Flash Blog--Déjà vu
I saw myself in front of the university gate a few days ago.
I was walking by the North Gate of the Homewood campus one evening, and in front
of the marble slab that our school’s name was engraved on was a family of
three. The parents looked on proudly as their teenage daughter posed for a picture
next to the marble sign. The daughter looked like she was between twelve and
fifteen years old. She held a cross-body messenger bag and she tugged on the
handle in a shy pose while her dad took photos. Her dad finished taking one and
as she ran towards them, her dad shook his head and asked her to go back and
pose for another shot.
Several years ago, my parents would take twenty-hour plane
rides just to spend two or three days to help me settle in at a summer school
program. And every time before they left, they would ask me to stand by the
school’s slab (whether it be Johns Hopkins, Harvard or Columbia of university)
to take a picture—just like this young girl I passed by. My parents would ask me
to re-take the photo several times because my dad’s finger covered the lens or
they accidentally pushed the video-taping function instead—just like this
family. Once I entered college, my summers no longer involved my parents
‘sending me off.” I ride planes alone, I drag my suitcases up dorm rooms by
myself, and I no longer take photos of myself to remember the day an adventure
started.
The last time my parents ever “sent me off,” was the last
day of freshman orientation. They were done stocking my dorm room with instant
noodles, toilet paper rolls and over-the-counter medicine. There were no more
parents events scheduled and it was time for them to fly back to Hong Kong.
However, there’s something different about this trip. We did not have a photo
to remember the very day my college life started.
Right before they drove off, they did not ask me to stand by
the slab to take a picture. They could not ask me and I could not offer because
we were all too busy holding back tears.
