A few days ago, I saw this photo in Xinhua News coverage: Jerusalem’s Temple Mount.

This was what it looked like when I visited Temple Mount almost five years ago. More or less the last calm before the world changed so dramatically.

Anyone who has been to that beautiful land of Canaan, that 2,000-year-old city, and knows even a little of its history understands how hard it is to define the people there in simple terms of right and wrong. The blood and tears on that land are too deeply entangled. What is especially heartbreaking is realizing that religion and ethnicity are sometimes just tools of politics and interests.

As Erich Maria Remarque wrote in All Quiet on the Western Front: “War should be a popular festival, with admission tickets sold as for a bullfight. Then, in the arena, the ministers and generals of the two countries, dressed in bathing drawers and armed with clubs, can have it out among themselves. That would be much simpler and more just than having here the wrong people fighting each other.”

So I don’t really care who wins or loses, who gets one more piece of land, or who gains a few more votes from it. I only passed through that land, and the people I met there now live on in digital files on my computer and in my memory.

Whenever I hear news from there, I pull out these photos and look through them, wondering: are they doing okay now?

That stormy afternoon in Bethlehem, the Palestinian girls who huddled with us at the bus stop against the wind and rain—where are they now? Living in Jerusalem, I hope they’re doing all right.

While waiting for a bus in a residential neighborhood in Haifa, I met a young Israeli girl who loved Chinese culture. She’s probably in college by now. I wonder whether she and those Palestinian girls her age have ever spoken to each other.

The young and the old praying devoutly at the Western Wall—did their wishes come true?

Those spirited young women and men—are they still protecting their homes?

On the Mount of Olives outside Jerusalem, watching the sunset over the Dome of the Rock, there was a group of Korean church middle and high school students on a graduation trip, singing toward the holy city in their hearts. Nearby, several Palestinian boys turned their radio up as loud as it would go and blasted pop music to drown them out. Even in such a tiny place, religious conflict was on full display.

Where are those teenagers now?

In the old alleyways of Jerusalem, the girls always had the best expressions and pose.

Speaking of children, today is Children’s Day. Looking through my photo albums, I realized my camera captured so many moments of them. Wherever they are, I hope they can live in peace and happiness, and grow up slowly.

In Myanmar, it’s very common for boys or young teens to ordain temporarily and spend some time living in a temple. It’s also an essential rite of passage in a Burmese man’s life.

Climbing to the top of the hill with friends to watch the sunset.

Likewise, temples take on many educational functions. Besides Buddhist studies, English, math, and history are required subjects too, so the little monks can chat curiously with foreigners in simple English.

In a “hutong” in Mandalay, a father was frowning as he helped his children with homework—parents everywhere are the same. When the kids noticed a foreigner taking pictures, they quickly took the chance to slack off for a bit.

You emerge from the light and shadows, holding a Huawei phone. I wonder whether, after their master falls asleep, they sneak in a round of PUBG too.

A village dance party scene outside Mandalay—starting young. With energy like this, is taxx even this wild?

Out in the countryside near Melbourne, a little train about to depart had this chubby kid beside himself with excitement.

Grandparents spoiling their grandkids looks pretty much the same everywhere in the world.

On New Year’s Day 2019, in Zhangye at minus 25 degrees, a group of kids on a holiday outing were neatly arranged by their teacher for a group photo. They really are tough from a young age.

Summer in Mongolia can be quite hot. A family returning from an outing was stuck in the chaotic streets of Ulaanbaatar.

On the grasslands of Karakorum, the descendants of Genghis Khan are growing up drinking Pepsi.

By Lake Baikal, kids jump straight into riding speedboats—the fighting spirit starts young.

A child this young, already brought by dad to Nepal for a snowy mountain trek.

Play as much as you can while you’re little. On the train to Mongolia, this boy had finished his summer homework and was so tired he collapsed and fell asleep.

On the streets of Osaka, I saw a group of elementary school kids in yellow and blue hats—absolutely adorable. Especially the little girl, who even had her own school lunch utensils hanging from her backpack.

In Istanbul, you can play soccer anywhere. The big iron gate at the rich neighbor’s house? That’s my goal.

Teenage boys in Tehran love soccer just as much, though sometimes the kid in the Barça shirt gets distracted by the camera.

In the alleys of Yazd, the future Iranian Messi is still running around with a runny nose.

Foreign kids can look so alike sometimes—I honestly can’t tell them apart.

Little guy, your mom and sister clearly adore you.

I have a particularly close friend I’ve known for 12 years since we were young, and he’s about to welcome his first child. Wishing TA a happy holiday in advance.

And happy Children’s Day to everyone who once celebrated this holiday.