benevolence
November 24, 2008 10:18 PMRevised 12/3/08.
The only way I know how...
Benevolence
“You did not just say that, Eugene Yang.” This sentence pretty much sums up our relationship. Impending doom was upon me, and she failed to realize this. Thanksgiving Sunday, I was expected to go down to Auburn to visit my step-grandmother. If there exists a Sunday to miss church, this wasn’t it. Don’t get me wrong, my step-grandmother is a very benevolent soul, but I personally do not pounce on the opportunity to drive four hours to Auburn, eat at a sub-par restaurant that mislabeled their monosodium glutamate as “salt”, and drive four hours back. I consider myself a knowledgeable person, and being American I am, I took the only course of action that would improve my situation: I complained. To the only person who would understand, or so I thought. The devout Christian she is, could not empathize with me. Many of my other friends shared my immense dissatisfaction that I would be missing Thanksgiving Sunday for some lady I’m not even related to by blood, but Jane did not. Most importantly, Jane knows me best of all; you’d think that she’d be most adept and empathizing with my situation. “What do you mean she’s not related to you?” It was quite simple really: if my mom had never chosen to marry my step-dad, I wouldn’t even know this person, let alone hug and receive kisses from. “Well is she important to your step-dad?” Of course. “And is your step-dad important to your mom?” Yeah… “Then I really hope you’re not saying your mom doesn’t mean anything to you.”
Why does that make sense? Does it even make sense? Before it never would have, but Jane showed me something I’ll never forget: benevolence. I have always struggled to figure out just what it is that makes her so unique. Something about her mindset, her fidgety character, her fashion statement even. I’ve concluded that there’s nothing to conclude about Jane Park, because she continues to surprise me to this day. I sometimes looked up to her as the beacon of truth and reason, but she never accepted this view as praise. Instead of ridiculing this idolatry out of some false-gesture of modesty, she smiled because she saw the chance to teach me. What exactly did she teach me? I thought there was something incredibly special about Jane; she was superhuman. What she taught me was that I could do it too, whatever it was I thought she did, because she told me that she was nothing special. Jane is an incredibly honest, genuine person. A lot of people emulate the symptoms of modesty, but Jane actually has it, and it’s a trait you’re supposed to fail to recognize.
“If that’s what you’re explaining to me, then that would be hatred.” Jane has this way of showing that what you’re saying is exactly the opposite of what you said a few moments ago. You’d think this job is really easy, but the fact is, when you’re trying to vent to somebody, the recipient usually gets lost in this flurry of events you throw at them. Jane never saw situations as the fragments of frustration I threw at her, but as different vantage points with which to peer into my chaotic mind. “Why does seeing your sister do bad in school prove that your parents didn’t teach her properly?” Well, otherwise she’d do well in school right? “But you said you only wanted to see her do well, how does failing factor into that equation?” Well… “If your parents are as you say, then all that’s really going to happen are things are going to be a lot more urgent for her education, especially, and I don’t see how this will improve your situation.” At this point I was still rambunctious enough that I wasn’t just going to take her word for it, but something whimsical was happening: I was seeing the other side of the argument. Maybe the term for it is justice.
Jane is the smiley type. Rain or shine, block A or B, she’s always effervescent. “I get hyper when I’m tired” is her usual excuse. Extremely approachable, sadly, I was the one who had to be approached. In my sophomore year, she was a senior, and in my AP Computer Science class. The first thing she ever said to me, “Eugene, I need help, I don’t get it.” Unfortunately, I had already labeled her as yet another senior who heard this class was a free five points to their GPA and would later attempt to drop it after finding out it wasn’t. I relished at the opportunity to teach others, especially those older than me, but I might as well have tried to teach a couch to do handstands. I walked her through every concept, every minute detail that might’ve been relevant, and there was sort of this flickering in her eyes. “So a class is the description of an object, which is what we’re telling the computer are the dimensions for what this object will store in memory, and describe the functions of it and in there is where we would implement how it interacts with data” would elicit a particularly glazed, blank stare where “Okay, let’s type this…” snapped her right back into reality. Of course, within the month, the seating arrangement would be altered so that we sat right next to each other as Mr. Morris attempted to redistribute the wealth.
We had a partner system going on, so we would both contribute to the coding of the program. The thing is, I usually finished the program before we ever had to switch, so we just ended up talking for the whole period. Life was pretty sweet then. When you sit down and really just talk to her for an hour you start to break through preconceptions. I thought she was just another one of those people that exploited nerds like me. When she listens to you it’s completely unnerving, in a disarming manner. Her normal flurry of movement (she loses a lot of things) comes to complete standstill, she runs her hand through her hair a few times, and her blink rate decreases dramatically. Her entire tone of voice shifts darker and deeper, and her entire persona changes from a previous cutesy, perky girl into something sincere and placating. “Undivided attention” doesn’t even begin to explain what emanates from her. Her bulbous eyes radiate tendrils of curiosity, but something else beyond comprehension give this palpable aura that seems to permeate the air around her. Benevolence.
I can’t help but find it ironic that soon it would always be me to say, “Jane, I need your help.” I showed no signs of surprise when I found out that she was a Peer-Helper. It started slow, but I couldn’t help but feel myself get reeled in. I was wary of developing dependency on a senior that would have to leave in June, but Jane isn’t someone you can ever really interrupt. She’s always doing a million things at once; you never really interrupt anything, you just find an opening between her switching tasks. My personal favorite was during 5th period in AP Computer Science where she was photoshopping an image, reading a novel, and writing an essay, all while talking to me. I’m not even sure if this is considered multi-tasking because it wasn’t necessarily multiple tasks at once. I’d say something, maybe just a salutation, or something incredibly sensitive and profound, and it’d set off a chain reaction. She’d draw a bookmark out of seemingly nowhere, insert it gracefully into the novel (precicsely parallel to the spine), and lock her eyes onto mine like a vice clamp. It was incredibly daunting; I often averted within 3 seconds. Then she’d say something as simple as, “Why did you do that?” could stump me in my tracks. I knew exactly what to say, what she might say back, and so forth until I realized just exactly what it was she was asking me. Sometimes, all I had to hear was just that, and she would give me this sort of smug grin that says something similar to “I told you so.” That smile sort of grounded me to reality; reminded myself to whom I was talking. It wasn’t this Jane doing five hundred things at once, but the Jane that surprises you because you thought you had things figured out. You see it’s easy to, and I cringe when I say this, think of Jane as ditsy.
Maybe it’s the sneeze. Jane’s always does a sort of pseudo-sneeze “ahew” before the explosion of her real sneeze. It’s quite adorable. The pitch is reminiscent of a mouse that has inhaled a few gallons of helium, and has always fascinated me and my peers. She would always make incredibly rapid hand gestures to accompany her verbal speech. The frequency at which she made these gestures varied directly to how fast she was talking. The velocity to her tone, and the intensity of what she was conveying. Sometimes, it was all I could do just to not stare at her perpetually-kinetic hands, and wonder just where all of this energy comes from.
Jane’s ebullience is amazingly difficult to describe. The fact that she always said “Don’t miss me too much!” instead of “goodbye” was quite gut-wrenching. It’s not really something you think about too much, and at the same time that’s the only thing you’re thinking about as she goes bouncing off toward a car, emitting a screech “Shotgun!” followed by an unmistakable giggle as she clambers into the passenger seat. As much as I appreciated Jane especially in her seriousness, I also couldn’t help but develop an admiration for her unwavering exuberance. I correlated this directly to her constant deprivation of sleep.
Anyone can see that Jane, more often than not, operates on a high level of stress. Sports, work, college applications, AP classes, church activities, are just a few of what constantly asphyxiate her mind. The level of devotion she puts into everything she does makes it simply amazing just to see that she can wake up in the morning. I attribute much of her personality to the fact that she simply does not sleep. “A little bit more than four” is not a surprising amount for me to hear. “I don’t really like the cold… but I can’t really stand it when it’s too cold either.” Being around her more you eventually here statements like these that totally don’t make sense, but you get used to it. Sometimes she’ll be talking for more than thirty minutes and make absolutely no sense, only to say, “Ack, I’m sorry I’m really tired.” With the amount of endorphins probably compensating for her stress and sleep deprivation, Jane seems to constantly float about life. The massive array of sound effects that she makes, which I won’t attempt to spell, only contributes to this fatigue-induced energetic personality.
I really refrain from saying the word pity, but you sort of develop this empathetic feeling when you see her floating through life. You can visualize her plowing through every meticulous task she sets out to do, and wonder just how she can run on empty, with repetition. The amount of care and worry she expresses for you glean the same response. Jane brings out the best in people by showing the best of herself. A relationship with Jane involved an amalgamation of burdens. I felt immense guilt for adding to her load, and compulsion to reciprocate her benevolence. Jane completely brushes aside any feelings of doubt and hesitation, and invites people to seek refuge in what scattered strength she coagulates. Gratuity is among one of the things I feel compelled to people like Jane Park, but it’s most difficult to express. It’s evident that a more pressing issue for her is to see me grow and learn, rather than stop along the road to thank her. She’s like the coach who sees the big picture for me, but I feel like practice is already over. At this stage of the game, she is still pressing onward and vying for improvement. I haven’t had much time to stop on the relentless surge of high school, but every time I try to show appreciation Jane gives me that vague smile that says, “Just wait, there is so much more at the end of the road.” Maybe there is no end of the road, but I know there will always be Jane to drag me along when I feel like stopping, and there’s nobody better at it than her.
During the final weeks and months before Jane had to leave for summer, nothing really special happened. There were no major breakdowns, senses of irreplaceable loss, or otherwise. It was as if nothing happened, but at the same time, everything had happened. I realized that she never gave me the end-result, as I had done with her in Computer Science, but gave me the tools. She gave me the tools to become independent and self-sustaining, to the point where 500 mile separation means nothing. When she came back for Thanksgiving, I realized how much she affected my life. When she’s around you are aware of it. Her hand rests on your shoulder and slightly caresses you the way a potter massages his clay. Her hand is also the first thing to imprint your back when your mouth escapes your will. When Jane was here the weather was warm and sunny, not too cold… nor too cold. When she left, Thanksgiving Sunday promptly turned into a fog storm. The cliché states “You don’t know what you got until it’s gone,” but not for me. Jane is an invaluable friend, but she reminded me every day. I still remember the promise I made: to not miss her, too much.
bro you better get an A on this :]
Posted by :] December 4, 2008 12:30 AM