Bigger Things Jessica Chu 6 “Nay um sci fat pei hay,” my mother says to me in my native Cantonese; she ushers me away from the cash register as I decipher her words, “Calm down, don’t be so angry.” I slump down into the tattered white vinyl ghost of a chair, <strong>and</strong> the chunky foam peeks out to welcome my weary body. As she grasps my h<strong>and</strong> to temper my “hot head,” she traces her pumice-stone fingertips on my fleshy palms. The calluses <strong>and</strong> sun spots that cover her h<strong>and</strong>s indicate years of manual labor. She uses those h<strong>and</strong>s to tame her jungle of a garden. She uses those h<strong>and</strong>s to mop <strong>and</strong> wipe up remnants of downtown nights off the beaten tiled floor. Yet, she uses those same h<strong>and</strong>s to untangle the furrows burrowed into my <strong>for</strong>ehead. “Don’t worry about these small things, bigger things are yet to come.” Mom squeezes peace into her irascible daughter between routine placation of exasperated customers <strong>and</strong> constant restocking of Little Debbies at our family-owned convenience store on the battered corner of Ohea <strong>and</strong> Broadway in the heart of the <strong>Mississippi</strong> Delta. The crumbling red bricks, the scraggly-wired fence sprawled around the perimeter, the spackled graffiti on the leaning walls, <strong>and</strong> the broken shards of Miller Light attest to the store’s three-decade battle against downtown civilization. Here, my mother recounts her struggles in coming to America <strong>and</strong> a childhood with no thought of a future other than tending the farm in Canton, China <strong>and</strong> caring <strong>for</strong> her family. As she speaks her stories, inspiration floods through me as every word from her mouth reaches my ears. The soft cooing of her voice exhibits her kindness, a kindness I have never seen in any other being. I believe my mother is the only person on earth to have a “giving war” with a friend: the two start off with a few fruits back <strong>and</strong> <strong>for</strong>th <strong>and</strong> eventually escalate to spaghetti <strong>and</strong> meatballs <strong>and</strong> squash soup being sloshed at one another every other day. Even the customers with that extra spunk in their attitudes <strong>and</strong> mouths full of derogatory remarks receive the utmost respect from my mother. Her compassion <strong>for</strong> others is such an admirable trait. Her kindness inspires me as well as others to do more than what is asked <strong>and</strong> to show respect <strong>and</strong> patience towards all my peers. She always says to me, “Be good to everyone, you never know when you may need them most.” Sitting with my mother at the kitchen table, I watch as she kneads the dough with her strong thick fingers <strong>and</strong> she begins to talk about her childhood. In Canton, she would wake every morning to the rising of the sun <strong>and</strong> help with the cooking, cleaning, <strong>and</strong> mending. Then, she was off to school, a two-mile trek twice daily on a dirt road in the hot humid weather of rural south China. “<strong>School</strong> was not important, just <strong>for</strong> learning the basics,” she says. The notion of college or any ounce of higher education in her future never popped into her mind. Up until that moment, I never realized my mother gave up so much <strong>for</strong> her children. She made the difficult journey to America at twenty-five <strong>and</strong> has not taken a rest from her back-breaking work even to this day. She moved to America to give me the opportunities to pursue my dreams, to be happy, <strong>and</strong> to live the life she never had. “Work hard, we didn’t come here <strong>for</strong> nothing,” my mother says to me. Her divine love, sweet compassion, <strong>and</strong> whispers of wise words will <strong>for</strong>ever stay in my heart. The feeling of her rough h<strong>and</strong>s will always be a reminder to work hard <strong>for</strong> the bigger things in life. The kindness <strong>and</strong> patience of her sparkling soul teaches me to look over the small obstacles approaching in the future. Like mother always says, “Don’t worry about these small things, bigger things are yet to come.” n
Home Away from Home Katie Bryant 2nd Place—Photography Competition Photograph 7 Freedom Kaitlan Rester Honorable Mention—Drawing Competition Scratch board Lighting Up Emerald Litke Photograph
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