When the World Turns Without You

Dear Vic,

It’s New Year’s Eve tonight.
Kenzo and I are in Nha Trang - we arrived yesterday morning. The city is loud and alive, counting down to something new. Fireworks are being prepared, music already spilling into the streets. Everyone seems ready to celebrate.

I took Kenzo straight to VinPearl Island for VinWonders, hoping the excitement of the rides, the noise, the colour, the movement, might help him build new memories. Memories that feel light instead of heavy. Moments that don’t carry so much weight behind them.

We were here earlier this year, remember?
Back when you were recovering at home after your surgery. Even then, when you couldn’t travel, when your body needed rest, you were still there. Still calling. Still checking in. Still asking how Kenzo was going, what rides he liked, what he ate that day.

This year feels different in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

I tried to cushion the ache for Kenzo as much as I could. I let him spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with your family and his cousins, hoping familiarity and laughter might soften the missing. On Boxing Day, I took him to your house. We spent some quiet time there before leaving for this trip - no agenda, no rushing. Just being present in the space you once filled so effortlessly.

I thought Kenzo would be the one struggling the most.
I expected the sadness to show in him... in words, or tears, or silence. I watched him closely, ready to catch the fall.

But it turns out… I’m the one missing you more than I want to admit.

Life felt easier when you were still alive. Even when we didn’t talk for days, or weeks, you were still somewhere in the world. Still reachable. Still a message or a call away. There was comfort in knowing you existed, that you were living your life, breathing, thinking, loving Kenzo in your own steady way.

When we were in Vietnam earlier this year, you’d video call Kenzo every couple of days, sometimes more. Just to see his face. Just to hear his voice. I still scroll back through the call history sometimes, looking at your name, your missed calls, your attempts to stay connected across distance and time zones.

This time, the silence feels different.

It’s heavier.
Final.

Because you’re no longer here with us.

And tonight, as the world prepares to step into a new year, I’m realising how strange it feels to move forward without you in it - without the quiet reassurance that you still exist somewhere on the other end of a call.

Closing Reflection

I don’t know what this new year will look like without you.

I only know that we’re still walking, still trying, still carrying you with us in ways that don’t show from the outside.

If there’s one thing I hope for as the year turns, it’s this:
That Kenzo continues to feel your love in ways that steady him and that I learn how to live with missing you without letting it hollow me out.

Wherever you are tonight, I hope you know...
You’re still here in more ways than silence can erase.

— N


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