Drafted on Jan 11, 2025.

I have been refreshingly offline. The past three weeks have been a blend of unfinished business and unexpected moments of connection. While the primary purpose of my visit – some pending paperwork – remains incomplete, what I'm taking back with me to China are memories of a particularly special evening in Gudalur, a serene hill station in Tamil Nadu.

We stayed at a farmhouse near the forest, far removed from the bustle of civilization. It was just my parents, my brother, and me. These settings have a way of opening up people, especially my father. It reminds him of his childhood when his father worked as a manager in tea estates, similar to this setting.

That night, my father shared stories in a way he rarely does. He spoke about his childhood fears, particularly his fear of death. Growing up in Kozhikode in the late 60s, he would become deeply affected whenever someone in the neighborhood passed away. He confessed how he would avoid funerals, his young mind overwhelmed by the finality of it all. He also shared lighter tales about his grandfather's encounters with elephants while working at various estates. Seeing my father open up like this, vulnerable and reflective, stirred me. These moments feel increasingly precious as I watch him age. It's a strange mixture of connection and melancholy, made more poignant by the knowledge that I'd leave for China the next day.

As I prepare for my journey back to Chengdu, I am in a contemplative mood. There's so much I want to write about, yet part of me wants to hold these thoughts close, letting them settle slowly in my mind. I'm carrying two Malayalam books with me – one an investigative thriller and another written as a fictional autobiography. They're a welcome distraction, something to look forward to alongside the responsibilities awaiting me in China.

One of the brightest parts of going back is seeing my daughter's artwork again. Her imagination flows freely onto paper – she draws whatever comes to mind, no matter how unusual it might seem. I've bought her a new drawing kit and am eager to see what she creates next. I wonder if she'd notices the changes in her grandparents the way I do or if, in her young eyes, they remain unchanging, eternal figures of love and warmth.

These three weeks have been a reminder of life's delicate balance – between staying and leaving, between what we plan and what actually unfolds, between holding on and letting go. Each visit to Kozhikode adds another layer to our family's story, even as we continue to write our individual chapters apart.