My mom says that I entered the world along with millions of different bright colors and sweet smells. It was almost thirteen years ago in a remote part of the Himalayan Mountains known as the Valley of Flowers where my own dad delivered me. The village we stayed in was so isolated that I was even allowed to go outside and to be seen in public. Those were probably the only six months of my life not lived in fear.
The few people who knew about me seemed to think I was special and brought me gifts. My parents named me after one of their gods in fact, Hanuman.
Life in the Valley of Flowers was probably pretty peaceful, until the night it all ended. It was the last physical contact my mother and I had with my father.
They had come for us in the cover of darkness on a moonless night. One of dad’s doctor friends knew they were coming and helped my mom and I escape. But the ones who put a black bag over my father’s head and tied his hands behind his back got what they wanted.
We were smuggled by ambulance and then flown on a small plane to the United States. We landed in Newark Airport, and I haven’t left New Jersey since.
Virtual avatars are the coolest until Han is introduced to the reality of MMA, hybrid assassins, Monkey Kung-Fu, and his own father.