"I miss Qatar!"

Since about two and a half years old, my son has been an avid planespotter who's frequented various parts of San Francisco International Airport (SFO). His passion for all things airplanes stems from both his father's side of the family who loves all things aviation (decades-long career in the airlines and adjacent industries, walls and walls of model planes and posters on display) and our home's proximity to SFO. A seven-minute drive, and we're at the Bayfront Park with a stunning panoramic view of the runways; the nearby Marriott hotel offers a comfortable refuge for viewing on rainy or windy days. SkyTerrace, a hidden gem of an observation deck atop Terminal 2, has become a newly-learned word and beloved stomping ground. The recently-launched Gate Explorer program also opens up the entire SFO to little enthusiasts like my son. If it were up to him, he'd simply spend all day at the airport, hovering from gate to gate to spot his favorite planes from Turkish Airlines, Virgin Atlantic, Emirates, Qatar Airways, etc.

Except Qatar Airways, one of my son's first loves along with Fiji Airways and Cathay Pacific, disappeared earlier this year. He of course took notice. A 15-hour nonstop route between San Francisco and Doha used to be an almost-daily sighting. The striking image of an Arabian Oryx painted on its tail fin and the burgundy color scheme throughout captivated the two-year-old. "I miss Qatar!" He'd immediately exclaim upon watching the airplane take off. The frown on his little face was so pronounced that he resembled an old soul who'd endured grave suffering. "Where's Qatar?" then became a frequently asked question that stumped us, his little frown more puzzled than distressed.

How do you explain to a two-year-old a global war that led to closed airspace, canceled flights, and grounded planes?

My toddler has grown to be a sensitive soul. He misses everything and everyone he says goodbye to. Such a complex feeling of yearning, for connection or permanence, is bittersweet for his parents to hold. We often console him with the duality of departure and arrival, separation and reunion. I even tried quoting the famous opening line of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, a classic my father used to read to me at bedtime during my childhood in Chengdu: "话说天下大势，分久必合，合久必分。" ("The empire, long divided, must unite; long united, must divide. Thus it has ever been.") But of course, such an esoteric line comforted my clueless motherly self more than my deeply feeling toddler.

"Qatar's baba and mama are ill, so Qatar's taking care of them." I came up with an explanation after a nervous pause. By that time, my son was already familiar with the idea of parents, illness, and caretaking (somewhat). Stringing these concepts together seemed sensible, but hardly effortless. Knowing my boy and his longing for togetherness, I only hoped that the explanation would land well. He seemed disappointed, but also relieved. "The plane is broken and they're fixing it," an alternative offered by a family member a few weeks later, never crossed my mind.

Throughout the spring, my son's concern subsided as he sighted and claimed more favorites. The Qatar Airways model plane at vovô and abuela's eased his longing each time we video chatted. Qantas, Singapore Airlines, Aer Lingus, and EVA Air caught on, and he missed each one as it flew away. "Where's Qatar?" popped up twice in recent memory, and we wondered too amid the daily news cycle.

On June 10, 2026, an unassuming Wednesday, we picked up our boy from preschool early. He'd been in school for about a month, still sobbing at drop-off due to separation anxiety, but starting to smile more at school. We took him to his favorite spot daily during that sensitive period of adjustment; watching the planes with his parents soothed him immensely. While standing outside the Marriott hotel, we noticed from afar a giant plane inching forward near the International Terminal, its tail invisible before the plane turned toward the runway. As usual, my son asked, and we had no answer before the plane turned around and its logo appeared. The suspense was often worth it, especially for an enormous, slow-moving plane about to take off. Anticipating just another international airline, I was prepared to shout out "It's Zipair!" or "Look, Lufthansa!" But to everyone's surprise, the word "QATAR" emerged one letter at a time as the plane pivoted into position. Our eyes widened. I gasped and cried out, "IT'S QATAR!! Qatar is back!"

My son was in disbelief for a split second, and then followed, "Qatar is back!!" He bounced up and down in celebration, absolutely elated. We still couldn't believe our eyes—This was the first sighting of the Qatari plane in months, so long that we'd forgotten when it vanished in the first place. A quick web search by my curious husband confirmed that Qatar Airways was indeed resuming flights just the next day, June 11. It had been grounded at a remote corner of SFO since February 28, now ready to fly home. How lucky were we to have witnessed a most-likely empty Qatari plane zoom down the runway for the very first time after almost four months of standstill.

"I miss Qatar!" My boy yelped as the plane climbed toward the sky. Teary-eyed, we knelt and hugged one another tightly. "Qatar will be back tomorrow. It's going home, finally."