Hello, I am Oumjy Zhang, an international student at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Growing up with a single mother, I saw her constant care for my well-being. At 17, I dealt with a pituitary tumor, which worsened our financial challenges. Sadly, my mother passed away on June 20th, 2022, after a nine-year battle with ovarian cancer, leaving me emotionally exhausted. In the aftermath of my mother's passing, my father's financial assistance has come at a cost. He uses this support to control me, resorting to both physical and verbal threats. In 2021-2022, I took a gap year to strive for financial independence, diligently saving every penny. I worked almost 15 hours a day and applied to 70 different jobs. Following the loss of my mother, I managed to attend college in the U.S. for a year. It was an extremely tough period, yet I maintained a GPA of 3.6 in the first semester. Despite this, my father abandoned me to face these challenges alone during this trying time. I attempted to resume my education as a sophomore, but visa restrictions in the U.S. hindered my ability to work, forcing me to take another gap year. Despite the financial obstacles hindering my educational aspirations, I remain steadfast in my determination to persevere. I am currently juggling four part-time jobs, working tirelessly every day of the week just to cover my expenses. For over 15 years, my aspiration to become an architect has been the main driving force behind my ambitions. Despite facing numerous challenges, I have maintained optimism fueled by a strong inner hope. In my freshman year, I wholeheartedly dedicated myself to taking the initial steps towards my long-desired career. I am determined not to give up on my dream of studying abroad, even though I anticipate obstacles. I began conducting more independent research and undertaking projects focused on enhancing affordable starter homes. One of the projects I am currently engaged in is the Goshiwon initiative. In Korea, Goshiwon refers to small living spaces (only 0.9 square meters) where many young individuals in Seoul and other major cities choose to reside due to financial constraints. Living in a society that values family greatly has made me realize what I lack compared to others. There have been numerous instances where I wished for a green card. Possessing one would have enabled me to pursue my education smoothly, giving me the hope of returning to complete my studies. For three years, I was unable to go back due to ineligibility for FAFSA, facing higher tuition costs, and struggling to secure a loan without a cosigner. I have explored every possible option to return. However, without a visa or a green card, I would not be accepted anywhere in the United States. Coming to terms with the fact that I couldn't resume college felt like losing my sense of belonging and parting ways with friends who had become like family to me. Although I am aware that a scholarship is not everything, it inspires me to take my academic career one more step. I believe this funding will help me overcome the financial barriers I face and allow me to focus more on my studies and less on my financial worries. It will also enable me to contribute more significantly to my projects, like the Goshiwon initiative, and help me realize my dream of becoming an architect who can make a real difference in the world.

Hello, I am Oumjy Zhang, an international student at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Growing up with a single mother, I saw her constant care for my well-being. Sadly, my mother passed away on June 20th, 2022, after a nine-year battle with ovarian cancer, leaving me emotionally exhausted. In the aftermath of my mother's passing, my father's financial assistance has come at a cost. He uses this support to control me, resorting to both physical and verbal threats. In 2021-2022, I took a gap year for financial independence. I worked almost 15 hours a day and applied to 70 different jobs. I managed to attend college in the U.S. for a year. It was an extremely tough period, yet I maintained a GPA of 3.6 in the first semester. Despite this, my father abandoned me to face these challenges alone during this trying time. I attempted to resume my education as a sophomore, but visa restrictions in the U.S. hindered my ability to work, forcing me to take another gap year. Despite the financial obstacles, I remain steadfast in my determination to persevere. I am currently juggling four part-time jobs, working everyday to cover my expenses. For over 15 years, my aspiration to become an architect has been the main driving force behind my ambitions. Despite of challenges, I have maintained optimism fueled by a strong inner hope. In my freshman year, I wholeheartedly dedicated myself to taking the initial steps towards my long-desired career. I am determined not to give up on my dream. I began conducting more independent research and undertaking projects focused on enhancing affordable starter homes. One of the projects I am currently engaged in is the Goshiwon initiative. In Korea, Goshiwon refers to small living spaces (only 0.9 square meters) where many young individuals choose to reside due to financial constraints. There have been numerous instances where I wished for a green card. Possessing one would have enabled me to pursue my education smoothly, giving me the hope of returning to complete my studies. For three years, I was unable to go back due to ineligibility for FAFSA, higher tuition costs, and struggling to secure a loan. I have explored every possible option to return. However, without a visa or a green card, I would not be accepted anywhere in the U.S. Coming to terms with the fact that I couldn't resume college felt like losing my sense of belonging and parting ways with friends who became a family to me. Although I am aware that a scholarship is not everything, it inspires me to take my academic career one more step. I believe this funding will help me overcome the financial barriers I face and allow me to focus more on my studies and less on my financial worries. It will also enable me to contribute more significantly to my projects, like the Goshiwon initiative, and help me realize my dream of becoming an architect who can make a real difference in the world.

Hello, I am Oumjy Zhang, an international student at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Growing up with a single mother, I saw her constant care for my well-being. At 17, I dealt with a pituitary tumor, which worsened our financial challenges. Sadly, my mother passed away on June 20th, 2022, after a nine-year battle with ovarian cancer, leaving me emotionally exhausted. In the aftermath of my mother's passing, my father's financial assistance has come at a cost. He uses this support to control me, resorting to both physical and verbal threats. In 2021-2022, I took a gap year to strive for financial independence, diligently saving every penny. I worked almost 15 hours a day and applied to 70 different jobs. Following the loss of my mother, I managed to attend college in the U.S. for a year. It was an extremely tough period, yet I maintained a GPA of 3.6 in the first semester. Despite this, my father abandoned me to face these challenges alone during this trying time. I attempted to resume my education as a sophomore, but visa restrictions in the U.S. hindered my ability to work, forcing me to take another gap year. Despite the financial obstacles hindering my educational aspirations, I remain steadfast in my determination to persevere. I am currently juggling four part-time jobs, working tirelessly every day of the week just to cover my expenses. For over 15 years, my aspiration to become an architect has been the main driving force behind my ambitions. Despite facing numerous challenges, I have maintained optimism fueled by a strong inner hope. In my freshman year, I wholeheartedly dedicated myself to taking the initial steps towards my long-desired career. I am determined not to give up on my dream of studying abroad, even though I anticipate obstacles. I began conducting more independent research and undertaking projects focused on enhancing affordable starter homes. One of the projects I am currently engaged in is the Goshiwon initiative. In Korea, Goshiwon refers to small living spaces (only 0.9 square meters) where many young individuals in Seoul and other major cities choose to reside due to financial constraints. Living in a society that values family greatly has made me realize what I lack compared to others. There have been numerous instances where I wished for a green card. Possessing one would have enabled me to pursue my education smoothly, giving me the hope of returning to complete my studies. For three years, I was unable to go back due to ineligibility for FAFSA, facing higher tuition costs, and struggling to secure a loan without a cosigner. I have explored every possible option to return. However, without a visa or a green card, I would not be accepted anywhere in the United States. Coming to terms with the fact that I couldn't resume college felt like losing my sense of belonging and parting ways with friends who had become like family to me. Although I am aware that a scholarship is not everything, it inspires me to take my academic career one more step. I believe this funding will help me overcome the financial barriers I face and allow me to focus more on my studies and less on my financial worries. It will also enable me to contribute more significantly to my projects, like the Goshiwon initiative, and help me realize my dream of becoming an architect who can make a real difference in the world.

An overture starts to sound, resonating within the theater of my mind. The curtain rises to reveal the musical director standing on the stage, brightly illuminated in the single spotlight. Blinded by the light, I take a deep breath, address my audience, and say, “Hello! My name is Oumjy. I was once a student at a prestigious school in South Korea, and I led five different clubs before ” A bit too assertive, this onstage introduction was recited to various people on different occasions. I never failed to highlight my accomplishments in public while concealing secrets backstage: a child of divorce, a girl with a brain tumor, a daughter of an ovarian cancer patient, and a girl whose dad left her . Rising to the leadership of multiple clubs empowered me with confidence, but I was soon filled with dread that my secrets would be revealed someday, that I would be abandoned like the terrified child I still was. I felt as if I were floundering on stage, wearing an ill-fitting dress that was dragging me down into an abyss. Misfortunes danced across the stage of my life; my mother had to undergo multiple rounds of chemotherapy. Unable to endure more, I was exhausted and full of anxiety. Needing to escape, to immerse myself in an exotic place that could replenish my depleted stores, I chose to visit Ireland, a bit uncommon of a tourist destination for someone from the Land of the Morning Calm. The trip refreshed every atom of my being; I fully embraced the beauty of Ireland. In the meantime, my mother was fighting with every fiber of her being, shored up by an indomitable will to live. She was extremely determined not to leave me behind, wanting only the best for her daughter. Because of this unconditional love, I dared to step back into the light of life, to return to the world that awaited me and face the challenges that lay ahead. After summer vacation, I enrolled in a school in Ireland during the exam-free year called ‘TransitionYear’, in which students explore their interests and future. I thrived during school trips to Dublin and Belfast; they felt like an internship where I learned about Irish culture, architecture, and history. The Irish education system enabled me to focus on my dreams. No longer the leader of any student organization, I instead became the director of my own life. Superficial titles ceased to matter. With the pressure gone, I reflected on myself and began to imagine a different future. I had always dreamt of studying in the USA, where students are encouraged to articulate their opinions. Without any hesitation, I applied to a school in Wisconsin that my best friends were attending. In highschool years in Milwaukee, no one expected me to excel, but instead accepted me for who I was. Friends there made me feel how wonderful it is to live in the United States, and teachers were supportive both academically and emotionally. No longer alone on the stage, I am surrounded by many. Art club and graphic design classes have inspired me to become an artist; I have discovered that I like sharing my reinterpretations of historical art. Bolstered by ambition, my love of history and directing experience have translated into an interest in urban renewal—how we occupy spaces and reinvigorate abandoned neighborhoods with the power of architecture. The curtain closes to signal the end of Act I of my life. This essay is my monologue, minutes before the curtain rises again for Act II. I anticipate many more exciting chapters in this story. I want to tell my mother who is in heaven now and friends who I love that I don’t fear challenges anymore. When I stride back onto stage, shoulders square, I will be courageous enough to ditch the labels and share my true self that lies beneath them: “Hi, I am Oumjy. I want to share some stories that might make your heart beat faster. Are you ready?”

It was eleven pm. I got dressed in my pajamas and opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat. I opened the delivery app and selected the quickest menu available. An intense light shone on the balcony while I waited, nearly deterring me from opening my eyes. It was the largest moon in decades. It was so bright and big that I, who doesn't usually go out on the balcony, got caught looking out and stared at the significant lighting source. Observing the moon, I pondered whether Mom had visited. I have developed an obsession with this peculiar natural phenomenon these days. In the middle of my daydream, I realized I needed to clear my thoughts, so I began writing on my laptop. I never truly felt alone or discouraged as a child. Even I had to transfer to eight different schools; even I had a pituitary tumor; even dad left our family. I tried to stay optimistic. However, somehow, these days, I feel the absence of space when I face quiet mornings and a lightless evening. I think of making a phone call on the way home, but I quickly realize that I am unable to dial her number. When I hear the sound from the neighbor closing the door, breaking the silence, I would think Mom will come home again from the hospital. I screamed at the top of my lungs, wishing I could have scheduled to meet friends today. I'm alone in this big apartment. I always looked up to my mom. Her priority is always others over herself. Sometimes, I felt so sorry for her—I was the one who loved her the most—that I yelled at her to take better care of herself. No matter what I had done wrong, she would always come into the room to give me a huge hug. She would drive herself to chemotherapy and come back home for 9 years. She didn't want to make her children worried,so the day before her first cancer surgery, she told us both that she had a lump and walked into the operating room alone. Her three majorsurgeries lasted more than a half-day, and she endured more than 50 chemotherapytreatments while working out with a twisted leg and eating even when she didn't want to. She packed me a kimbap every day when I was a rebellious middleschooler to take care of me. She would put it into my bag if I did not bring it. Can I ever be as warm as her? Can I ever be as strong as she was? I asked myself. I swallow my fear of inheriting so many things that I can't digest because I have inherited too many shiny things. I may have understood that death is never the end. Perhaps she finally became a part of nature or finally free from life. Did she become what she loved in this life—the sound of the summer rains, the city's blue sky, the cool wind blowing through the fields? I will never forget her, who endured for her young daughter and her son. I'll never forget my mother, who was more empathetic to others than anyone else, but I can leave behind the vulnerability of not being honest about being hurt-I can overcome anything because I’m my mother’s daughter. As the sun goes down, a massive moon rises, and the night falls. With the dawn of a new day just around the corner, I lay my head down to sleep. I dream of a tomorrow with the shining soul I have inherited from my mother.

It was eleven pm. I got dressed in my pajamas and opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat. I opened the delivery app and selected the quickest menu available. An intense light shone on the balcony while I waited, nearly deterring me from opening my eyes. It was the largest moon in decades. It was so bright and big that I, who doesn't usually go out on the balcony, got caught looking out and stared at the significant lighting source. Observing the moon, I pondered whether Mom had visited. I have developed an obsession with this peculiar natural phenomenon these days. In the middle of my daydream, I realized I needed to clear my thoughts, so I began writing on my laptop. I never truly felt alone or discouraged as a child. Even I had to transfer to eight different schools; even I had a pituitary tumor; even dad left our family. I tried to stay optimistic. However, somehow, these days, I feel the absence of space when I face quiet mornings and a lightless evening. I think of making a phone call on the way home, but I quickly realize that I am unable to dial her number. When I hear the sound from the neighbor closing the door, breaking the silence, I would think Mom will come home again from the hospital. I screamed at the top of my lungs, wishing I could have scheduled to meet friends today. I'm alone in this big apartment. I always looked up to my mom. Her priority is always others over herself. Sometimes, I felt so sorry for her—I was the one who loved her the most—that I yelled at her to take better care of herself. No matter what I had done wrong, she would always come into the room to give me a huge hug. She would drive herself to chemotherapy and come back home for 9 years. She didn't want to make her children worried,so the day before her first cancer surgery, she told us both that she had a lump and walked into the operating room alone. Her three majorsurgeries lasted more than a half-day, and she endured more than 50 chemotherapytreatments while working out with a twisted leg and eating even when she didn't want to. She packed me a kimbap every day when I was a rebellious middleschooler to take care of me. She would put it into my bag if I did not bring it. Can I ever be as warm as her? Can I ever be as strong as she was? I asked myself. I swallow my fear of inheriting so many things that I can't digest because I have inherited too many shiny things. I may have understood that death is never the end. Perhaps she finally became a part of nature or finally free from life. Did she become what she loved in this life—the sound of the summer rains, the city's blue sky, the cool wind blowing through the fields? I will never forget her, who endured for her young daughter and her son. I'll never forget my mother, who was more empathetic to others than anyone else, but I can leave behind the vulnerability of not being honest about being hurt-I can overcome anything because I’m my mother’s daughter. As the sun goes down, a massive moon rises, and the night falls. With the dawn of a new day just around the corner, I lay my head down to sleep. I dream of a tomorrow with the shining soul I have inherited from my mother.

It was eleven pm. I got dressed in my pajamas and opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat. I opened the delivery app and selected the quickest menu available. An intense light shone on the balcony while I waited, nearly deterring me from opening my eyes. It was the largest moon in decades. It was so bright and big that I, who doesn't usually go out on the balcony, got caught looking out and stared at the significant lighting source. Observing the moon, I pondered whether Mom had visited. I have developed an obsession with this peculiar natural phenomenon these days. In the middle of my daydream, I realized I needed to clear my thoughts, so I began writing on my laptop. I never truly felt alone or discouraged as a child. Even I had to transfer to eight different schools; even I had a pituitary tumor; even dad left our family. I tried to stay optimistic. However, somehow, these days, I feel the absence of space when I face quiet mornings and a lightless evening. I think of making a phone call on the way home, but I quickly realize that I am unable to dial her number. When I hear the sound from the neighbor closing the door, breaking the silence, I would think Mom will come home again from the hospital. I screamed at the top of my lungs, wishing I could have scheduled to meet friends today. I'm alone in this big apartment. I always looked up to my mom. Her priority is always others over herself. Sometimes, I felt so sorry for her—I was the one who loved her the most—that I yelled at her to take better care of herself. No matter what I had done wrong, she would always come into the room to give me a huge hug. She would drive herself to chemotherapy and come back home for 9 years. She didn't want to make her children worried,so the day before her first cancer surgery, she told us both that she had a lump and walked into the operating room alone. Her three majorsurgeries lasted more than a half-day, and she endured more than 50 chemotherapytreatments while working out with a twisted leg and eating even when she didn't want to. She packed me a kimbap every day when I was a rebellious middleschooler to take care of me. She would put it into my bag if I did not bring it. Can I ever be as warm as her? Can I ever be as strong as she was? I asked myself. I swallow my fear of inheriting so many things that I can't digest because I have inherited too many shiny things. I may have understood that death is never the end. Perhaps she finally became a part of nature or finally free from life. Did she become what she loved in this life—the sound of the summer rains, the city's blue sky, the cool wind blowing through the fields? I will never forget her, who endured for her young daughter and her son. I'll never forget my mother, who was more empathetic to others than anyone else, but I can leave behind the vulnerability of not being honest about being hurt-I can overcome anything because I’m my mother’s daughter. As the sun goes down, a massive moon rises, and the night falls. With the dawn of a new day just around the corner, I lay my head down to sleep. I dream of a tomorrow with the shining soul I have inherited from my mother.

It was eleven pm. I got dressed in my pajamas and opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat. I opened the delivery app and selected the quickest menu available. An intense light shone on the balcony while I waited, nearly deterring me from opening my eyes. It was the largest moon in decades. It was so bright and big that I, who doesn't usually go out on the balcony, got caught looking out and stared at the significant lighting source. Observing the moon, I pondered whether Mom had visited. I have developed an obsession with this peculiar natural phenomenon these days. In the middle of my daydream, I realized I needed to clear my thoughts, so I began writing on my laptop. I never truly felt alone or discouraged as a child. Even I had to transfer to eight different schools; even I had a pituitary tumor; even dad left our family. I tried to stay optimistic. However, somehow, these days, I feel the absence of space when I face quiet mornings and a lightless evening. I think of making a phone call on the way home, but I quickly realize that I am unable to dial her number. When I hear the sound from the neighbor closing the door, breaking the silence, I would think Mom will come home again from the hospital. I screamed at the top of my lungs, wishing I could have scheduled to meet friends today. I'm alone in this big apartment. I always looked up to my mom. Her priority is always others over herself. Sometimes, I felt so sorry for her—I was the one who loved her the most—that I yelled at her to take better care of herself. No matter what I had done wrong, she would always come into the room to give me a huge hug. She would drive herself to chemotherapy and come back home for 9 years. She didn't want to make her children worried,so the day before her first cancer surgery, she told us both that she had a lump and walked into the operating room alone. Her three majorsurgeries lasted more than a half-day, and she endured more than 50 chemotherapytreatments while working out with a twisted leg and eating even when she didn't want to. She packed me a kimbap every day when I was a rebellious middleschooler to take care of me. She would put it into my bag if I did not bring it. Can I ever be as warm as her? Can I ever be as strong as she was? I asked myself. I swallow my fear of inheriting so many things that I can't digest because I have inherited too many shiny things. I may have understood that death is never the end. Perhaps she finally became a part of nature or finally free from life. Did she become what she loved in this life—the sound of the summer rains, the city's blue sky, the cool wind blowing through the fields? I will never forget her, who endured for her young daughter and her son. I'll never forget my mother, who was more empathetic to others than anyone else, but I can leave behind the vulnerability of not being honest about being hurt-I can overcome anything because I’m my mother’s daughter. As the sun goes down, a massive moon rises, and the night falls. With the dawn of a new day just around the corner, I lay my head down to sleep. I dream of a tomorrow with the shining soul I have inherited from my mother.

It was eleven pm. I got dressed in my pajamas and opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat. I opened the delivery app and selected the quickest menu available. An intense light shone on the balcony while I waited, nearly deterring me from opening my eyes. It was the largest moon in decades. It was so bright and big that I, who doesn't usually go out on the balcony, got caught looking out and stared at the significant lighting source. Observing the moon, I pondered whether Mom had visited. I have developed an obsession with this peculiar natural phenomenon these days. In the middle of my daydream, I realized I needed to clear my thoughts, so I began writing on my laptop. I never truly felt alone or discouraged as a child. Even I had to transfer to eight different schools; even I had a pituitary tumor; even dad left our family. I tried to stay optimistic. However, somehow, these days, I feel the absence of space when I face quiet mornings and a lightless evening. I think of making a phone call on the way home, but I quickly realize that I am unable to dial her number. When I hear the sound from the neighbor closing the door, breaking the silence, I would think Mom will come home again from the hospital. I screamed at the top of my lungs, wishing I could have scheduled to meet friends today. I'm alone in this big apartment. I always looked up to my mom. Her priority is always others over herself. Sometimes, I felt so sorry for her—I was the one who loved her the most—that I yelled at her to take better care of herself. No matter what I had done wrong, she would always come into the room to give me a huge hug. She would drive herself to chemotherapy and come back home for 9 years. She didn't want to make her children worried,so the day before her first cancer surgery, she told us both that she had a lump and walked into the operating room alone. Her three major surgeries lasted more than a half-day, and she endured more than 50 chemotherapy treatments while working out with a twisted leg and eating even when she didn't want to. She packed me a kimbap every day when I was a rebellious middle schooler to take care of me. She would put it into my bag if I did not bring it. Can I ever be as warm as her? Can I ever be as strong as she was? I asked myself. I swallow my fear of inheriting so many things that I can't digest because I have inherited too many shiny things. I may have understood that death is never the end. Perhaps she finally became a part of nature or finally free from life. Did she become what she loved in this life—the sound of the summer rains, the city's blue sky, the cool wind blowing through the fields? I will never forget her, who endured for her young daughter and her son. I'll never forget my mother, who was more empathetic to others than anyone else, but I can leave behind the vulnerability of not being honest about being hurt-I can overcome anything because I’m my mother’s daughter. As the sun goes down, a massive moon rises, and the night falls. With the dawn of a new day just around the corner, I lay my head down to sleep. I dream of a tomorrow with the shining soul I have inherited from my mother.

It was eleven pm. I got dressed in my pajamas and opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat. I opened the delivery app and selected the quickest menu available. An intense light shone on the balcony while I waited, nearly deterring me from opening my eyes. It was the largest moon in decades. It was so bright and big that I, who doesn't usually go out on the balcony, got caught looking out and stared at the significant lighting source. Observing the moon, I pondered whether Mom had visited. I have developed an obsession with this peculiar natural phenomenon these days. In the middle of my daydream, I realized I needed to clear my thoughts, so I began writing on my laptop. I never truly felt alone or discouraged as a child. Even I had to transfer to eight different schools; even I had a pituitary tumor; even dad left our family. I tried to stay optimistic. However, somehow, these days, I feel the absence of space when I face quiet mornings and a lightless evening. I think of making a phone call on the way home, but I quickly realize that I am unable to dial her number. When I hear the sound from the neighbor closing the door, breaking the silence, I would think Mom will come home again from the hospital. I screamed at the top of my lungs, wishing I could have scheduled to meet friends today. I'm alone in this big apartment. I always looked up to my mom. Her priority is always others over herself. Sometimes, I felt so sorry for her—I was the one who loved her the most—that I yelled at her to take better care of herself. No matter what I had done wrong, she would always come into the room to give me a huge hug. She would drive herself to chemotherapy and come back home for 9 years. She didn't want to make her children worried,so the day before her first cancer surgery, she told us both that she had a lump and walked into the operating room alone. Her three major surgeries lasted more than a half-day, and she endured more than 50 chemotherapytreatments while working out with a twisted leg and eating even when she didn't want to. She packed me food every day when I was a rebellious middleschooler to take care of me. She would put it into my bag if I did not bring it. Can I ever be as warm as her? Can I ever be as strong as she was? I asked myself. I swallow my fear of inheriting so many things that I can't digest because I have inherited too many shiny things. I may have understood that death is never the end. Perhaps she finally became a part of nature or finally free from life. Did she become what she loved in this life—the sound of the summer rains, the city's blue sky, the cool wind blowing through the fields? I will never forget her, who endured for her young daughter and her son. I'll never forget my mother, who was more empathetic to others than anyone else, but I can leave behind the vulnerability of not being honest about being hurt-I can overcome anything because I’m my mother’s daughter. As the sun goes down, a massive moon rises, and the night falls. With the dawn of a new day just around the corner, I lay my head down to sleep. I dream of a tomorrow with the shining soul I have inherited from my mother.

It was eleven pm. I got dressed in my pajamas and opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat. I opened the delivery app and selected the quickest menu available. An intense light shone on the balcony while I waited, nearly deterring me from opening my eyes. It was the largest moon in decades. It was so bright and big that I, who doesn't usually go out on the balcony, got caught looking out and stared at the significant lighting source. Observing the moon, I pondered whether Mom had visited. I have developed an obsession with this peculiar natural phenomenon these days. In the middle of my daydream, I realized I needed to clear my thoughts, so I began writing on my laptop. I never truly felt alone or discouraged as a child. Even I had to transfer to eight different schools; even I had a pituitary tumor; even dad left our family. I tried to stay optimistic. However, somehow, these days, I feel the absence of space when I face quiet mornings and a lightless evening. I think of making a phone call on the way home, but I quickly realize that I am unable to dial her number. When I hear the sound from the neighbor closing the door, breaking the silence, I would think Mom will come home again from the hospital. I screamed at the top of my lungs, wishing I could have scheduled to meet friends today. I'm alone in this big apartment. I always looked up to my mom. Her priority is always others over herself. Sometimes, I felt so sorry for her—I was the one who loved her the most—that I yelled at her to take better care of herself. No matter what I had done wrong, she would always come into the room to give me a huge hug. She would drive herself to chemotherapy and come back home for 9 years. She didn't want to make her children worried,so the day before her first cancer surgery, she told us both that she had a lump and walked into the operating room alone. Her three major surgeries lasted more than a half-day, and she endured more than 50 chemotherapytreatments while working out with a twisted leg and eating even when she didn't want to. She packed me a kimbap everyday when I was a rebellious middleschooler to take care of me. She would put it into my bag if I did not bring it. Can I ever be as warm as her? Can I ever be as strong as she was? I asked myself. I swallow my fear of inheriting so many things that I can't digest because I have inherited too many shiny things. I may have understood that death is never the end. Perhaps she finally became a part of nature or finally free from life. Did she become what she loved in this life—the sound of the summer rains, the city's blue sky, the cool wind blowing through the fields? I will never forget her, who endured for her young daughter and her son. I'll never forget my mother, who was more empathetic to others than anyone else, but I can leave behind the vulnerability of not being honest about being hurt-I can overcome anything because I’m my mother’s daughter. As the sun goes down, a massive moon rises, and the night falls. With the dawn of a new day just around the corner, I lay my head down to sleep. I dream of a tomorrow with the shining soul I have inherited from my mother.

It was eleven pm. I got dressed in my pajamas and opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat. I opened the delivery app and selected the quickest menu available. An intense light shone on the balcony while I waited, nearly deterring me from opening my eyes. It was the largest moon in decades. It was so bright and big that I, who doesn't usually go out on the balcony, got caught looking out and stared at the significant lighting source. Observing the moon, I pondered whether Mom had visited. I have developed an obsession with this peculiar natural phenomenon these days. In the middle of my daydream, I realized I needed to clear my thoughts, so I began writing on my laptop. I never truly felt alone or discouraged as a child. Even I had to transfer to eight different schools; even I had a pituitary tumor; even dad left our family. I tried to stay optimistic. However, somehow, these days, I feel the absence of space when I face quiet mornings and a lightless evening. I think of making a phone call on the way home, but I quickly realize that I am unable to dial her number. When I hear the sound from the neighbor closing the door, breaking the silence, I would think Mom will come home again from the hospital. I screamed at the top of my lungs, wishing I could have scheduled to meet friends today. I'm alone in this big apartment. I always looked up to my mom. Her priority is always others over herself. Sometimes, I felt so sorry for her—I was the one who loved her the most—that I yelled at her to take better care of herself. No matter what I had done wrong, she would always come into the room to give me a huge hug. She would drive herself to chemotherapy and come back home for 9 years. She didn't want to make her children worried,so the day before her first cancer surgery, she told us both that she had a lump and walked into the operating room alone. Her three major surgeries lasted more than a half-day, and she endured more than 50 chemotherapy treatments while working out with a twisted leg and eating even when she didn't want to. She packed me a kimbap every day to take care of me. She would put it into my bag if I did not bring it. Can I ever be as warm as her? Can I ever be as strong as she was? I asked myself. I swallow my fear of inheriting so many things that I can't digest because I have inherited too many shiny things. I may have understood that death is never the end. Perhaps she finally became a part of nature or finally free from life. Did she become what she loved in this life—the sound of the summer rains, the city's blue sky, the cool wind blowing through the fields? I will never forget her, who endured for her young daughter and her son. I'll never forget my mother, who was more empathetic to others than anyone else, but I can leave behind the vulnerability of not being honest about being hurt-I can overcome anything because I’m my mother’s daughter. As the sun goes down, a massive moon rises, and the night falls. With the dawn of a new day just around the corner, I lay my head down to sleep. I dream of a tomorrow with the shining soul I have inherited from my mother

It was the largest moon in decades. It was so bright and big that I, who doesn't usually go out on the balcony, got caught looking out and stared at the significant lighting source. Observing the moon, I pondered whether Mom had visited. I have developed an obsession with this peculiar natural phenomenon these days. In the middle of my daydream, I realized I needed to clear my thoughts, so I began writing on my laptop. I never truly felt alone or discouraged as a child. Even I had to transfer to eight different schools; even I had a pituitary tumor; even dad left our family. I tried to stay optimistic. However, somehow, these days, I feel the absence of space when I face quiet mornings and a lightless evening. I think of making a phone call on the way home, but I quickly realize that I am unable to dial her number. When I hear the sound from the neighbor closing the door, breaking the silence, I would think Mom will come home again from the hospital. I screamed at the top of my lungs, wishing I could have scheduled to meet friends today. I'm alone in this big apartment. I always looked up to my mom. Her priority is always others over herself. Sometimes, I felt so sorry for her—I was the one who loved her the most—that I yelled at her to take better care of herself. No matter what I had done wrong, she would always come into the room to give me a huge hug. She would drive herself to chemotherapy and come back home for 9 years. She didn't want to make her children worried,so the day before her first cancer surgery, she told us both that she had a lump and walked into the operating room alone. Her three major surgeries lasted more than a half-day, and she endured more than 50 chemotherapy treatments while working out with a twisted leg and eating even when she didn't want to. She packed me a kimbap every day when I was a rebellious middle schooler to take care of me. She would put it into my bag if I did not bring it. Can I ever be as warm as her? Can I ever be as strong as she was? I asked myself. I swallow my fear of inheriting so many things that I can't digest because I have inherited too many shiny things. I may have understood that death is never the end. Perhaps she finally became a part of nature or finally free from life. Did she become what she loved in this life—the sound of the summer rains, the city's blue sky, the cool wind blowing through the fields? I will never forget her, who endured for her young daughter and her son. I'll never forget my mother, who was more empathetic to others than anyone else, but I can leave behind the vulnerability of not being honest about being hurt-I can overcome anything because I’m my mother’s daughter. As the sun goes down, a massive moon rises, and the night falls. With the dawn of a new day just around the corner, I lay my head down to sleep. I dream of a tomorrow with the shining soul I have inherited from my mother.