Phillips Teng
I stared out the car’s tinted window. The cement walls on the highway had fused into a blur. In the distance, I could see Taipei’s skyline. The sun was setting, its reddish hue flooded over the city. The building passed in an endless cycle. Rush hour had just begun. I imagined workers heading home to see their family after a long day of work. I imagined a taxi driver, entering his house and picking up his daughter in a bear-like encompassing hug. Naturally, giving her a kiss on her forehead.
I’m not sure what came to me. But I felt my eyes tear up. I never cry, especially not when I say goodbyes. When I moved to a new school, I didn’t shed a tear. When I left for college, I didn’t cry either. I didn’t feel like I was leaving home. I was looking forward to the future, leaving home meant it was a new adventure. I was ready to brave the new world, my new reality.
But today was different. After being back home for a short two weeks. I’ve learned what the words home meant. It was a place that meant good food, comfortable bed, and most importantly, family. The emotions overflowed and precipitated into tear drops. As I realized these were the last few hours I will spend in Taiwan until the next summer, I couldn’t hold back my sobbing.
My mom immediately sensed my sudden emotional outbreak and shot a condescending look at my dad, who appeared to be unaware of anything. My mom signaled to my dad to pick up the tissue box.
My dad caringly asked me what’s the matter? I tried to form the words, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was air. I tried to begin, but each sobbing gasp made it impossible for me to finish a word, let alone a sentence.
He handed me the box of tissues and said, “it’s alright dear.” My mom asked, “what’s the matter, why are you crying son?” After a minute of sobbing, I finally calmed down. I began…
“I just wanted to say, I’ve been incredibly happy these past two weeks…”
Then I lost it. The invisible ninjas had begun cutting onions again. After another minute of sobbing, I confessed…
“I’m sorry I failed my medical school application. I know you want me to be a doctor and all that, but I don’t think I can do it. It’s too hard. I’m not smart enough.”
My dad put his arm around my shoulder, “it’s okay son, we know you did your best. We have a saying, the mountain doesn’t turn, the road does. I just want you to be happy.” My mom chimed in, saying, “as long as you are healthy, we really can’t ask God for more.”
I turned my head up and looked up at my dad. I was trying my best to hold back my tears.
“That’s why it makes me want to do it even more. I want to make you proud because I know how much you love me; how much you love my brother and my sister. I know how much confidence you place in me that it is why it hurts me, even more, to tell you that I’ve failed.”
My dad squeezed my arm. He looked into my eyes and said, “I’m already incredibly proud of you, my son. I know that you will be successful at whatever you do. You remember that. My hope is that you will surpass what I’ve done. I wish that you will be more successful than me.”
I knew it from his eyes, that he meant it with all his heart. He still believed in me.
My dad continued to say, “when one door closes, another one opens.” I struggled a smile through my tears and gave him a big hug. Then I quickly apologized for ruining his shirt. He said, don’t worry about it.
When we arrived at the airport, I had calmed down. I reflected on what they’ve given me. An opportunity of a lifetime. To study abroad at a great university. I wasn’t going to blow it. That was the moment I settled my priorities in life. Health is number one. Without it, we cannot enjoy life. Right after it is family. Going through life’s ups and downs is difficult, but it is also tremendously rewarding. The support we give to each other is what makes us human. And lastly, work. Through work, we express our mission to help even more people in need, to find a way to add value to society and make a larger impact.
Just before I took the escalators up to departures, I gave both of my parents, one last hug. I whispered inaudibly, “I really do hope one day, I will make you proud.” And I ascended the escalator out of their view, I waved goodbye. A tear or two may have begun to form. I wiped it away. A new semester. A new beginning. Who knows what doors may have opened?
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