Kai Chen
Untitled
Good morning.
Two days ago I was writing up my speech. My mom asked me what I would talk about. I told her that I was writing about my experience of coming to Williams all the way from China, about my feelings, the excitement as well as the bitterness. I told her I deeply miss my family and my friends. I told her I especially miss my grandpa, who is of particular importance to me, and who I have not seen for two years. My mom suddenly became quiet. She turned her back to me, and I saw her wiping her eyes. I looked at my dad, and he too, was holding his tears. I immediately knew something must have happened, and so I asked, in a quivering voice. The ominous silence foreshadowed the heartbreaking news to come: my grandpa had passed away last November. They dared not tell me this until this moment when they could be physically with me. The whole world caved in around me, and I felt so empty, so helpless.
I spent almost all of my childhood with my grandpa. He was a very simple person. He never invented words of wisdom that I can cite today. Each tiny bit of memory associated with him might not have seemed significant back then, yet they together influenced me in subtle, but important ways. Whenever I accomplished something, anything, however minor or insignificant it might seem, he would be extremely pleased to learn about every single detail, so he could tell the story to the next person he met. His mere presence proved to be immensely encouraging. Knowing that what I was doing would make an anxious grandfather pleased and proud gave me the strength and energy to carry on in numerous frustrating situations.
Four years ago I left home for Williams. Since then I rarely had chances to go home. My grandpa badly missed me and his health situation worsened. But as always, he was eager to hear about good news from me.
It was September 21, 2002 when I last saw him. That morning, before I left home for the airport, I stopped by at his place to say goodbye. He was holding my hand and crying. I knew he was afraid that it could be the last time to see me. Yet I did not want to think that it would be the last time.
My grandma is a Buddhist, and she told me that Buddha said my grandpa would be here with me today. Grandpa, I don’t know if you can hear me. But I miss you. I really do. How I wish you could join me and my classmates on this special day. I have great news for you. Grandpa, four years ago I came to this land, a little bit anxious and a little bit nervous, but I had a wonderful time here at Williams. I met great people. I learnt a lot. And I grew up. Grandpa, I was the luckiest child in the world to have you. I love you. And I will not let you down.
[pause]
We all have important people in our lives. Whether or not they are present here today, they had great impact on us. In some sense my grandpa is not gone; this very person who inspired me still inspires me, his values deeply rooted in my memories of him.
Today we celebrate and we graduate. It’s time to look forward. And yet I find myself looking back. At this moment of triumph it is all too easy to forget how we got here. The little incidents from the past, whether or not they inspired us back then, had become part of our experience here, and had helped shape us into who we are now. I also find myself looking around. We may remember our professors. We may remember our closest friends, but it’s all too easy to forget the numerous others in our lives who equally contributed to our growth.
My fellow classmates, [pause] please take a moment to look around you. Take a look at the people standing next to you. Shake hands with them. Perhaps you will see each other again, or perhaps not, but never in this place at this moment. It might be hard to appreciate it now, but all these people have played important roles in your life here.
Cherish your memories from the past, and cherish the people around you. Take these with you as a source of strength for the future.
June 6, 2004