_{My father and I, 1987}

The entire city seemed to mourn my father's passing as Hong Kong received the first of its summer rain on the very day of his funeral, on the 23rd of May. And it continued endlessly, each day more torrential than the last, finally giving way to relieving coolness for three days before Keith and I had to return to the US.

The first few days upon receiving the news were definitely the hardest. The shock factor as well as the ill timing of every possible aspect certainly played their part. I had only just received permanent US resident status a couple of weeks prior, my green card just arrived in the mail, we had everything planned, for Keith, myself, and his parents to all visit my father in February...

At the very least, each and every phone call with my father ended with him telling me "I love you", and I got to speak to him one last time, only two days before it happened.

He died of kidney failure. The last few years have been turmoil for him in terms of health, so in a way I am glad he no longer needs to suffer. I may have performed my share of stupid antics, especially during my teenage years, however, regardless, my father loved me, and I love him. We owe each other nothing, and I am proud of how I was raised.

It's good that through this, I am developing a warm relationship with my half-sister, and my father's third wife. I am also grateful to have a family here in the US.

I extend from the bottom of my heart my deepest gratitude to every one of you who have left me words of comfort... it's good to be home

Keith and I spent our last two days in Hong Kong removing photographs individually from a looming tower of photo albums, so as to have them sorted chronologically and not to weigh down our luggage. Literally thousands of photos documenting my childhood, from the year of my birth in 1985, to my mother's passing in 1992. They're all here, sitting neatly in packets marked by month and year, which we will organise in acid-free albums. There are also some wonderful captures of my mother and father before their marriage.

It's certainly entertaining to watch myself grow up, and having said that, some fond memories definitely come to mind, which brings us to this round's question:


Name a daring crime you've committed, one you're proud of.


For me it would be one year in kindergarten. It was lunch time, and every one had to file for the loo. I decided to stay behind. So I could steal some girl's sandwich from her lunch box. I was jealous. I had a tuna sandwich. She had a sausage bun. Justice had to be seen through. Thus, our lunches were switched.

And that's that