Today I visited a close friend from college, and his newborn daughter.
It's really a small, everyday thing: visiting a friend's home, seeing a baby, bringing a few packs of diapers, catching up, seeing how life has been quietly pushing each of us forward over the years.
But for me, it was more than that.
After entering the working world, a lot of relationships fade, and many people stay frozen in the memory of some earlier stage of life. What's rare is when a friend, seen again after many years, still carries that same pure, clear quality from college.
Except now, none of us are only who we were back then.
Some have already become fathers, mothers.
I've also started imagining, more concretely, what kind of father I'll become someday.
So this piece is really written for my friend's child, and also for a stage of life that's drawing closer.
May all of us, grown up as we are, still have it in us to bless someone newly arrived.
May it reach every corner of a whole life,
down to three packs of diapers.
To Little Pear Blossom: Dear little bodhisattva, welcome to this world. I'm finally meeting you, and my heart is full. You have a pair of eyes both lively and calm — beautiful. Your dad is my close friend from college, still just as bright and easygoing with his smile as ever — he's been that way since we were in school. Except now, holding you, there's a new gentleness in him, the kind that comes with being a father. Your mom is still just as sharp and gentle as ever. In her arms, you look like a delicate little treasure. Congratulations — you chose a wonderful pair of parents, and a wonderful home. Because you deserve it. I'm so glad that after all these years in the working world, your parents and I still carry that same pure, clear quality from college. Except now, we've all gained the first notes of becoming parents. I hope that someday, when Uncle Awei's own little bodhisattva registers into this world too, the two of you can become good friends. Uncle Awei humbly offers a few packs of diapers, a small gift for your first arrival in this world. May blessings from all directions surround you. May it reach every corner of a whole life, down to a well-stocked diaper drawer and a dry bottom at 3 a.m. With respect, Uncle Awei. May 2026, early summer.
This piece was written with AI-assisted de-identification.