Recently, I realized something, that I’ve known both my biological father and my stepfather for 5 years each. That would mean, of my entire life, there’s only been 10 years when I had two parents.

What prompted this thought?

My mom is planning a trip for me and her to go to Taiwan in March. To be honest, I’m currently debating mentally over this trip. The hotel’s been booked but the plane tickets haven’t been bought. So much is up in the air regarding work as I’m currently involved in several projects that I may or may not be able to pass onto others.

Those projects are automation for the tasks I used to do in the past. Since I used to do them, I know every step of the process, which makes me the person to perfect these automation projects. One of the projects is for a conference the company hosts every April and I was tasked to handle the billing and cash collecting aspects in past years. My boss wants me to pass the baton to the new person who I’ve been training. Can he pick it up, who knows?

Anyway, during the trip, my mom wants to “drop by” our hometown in China. She said it like we were next door neighbor or something. Okay, technically, Taiwan is the next door neighbor but I don’t think one can just “drop by” China.

She said, “just for 3 days,” but I’m not sure whether I even want to spend 3 seconds in that black-hole. I can’t even access anything there – my blog, my email, not even my bank. What are we even doing there for 3 days? “Pay your dad a visit.”

Pay my dad a visit? She meant his grave, which I visited 7 years ago. Did I mention I’m not a fan of Chinese cemeteries? The graves are all stacked in levels. When I first learned about heaven and hell, I immediately imagined the souls in the cemetery that rest beneath each stone were being tortured and whipped and set on fire on a daily basis. I also imagined my dad, enduring such fate in his afterlife. It was a scary thought.

The last time I visited, 7 years ago, standing at his grave, staring at the black and white photo of the man that’s been my dad for 5 years, who I can barely remember because I was so young, I felt extremely awkward talking to him. I think what made it more awkward was to have my paternal aunt and my mom’s youngest sister standing so close. It made me feel like they could hear my thoughts.

A few months ago, my mom kept mentioning that I should go to Texas to visit my stepfather’s grave. “After all,” she said, “he did raise you.”

He passed a few years after my mom and I came to Utah. I found out over Facebook and it took me months to process. My mom has asked me to research his burial site online but I can’t. It’s just one of those things I can never do. I don’t know how to deal with death but I know I will have to deal with it one day but until that day comes, I feel I’m okay to just avoid it.