Being stuck together with your family for a year is quite a feat. When I say “stuck” I don’t mean the staying in the same house for 18 years kind of “stuck” (because I already did that). I mean really stuck. For a whole year as we traveled around the world, we shared the same food, slept in the same beds, used the same bathrooms, fought for the same computers, watched the same TV shows, and all suffered the invasion of our private space. But being “stuck” is also what brought my sister closer to me. This trip not only gave me back a sister, but also a friend.
My mom picked up her needle and thread and started working on the hole on my jeans again. This was her 5th time working on the same hole. Because of the length of our travel and the restraint in space, our limited clothing wore out quickly. Within months my jeans thinned out to the point of no return and everyday new holes would appear or old patches would break again. Despite this hopeless cycle, my mom was still willing to put time and effort into fixing my pants when even I had given up. It is such a spirit that kept me going many times in life when I wanted to give up. My mom is far from perfect, but willingness and humility are two qualities of hers that has left a deep impact on my life.
Relationships don’t happen over night; they are built. My dad and I learned this the hard way through years of practice and patience. Perhaps it was because our personalities were so similar, or how we are both so stubborn, I butted heads with my dad a lot when I was little. We fought from little things like when to say “please” and “thank you”, to the correct standards of being “fair”, to bigger things like how long I should be enrolled in Chinese school. However, through these cross fires we learned to give and take, understood each other better, and realized how to give love in a way the other could receive. He became my friend. Through our time brewing relationship, my dad has gradually become my adviser, playmate, and comforter, molding himself into someone I’m comfortable with—my comfort zone. Continue reading Dad, My Comfort Zone
“We need to talk,” Olivia motioned me to follow her.
“Is it…?” I asked with a possible guess at the reason.
“Yes…There is not much time,” Olivia replied.