Friday, February 6, 2026
This is my heart memory of Uncle Ken: an apple, a smile, and a world opening.
I was five when he placed a Washington apple in my hands—a bright red globe I had never seen in Hong Kong. One bite, and sweetness flooded my small world. I keep that heavenly taste in my soul.
I hear our laughter—his patient voice teaching me English with a simple rhyme: A man, A pan. A man and a pan. A pan and a man. Where is the pan? Is there a man.....
Through the years—from my school days to just last October—we returned again and again to Chinese calligraphy, painting and poetry, ink and brush becoming our quiet language of connection.
I miss you, Uncle. I miss our wandering conversations, life, philosophy, literature, even the tender art of gardening.
You lived with creativity, with grace, with a spirit that kept opening, like a book well loved. Yours was a life well lived, and a presence deeply cherished.
-Oi Wan (Alia)-
