Wrapped in Regret
Cathy G.
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Regret. Only six letters long, but each letter weighs heavily upon me. Each toppling over the other, struggling to stay afloat as they push my spirits down, down, down. There are many things that I wish I had done differently. I wish I put more effort into flute during middle school when there was so much promise in my playing; I wish I drew more in the past year instead of wallowing in an unbreakable art block; but above all, I wish I spent more time with my grandmother. She lives on the other side of the world, when they eat beef broth noodles instead of spaghetti, and they speak mandarin instead of english. She had always been a part of life, more so when I was young. When I lived in Shanghai, I would visit my grandmother’s house every weekend, and I would stay there for weeks after Chinese New Year. My family and extended relatives would show up in dead of night, rushing to put our shoes away as we bustle into her house. She would nurture me like my own mother. She stocked up on white paper, putting it beneath the coffee table for when my mom was away so I could sneak in extra art time instead of studying for math. She would let me play out my pretend fantasies as she pulled fresh bok choy from the backyard so I could pretend to be a Michelin chef. She would sit besides me on the creaky old bed as she read me fables about rolling balls of clay into humans and piecing the sky together with pebbles. Now, on the other side of the world, all I have are these memories to hold onto. During my middle school years, I didn’t visit China once, and I occasionally called my grandma during that time. Lost in my attempts to blend in with America, I neglected my roots and the people that nurtured me. In this piece of art, I depict a snowy night, much like the nights on New Year’s day. However, instead of exiting the frosty wind and stepping into a warm kitchen brimming with Chinese dishes I am step into the night, alone. Alone on a staircase with no one else around me. All around me are red strings that bind tightly against my body. These are the strings of regret. I should have….I could have….they all wrap their gnarly coils around me, never letting go. Perhaps this drawing is a way that I am healing. That I am dealing with the grief around me. I can finally draw what It feels like to be “wrapped in regret.” I love you grandma.
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Fitting into the perfect “Asian mold” has also been a barrier that I’ve struggled to overcome. I must do science, math, and engineering. But what if I don’t want to? Throughout my years, I’ve allowed art to guide me down a path I am truly passionate about. I belong somewhere now, I belong with art.
