As I dig through my unorganized piles of clothes looking for a fresh pair of socks, a gleaming light emanating from the corner of my closet catches my eye. 

I force myself through multiple clothes covered in plastic fresh from the dry cleaners and discover that the ray of colors came from “the box,” a symbol of our family’s unity. Our family made the difficult decision to immigrate to the United States so that my brother, sister, and I would receive an American education while my father remained in Korea to continue his dental hospital. In order to remain close, the three of us made it a tradition to spend quality time playing board games every Friday. After the board game, each of us would anonymously write down on a piece of paper suggestions to improve our family. Despite our anonymity, we all knew the source of each idea. My sister once accidentally wrote her name asking for a regular movie night eating chicken. Why chicken? We all like different foods, but chicken is the one dish that we can all agree on. 

After a while, these family building suggestions turned into “anonymous” requests for material goods like that of a Christmas or birthday wishlist. Clearly, a request for a new volleyball net or basketball hoop came from my brother David, the sports enthusiast. I, on the other hand, rarely contributed to this ritual since I was twelve and too focused on adjusting to my new and different “American” environment and lifestyle. For the first few weeks, our family diligently applied some of the ideas, but after a while, the practice faded and eventually stopped. Looking at the box now, I fondly recall the peace, cooperation, and unity our family enjoyed three years ago and often long for those days, especially now with the uncertainty caused by the COVID-19 pandemic. 

Once I am done reminiscing, I go to bed. The next morning as with every morning I am greeted by Luke Skywalker, Princess Lea, Darth Vader, and Obi-Wan, among others. They are some of the famous Star Wars characters that are part of a 20x15 completed puzzle encased in a black frame that hangs on one of my bedroom walls. This puzzle is especially meaningful because my mother completed it by herself and gave it to me for my twelfth birthday. She did not need to share with me the fact that she spent three long weeks laboring over each piece despite being flustered. I had already known that completing the puzzle was her escape from reality- from the stress my older brother David caused her during his college application process. For some time, she was noticeably quiet, barely stepped outside of the house, and spent most of her time alone in her bedroom watching television. I later realized that she must have been slightly depressed trying to navigate the arduous process for the first time. 

To make matters worse, David was rebellious. The day before his first SAT, David informed her of his impulsive decision to not take the test. My mom was devastated because her worst fears came true; she had imagined the very scenario, but now it was a reality. The whole point of immigrating to the United States was for her children to receive the best possible education, so David’s refusal was a stab in the back. David eventually confessed that he lacked confidence, and ultimately performed well on subsequent SATs. He is now a freshman at New York University. Even though I was and am not a Star Wars fan, I cherish this puzzle because it represents my mother’s sacrifice, love, affection, and dedication to her children.

Just below the Star Wars poster is a rack of colorful dumbbells, ranging from four to eight kilograms, that are stacked on top of each other. I use them to exercise Monday through Friday, no matter how late or exhausted I am. I am constantly drawn to the words “Made in LA” that are printed onto the two sides of the dumbbells because they are actually one of the few products I own or have seen that are not made in China. This is just a random observation, but what surprises me even more is that I actually own a set of dumbbells. 

Only two years ago, I was a short, overweight kid who just did not care about being fit. My school friends gave me the affectionate nickname Teddy, and although I did not mind the teasing, I could not stand the ribbing from my brother David, who is five years my senior. Maybe it was because he was family, or maybe it was because I always compared myself to him. However, rage stewed inside me every time he grabbed my fat body and called me names. The anger boiled like lava in a volcano that was ready to erupt, but I suppressed it each and every time. David, an ace volleyball player at his school, had the fit and muscular body I envied. I never retaliated because ninety percent of me was scared to physically fight him, and the remaining ten percent was because he was family. My solution: I worked out religiously and reduced the amount of food I ate. The result: I lost thirty pounds and got fit. In my mind, that was the best form of revenge. 

The unity box brings back fond memories of my family unit. The Star Wars puzzle represents my mother’s resilience. The dumbbells remind me of my commitment to physical transformation. Combined, these three objects remind me to treasure the good, the bad, and the ugly.