Soulboy

The year was 2009. A high school senior, I just discovered this up-and-coming singer with a funny name over the winter break. His name was Khalil Fong. I knew him as 方大同. I told anyone and everyone about him and his latest album, Orange Moon. A shy-looking guy with black-framed glasses on an orange cover. I talked about him so much that my classmates started calling me Khalil as a tongue-in-cheek joke. That winter and the following spring, I was on top of the world. So was he.

Then it was college. When I spent all my time in the library preparing for studying abroad, Khalil’s new album, 15, was with me day and night. When I finally studied abroad, Khalil released Back to Wonderland. It was the music that kept me grounded while I fully immersed myself in a new culture. I felt in between after college. Khalil released Dangerous World, a weird one. When I finally moved forward and found a career that I loved and adored, Khalil released a double album Journey to the West. It won him the Best Male Vocalist from the biggest Mandopop awards. I gave it a few listens and decided it was not for me.

Then I was grinding. Khalil shifted his focus to his newly founded record label. Then in the blink of an eye, years had passed, and it was Covid. Khalil would occasionally release home-produced singles, the kind that you knew weren’t leading to an LP, and I would rediscover his first three albums, Soulboy, This Love, and Wonderland, and listen to them on repeat. I realized how badly I wanted to see him in concert. Although I knew it wasn’t happening any time soon as he had some vocal issues. The change of range was obvious in his stay-at-home singles. Then in August 2024, out of nowhere, he released a new single and announced a new album. In the announcement, he mentioned he had made great progress with his illness and was on the path of recovery. As fate would have it, I was dealing with obscure health issues for the past few years. I told my friends that Khalil must really have struggled because only people who did would say things like the path of recovery. Only they knew it was a long journey. I felt the strongest hope for my own recovery from the fact that he was able to make a new album. Khalil looked really thin in the promo videos, and his vocal range was so limited throughout the album. However, I knew he was getting better, so I was happy. He seemed happy about the music, so I was also happy about that. One day in October, I was in my car, listening to The Dreamer, cruising through the city. It was my happiest and most hopeful day in a very long time.

In February, I went to a Mandopop singer’s concert. My friends and I were joking about how crazy the ticket price was. I quietly told myself that when Khalil toured again, I’d go in a heartbeat no matter the cost. In the early a.m. of March 1, just when I was setting my phone to airplane mode before bed, I got a message from a high school friend. It was a link preview. The truncated title said, “After struggling with a stubborn illness for the past 5 years with a positive attitude, Khalil Fong.” I didn’t need the whole sentence. My heart might have had skipped a beat. I didn’t know. I couldn’t know. I couldn’t feel. I stumbled to bed.

Dear Khalil, thank you. I miss you. I’m all too lucky to have your music. I will continue down the path of recovery, and I’d like to believe in some ways I’m also doing it for you now. I’ll remember how people called me by your name long before there was Timothée Chalamet. I hope I can do your kind heart proud. I hope you found peace — if I know you at all, you did.

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The year was 2009. An album with an orange cover caught my eye. The first song was titled Singalongsong. One word; no space. How cool. I put it on, and it went: I wrote this song. It’s not too long...