Prologue

At 2 years old, little Yixing shies away and, in an attempt to escape, even runs away from his doting uncles and men who wear traditional Chinese robes. He cannot identify the emotion yet so as a kid he doesn’t understand the fear that cripples him every time he sees men wearing those kinds of clothing.

He runs away too much during family gatherings that it even came to a point when he would get lectured by his mother telling him he’s being impolite and it’s not how a good boy should act. But even after countless reprimands, he still doesn’t make any move to greet them the way he was taught to do or even be in a five-meter range from any of them.

“You’ve met them before, Yixing. Why are you being like this?” His mother would ask every time it happened. He knows he was introduced to them before, in their dress shirts or simple clothes and he recognizes their faces but somehow the clothes make a difference. He sees nothing but the clothing and forgoes identifying their faces and good relations, in favor of the fear that comes with the recognition of their attire.

At the end of the day, he was a toddler and kids at that age never really listen well to their parents, enjoying their freedom now that they have full control of their limbs.  He was two and with consideration of his age, they concluded that he’s just a shy and confused little fellow.

At 4 years old, Yixing starts to experience recurring nightmares and his parents can do nothing to make them stop as he asks of them. All they can do is help him calm down to the best of their abilities after they’ve successfully roused him from his nightmare-filled sleep.

It started a few weeks after his birthday and, to say the least, his parents didn’t know what to do. They don’t remember their child watching any horror flick that could have triggered the nightmares so they are baffled by the sudden emergence of the nightmares.

They watched him closely and woke him up when he started screaming ancient Chinese words and a few garbled words. He would always wake up with sweat clinging to his clothes and a frightened look on his face. After seeing his parents beside him, he would throw himself at them and scream the words: “They’re coming for me! Help me! They’re coming for me!”

The nightmares didn’t happen every day but as he grew older, it became harder to wake him up as the nightmares were longer. There are nights when the little boy would opt to stay up just to avoid the nightmares; resulting in heavy dark bags under his eyes and a skinnier body. Due to the lack of sleep, he would fall behind in his class and the teacher would always catch him dozing off in the middle of class. The lack of sleep also led to him having a weaker resistance causing him to easily contract different illnesses.

The effects of the nightmares are getting too much in the way of him growing up as a normal child. His parents tried looking for a professional advice from a pediatric psychiatrist but they only told them that it was just part of him growing up and that these events are normal for kids his age. Again, they couldn’t do much but hope he grows out of it.

At 6 years old, little Yixing says his Mama is not his mother.

Yixing’s mother comes home from work and finds his son playing in the living room. Normally, the little boy would stand up and leave whatever he was doing to greet his parents when they arrive. So when he stayed stuck on the floor with his toys scattered on the marble, his mother had to voice out that she’s already there.

“Yixing, Mama is home.” She was on her way to her son to get a hug that always helps in removing all the stress that built up for that day because of work.

“But you’re not my mother.” He innocently looked up and said the words without remorse. At first his mother thought he was just being playful, she stopped in her tracks and looked at him for a while to try to find a hint of a smile in his son’s lips. When she saw the seriousness in Yixing’s face, she felt her blood boil.

“What are you talking about? I am your mother.” She tried to be calm in her approach because she might regret it if she explodes in front of her son.

It took a while for Yixing to retort but the words he uttered made his mother stand frozen still on her spot: “My mother is dead. Long gone.”

At 7 years old, Yixing says something and it shatters the Zhang household more than anything.

“Dinner is ready! Yixing call Baba.” His mother calls out from the dining area but Yixing doesn’t respond and she thinks that maybe he didn’t hear her the first time because of the television’s volume.

“Yixing! Darling! Dinner!” She calls out again much louder than before.

Yixing’s father comes out of his little office, calling out his son on his way to the dining table as well; seeing that the child hasn’t moved even after being called many times already.

“Yixing, son,” he starts as he looks at his son playing with his toys, “come before the food gets cold.” He still doesn’t respond and his father debates if he should carry the little boy to the dining table but he just shakes his head before leaving; his stomach already growling from hunger.

“Yixing!” His father shouts out of frustration from the dining area when the little boy still hasn’t found his way to the table after fifteen minutes have passed. The shouting wakes the little boy from his stupor.

Little Yixing slowly walks in to their modest dining room after a while. His parents don’t even look up when they hear his little footsteps walk in, focus entirely on the sumptuous dinner before them. They only look up when they realize that the kid hasn’t taken the initiative to take his seat yet. Once he sees that he has their attention, his face turns grim when he says: “My name is not Yixing.”