a few months after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother decided to lease out the back rooms of her apartments. the tenant was a thirty-something flight attendant, and the family turned out en force to help clear out all the paraphernalia. some old clothes were donated, books given to church, medical equipment thrown out. i claimed grampa's old kmt uniform and his pipe.

in some drawers, my mom found stacks and stacks of letters, from back when people still believed in handwritten communication. they were from my grandfather's older brother, who lives in the pinyuan prefecture of shantung province. he had been a teacher. when my grandfather went to taiwan with the kmt army, the rest of the family had stayed behind.

my uncle had put together a slideshow for grampa's funeral, and it was then i saw a picture of my great-uncle for the first time. he looked exactly like my grandfather, except taller and emaciated. they had the same balding pattern and affable expression.

the letters. my great-uncle would write to my grandfather once a month every month since communication resumed between the mainland and the island. thousands of pages, hundreds of thousands of characters, hometown stories, well-wishes, weddings, births, deaths, documents, the writing becoming smaller and shakier as my great-uncle began losing his vision, and finally a new handwriting all together when cataracts blinded him and he had to dictate his letters. my name, too, amongst the words, spelled wrong but enough to see that i had somehow made my way into his world.