And soon the crowd, the chatting, and the laughter faded into the background, and gone. It was just a quiet room with two big tables, plates of leftover dumplings on top, flour all over the floor.

But there was a lot of fun when we made the dumplings. I remember. It was a lot of laughs from all of us.

Except during those years, we never really made dumplings by ourselves at home.

Now wide awake, I keep trying to recall that glimpse of you and Sister at the table. I remember you still looked the same as you were. Sister was sitting with her back to me. But when she turned to me as I walked in, she looked about your age back then too.

I went to Raleigh for the week. We went there together during Christmas 2018, in the name of a college campus tour for you. But really it was just a last minute random trip, as you called it back then.

Back then, you were fifteen.

Happy Children’s Day, my James.

I miss you my Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

April 25, 2025. Dear James.

I found myself in a room of our home. Just knowing it was home, even though it didn’t look familiar, even though I somehow knew we bought it from our next door neighbor from THAT house we lived in for six years.

I saw a desk scattered with books, and tiny screw bits and tool parts spread on top of the blue comforter on an unmade bed. The light from the table lamp felt warm to the heart.

I was confused. Nobody used those tiny screws and tools for years. Why were they left out on the bed? By whom?

Then it dawned on me. It had to be you, my James. You were the only one who used them before. And it had to be you who would use them ever again. I was thrilled. My James was home.

I turned, left the room, and went around the house looking for you right away. Found you in the basement, in your familia blue and light gray striped shirt, busy in front of a big water boiler or something, with its outer casing taken off. You were lighting and shutting off fires here and then, obviously with natural gas flowing through that thing.

An engineer at work, even though it looked very dangerous to me.

I asked, “James, be careful. What are you doing with that?” You turned to me, and smiled, still that same handsome face of the teenager, after being away in college for so many years.

You then turned off all the fires, and very carefully covered the big thing with three layers of some type of plastic covers.

And came over into my arms. An embrace that seemed to last forever.

Soon after, little sister and a tall guy, in a light gray button-down shirt, obviously the oldest brother to you and Sister, came to join us. All of you had come home.

It seemed like some kind of a plan. The four of us just went out into a city, even though it felt foreign. We were doing our tourist things, sightseeing, eating, going somewhere, but not really going anywhere on purpose.

Somehow it was just you and me, you in a checkered blue and white shirt. It was still daylight amongst modern buildings and streets. But I was feeling like it was that night in Yosemite National Park, the two of us walking back on the quiet path from the communal bathrooms back to our cabin, you leaning close by my side.

All of a sudden you said to me, “Ba Ba, I think that boiler might not have been completely shut off. With all the covers, it could get overheated and explode. We should call them to check on it.”

For some reason Sister and the oldest brother had gone home. So the two of us started calling Sister’s phone. But her phone appeared out of network somehow. No response at all no matter how many times we tried. Then you said we should try the big brother’s phone.

I pulled out my paper phone book, flipping through the pages, trying to find his phone number in a hurry. But I just couldn’t find any record for him. Then I asked myself: what’s his name?

What is his name? I didn’t know.

I took out my pen, and tried to write down his name from memory. I had his last name as Huang, same as ours. I had his middle name as Wei, same as yours. Both I was sure of. But I just couldn’t think of his first name. The pen was making some messy squiggly lines on the paper. But no name came out.

I started sweating. And sweating heavily. But however hard I tried, I just couldn't think of his first name.

And then I woke up in the dead of darkness. You weren’t by my side anymore. And I still couldn’t think of his first name.

Because you never have an older brother.

My James. You are my only son. My dearest James. 

April 17, 2025. Dear James, it has been too long. I am sorry.

Lake Oswego. A few weeks ago, I learned that I would need to make a trip to Lake Oswego. An electric shock blazed through me instantly, even in the unseasonably cold early spring.

Out of nowhere. That’s what it felt like. Lake Oswego. Where is it? You would have asked.

Dear James. You would not have remembered it. Sister wouldn’t have remembered it. Even Mom would likely not remember it.

But we had all been here. We were already on the road for sixteen days. We would still be on the road for nine more days. But we arrived at the Residence Inn in Lake Oswego at well past 10 o’clock that night in the summer of 2016. We would be on the road again early next morning.

I then went out to the laundry facility of the hotel to wash six days’ worth of our dirty laundry. By the time I got back in the room with two suitcases of clean clothes at almost 2 o’clock in the morning, you were all sound asleep. I lay down quietly next to you on the sofa bed, and fell into one of my best sleeps in no time. Didn’t feel a thing at all if you were kicking, slapping or pushing at me that night.

Lake Oswego. It was just a rest stop I picked out of the map for the long road trip. It was supposed to be just for the hotel beds for the night, with no other meaning.

It was a place we didn’t even pause to take a single picture. It was an unimportant blip of our long journey, I thought. It was a place I would never give a second thought of visiting again, I thought.

But here I am. Four days in Lake Oswego, Oregon. I knew I can’t stay at the same Residence Inn this time. I knew I would stay far, far away from it, even though the office building of my visit is just three minutes away.

But after four days, as I am to go home early tomorrow morning, I knew I could no longer escape. I had to visit the Residence Inn. Because I don’t know if I would ever come back again.

I found the room we stayed at. I walked the same path we took to the laundry facility, and found the same breakfast table in the gatehouse we ate at that morning after.

And I saw a white jeep parked near our parking spot in front of the room back then. And then it reminded me that we were driving a white jeep back then. And then I remembered I was driving a white jeep right this moment.

I thought I had found everything to be found from that night of almost nine years ago. I then got in the car and began the forty minute drive to this hotel. I thought I was doing ok for the day.

A few minutes into the drive, out of nowhere, the radio began to play “You Found Me” by The Fray. Yes, the “You Found Me” in your Spotify playlist.

“Lost and insecure

You found me, you found me

Lying on the floor

Surrounded, surrounded

Why'd you have to wait?

Where were you, where were you?

Just a little late

You found me, you found me”

And then right after, “In the End” by Linkin Park, another of your favorites from your playlist, flew out of the car speakers.

“I tried so hard, and got so far

But in the end, it doesn't even matter

I had to fall to lose it all

But in the end, it doesn't even matter”

Four days driving this car around, the radio never played any of your songs. Until that moment. Two in a row.

It’s been almost four years since I could no longer look at our photo albums. It’s been more than four years since I found myself too much of a coward to listen to your playlist.

I’ve been trying to escape for too long. And all of a sudden they found me. Every word hit so hard. I cried my way to the hotel.

Lake Oswego. I didn’t even know how to say it properly nine years ago. It was supposed to be just a blip.

But it is forever. My James.

I miss you my Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby. 

February 20, 2025. Dear James.

It was a strange time. It was a strange place. Yet there was that tinge of familiarity to them, somehow, when I woke up from the dream.

I was all alone, driving in a car I didn’t recognize. It was a sunless sky, maybe mid morning, on a country road. I knew there was a river running to my left. Yet I couldn’t see it. Because in between there were endless fields, hedgerows, and sporadic houses.

I didn’t know where I was trying to go. But I was driving very fast, in a hurry, turning into every house, and every corner I could find, taking a look, and turning away hurriedly.

It was all quiet everywhere. Seemed not a single soul around anywhere I went, not even in any of those houses, not even any dogs, or cats, or birds, or wild animals.

But I kept driving, turning, stopping, looking around, and then driving again. I felt I had never been there before, but somehow I had a sense I knew that quiet country, and the familiar touch of tranquility in the air, all around me, even though my rushing about was disturbing the harmony.

I knew I was looking for something, or someone. But in that dream, I just didn’t know what, or whom.

And I just kept driving in that strange car, in that strange but familiar country by a river I didn't see, searching, and searching.

I miss you my Xiaoyang. I love you forever my baby.