Yei Yei (#Scholarship2015)

Chapter 1

Yei Yei

The question of whether identity is genetically programmed or wholly shaped by environment has been investigated by eons of philosophers, researchers, and theorists. Unsurprisingly, many believe in a blended approach—a mosaic mixture of both nature and nurture. The true story that I will be presenting to you today is of no exception as it is not based on something that has impacted my life but rather someone—my grandpa, Yei Yei.

At a budding age, we are asked "What do you want to be when you're older?". Teachers, parents, peers, they all want to know. From what I recall, the only options I was aware of in kindergarten were teacher, firefighter, and princess (it was the sparkling tiara that convinced me). Sixteen years later, at the age of 20, I have come to find that the delicate answer to the question above cannot be summed up in a single statement of a particular profession. If you asked Yei Yei, he would have told you "I want to be a respectable, honest, hard-working husband and father". In my grandpa's era, going to school and attaining higher education was not as much of a norm as it is today; however, geared with a keen business mind and rock-hard determination, Yei Yei made his mark on Hong Kong with a small plastic company that made bags, toys, and swimming "floaties". With his earnings, he was able to bring my parents and my aunt over to Canada—marking the first thing my grandpa has done to impact my life.

Like many others, my grandparents had decided to come in hopes of their future generations having a better life—despite not knowing a word of English other than "thank you". They knew that adapting to life here would be painstakingly difficult and that finding a new niche would be almost impossible. Using what he had left, Yei Yei bought our first house here in Canada and I have yet to move to a different one.

Two years after my family moved here, I was born and my grandparents could not have been happier—I was the first generation of the Ling's to be Canadian-born. Yei Yei was responsible for giving me my Chinese name Hiu Yen with Hiu meaning dawn and Yen meaning compassion. With a family that sums up to almost 20 cousins, I sometimes wonder why I was chosen to be the one living overseas in North America. Through childhood, it was not always easy living with your grandparents—especially when all they could say was "no" when your friends called (and let's not get started on the kinds of lunches I was packed). Our family ate different food, had different practices, and greeted each other in different ways but the love we had for each other paralleled that of any other.

In 2000, our family was hit by a grenade when Yei Yei experienced a minor stroke. I was only 5 or 6 at the time but I vividly remember the smell of the hospital and only being tall enough to reach the bedside railing. My once tireless Yei Yei didn't look like himself with unruly hair, pale skin, and uneven breathing. He survived but his physical health was nowhere near that prior to the stroke. After a few more years and declining health, Yei Yei decided that it was time for him to live in a retirement home where he would not have to battle stairs and be able to get assistance if anything ever happened again. My grandma joined him and for a while life became steadier. They became known as mister and missus Ling at the retirement home and once I reached an old enough age I got involved with volunteering –wanting to give back to the community that takes care of my Yei Yei. I loved being able to make the elderly smile and quickly learned that they had so much wisdom to pass on to youth.

Life was great. I was in my second year of high school and maintaining straight A's. I was involved in extracurricular activities, had an exciting group of friends, loving family, and enjoyed all that life had to offer to a 15-year-old. That is, until Yei Yei had his second and final stroke. He passed away on November 6th, 2010.

It started off like any other Thursday. I had just finished school and was on the bus ready to head home. I suddenly received a call from my dad telling me that we had to go to the hospital straight away—that's never a good thing to hear. We got to the emergency wing and behind the curtain was Yei Yei—linked to a labyrinth of tubes and machines with a blank look in his eyes. The doctor told me that he had lost the function of his lungs along with the ability to control his motor skills. It would only a matter of time before his heart failed. We were told to prepare ourselves for the inevitable—Yei Yei would be leaving us.

***

Today, I see Yei Yei in all that is beautiful. I see him sitting in our backyard, facing the ravine, soaking in the sun on a perfect summer day. He is there by my side, offering a holding hand, whenever I feel like giving up. Most of all, he is there sharing in all my moments of great triumph and success—shining the proudest smile. I've been told that those we love will live forever as long as we keep them living in our hearts. Yei Yei will not only live in my heart but in my actions. "Just keep going", he would say, "whatever you do, just keep going".

With strokes, you never know when they're going to strike. Like I said, it seemed like any other Thursday. But if I could see Yei Yei again, I'd tell him how lucky I am to have had a grandpa as considerate, kind, and selfless as he was. All that I have today –my home, my education, my opportunities—are because of him.

Now, if someone asked me what I want to be in the future, I'm going to tell them, "I want to be someone like my Yei Yei".