“Máomao! It’s me!”

I freeze.

I had imagined this moment in my head many times, as I’m sure my father had. I wanted to run to him, embracing him enthusiastically and without any reservations, as any child would run to their own father—but I just . . . can’t. Everything about this man is foreign to me, from his voice to his smell. I had only seen his face in photographs, only heard recordings of his disembodied voice. He feels almost like a celebrity, someone I recognize from somewhere, but who is himself unknown and unknowable.

I scurry to my nainai’s side nervously. I’m sure my father was a little disappointed, but he respected my space, taking only a small step toward me.

“Do you know who I am?”

I ponder this for a moment.

“You . . . you are Zhenning Liu.”

Everyone around me bursts out laughing. The ice is broken, and I laugh along, even though I don’t get the joke. “Zhenning Liu” is exactly who this man is to me; not “Dad,” not “Father,” not “Bàba” . . . but a stranger, an acquaintance at best.

Slowly, over the next few days, it dawns on me that this stranger is going to take me away from my family, my home and everything that I have ever known.