The Eyes Staring Back at Me Tell a Story

It isn’t one that is commonly told. Or perhaps, dear reader, it is a story that has been told a thousand and one times.

Like any other person, I have my outward character: it’s what I’m looking at in the mirror right now. But this mirror is special; it shows a little bit more than that.

Black hair? Check. Brown eyes? Check. Smaller eyes? Check. I fill the checklist for a Korean girl on the outside. But, I must warn you, there’s a bit more to me than meets the eye.

I find worlds and comfort in literature. I love the sweet and unique smell of antique books. I love the feeling of the old hardcover books, when I run my fingers along the embossed decorations. I frequently accompany my dad to his seminary’s library as an elementary student in California. There are 6 floors, each one filled with books on all sorts of subjects. I roam about, occasionally pulling down a book with the help of a stool, and reading to my heart’s content. These books spark my curiosity in a thousand and one things, and each book sparkles with the inviting allure of knowledge. There is so much in this world, and only so much time to learn about these things: for example, if water is wet or if wormholes exist. But it is not limited to only what I read. I find that writing also allows my creativity and imagination to run wild, so that instead of hopping on another author’s carpet ride, I can create my own. Fantasies of faraway kingdoms, curious dragons searching for gold. Anything I wanted I could bring to life through my writing. I discovered this in elementary school, and I still continue to write whenever I have the spare time.

I find strength and energy in tennis. I love the adrenaline rush as I sprint to get the tennis ball. I love the satisfying swing as I hit back across the court. I love the comforting feeling of my racket in my hand, the bright green grip tape matching my racket. Although sweat pours down and my muscles ache, I love it. Exercising both my mind and my body, I constantly analyze the court as I play, targeting my opponent’s weaknesses. I feel the strain in my muscles as I move, the fluid motion of my racket traced out in my mind. Pinpointing my opponent’s weaknesses and downplaying my own, I feel like a general planning out his or her attacks. The brief pause in time before I serve, the quick reaction to a particularly powerful ball, the careful placement of my swings, all contribute to the thousand and one thrills of the game. This is where I find solace and refuge as a culture-shocked middle schooler in North Carolina.

I find the beauty and life in music notes. They float in the air around, and when I close my eyes, I can imagine them, flitting like a thousand and one fireflies in the dark. I can grasp onto the threads of music and twist it, creating my own melodies and harmonies. There’s nothing I cannot do when in control of the flow of sounds. My fingers can almost feel the strings of my violin, of my guitar, of my viola. My throat remembers the feel of each note in my vocal chords. From classical to rap, pop to r&b, covering a thousand and one genres, I fill my ears with the unique sounds. The deafening silence becomes bearable through the trickle of music. Now, I let out my inner feelings through songwriting. Musical notes add another whimsical dimension to the words I piece together. Every melody I think up billows around my room, like a so breeze on a summer day. Flitting around multiple instruments, I slowly build up my songs, starting with the basic beats to the final flourishes of background harmonies. I close my eyes, listen intently to each measure, pause the track, then experiment with different series of notes on my keyboard. It is a swirl of sounds that just needs the right person to sort through it. This is me now, a dreaming senior in Washington.

As you may have seen, dear reader, there is more behind my Korean face. I like to think that I take each stereotype and break it by utilizing it.

The reader turned writer. The athlete turned strategist. The player turned creator. I see the thousand and one versions of myself reflected in the mirror.

The eyes staring back at me tell a story. It is a story like a thousand and one other stories, and yet it is mine.