An earthy breeze stirred the dry air, reminding me of playing in the backyard of my childhood home. The
grey clouds colored the sky with a stroke of melancholy, and not even the chirping birds could lighten the hue — it was my grandpa's funeral.

Back at my house, the water bottle he drank from, the sunglasses he always wore, and the cigarettes he liked to smoke still sat on the table where he had last placed them. Without him, all these objects seemed out of place. Surrounded by sorrow and regret, I felt as though a heavy bag of cement weighed down
my body...

My grandpa used to be a massive advocate of Chinese culture, and under his influence, I picked up Guzheng, a traditional Chinese instrument, as a hobby when I was five years old.

After learning Guzheng for two years, the songs became a nightmare for me; the originally clear and silvery sounds became harsh, screaming out loud for anyone’s heartfelt help. My head was spinning with melodies I could not master, my fingers filled with the strong smell of iron due to frequent contact with the strings. Here came my grandpa, a Chinese cultural fan, hounding me to practice still.

“Why do you have to be so strict and mean?” My grievance suddenly interrupted my grandpa’s spiel.

“I do not mind if you choose to give it up.”

I thought of hundreds of ways he could have responded to me, especially how he could be didactic and gave me a Harvard thesis. But he did not. He was calm, the kind of calmness that indeed made me fearful. Maybe I shouldn’t give up?

Later, my mom handed me a handwritten letter. I opened the letter:

“To my dearest grandchild in the world,

Learning is a life-long process, and only the ones who can sustain the ups and downs will eventually succeed. A pen cannot describe my love for you, but I reminded myself to help you become a more mature girl who can take up challenges in her life. I hope the pain you experienced from learning Guzheng was only a tiny thorn in your journey that will help you eventually reach the peak of your life.”

Frozen. I heard no whistles of cars nor the tweets of birds outside the window. Only the letter and I... God knows how I wish my grandpa could be there, seeing me holding the gold trophy in the national competition after, but he was too sick to even walk.

Indeed, every time when I unpack my Guzheng and pluck a string, his silhouette seems to reappear.