An ancient Chinese myth has it that when a koi fish persists in swimming upstream against the rapid waters all the way to the top, then with every bit of its strength leaps off the waterfall, it will transform from a fish into a dragon.

My grandparents had three children before they fled North Korea and before they had my mom. I canĄŻt begin to picture what kind of strength my grandmother had to make that journey. Nor can I picture what kind of parent she must have been to my mom and her siblings. All I can remember is the sweet old woman who took care of me as a child, and how she would bend over backwards to make me happy.I think of my grandmother and the radiant beauty she must have been, even though I never saw for myself.

My grandfather was quite the catch back in the day, so she must have had a trick or two up her sleeve herself. My grandmother was well educated, during a time in which higher learning was reserved for the privileged and men. I can imagine that even before she was an adult, she must have been captivating as a girl. ItĄŻs hard to see that all past her hunched over back and frail frame, but I can.I feel guilty for the lack of communication between us in the past years. Now itĄŻs getting closer to too late, and IĄŻm trying to sneak in

some last words. I hope that you can feel the love I have for you that I havenĄŻt shown. In a similar way, I can see the beauty in your broken face.

s it love for music? Or music for love?

I ask that of myself. I question that in others. Do I yearn with my lifeĄŻs void for the art and honesty that glows within music? Or do I lust desperately for the light that shines around it? I canĄŻt do this for the wrong reasons. At least, I wonĄŻt. The candles and fires I work so hard to place around meĄ­ with the time and weather of the world will fade and witherĄ­ and leave me cold again. Will I be caught in this

never-ending struggle to keep the candles lit and burning?
I need to light the fire within myself, first. Is it love for music? Or music for love? There are moments when I catch myself, motivated by the selfish hope that the accolades and honor of succeeding in music will deliver me the love that always seems to allude me. But thatĄŻs like the honor in impressing someone with that expensive car, those big muscles, that plentiful pride. ThatĄŻs not honor. ThatĄŻs childish. It is the shine and shimmer that cannot

create light on its own. That you are merely the temporary reflection of brightest light you can bring near you. So I stop myself. I resist and battle the thirst that can only be quenched from within.
IĄŻm reminded that true honor and true musicĄ­ can only grow from the warmth of true love.

A friend of mine is an aspiring musician; he has passion as well as talent. Unfortunately, his circumstances do not allow the privilege for big dreams. He hates his father, because heĄŻs never had a conversation with him. He hates his mother, because she doesnĄŻt understanding him. His family doesnĄŻt have too much money; they make their living off of their small fish store. My friend works many hours there. Having to juggle between work and school, he has little time left for his music. He is exhausted exhausted by the end

of each day and frustrated, because time is running out. What makes it more difficult, is that, his feels his sacrifices are unappreciated. He wrote me a letter the other day; in it he asked me, Ą°is life is really beautiful?Ąą The question made me sad because IĄŻve always looked up to him for his perseverance despite hardships. I wonder how much disappointment it took to break him down. I realized then, that life is real, and commitments and dedications sometimes do go in vain.

Many places along this journey, I feel as though I am alone in the battle to fight for what I believe in. Where few will follow and fewer will go, it is a seemingly empty place, this dark and uncharted territory. I have been moved to such fear and loneliness that I step with the most cautious apprehension, if I am not frozen completely in the haze.
Then I wonder if there must be others who tread this darkness with me. So dark, this unknown road that a kindred spirit, unbeknownst, might only be inches away.

How can two spirits find each other if we both stand fearful and in silence?

I won’t fear the loneliness anymore.

When I was young my family would from time to time donate used clothes to charity. I would go through my closet and pick out clothes I no longer wanted and put them in bags. Then, my mother would make me take the clothes out of the bags, fold them neatly, and place them back in the bags. She said when you help people who are less fortunate you should do it with the utmost respect.