When I was younger, I became quite known in my country for being an avid backpacker. I was sometimes in the newspapers, with pictures of me on camels or in auto rickshaws.

My grandpa didn’t read a word of English, but when he passed I found a file of every single newspaper clipping about me that he had cut out carefully, in all languages.

I miss that deeply autistic man so much. He used to write my Chinese name all over my bags, umbrellas, anything I would take with me to travel. He collected clocks, and flashlights, and even today when we go to visit him at the columbarium, we still bring little clocks and flashlights and leave it there for him, instead of flowers.