May 1, 2024. My dear Xiaoyang. Woke up at one. Couldn’t fall asleep again. So I picked up the iPad to continue reading the biography. Somewhere around four, I think, I fell back to sleep. And then you were in my arms. I was holding you high. Close cropped hair, still a little chubby face. You must be five or six years old. You were laughing. I was laughing. And then we both fell to the floor. We started rolling. Laughing loudly. And rolling. And laughing. While I was holding you tight.

Until I opened my eyes again. But it’s just the quiet dawn light seeping through the window curtains.

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

March 29, 2024.

Sitting here in a lounge chair, the beautiful ocean waves around, dear James, I am writing to you on your phone.

Yep, James, your iPhone 8 plus.

Still remember that summer day in 2018. I took you to get your new phone, for your fifteenth birthday. I could feel your excitement washing over me when you held the brand new phone in your hands.

A year later, when I asked you if you wanted a newer model for your birthday. You said, “nah. It would be a downgrade for the camera with the regular model.”

So here it is. The iPhone 8 Plus. In your hands all those time. And in my hands right now. Still going strong. And tough.

Went to the fitness center in the morning. I stepped on the treadmill, looking out the big windows. It was open ocean in the front, all blue to the infinity, to where the sky and water merge. To where heaven and earth meet.

I looked to my left. It was just an empty treadmill. Of course. But for an imaginative second, I was looking for the ten years old boy. In 2013. The ten-year old who just had his 10th birthday celebration on the ship, my dear James. You were running beside me on that treadmill, for the very first time, to my left.

Then all of a sudden, you fell off the running treadmill. I jumped off to try to help you up. But James, you got up all by yourself, shook it all off, and stepped back on to the treadmill.

I missed you my James. I love you forever, my baby. 

March 9, 2024. It’s been a while.

It’s been a long while, my James.

Ever since you were little, I knew you would be an engineer. You were still crawling on the floor when you figured out how to turn on the CD player, and switch disks for your favorite songs. I didn’t even notice you were watching me do it and learning already.

Then you began to build things. Dear James, I am still turning on and off the computer you built eight years ago, every day. Then you made video games.

And the games became too real. Maybe more real than life. And the games took over, didn’t they, my dear James?

I didn’t think little sister was going to be an engineer. I bet you didn’t either?

She wanted to be a giant panda. She then admitted she couldn’t be a giant panda herself. So she wanted to be a veterinarian. And then she wanted to be a doctor. She spent twelve years dancing. She won prizes in arts. And then she took great interest in debates and did great in tournaments. And then she won prizes in science projects.

And then by the end of the tenth grade, little sister told us she wants to be an engineer. I had to ask her many times, over the following months: “Are you sure?”

James, watching little sister grow up all these years, we would never have thought that?

But little sister is following you. I remember looking at her eyes when she was looking at you building things when you were both little. It struck me how much little sister admired her amazing big brother.

Surely. And certainly. Little sister excels when the goal is set. Colleges she applied to open their arms to her. Welcome letters and scholarships have been coming.

Little sister will be an engineer. Just like you, James.

I miss you everyday James. I love you forever my baby. 

January 23, 2024. It was another glimpse of you overnight, my dear James.

You liked to stay up until the twilight moments of the nights in your study. And I find myself waking up in those same twilights more and more. Sometimes I even get to see your sweet face just slipping by, so clearly in that lingering darkness.

A moment ago, we were in an apartment. I was sure it was ours, our home. But it was obvious another family of loving parents and their two little children, a boy and a girl, were living in it. The place was so familiar. The patterned curtains, the piano, and the warm lighting. But everything was out of place.

And then you and I walked outside, the door closed behind us. Looking around at the door, the side lawn, and the woods alongside the apartment building, it was like the place your mom and I lived in in North Carolina. You weren’t born back then. But the four of us paid it a visit during our road trip in December 2018. You took a picture for us with your big camera, my James.

It was late afternoon already. The sky was gray. You said you were going to dinner with your friends for your birthday. Even though I just realized it was your birthday that day, I was happy you got to celebrate it with your friends. But really, how could I have missed your birthday, my James?

Because you were driving to your party yourself, I think it must be for your 18th birthday? Sister had her driver’s license before 17 now. But back then, I intentionally pushed back on when you could get yours. I am sorry, James.

I asked you where your dinner party was going to be. You said it was a place west of Centreville. I pictured it somewhere near the park that I drove you to for your UAV club activities at the beginning of your sophomore year. It’s so far out. It’s just nature for miles out in every direction.

But I felt reassured because I knew where you were going. Even though I somehow had that nagging and sinking feeling you were not coming back after your birthday dinner.

I stared at your handsome face for a long moment. You were in your favorite white and gray Hollister pullover hoodie. And I did get to pull you in for a big hug before you left.

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

January 6, 2024. The calendar has flipped to yet another year, my James.

The second night of the new year, somehow I dreamed of moving back to that house, for some reason that I didn’t know. Then, on a sunless and windless winter day, I saw you came back home with a friend, after a very rough journey. Apparently a very long journey. I didn’t know where you had been. Just knew it had been too long. And you looked tired, in your blue and black striped shirt, and dark sweatpants.

But you were back. To that house. And we had a long hug. And I felt tears on your face.

Then your friend disappeared. And it was just you and me, on the driveway. You said your right arm and leg hurt real bad.

And then I felt your energy slipping away. In my arms. And then it was only your body I was holding. I began mindlessly crawling on the earth of the small hill by the driveway. You came home to me to rest. I was going to lay you to rest with my own hands.

The whole time, there was only the gray sky, gray air, gray and barren limbs on the trees. Never a sound. Never a soul nearby.

Didn’t know how long after, I walked up to the front door of the house. It was green again, just like before we painted it. There was even that wreath on.

I began to push on the door. But my hand stopped just before touching it. I thought to myself. It was most likely an empty house. Why would I want to go inside? Wasn’t I afraid of what I might find?

Then I remembered I had never been in that house the whole time.

My dear James. For days, I was struggling. Should I write this dream down? Should I?

But everything happens for a reason, right? So do dreams, my Xiaoyang?

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

December 27, 2023.

Chattanooga. Rock rising to a point. Saw the name a few days ago. Knew we should come here. Think you would like it. My James.

Three o’clock in the morning. Not a single living soul to be seen in the big hotel. Even though the warm lights are everywhere. All these chairs sitting quietly by themselves. They are no longer here for the people of yesterdays. Not for those of tomorrows. Just themselves. Except the soothing music floating all around them, keeping them company:

“I'll be home for Christmas

You can plan on me

Please have snow and mistletoe

And presents by the tree

Christmas eve will find you

Where the love light gleams

I'll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams”

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

December 24, 2023. Christmas Eve. And Christmas Eves.

Christmas Eve 2011. We were all home. You went to bed at 10. But then you sneaked back downstairs to check under the Christmas tree every hour. To see if Santa had come. The next morning, you told me, “Dad, I knew you and mom are Santa. I saw you last night.”

Christmas Eve 2012. We were at Seven Springs. Our first ski trip ever. Where you flew down the big scary blue slope on your first day, because you didn’t know how to break. And me, tumbling down the green, with my boots and skis all over the place.

Christmas Eve 2013. Seven Springs.

Christmas Eve 2014. Seven Springs.

Christmas Eve 2015. Snowshoes Mountain.

Christmas Eve 2016. Snowshoes Mountain.

We were skiing fanatics. What more could we ask for?

Christmas Eve 2017. Sedona, Arizona.We cooked up your favorite steak and lobster dinner. In a cozy hotel room’s kitchen. All four of us. That’s all that matters. Ever.

Christmas Eve 2018. Charleston, South Carolina. You even went to the hotel gym that night. And got yourself a huge outburst of rash after using the towel there. We had to run around for allergy medication in such a hurry. But it was such a fun day and evening until then. At least mostly fun. Right, my James?

Christmas Eve 2019. We drove home from Snowshoes Mountain. Because you and sister both said you wanted to spend a Christmas Eve at home. You put on your holiday red shirt. We were all seated under the Christmas tree to unwrap gifts. You knew three weeks ago I bought the AirPods for sister, but not the other gift. I actually got another exact same thing, although it was put in five additional boxes that made it look way bigger. I told you two to pick a random gift before unwrapping, and you would get what you got. You went for the big one. And then you started unwrapping the layers of papers, and boxes, and more boxes. And then you were laughing so hard holding up the small AirPods box, same as the one sister was holding, for which you negotiated a deal with sister to exchange for just a minute ago. Seeing that moment again in my mind, I found myself smiling too. Thank you, my James.

Christmas Eve 2020. Miam, Florida. Sister, mom, Milo, Felix, and me. And your AirPods, your Apple Watch, and your phone. But the boy of December 2005 wasn’t holding my hand running on the same beach anymore. It was a movie to be replayed in my mind.

Christmas Eve 2021. Charleston, South Carolina. Sister, mom, and me. And your AirPods, your Apple Watch, and your phone. But not the tall young man of 2018 leading the tour.

Christmas Eve 2022. Old San Juan, Puerto Rico. Sister, mom, and me. And your AirPods, your Apple Watch, and your phone. But not the burgeoning young photographer of 2016 capturing the beauty of this world.

Christmas Eve 2023. Stone Mountain, Georgia. Sister, mom, and me. And your AirPods, your Apple Watch, and your phone. We watched the culmination of modern art and technological wonders, a Christmas light show on the natural wonder of the giant stone face, with hundreds of colorful drones, three dimensional lights, and fireworks. All in such harmony. Seemed like only in magics. I was searching amongst the thousands of candles at one moment, and the millions of stars at another. I thought there was one.

I thought I was sure. But what do I know. My James.

Merry Christmas, my Xiaoyang. Tonight, we used to hold up four glasses for a toast. Two with apple ciders, and two wines. Tonight, we held up three water bottles.

Merry Christmas, my baby. 

December 15, 2023.

Another dream. Dear James.

Grandparents came to visit us. It had been years. Thought they would never be able to make the trip again because of their ages. But here they were. In the new house. We told them you were busy somewhere. Weeks, and then months, passed by. You could still not come home. Somehow it was about time they needed to leave. But they insisted they had to see you before they went. It’d been too long since they last saw you.

While we talked, I saw a big bird, probably an eagle, or an osprey, soaring high above the window the whole time, round and round, always within sight.

Then, as soon as grandma asked me again when you were coming home to see them, the big bird made a turn and flew straight down, through the window, and right there, in the room, with us.

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

December 2, 2023.

Dear James. Last night I went to a store that I didn’t go to much. When ready to leave, I saw a young man in a red shirt helping people at checkout. Subconsciously, I pushed the cart to his lane, waited my turn, and then looked at him up close again.

James, it’s him, the boy from the summer of 2016. Three years ahead of you, a rising junior in high school back then, in the school’s tennis team, while you were going to start eighth grade. You two became practice partners for quite a bit that summer. Starting at about the same level, by the end of the summer, you were already taking the upper hand in most matches.

That was quite a summer of tennis. We all got a good tan on us.

Years went by. Haven’t seen the boy again since. Then there he was, last night, a grown young man. Still soft spoken, polite, and kind.

He didn’t recognize me. But I am sure he would have recognized you if he saw you again, James. Just like your friend from fourth grade recognizing you the first day you two started at the same high school.

How would you look, my James? For how many times, in my sleep or day dreams, I would hear that voice murmuring to the void.

But I feel I always know. I would recognize that sweet face, no matter how, my dear James.

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

November 23, 2023. Thanksgiving day.

But dear James, this is Thanksgiving day, 2008, always. You brought back from kindergarten a card you made, the day before. You wrote on it, “I am thankful for the ‘I love NY’ shirt my dad got me.”

You were five. Time flew by, too swiftly. You were sixteen. Time still marches on, relentlessly. Stubbornly.

Thank you for the memories, my Xiaoyang.

I love you forever, my baby. 

November 18, 2023.

Just watched the Starship launch minutes ago. It’s beautiful. Mesmerizing even. It was standing tall on earth one moment. And then it was in space, where the stars belong.

Dear James. Remember that evening in February 2018, we were driving back home on Vale Road, in the light rain, back from a dinner at Silver Diner. The topic of rockets came up. And I asked you to explain the magical synchronized landing of two rockets to little sister. Since you are the engineer in the house. I have always been so proud of that, as I always said to you when I tried to ask you to do something for me.

Dear James. All of a sudden that paper gun came to mind. It was 2016. You were thirteen. One day you showed me your handiwork. A beautiful gun made of printer paper and rubber bands. Just like the real things in every aspect. I could load the paper bullets via the paper magazine, or sideload from the chamber. With a pull of the paper trigger, a bullet would shoot out the long barrel. Just like the real thing.

I still wouldn’t know how to make it myself. But it was all so natural to you.

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

October 28, 2023.

Dear James. It’s the scenery of the golden fall again. Everywhere. Almost. The air is crisp. The colors are vibrant , on the trees, on the ground.

I tried seeding the lawn a month ago, but they didn’t take. Probably because of the weed preventer I put down earlier. So I tried again a week ago. And this early morning, I went out and squarted down by the lawn. It’s getting harder with my eyesight now. But there they are. I saw the tiny green needles already broken out of the soil, almost shiny under the soft morning sun. Delicate, yet so full of life.

And I could hear you behind me, on the driveway of THAT house, when I was doing the same years ago, “Ba Ba, have they grown yet?” I said, without looking back, “Yes.”

Yes. My Xiaoyang.

No. I should have looked back at you when I talked to you. Every single missed moment. I am sorry my baby.

Days ago, I was out in the car myself, taking random routes, just driving. And then all of a sudden, I found myself looking at that old Dick’s Sporting Goods store.

It’s been shut down since, my James. Since you didn’t need it anymore. Since I stopped playing tennis. Because you aren’t to play with me anymore.

For a few years, we would have one of your tennis rackets there for restringing almost every month. Now it is just an empty and sad building, without even a sign telling people what it was before.

I sat in the car, looking at the lonely existence, from the empty parking lot. And that last note you left on that piece of paper floated all the way back up to the surface from the deep, deep depth of memory.

“Tis but a scratch.” Signed with your signature smiley face, with a tongue.

But why was I still crying. My James.

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

October 7, 2023.

It must be in 2017. You were not even thirteen years old. One evening, I came downstairs and saw you in the family room. You asked me, “Ba Ba, why are your footsteps always so heavy? It sounds like you are stomping the floor all the time.” I was surprised, “Really? I never noticed that.” You nodded, in your boyish seriousness, “Yah.”

Why were my footsteps so heavy? After that little conversation, I started to pay attention, and tried to be lighter when I walked. But oftentimes, I still catch myself stomping away. To this day.

And I did notice how lightly you walk. All the time. After that little chat.

Lately. Hemingway’s The Old Man And The Sea kept flashing back to me.

But I always thought it’s a story about the old man, and the fish, not the sea.

But I really think it’s a story about the old man, and the boy.

The fish was there. And then the fish was no more.

The sea looked gentle on the surface. But it was utterly ruthless. And there was nothing the old man could do about it.

The boy. The boy wasn’t with the old man for the story when it happened. But the boy never was away from the old man in his mind. And he will never be away after.

Ernest Hemingway didn’t name the book The Old Man And The Boy. But it didn’t matter.

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

September 23, 2023. A gloomy Saturday. It’s nonstop drizzles outside, all night and all day. And looks like more to come. Leaves already yellow, rained down all over the ground, everywhere.

Dear James, you came in my dreams two nights in a row. Never before.

Four nights ago, for some reason, mom, sister and I had to move out the house again, and urgently. So I just bought a house by the ocean, far away from anything, online. Not even seeing any pictures inside the house. Then one evening, I got there. It was another gloomy day. Sun was nowhere to be found. No a single person to be seen. All deserted, all quiet, except the howling wind and waves of the ocean.

After boulders and random tall grass, there was the big old wooden door. It was that strange feeling of entering the unknown when I unlocked the door, even though the key somehow felt familiar.

Stepping inside and turning left, I saw a layout that would only exist in the mountains of China, or Thailand, or Japan. It was two levels, all natural, unpainted wood and bamboo, wrapping around a courtyard in the middle, with a couple big plants. I felt right away that mom and sister should like the house.

But as I began to walk around, I saw the house was quite rundown, at the corner to the right, the floors were rotten so badly I felt one might fall through if stepping on them. I realized there would be a lot of work to fix up the place, and wondered why the prior owner would let the house down like that.

Then I walked into a room on the left side of the first floor, saw a bed there, and somehow knew it was my room. I was ready to lie down on the bed, but looked to my right and saw sister for the first time. And you, James, too, was right there next to her. Both smiling with excitement. Like when we bought that house you loved.

I just asked, “Do you like your rooms?”, like everything was just normal. Both of you nodded, and both said, “Yeah.” I didn’t see any of your rooms. I had no idea about any of the other rooms in the house. But I just asked,“Did you wipe down the house a little bit?” You both said, “Yes.” I then lied down in the bed. The dream just ended right there.

In the second dream the next night, somehow we were back in the Covid breakout. You got sick, very sick. I was there with you every single moment. I fed you, cleaned up your vomits, took you to the restroom, bathed you, dressed you. The same as when you were a little baby and toddler. Even though you were a head taller than me now. But I didn’t take you to the doctors initially because I thought you were always such a healthy big boy that you would certainly get over it. But you were getting sicker. I called the doctor. The doctor said it’s already been four days. It’s too late for them to do anything to help. And the hospital may be even worse than staying at home. You would just have to tough it out. So we just continue to tough it out. And tough it out. Day after day, in the dream. And the dream just ended like that.

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

September 17, 2023.

Two days ago, a Friday evening, I drove on West Ox Road, passing Navy Elementary School. We picked you up there after your TJ high school bus dropping you off there for two years. But it now seemed forever since the last time I saw it. But there it was.

Then there, on Vale Road, are those gigantic blue water tanks. And it was right there, on an autumn evening in 2018, your sophomore year, we stopped at the red light right, waiting for the left turn onto Vale, after I picked you up from Navy.

You had been in a good mood. And you said to me, “Ba Ba, we just got back our math quiz for the first section. Do you want to guess what I got?” It was that barely hidden smile, and the sparkling eyes, all over your face.

I said, “50. Maybe 60 if lucky “. You took it in stride, “Yeah”. But you didn’t hold it long, and said, “97”. “Then we should celebrate.” And I felt the sweet smile of a sunny 15 year boy sweeping all over the car.

You were struggling with math a bit. And you worked hard on it. And it showed.

And it was such a sweet short ride home, James.

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

September 4, 2023.

One of the tasks I have been dreading. It’s time I complete sister’s school counselor package for her college application.

James. I can choose to remain shattered pieces myself. Sister can’t. I am the father, but sister is the stronger one all along. Do I have what it takes to write for her, to tell others how good she is? That would require me to tear open that fragile veil I pretended to have sealed in so much. The courage just isn’t there any more.

My dear James. That afternoon on June 24, 2020, You, sister, and I had that long talk about life, schools, our society, and everything, in your study. That was also when sister and I signed that contract after she decided to go to Madison instead of TJ for her high school.

Sister brought up that contract at a dinner conversation last week, which I had totally forgotten. But sister remembers.

I tried for two hours today, but just can’t find that contract any more. But I remembers now:

“

Be at the top of class academically.

Don’t be afraid of school bullies.

Have a happy high school experience. “

But after all that had happened, this contract just fell off my mind. Never thought of it. Never thought it would count even if I remembered it. But sister remembers. And she did it. On 1. And on 2. And maybe 3, at least as much as she could.

All the while I was really just a bystander, scared the whole time of sister’s high school years, watching her push through it all, manage it all on her own. My hope had been a “close to normal” high school experience for her.

Sister has done exceptionally well. Her decision on choosing Madison over TJ has been a great one. Sister said she would make the same choice again.

But for college, she aims for the best. But I don’t, James. I just want normal for her.

My dear James. When you chose TJ, I pretended it was your decision. But right after you told me your decision, you said to me, “I knew you really want me to go there, don’t you?” James, you did it for me, not yourself.

I am such an idiot, James. You and sister are both so much smarter. Why should I even try to interfere with your decisions? But why do I feel like I know something this time?

James. Would you tell me?

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever baby. 

August 12, 2023. My dear James, it felt so long I haven’t seen your face in my dreams. Then last night, there you were.

We went on a vacation, in the summer, like people do all the time, like we did every time. We just arrived at the house we rented. Sunny day outside, the beach just a short walk down away, blue sky as far as the eye can see.

We laid out our stuff everywhere. Luggage, bags, and snacks all over the place. Then somehow, you asked if we should play poker. You, sister and mom cleaned out a table and sat down playing. For some reason I wasn’t playing with you. I just watched and walked around the place.

And then I was going to walk up the stairs to the upper floor. But I just collapsed there. I tried to crawl up but it felt impossible. I shouted out but nobody could hear me.

But I knew you were playing poker behind the stair wall with sister and mom.

And that’s all I needed to know.

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

August 4, 2023. Today, you are twenty, my baby.

Two weeks ago, I had such a weird dream. I was all alone, in the wilderness. Don’t know how many days already. But I finally was walking out of a deep forest. More woods ahead, but less dense somehow. There seemed to be a trail up there. But there also seemed to be people nearby. I walked and turned, turned and walked, guided by instinct. Subconsciously I wanted to get closer to the people, but also to keep away from them. And then there was that one more big turn ahead, some signs of the lightly threaded trail to the left, and fully grown, undisturbed grass to the right, dense woods straight ahead. I hesitated, stopped, thinking hard which way to go. Minutes passed. Hours passed. I felt I had to get away from there, and go somewhere. But I froze. I just wasn’t able to command my feet to take another step.

Just over a week ago, it was July 27, 2023. Yes, James. It was three years after that day we sent you off. Forever. That day, it was brazing hot. I just stood there beside you. I heard a kind voice from behind, “Joe, take a seat. Take a rest.” I didn’t look back. I just mumbled, “Thanks. I just want to stay with him a little more. I will never be this close to him again.”

The nights before July 27, 2020, it was mostly thunders, and rain. The thunders like I never heard before in my life. The rain like the sky was pouring itself out. I spent the nights looking out the windows into the roaring sky and the flashes. I was asking the thunders, “Why don’t you just strike down this house?”

The night of July 27, 2023 also came with thunders and rain, although they were mild. The early morning of July 28, 2023, I went out. And then I saw the giant rainbow in the western sky. The large ribbons of orange, yellow, green and pink seemed to touch the horizon just ahead of me, and rising to heaven. I set out for it. I went, and went. And went. Until it disappeared right in front of me again.

James. Was that you sending me the rainbow?

Xiaoyang. Cheesecake. And two drinks. You are twenty now. You are drinking with me.

Happy Birthday, my dearest. 

July 18, 2023. Three years. Three years. Three years.

Why, why, and why. I asked myself, and you, my James, a hundred thousand times.

I still don’t understand. I still am seeking the ever evasive answer. To this day.

Under the blazing sun, I looked long and hard into the purest blue sky for a hint. In the serene flurries of snow, I walked into dancing snowflakes to try to catch a message from above. But the answer has always been so close, and then drifting away.

Sometimes, into two, three, and four o’clock at night, all alone, I would feel like so much closer to getting that answer, so feeling what you were feeling when you made the decision that moment three years ago.

But after I felt back to sleep, and woke up to the light creeping through window curtains the next morning, I would lose the grip of that feeling, and the rationality of that decision, again.

And so it goes. Again, and again. For three years that shouldn’t ever happen, to anybody.

When you were two-, three-year old, I would sometimes scooped you up from the floor, squeezed you tighter, and tighter, in my arms, like I could just melt you into me. Then I would suddenly let go and put you back down. You giggled the whole time. You would try to catch your breaths, and then say to me, “Ba Ba, do it again.”

I can still almost feel those squeezes of your little body in my chest. Almost. For a nanosecond here and then. But reality always snaps back. And it is just all empty air that I cannot even feel however far I stretch out my hands.

But one thousand and ninety-five nights ago, at an hour just like this, a night just like this, in my half sleep, when I heard all those doors quietly opening and closing, had I just opened my damn eyes in that moment, I would be hugging you right then. I would be squeezing you in my arms right now still. My dearest Xiaoyang.

At one of those mindless chitchats that we had, in 2019, you said:”I just realized I have never been sick in high school”. Yes, baby, you had been such a healthy young man that kept surprising me. Those were days when you would punch me in the back to show me your muscle strength, reminding me of a roommate in college who did the same, out of youthful playfulness.

You were, however, sick during the graduation days of elementary school and middle school. You missed those days, but you finished elementary school and middle school, my baby.

A couple months back, I watched a movie, a father who had been away almost the entire young life of his daughter, was teaching the sixteen year old daughter to ride a bike, on the platform overlooking the whole city of Paris, under the grandiose Basilica of Sacré Coeur de Montmartre. The movie was from 2014. Almost the same time, and the same majestic view of our favorite city, as when we stood at that very same spot and saw with our own eyes in the summer of 2014. The daughter asked the father what took him so long to come back. The father told her, “The longer I was gone. It felt like the harder it was to come back.”

If only there was the daughter for him to come back to. It should never have been a choice.

Three years is too long. Even though it is nothing when it is really a minuscule part of eternity. But it is three years after my sixteen year old son. It is three years forever gone, where the destination is only taking me father away from where I should be.

Or closer. But why do I feel it is only farther, and farther away every day that passes.

James. You are so smart. You are an idiot. But what can you do? Because you have an idiot as dad.

One night in May 2020, you walked into my room and asked, “Dad, can I buy something?” Then you paused a second, and went on, “it’s something for games”. I hasitated a bit, and said, “How about this. You prepared for your college application, and I will buy you what you want.” Then you said, “Nevermind”, and walked out. My dear James, you have a credit card in your name all the time. You could have bought what you wanted anytime. Only after, I saw in your Steam account that you sold a prized item you earned to buy a skin for your account profile background. But you never spent a penny with that credit card in your wallet without asking me.

For three years, this has always been at the top of my muddled mass of thoughts. Dear James, you didn’t even ask me to make you another of your favorite steak before you went. Dear James, dad has so many regrets in this life. But not making you your favorite food one more time is one of those at the very top of mind.

So much so, I keep asking myself, why did I get you a cheesecake in June 2020 for no reason at all? I thought it was love. I thought you knew my love. But is it really just another proof of me being an idiot?

For three years, there is that shirt you last wore hidden at the bottom of a drawer in my dresser. I washed it three years ago. I packed everything of yours away. But this shirt, out of instinct, I folded it, and placed it there in the same pile with mine. One day,I may not be able to hold myself from putting it on. But at least, it rubs off some to what I am wearing everyday.

There is this place between sleep and awake. A place I didn’t know existed. A place where I can dream of that moment. The moment where we may meet. Where we may set out on our adventures again. Onto the tennis court. Into the trails. Onto the mountains. Into the desert sandstorms. Into the galaxies. Just the moment of us.

One evening in September 2004, I got home after a particularly bad day at work. As soon as I opened the door, you saw me, ran to me in the floundering way of a toddler learning to walk, with that big smile, the dimple high up your right cheek. I grabbed you into my arm, for a long minute, your sweet and happy smile permeated my whole world in an instant. Every element of me was filled with joy.

That exact moment, I knew. Nothing else matters in this world.

My dear James. July 18, 2020, you were 17 days from your seventeenth birthday. July 18, 2023. You are 17 days from your twentieth birthday. My dear baby, how I would trade 10 lifetimes of any punishment for a hug from my twenty-year old son.

I miss you Xiaoyang. I love you forever, and ever, my baby. 

June 18, 2023. 0.17AM. Thirty-five months just passed me by, my dear James. My dearest son. My Xiaoyang.

I asked mom and sister about painting the front door a couple weeks ago. So yesterday, I asked them again if they wanted to pick out the color and I would do it. There and then, they brought home the paint, Essex Green. So I set out doing it. Just got it all done moments ago. And in the early minutes of month thirty-five. It’s you and me time, my son who is too good for me.

Green. Your favorite color. The house you love has it even in the address. And there, you taught me about green screen.

Two beers. One for you. One for me. Son and father. For the green. My dear baby.

I miss you. I love you. I Iove you more baby.