Through the gap by the window, rays of sunlight shone on the grass. My eyes repeatedly appeared at the door frame, as if waiting for something to come back... The schoolbag sat quietly  next to the table, everything in my eyes looked so familiar, as I confirmed this scene over and over again. In an instant, I entered a time and space tunnel, and all kinds of things around me became clear and shuttled to my left and right. Somsto's hand slapped on my shoulder and pulled me out of my world. I really can’t remember where and when the scene in my mind belongs to. The familiar smell is there, but it seems that it no longer exists, the new smell is refreshing. There is something missing around me, but I never notice it.

What is this feeling? It's not that serious, right? Everything in front of me started to shake. I felt like I was going up and down an amusement park roller coaster， my steps became unsteady and I fell on the grass. It seemed like a long time, the bird was standing on me, and the hands of the clock were pointing at me moment by moment. When I got up, grievance and unwillingness rushed into my heart at the same time. No one around me could support me. For a moment, a feeling of helplessness suddenly came over me. It came from the loneliness of being alone in a foreign country, the longing for not talking to my father for a long time, and the feeling of regret for selectively not talking to my father.

“This gap, always there. Somehow unbridgeable, whether it’s across a wide Pacific gulf of language and culture, or just a simple sentence, Father to son, always distance. The texture of everyday actions, simple movements and gestures, is harder than it looks.” (90)

Time took me back to my childhood.  Traffic on the street, a caring voice urging me from my mom, a whispering reminder from my mom. Go home. The conveyor belt in the airport expressed everyone's longing. I waved my father goodbye and held my mother's hand. Walking on the conveyor belt reminds me that my longing was also strongly tied to this moment. The clock is turning rapidly, and the six years since my father left home have passed by in a blink of an eye.

My grandma has been taking care of me since I was born. I am very close to her. My moms are usually busy with work. On the other hand, before I have a chance to get close to my father, I wished I could talk to him more and stay with him for a while because he was in a foreign country for work. Life is very relaxing for me. I go home every day with delicious meals and read boring comics on the sofa. My daily life cannot be said to be regular, but it is also very comfortable. But my father's return was like a heavy missile dropped into my life. All the previous routines of life were interrupted. This missile asked me to do this and that. The alarm clock in my heart was ringing loudly, as if it was about to explode, every moment of life will become very slow. The time and space tunnel shuttles around me, taking me back to the past. Every day I tell myself that he is doing this for my own good, but really every time he scolds me, it feels like a needle pricking my heart. "Why does my father treat me like this?" This question seems to surround my life.

There is a river in my heart, sometimes turbulent and sometimes calm. I am like a passenger crossing the river, holding on to the handle of the boat tightly, for fear that one day the boat will break down. I'm trying my best not to capsize the boat, because once it capsizes I no longer want to care where the boat goes. To be honest, sometimes I don’t know how to talk to him. When I talk to him, he will only use his reasons and expectations for me to overwhelm my desire to share my life with him.Sometimes I think that Willis is really similar to me. Willis's father has great expectations for him, but Willis cannot fulfill his expectations.

Time came to my junior high school. Pressure on me to study every day made me feel numb to the relationship between me and my father. Due to the fact that i am in America, I have fewer opportunities to chat with my father, and every time we chat, we quarrel over some small things; he is always picking on me. My mind is blowing! Why was my little problem blown up so accurately by this missile? Every flaw of mine was infinitely magnified by it. Why does it hurt every time?

“If you could only show him what you've become. All you want is for him to make a face, the one that looks like internal distress, possibly of gastrointestinal  nature but actually indicates something closer to Deeply Repressed Secret Pride Honorable Father Has For His Young but Promising son.” (13)

When will my father be proud of me?

"Wake up Leo." My eyes slowly opened, and the hands of the clock turned again, but this time I didn't want to wake up. This dream was so long. When I got to the dormitory, I wiped my wet eyes by myself and returned to being alone again. At that moment, it seemed as if I had my father by my side...the kettle was making a gurgling sound, the big laundry basket was filled with clothes one by one, and the classmates were laughing and laughing in the common room. 

I miss my father. 

"Looking back, it's a feeling of debt instead of saying thank you. My parents gave me a lot, but not much. It was enough for me to run around in this era, and I couldn't squander it when I was young."-Rong Hao Li, (Parents   chinese song)

Looking back now, when I was in middle school, my father and I felt like we were at war every day, arguing endlessly over trivial matters. Life with his nagging is what I have been missing. He can be like a big hand supporting me to stand tall. I feel that I can become his pride soon. I must, he has always loved me...