I texted my father — our first message in months — asking if the link he had sent to an online photo album was real. He said it was. I selected the first photo: Two-year-old me, smiling wide, nestled in his arms. I felt nostalgia, guilt, then sadness. I started to text him back but couldn’t find the words. Over the years we had constructed a wall between us, strengthened by every guarded exchange and words left unsaid about our Asian immigrant family, my queer identity. How can we break through a silence that’s been 20 years in the making? — Arthur Chen