Dear Reader,
A few years ago, I watched my first 9/11 documentary — an unusual interest that would linger onwards for the rest of my life. It was hard to comprehend the magnitude of tragedies like 9/11 as a kid; stories on the news seemed unreal, distant, and difficult to understand. But as that documentary played, as voices of pure terror echoed from my computer screen, and as I listened to Bush’s “I can hear you” speech, I felt a new emotion arise within me: a mixture of empathy and patriotism for a country that isn’t even mine.
I had a vision buried in my mind for years — to live and study in the United States. I kept this vision to myself and lived my dream vicariously through American literature, movies, music, tv shows, and ultimately, college applications. All the little fragments of American culture (and my dream) that I collected assembled into a perfect picture puzzle inside my head, and I was constantly looking for the missing piece.
All the little fragments of American culture that I collected assembled into a perfect picture puzzle inside my head, and I was constantly looking for the missing piece.
I searched for that missing piece throughout my high school experience. At first, I envisioned it to be an acceptance to a top American university. So for four years of my life, I worked nonstop, diligently. I went from an average student to an overachiever. I forced myself to step out of my comfort zone, give up unimportant social events, and display leadership in school. I befriended teachers, gained mentors, and earned advocates who spoke on my behalf.
Maybe some of my loss was necessary for growth, but there are times when I look back at old memories with not reminisce but regret.
But as my journey continued, and I tried things that I thought made me a better person, I also lost parts of myself and my life that I will never get back. I lost essential friendships from the past, abandoned hobbies and interests, and shed my once open mindset for a more reserved one. Maybe some of my loss was necessary for growth, but there are times when I look back at old memories with not reminisce but regret.
I didn’t realize this at the time, but everything I went through — gain or loss, joy or grief — all incorporated themselves into the vision inside my head. And I realized that real life would never be as grandeur or picture-perfect as dreams. I envisioned an idyllic photograph of my American dream, only to find it three-dimensional—layers of hardship and complexity pile beneath the green lawn. Some plans fail in the random space-time continuum of life, and trajectories change. As much as I wanted to believe in my vision, that picture is shattered now — in the best way possible. Every critical step of my life is now a unique fragment that I cherish; all these memories coalesce into my identity, and I realized that the missing piece in my vision was myself.
I envisioned an idyllic photograph of my American dream, only to find it three-dimensional — layers of hardship and complexity pile beneath the green lawn.
I’ll always treasure my American Dream, but now I’m onto so much more. Like all things, life isn’t perfect, and that’s its beauty. And even though the picture shattered, one of my biggest dreams is coming true this September: visiting the 9/11 memorial.
Sincerely,
Jisoo
P.S. If you haven’t caught on, I’m moving to New York this fall!
Follow me on Instagram for more updates: @jisoolimx
