"She died at / 7:07 am PST. It is three hours earlier / in Hawaii. Does that mean in Hawaii / she hasn't died yet? But the plane / ride to Hawaii is five hours long. This / time gap can never be overcome. The / difference is called grieving." —from "My Mother's Lungs", Victoria Chang

//

Since my father died in 2017, I've had three dreams about him.

The first occurred shortly after his death. I am rummaging around in his desk, looking for batteries, and shouting for him as he is somewhere in the house. He never appears.

The second I dreamt in 2021. The actor Henry Golding wants to buy a contraption of inexplicable function from Dad, and I am ringing Dad to tell him, but he isn't picking up.

The third one happened a few days ago, in which I am being interviewed for a job and the job interviewer gets a call from Dad informing him that I've had two recent nervous breakdowns.

In none of these dreams do I see his face or hear his voice. I always wake up with an intense longing, and I am melancholy for the rest of the day.

<<