The other day, I went to visit my great-grandparents at the cemetery. As if their stories of coming to America aren’t enough, they continue to inspire me even after their deaths. I usually go there, say a prayer for them, then leave. However, I just wanted to ask them something: Give me inspiration. Now, I know it sounds kind of harsh, especially considering all that they have done for me and my family’s future- Like staying strong during world war 2 and coming to America from a communist country. Yet, I still felt beckoned to ask for inspiration from them. Maybe it’s because of their stories that I confide in them. However, I felt a bit awkward standing in front of their graves while awaiting inspiration. I know now that it was a silly thing to do: Expect something magical to happen right then and there. But they heard me. Because if they didn’t, I wouldn’t be writing this.

As I was leaving the cemetery, a tree stood towering before me as I was getting into the car. I stopped for a second, and watched the
leaves fall. It was almost as if the tree was crying. It was almost as if each leaf was like a child or person it didn’t want to let go.

As a leaf started falling towards me, I stuck out my hand to catch it. When I did, I debated on keeping it. But in the end I didn’t. If falling leaves are people in our lives, and we are the trees- if we are the ones grieving and crying- we can’t catch and keep all of them.

Happy is too toxic of a word. We can’t automatically be happy after experiencing trauma. We will learn to be okay when we move on. We will be content.