~ 2026-05-05
Today, in the warm country, we took our usual walk down the street we’ve traveled since you were born. You’re three and a half now, and far more perceptive of my moods than ever before.
“Is Papa okay?” you’d often pause and ask whenever you sensed something different.
Today, we crossed the road to reach the other side where we agreed you’d play with your remote control monster truck. As we passed the village corner store, you paused and looked at me expectantly. “Is Papa going to get can chips?”
I smiled and led you to the store to buy a small can (Pringles, though you called them the ‘moustache chips’). We returned to the street where we’d been walking and took a seat on a front step belonging to some random house along the roadside. Not entirely random though; we’d walked this very street for years during your young life.
As we sat there, sharing an unusually mature conversation for someone so small, you sat close at my left side on the step, methodically munching chip after chip.
“Tell Papa, do you like the warm country or cold country?” I asked, watching you carefully.
You paused, thinking deeply. “I like… the warm country.”
“Why?”
Another long pause. I was touched by how thoughtful and intimate this moment felt. In this instant, you seemed ancient, wise beyond your years. “Because… it has can chips.” You looked at me with such caring, as if that settled everything.
It warmed my heart. Deep down, I knew you would always choose presence over place. You’d find happiness wherever we were together, making the present moment the only universe that truly matters.
How could I articulate what my adult mind was processing? Memories flashed through me: all our walks together, carrying you in the sling against my chest as you slept while the sun set over the ocean, waves lapping at our feet, the cliff-side adventures to that deserted paradise beach where you’d crawl through the sand examining every grain.
How could I explain the differences between these two countries that worried me? That once we moved to the cold land, everything would change. I’d have to abandon freelancing for employment, surrendering my time to an employer. I’d no longer spend every other day adventuring with you. Moving there meant narrowing choices: no more picking countries or owning our schedules. It was a one-way road to ninety-nine years of ever-increasing rent inflation and at most one week of leave annually.
I searched for lightness, needing encouragement to stomach the impending pressure to relocate. I needed you to say ‘cold country’. To lie to me, to make the inevitable easier.
“Do you like the cold country too?” I asked hopefully, searching your eyes.
“Yes.”
“We might need to go to the cold country forever, leaving the warm country behind. And when we go there, Papa won’t have much time with you anymore,” I shared, watching you study me intently as the world blurred around us while you stayed present, focused on both me and your chips.
“Why?”
“Because… Papa will have to work a lot there. Things are more expensive.” I paused, then continued, “Do you know why Papa stayed in the warm country so long?”
In those next moments, I explained how I’d remained here to spend more time with you during your crucial early years. Here, I had time. Time, life’s most precious currency. Time with you, to witness every first moment, to adventure together, to show you Papa’s real, adventurous heart; what Papa valued most: a place where we controlled our own space and time.
Inside, I hoped you’d remember that the warm country belonged to both of us. Here, we could truly be together. Just us against the world.
“I like the time with Papa,” you said, looking directly at me. Then you began happily recounting everything wonderful about the warm country: the ‘big bucket’, the beach with trees to climb, and other things you knew would lift my spirits.
Deep within, I knew you’d find happiness anywhere you are. I suppose, what I really wanted to say, before time was no longer mine, and while we had these final days together, just us against the world, is that I love you.