My Thai nephew is in his early teens - a gorgeous, black-haired boy
with an inherent fashion sense and a shy, irresistible charm. His most
treasured possessions are his guitar, his subwoofer, his mountain bike
and his friends - not necessarily in that order.
His
eyes eyes shine at me across the table in one of the Thai restaurants in
our town. Unusually, I'm having lunch with only him and his mother, the
rest of the family occupied elsewhere. As we leave the restaurant, his
mother and I grab one each of his hands and walk like that for a while,
just to tease him. The teenager scoffs but indulges us with an eye-roll.
In fact, I can only recall one other time that just the three of us had
lunch in town together. It must be close to ten years ago. He was tiny
then, just arrived from his country of birth and shoved into a cold
Finnish winter. I remember him charming shop assistants and just about
everyone we met. And I remember him walking hand in hand with me just
like this. His tiny hand in a thick winter glove. It's a ten-year-old déjà-vu.
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