By Min Jung

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Like the title of this anthology, I often feel like I am the other side of everything as I navigate my life in the USA as a Korean immigrant.

My dad is a math teacher. And often, I miss him.

In his dark mane, an increasing number of determined grays are taking up residence on my father’s head. As a result of this revolution, the few surviving black hairs are surrendering with some choosing to leave. Sometimes my dad looked in the mirror, missing them so much that he’d ask them to come back. “I feel so lonely and empty without you all!” I’d burst out laughing, knowing he uttered it on purpose, jokingly. To compensate, wrinkles have migrated in and settled down around his eyes, rendering him a friendly, avuncular neighbor. His face, round like a party balloon, is repeated on the lovely faces of his oldest and youngest daughters.

I’d once been indifferent, but now appreciate that this round face would make a stranger point us out in a crowd if asked to pair family members. A resemblance more enduring than his hair, redder than blood, bluer than the oceans that currently separate us. Evidence to identify me as his daughter. Something of my dad that I could see in myself. My dad, the math teacher. He has influenced and shaped me physically and spiritually yet prepared me to be malleable in life. “Have fun!” he always says, no matter the circumstances. When going to school, to hang out with friends, and even when I recently emigrated from Korea to the US last year. Teary eyed, he waved at me at the airport and said to never forget to “have fun.” Like a protective shield, I carry his words with me at all times. 

Another sentiment of his, which I remind myself of when I am learning, is to never fear ignorance; he told me that lack of knowledge can make one bashful, but pretense is much more worthy of humiliation. There is no shame in asking questions. It proves you are eager to learn, aching for more knowledge extending beyond what you currently have. With this in mind, I’ve become a hand-raising type of student, not to boast, but to ask for more. 

Recently, I was stressed out far beyond mere frustration. It was not the kind of overwhelmed frustration when facing a mountain of homework due at midnight. No. This was the kind of focused stress when you are unable to find the perfect word for a sentence. Yes, the stress that stems from feeling inadequate and the only possible solution I could think of was to ask for help. Instinctively, I texted my teacher on Remind, a third-party education app, and asked her for an explanation on a specific section of my pre-calculus homework, a concept I simply needed more clarification on. I included a heartfelt paragraph apologizing for possibly disturbing her personal life and explaining she could answer me whenever she wanted; tomorrow or the day after that. To my surprise, she answered moments later, saying only, “You should have not texted me when you know it might be a disturbance to my personal life, which it is. I will not answer your question right now and you may come again next Monday at school.” I was shocked. In the time it took her to dismiss me, she could have simply answered my question. Instead, she chose to humiliate me.

I was stressed out, again, without an answered question, nor easy access to my favorite math teacher. I am now in a different country, apart from that friendly-belly guy with some gray hairs growing out on his head. I am so stressed, frustrated, and annoyed that I am in the rudest form I can ever be. I don’t even care about the fourteen hour time difference. Impulsively, I text the guy hoping for him to  alleviate some of my frustration: “Dad, I need to know why this equation represents an ellipse.” Moments later, he sent four photos full of graphs of an ellipse and explanations handwritten in three different colors. Then he said “If you have any difficulties, call me. ^^.” That “^^” mirroring smiling eyes. My dad, the happy math teacher.

Complex emotions consumed me. Was it humiliation from my current teacher? Was it gratitude for my father’s boundless attention and support for me? I always had him to rely on. Yet, I was only able to meet him through the screen. I could call or text or FaceTime, but never truly talk to him face-to-face, looking at his actual “smiling eyes,” wrinkles around them. I missed him a lot.

Occasionally I forget his words to have fun and not fear questioning; those days feel monographic. Then, intuitively, I’d text him. The same “smiling eyes” reply, gently asking how my days have been. I would complain and laugh and question and have fun. And I will tell him that I miss him, not often, but always. 

Process

This piece started from a simple note of writing ideas. From there I developed the essay into a stand alone piece of memoir depicting a moment which represents a lifetime in which I am missing my dad. Working on the notion of “show don’t tell” I learned a lot about the importance of word choice and the possibilities that we have when reordering paragraphs, lines, and specific words. Editing and revision have become my friends.