I arrived at the airport just before their plane landed and took my position outside the international exit. The kind of waiting that isn’t really waiting —more like watching life pass in waves.
People streamed out in clusters. Reunions first —arms open, tears already falling. Then the vacation faces: wide-eyed, buzzing with anticipation. Some looked lost. Some looked relieved. Chauffeurs stood still, holding name boards high like punctuation marks in the chaos.
I did the math in my head. Thirty minutes. Maybe forty. That’s usually how long it takes.
Forty-five minutes passed.
Then sixty.
My nerves started twitching. I stood up. Decided to head to the meeting point just in case. And there they were.
My daughters. Already out. Already waiting.
I had missed them completely.
I must be blind.
Well… I am blind in one eye. But still —missing my own kids walking through the doors? Unforgivable.
We laughed. We hugged. The kind of hug that doesn’t need words. That night, we had our first dinner together in China.
Today, we stood on the Great Wall.
A wonder of the world —and somehow, we fit right into it. Photos. Selfies. Chill in the air. Wind in our faces. And then my daughter said something that stopped me cold.
She told me this was the best smile she had ever seen on me.
I always thought my selfies were honest. I thought the smiles were real. But she could see what I couldn’t that the joy hadn’t fully been there before. Today, there was no hiding. No effort. No performance.
They saw straight into my heart.
And all I felt was this overwhelming truth:
I was exactly where I was supposed to be.