It feels like I’m at that age where the loss of family and friends I’ve grown up with is becoming less and less of a rarity. People who have been instrumental, in ways large and small, to how I’ve grown up, what I’ve learnt, what I believe.
This past weekend, we lost one of our closest family friends, a man my family affectionately referred to as Malik Uncle. He was someone my father befriended early on, when we moved to Hong Kong (when I was still very young). His wife was an important influence in our lives, and his three sons became close friends with my brothers and I. We all grew up together, never living more than a few blocks apart until our late teens.