“Are you sure that you’re not scared about this? Do you really want to do this, Dayvee?” My mom asks me in Chinese while she heaves my giant green luggage onto the belt. The sun had not yet risen, since it was still 2 o’clock in the morning. She always called me Dayvee, instead of David. It never bugged me, however. “You’re only eight years old, so no rush. You can always go when you’re older, of course.”

The floor was still ice cold, or maybe it was just that I could just feel myself shivering on the gray patterned marble floor. I was already thinking of the problems that I might have. Where should I go once I am on the plane? How should I identify my assistant? Can there be another person to assist me, or should I just abort the whole thing? “Dayvee, you better make a decision, either now, or never!” Sure, I’ve done it last year, but this year, it could most likely be different. “Mmhm,” I say that might sound a bit sarcastic to my mother.

As she gives me some directions on what to do, where to go once I’m off the plane, and what I should do when I need something, I stare off into the distance, finding myself seeking how many strangers there will be. I am told my assistant’s name, what his gender is, and she shows me photo of him, but I don’t pay attention, blanking out. My mom also explains where I should be able to meet him, and what I should do if he does not appear.

I go through an area that seems like a door that scans people. I get commanded to walk down what I think is a jet bridge. Once the entrance to the plane is in sight, I start getting nervous, because I get forget the directions on where I should wait for my assistant. Was it at the jet bridge? Or was it inside the plane? Didn’t she say something about searching someone myself?

When I walk into the entrance of the plane, I see a slight opening where the plane and the jet bridge connect. I look down into the crack, and I get scared because I am so high, while I am only eight years old. I get woozy, and I snap back into reality. Didn’t she say something about standing next to a door? Then, a stranger in a non-formal clothing meets me and asks me, “Are you David Hank?” Of course, nobody ever gets my last name correct, but I thought it was close enough. “I am your assistant.”

Should I accept that he is my assistant? If he was dressed more formally, I might have accepted it. But, he isn’t dressed formally, so he might not be actually my assistant. I do know that he just said my first and last name, but it seems he still cannot be trusted. Should I ask someone that works at the airport to confirm my suspicions? Should I ask the people standing at the entrance? Or just be passive and accept my “fate”?

I chose to accept that he is my assistant, although it could be a very dangerous risk, if wrong. Anything could happen to me, I could probably get kidnapped or even get killed, I thought. I wanted to play it safe, so I walk a couple steps behind him. I observe that there are 3 rows of seats. He takes a seat at the middle row, while I take a seat on the left. All that separates us is the aisle.

After 2 days of sleeping, eating and playing on something I think is an iPad, we arrive at China. I rush off into the jet bridge, but then I remember my assistant! Oh, dear. He must be looking for me inside the plane! I rush back, saying “Excuse me” and “Pardon me” along the way. I observed that he was looking for me, and once again, I forget that he is still a stranger.

As we walk into the airport, I see a luggage belt. My assistant sees his luggage and rushes over to get it. My assistant passes me over to another assistant, and I butt in asking, “Do you know him?” It was a man in a formal airport suit, and again, he was a complete stranger to me. But should I trust again? Or confirm my answer? “Yes, of course. I will guide you to your… grandparents.” It was true that I had to goto my grandparents, but I was scared to ask more. How did he know? I thought thoroughly. If he knows, then… he must be my assistant, or a stalker…

After my first assistant left, the second one acted much more formally. It seemed he could be trusted. “What are we doing now, or where are we going?” I ask curiously as I stand right next to the luggage belt, seeing all sorts of luggages. My assistant smiles at me and replies, “We’re getting your stuff, David.” I quickly spot my bag down the belt and point politely. He nods his head and starts walking toward the bag.

We get the bags and quickly find my grandparents. “Thank you… sir.” I say with maturity, although I am still eight years old. I can hear the clunking of my assistant placing the luggage next to my grandparents. I feel so relieved once I run into my grandpa’s arms.

“Now you are truly a mature boy, David.” I felt so proud, because for the first time, I finally understood what he means by it.