Lincoln Feng has been my ride or die since the first week of Rye Country Day School, seventh grade. I think he’s seen me at my lowest, at my most vulnerable, and my most naked. Thank you for being such an excellent friend. To many more whimsical excursions.

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Foreword:

As I sit down and begin writing, I have to admit that this project is not my idea. No, this is a child born from a little bit of jealousy. As with most things in my life, I begin this piece inspired by Frank.

Reflection is difficult. Self reflection, particularly so. Even physically, we look at ourselves in a mirror and think that’s what we look like, only to be shocked when we see how photographs turn out.

Perhaps this is why it’s so difficult to begin writing this piece.

Nevertheless, here we are.

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It all started with the bookstore across the street.

I don’t know why I ever walked in there, to be completely honest.

As with all old, undermaintained buildings in the heart of Beijing, calling it run-down would be an understatement. I mean, seriously—the store didn’t have a door. A splintering wooden frame clung to a rusting gold hinge with two mismatched screws, the only hint that there was ever a way to block outsiders from seeing the cracking concrete floors within. Yellowing window panes sat on either side of the entrance, so foggy with age and grime that one had to press their nose against it for any hope of seeing through. Water slipped constantly from the dirt-brown singles of the roof, making entering a game of change. Will you get wet today?

I guess there’s something alluring about such a place, though. A place where strict parents would hate to see their child.

Or maybe I was just drawn to it because my classmate told me they had good snacks.

It was in that sorry excuse of a bookstore that my journey with reading began.

It became a routine. The second the school bell signaling the end of the school day rang, I ran to the front of the line, my spiderman adorned bag bouncing up and down on my back. I was the line leader, after all. What would the rest of my second grade class do without me there to follow?

With my back straight as a ruler, I would stride outside to the throngs of parents waiting to pick up their kid. Another specialty of Beijing: most parents came on electric scooters, since parking was nearly impossible in the tiny alleyway that housed ZhongGuanCun First Elementary School.

I would weave through the horde of humans, parking my class in our designated spot 3 meters away from the school gate. Turning around, I’d smile smugly, knowing that I had just done a perfect job.

Then, I’d take off running.

Cut through the crowds of parents. Fly by friends and classmates while yelling goodbye. Sometimes, I’d adjust my route to avoid those teachers to whom I owed homework. Then, when I was absolutely certain they had left, I would take off running again. And I wouldn’t stop. Not until I arrived at the empty doorframe.

I never learned the owner’s real name, only referring to him affectionately as Uncle Zhang. Waving hello to him as I staggered in, panting and gasping from the sprint, I’d first plop my bag down behind the register, then plop myself down on the rickety wooden stool that he always saved for me.

你又回来啦？(You’re back again?)

嗯，我回来了 (Yup, I’m back)

He’d always sigh and act annoyed, but could never hide the smile behind his thick grey beard.

今天想看啥？(What do you want to read today?)

My answer was always the same.

桂宝！(Gui Bao)

疯了，桂宝 (Gui Bao, You Must Be Crazy!) was my absolute favorite. Featuring a joyous, chubby kid who went on adventures to all sorts of different places, it was the most popular comic series in China at the time. When I wasn’t reading it, I was anxiously checking the date for the release of the next volume the following month. I thought I could be like him. Travel to different galaxies on huge space ships, build a giant robot from materials found in an ancient Aztecan temple, save everyone on earth from an incoming asteroid by figuring out that our planet is not a sphere, but shaped like a peach. I thought I could be a hero, too.

咋又看那破玩意，看点真书不行吗？(Reading that stupid thing again, can’t you read a real book for once?)

Uncle Zhang would then ramble off names of famous pieces of literature, both Chinese and international. But he knew I’d say

不要不要，我要看桂宝！(No no, I want GuiBao!)

He would sigh again, eyes slightly cast downward in defeat at yet another attempt to put me on the right path, then get up from his own rickety stool and fetch me the latest edition of my comic along with a bag of barbeque flavored chips.

Always barbeque flavored. I would accept nothing else.

Even now, when people ask me about my childhood, I don’t think of time spent with friends running outside or time spent in front of the TV watching cartoons. My mind leaps straight to the little nook in that run-down bookstore. Because it was in that store where everything flew. Alongside Gui Bao, I was a pilot, a scientist, an astronaut, the president of the world. Alongside Gui Bao, I could teleport by snapping my fingers, hypnotize people by winking, and run at mach speed atop the Pacific Ocean. Alongside Gui Bao, I was safe from my parents’ arguing, their abuse of my sister, and their constant demand for more. More sports. More instruments. More supplemental classes. Better grades.

Alongside Gui Bao, I was carefree. I could act my age, be a normal second grader. I could laugh at the senseless humor in my comic while crunching loudly on potato chips with my mouth wide open.

In that corner, comic in one hand and chips in the other, I was a kid.

I never got to say goodbye.

I was pretty stupid for not figuring it out sooner. Random pieces of furniture would disappear, and in their spot unmarked cardboard boxes materialized. But like I always did at home, I kept my head down and didn’t ask. Bet it has nothing to do with me!

My mom told me the news the day before our flight to John F. Kennedy International Airport.

我们没想让你有压力 (We didn’t want you to be stressed)

没告诉你是为你好 (We didn’t tell you for your own good)

Needless to say, if you only had one day before you had to uproot your life entirely and immigrate to a new country, you would spend that day doing one thing and one thing only: packing.

As we flew away from Beijing the next morning, I kept trying to spot the store from the airplane window.

It was cloudy that day.

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Slowly, the bookstore began fading from my memory.

Can you blame me? America is crazy.

A human brain can only hold so much information. As we acquire more, sacrifices in the form of memories have to be made. With each new friend made, the faces and names of my old classmates faded. With each English word retained, a Chinese character vanished. With each Percy Jackson book read, a Gui Bao volume evaporated. And with each passing day, Uncle Zhang’s facial features became less and less defined, until I couldn’t recall anything but his grey beard that failed to hide his smile.

I had left that place behind completely, both in body and in spirit.

Seven years later, I found myself back in Beijing.

My parents did not want me to return for those first few years.

在这多住住吧，英文学透了再回去 (You should stay here longer, you can go back once you’ve mastered english)

Well, as it turned out, by the time “mastered” the language (could get above 95s on essays in English class), the Covid-19 virus struck.

To be honest, I thought I would never return. Well, at least not until I got into a top 5 university. The pressures of college had killed any hope I had of having fun before that magical period of my life.

我们都为了你搬家搬到了美国，你不能不学 (We moved all the way to America for you, you can’t not study)

好的妈妈 (Yes, Mom)

A month into my stay, my old elementary school hosted a reunion. Everyone was invited back into the old school building to reminisce on the good old days, even those who deserted their friends after two years of comradery.

As my dad’s black Mercedes sedan rolled to a stop adjacent to the little alleyway, I opened the door and stepped out.

It seemed that my beloved elementary school, which was once highly ranked, had fallen victim to the neglect of Beijing. Vines curled around the black iron fences that once separated the throngs of parents from the school buildings. The windows showed early signs of aging and yellowing, some even cracked at the edges. The once-gleaming gold globe atop the school gates, which symbolized unity and community, now shone with more of a bronze tint. In the spot where I used to stand before my classmates now stood a pile of garbage, complete with a swarm of flies buzzing around the black plastic bags.

I gazed across the street.

A parking lot sat there. No bookstores in sight.

It was like the universe was trying to rub it in—just how far I’d come, and how far I’d fallen. Like it was mocking me for thinking I could come back and find something waiting. Maybe the dreams I once had while reading Gui Bao in that tiny chair, the ones where I saved the world or flew across galaxies, were always just that—dreams. I wasn’t a kid anymore. I wasn’t even close.

My childhood had vanished. The version of me that laughed too loudly and ran too fast had been erased by time, buried under SAT prep books and college visits and never-ending reminders that my parents moved across the world for me. And maybe Uncle Zhang was gone, too. Maybe he packed up and left, or maybe his body is buried somewhere, and I’ll never know. There will be no funeral to attend, no obituary to read. Just silence, and a man with a grey beard that only exists in my memory.

I stood there for a long time, watching the cars pull in and out of the parking lot like they’d been doing it forever. Like the store never existed. Like the stool was never there. Like none of it ever happened. But it did. I know it did.

I walked away eventually, having a reunion to get to and all. I didn’t cry. I just turned around and left, because there was nothing left to see. But later that night, I opened a tab on my computer and searched for Gui Bao. And when I found a scanned version of the first volume online, I read the whole thing in one sitting. Even with Chinese fading from my mind, I still knew every line.

I wished I could have said goodbye.