intertwined
The Song
If we listened closely, we might hear a grand orchestral of sounds coming together from each small and big story, every quiet and loud moment. If we really listened we might hear The Song of our lives and the bigger song of all our stories and lives coming together to create, give voice to, give way to something bigger than all of us combined. The small stories that hint towards a whisper, a voice that speaks to our existence, maybe our purpose, the reason why we’ve been designed–our complexity, brains, our ability to love and grieve, our making sense of this world in the busy and the mundane. That maybe, that probably, and certainly we’re not just accidents and these stories aren’t just coincidences and there’s something–someone–behind all of it.
Someone personal, infinite, loving, holy, maybe God. Maybe The Song of Small Stories is the Song of all our small lives combined to create one big story, of Him who cared and loved us enough to redeem and create something new out of us if we just turned our eyes to the cross.
Perhaps it's the realization that it’s not about creating a little personal, isolated, invulnerable song out of our little stories that don’t end up creating much, but it’s all of everything and everyone combined, that together we can draw out so much more meaning and love.
Beyond
So beautifully intertwined, this web of stories and people who loved and cared to create for me a world where love is seen in every baked sweet potato and every fishing trip, where I never questioned if my family loved me and it was a certainty that they would always exist and I would always know everything about them. So beautiful are the stories that my grandparents and my parents would push aside their hurts and burdens, their unfulfilled dreams and sorrows to provide for me a privileged blessed life. That they would push aside the abuse, the heartache, years of mistreatment and treat me always with so much dignity, love, and care. The words “thank you” can never encompass the surging, gratitude I feel for my grandparents and parents who had to go through the hard to get to the good. Who had to assume responsibility at young ages, who had to walk long distances and fly many miles to make my life possible and able. One thing is so clear amidst life’s troubles and experiences of my life that manifested poorly in my personality, is that there is no shortage in the love that has been given to me so freely and wastefully and extravagantly that I know I will be discovering more of my entire life and really I have only seen one ripple in an endless ocean. That even with the death of my grandpa on the horizon, there is so much hope and love abounding in every conversation, every flight to Korea, every home cooked meal, every phone call. That we can have hope and certainty even in the harsh, unforgiving reality of death because there is something far greater than all of us, all of our stories, hardships, and joys combined: love.
No, I do not speak the language my family dreams in.
But we all speak the language of love.
We all dream in love.
And in writing this project, I have realized that it was never about speaking Korean properly or writing everyone's stories well in rhetoric because I’ve learned that communication comes through our eyes, our bodies, our hands, our actions. That the words “I love you” could never encompass the cut fruit Umma gives me, my grandpa’s smile in the morning, the tears of my grandma when she sees me cry, the snacks Appa buys before I come home, my uncle holding my shopping bags, Unni asking me if I’m doing okay, my aunt saying she’s so thankful for how I was raised. That “I love you” could never encompass how much I worry for my loved ones, the prayers I pray for others, the food I cook for my friends, making sure someone gets home safe. That the words “I love you” could never encompass the entirety of how much we love someone. That we strive to change for the sake of those we love, to be better, to hurt them less, to hope, to hold tighter as the winds of life blow hard, relentlessly.
Love transcends every language barrier, every identity crisis, every regret, every death.
I hope I only learn to love harder, to love more, to love better, and to learn love from these 3 generations of love: my grandparents, my parents, and me.
And beyond.
- Josephine 은혜 Yi