[Student Profile]
[Prompt & Essay]
“Josun” (good morning).
Two words once simply borne out of habit that have become so much more throughout the years. While I imagined regular homes to be filled with conversation and warmth, only wistful clouds from the rice cooker occupied the empty space around us during dinner time. She looked up questioningly upon hearing my strange joke. As long as I could remember, the relationship shared by my dad and my grandma, Mama, had been strained for reasons unknown to me. And for the longest time, I didn’t question it, sensing the underlying pain.
In 2018, Yeye, my grandfather, the one person capable of tempering the two personalities, was diagnosed with cancer. Immediately, Mama rushed to Hong Kong to care for her husband. Later, we followed suit. Upon arrival, Mama met us at the end of the airport, fussing over our plane ride. Even in her tremendous grief, her first priority was to care for others. The same woman who readily spat scathing remarks was also a vital channel for strength and love. Mama helped me realize that people have multiple dimensions that don’t work together coherently. Rather, these different sides work against each other, often contradicting and providing the complexity that makes us human. I had failed to appreciate that intricacy in Mama.
Intent on searching for the complexity within others, I improved in the art of small talk and learned that the possible avenues were endless. A passing comment about marijuana use on the dusty YMCA basketball courts would blossom into a conversation about respecting the choice of others and societal biases, while a quick question to my teacher via Zoom evolved into a discussion on the clash of cultures between the east and west. No matter the starting point, each interaction ended with a sense of mutual understanding.
Several months after Yeye’s passing, what started off as a comment between Mama and my dad erupted into an uncontrollable altercation. In the midst of the arguing, Mama stormed off. As I calmed down, I realized just how lonely she must have felt, without Yeye or the ability to voice her feelings. I also sensed the resignation that lingered in the air. The silence in the house grew unbearable. Though I didn’t fully understand her experiences, I chose to defend Mama. I tried to inspire my family to look beyond Mama’s immediate traits that masked her best intentions.
Later that night, the NBA season began: Lakers vs. Clippers. I asked Mama if she wanted to watch. She gave a slight nod and drifted over to the TV. Though few words were exchanged, there was a sense of understanding. As she gasped at the tall players, I noticed my dad concede a quiet smile. It was the first time in decades that there was peace at home. I realized then that, although complete understanding was unattainable, the attempt to reach, fail, and try again was more than enough.
Since then, Mama and I have continued to enjoy each other’s presence while watching basketball and my dad has had more conversations with Mama. In the end, it wasn’t a moving speech or a grand act that brought change like in the movies, but a little gesture.
Armed with the lessons that Mama taught me, I took on more leadership roles with renewed confidence and motivation. Whether it was starting a nonprofit for underprivileged middle schoolers interested in STEM, hosting an entrepreneurial summit for high school students during quarantine, or helping to resolve conflicts between my friends by offering the other side’s point of view, I saw the positive impact that my words and actions had on others.
Mama continued to look at me. I couldn’t change her, but I could accept and appreciate her for the complex and wonderful person that she was. Her eyes now sparkled with newfound understanding, and she allowed her voice to run free:
“Josun!”