As I was waiting to depart to Spain, I met Lei and his son, Eric, at Boston Logan's Terminal E, right before boarding their plane to Beijing—back when there was no need to wear face masks or to stay two-meters away from strangers.
Eric watched over my shoulder to see what I was drawing. As far as my notes say, he spoke in broken English. But we managed to communicate with the help of his dad. They were both impressed of the Pentel water brush, which they hadn't seen before.
Eric pointed out his nickname—Dodo—when I said my name was Nono.
With a Croquetilla sticker stuck to his chest, Eric recorded a time-lapse of myself sketching an Air France plane.
In his own sketchbook, he was drawing a face in what I believe was an attempt to portray Lei—his dada—who showed me Eric's sketches on his phone (among which was an Iron-Man-looking character and a gun of his own design).
Lei an a few of his friends are architects, and he was sad to hear I'm not an architect anymore.
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