I never knew my grandpa. I don’t even remember his name. What I do know is that my father was away at college in Xian, China when my grandpa died. I wonder how my father must have felt when he received the letter, when he was at school, 450 miles away from home. He never got a chance to speak one last word to his father. He must have wanted to see my grandpa one last time.

To me, this unknown man who shares my last name is both mysterious and surreal. To me, he will always be the embodiment of futile longing and enduring regret, eating away at my father’s heart. I, who have never truly experienced the loss of a loved one, cannot hope to understand how deep-seated this feeling of mournful longing lies within the frail body of its bearer.

It was not until my high school years that I began to experience a feeling that is akin to what it is really like to yearn for something that is, and forever will be, unattainable.
***
My parents, who can be considered intellectuals in China, have always encouraged me to pursue education. They are strong believers that education is the gateway to endless possibilities, whether it means being able to take care of oneself, live well, or retire early. These people, who were the best of the best students back in China, unknowingly gave up all the wealth and potential they could have possessed by coming to America. A doctor (my mother) and a professor (my father) could only secure jobs as dull scientific researchers, forever constrained to trying to discover new things in a world where the species of “new things” is swiftly diminishing. My mother must feel infinitely regretful about wanting to be a scientific researcher. The ideal of glory from discovering these “new things” subsided to a job equivalent to repetitive menial labor. The potential to savor life for its many sources of interest has left, and in its place is the harsh reality that one must live solely to survive.
It was not until recently that I, too, discovered the limits of education. The task of always learning new things and never letting go is like standing on a steep mountainside; one is always afraid of tumbling back down, so one must always labor to move up. The queer thing about this climb to the top is that no one is sure if there really is a top to achieve. Is there a place beyond the foggy mountain mist where the ground levels off and one can take a deep breath of relief? Is there a place where one can stand and truly feel like one has accomplished all that there is to accomplish? Is it worth it to sacrifice so much for an unknown future? One only knows that once the trek up the mountain has started, there is no going back. It is too late to regret, but sometimes one still does.
My own valuable education has made me a bit of an outcast in my own home. It has made me unable to fully discuss the extent of my new ideas and discoveries to my Chinese-speaking parents, and unable to accompany my six-year-old sister in her everyday adventures. I am already too far away from both worlds. Only now do I regret that I did not treasure every moment of my childhood life. Only now do I lament that I can no longer feel the sheer blissfulness of building my own pillow fort or playing hide-and-seek. I’m always too busy, or whatever I’m doing is too important. Even now, I envy my sister because she has time to read The Giving Tree while I’m on the courageous conquest for another good grade. Even though what my sister is doing is probably infinitely more meaningful to her than what I am doing is to me, I cannot stop this struggle for education because it has become my only bid for survival in this modern world.
Because I’ve already entered the struggle to survive — or because I’ve realized that I have entered the struggle — I have widened the divide between my sister and I. When I quietly say that she is “so good,” she giggles as if she understands what I’m saying. In reality, I was not paying a compliment to her personally; I was expressing my desire to be a kid like her. She, who still lives gleefully in the carefree world of a child, has no inkling of how life is not the fairytale she makes it out to be. Like the beginning of a summer day, she still possesses that endless potential, the measureless amounts of possibilities. For her, the day has only just begun. She can still be anything she wants to be and do anything she wants to do. I envy her. However, no matter how hard I try, and no matter how hard I crave to be young and ignorant, it is impossible. I am already centuries older than her. If only I knew, back then, that childhood would be so great, so wonderful. If only I could remember more of it and save it up in the depths of my immortal mind. This is the side effect of education.
While I wish that my sister will never have to face the worry of not knowing what to do with her life, and it pains me to know that it is inevitable that she, too, will feel regret and longing sooner or later, I’m still more worried that she will not be able to see the value in education. You might call me a hypocrite for wanting her to be educated as I am when I have clearly defined the negative sides of education, but in truth, education has become one of the only keys to success in this modern world. It may be an alienating factor, but it is also a savior. Not everyone is fortunate enough to drop out of college and still earn a good living. This is the way of the world.
Although my parents gave have up their potential for a nice, easy future by leaving their native country, I have not. Since I have already chosen the long way to happiness by choosing a higher education, I must go through with it. It is better to work now and live the rest of my life successfully than to slack off now and live in torment and poverty later. Hence, for now, it is enough to know that I was, once upon a time, a kid, and it did make me happy.
For now, I stick to the belief that it is better to believe that the mountain does have a definite peak and that it is better to work towards that peak than to stay at the bottom and wonder if the peak exists. I’m still looking forward to the day when I reach the top.
***
Regret and longing are such human responses. Stemming from fear and reverence of the unknown, they are ingrained into our being, molded into our consciousnesses. They are both the biggest torments of human life and the strongest influences.
Although my father must regret the fact that he was not there when his father died, he was away at school; he was studying hard to improve his life. He was working hard to create a future for himself. Although my parents gave up all of their potential in China by coming to a country where the language barrier prevents them from making use of their expertise, they have paved the way for my sister and me to find a bright future here. They kept moving forward, even when the pressures of supporting an entire family became an overbearing burden. Although I long to be a little kid again, I know this dream is unattainable. However, because I regret the fact that I didn’t treasure those moments when I could have, I know that those moments must have been worth living.
Regret is a natural human emotion. It’s important to acknowledge your regret without letting it overcome you and your life. You must keep moving forward and keep climbing upwards. While regret and longing have the power to create untold anguish, as they come hand-in-hand with cruel the passage of time, they also have the power to forge the fire-like passion for hope and something to believe in. That passion and hope is what I, and many others, find worth living for.