The Japan Airlines flight to Beijing was an uneventful except for the sweet voice of the Japanese flight attendants. At the airport, after I got my luggage and went out, I looked around but didn’t find mom or dad in the waiting crowd. I bought an IC phone card to call dad’s cell phone and saw them immediately—they just entered the building seconds ago and were looking into the luggage area. They haven’t changed much in two years, except for the gray hair above dad’s ears. “Mom and dad!” I yelled at them to get their attention. I walked over and wanted to hug them, especially mom, but somehow I didn’t—I’m still regretting to this day. This would never have happened to an American, but once I landed in Beijing, I was back into my Chinese self.
Pushing my cart and dodging the guys with little flyers advertising cheap air tickets, we crossed the street and got into the parking garage. It was just like any garage in America, with multiple stories and painted but compact parking spaces. We walked to our car, a shiny silver Volkswagon Bora (Jetta in the US), which I have seen in pictures. Dad’s dream finally materialized, I thought.
Dad’s driving as mom still didn’t know the direction well. Parking was free for under 30 minutes—again, just like the US. Two years saw a lot of changes in China and I can’t predict what it’ll be like in ten years.
It’s already 10PM by the time we got home. Wife was waiting for me—she’d been back for about two months to treat her back pain (disc degeneration). She’s in pain and of course glad to see me.
I needed a rest, I thought, and quickly went to sleep.
I woke up at around 6AM, with no jet lag at all. It’s always been so smooth after every trip to China.
It’s nice to be home.
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