Theme: It is only in situations of loss that one truly acknowledges the beauty and importance of what

they once had.

The Yellow Hound

I told myself I was never a dog person.

I told myself I hated those no-good, smelly, four-legged creatures. I told myself they were awful brutes
covered with matted hair. And most importantly, I told myself I despised the stray dog who would visit
my backyard everyday, that yellow hound with its tail waving hello as it clawed at the door.
I hated it. I hated the way I had to chase it out of the garden with a broomstick as it yelped playfully, a
smile stretched across its ecstatic face, its baby-pink tongue poking out as it panted.
I’m going to slap that dog, I grunted for the hundredth—no, millionth—time.
And yet, I never did.
It was only now that I realized the reason why. It was only now, now that the dog was nowhere to be
seen, now that it stopped coming into the garden, now that it was gone, that I started to long for its
presence.
I never harmed it because I had never hated it.
I wanted to tell it I was sorry. That I missed it. And so I stepped into the garden early in the morning
and placed treats where it usually stayed.
But weeks and weeks passed, and all that was left was my empty heart and a stack of untouched
biscuits. And a deeper realization started to dawn on me, the realization that I didn’t simply miss its
presence.
No, I loved that dog.
Theme: It is only in situations of loss that one truly acknowledges the beauty and importance of what
they once had.

A Love Stronger than Soju

Dear Granddad,
I want to say I will never miss you. The bitter smell of your Soju bottles filled me whenever I
stepped foot into your room, and the stench of your tobacco ignited in me an indescribable hate. You
smelled of dreariness, poverty, and sickly green alcohol. I despised your presence. And yet, I can never
in my life say I won’t think of you with nostalgia, that I haven’t loved you.
Countless years ago, you and I had gone to the fruit market—just the two of us. And there, you
had explained to me, love evident in your words, of how all those blueberries and kiwis came to be.
You had patted my head as I asked questions about this fruit cycle, and had gifted me all the grapes and
mangoes and strawberries I wished for. You told me you truly loved me. You told me that I meant the
world to you. And I had asked, do you love me more than your Soju? You answered yes. What I failed
to realize all these years was that you truthfully meant so.
Granddad, it is only now that I realize you loved me more than your Soju. I looked at you with
nothing but contempt when I knew, I knew it was you who secretly bought me the books I had so
desperately longed for. I knew it was you who cleaned after my mess. I knew it was you who cared for
all the plants I had abandoned. And it is only now that I realize that I loved you, it is only now that I
realize you meant the world to me.
And here, every time I look at this letter taped to your gravestone, I want to see all the light you
have secretly harbored for me. I want to see the Granddad who loved me more than his Soju. I want to
see you, the real you. And most importantly, I want you to know I really did love you.

Love, Your Granddaughter

Theme: It is only in situations of loss that one truly acknowledges the beauty and importance of what
they once had.

The Lemon Tree Behind the Window

The lemon tree took up too much space.

I’m tired of lemons, my brother would whine.
Me, too, I agreed.
Lemons are starting to become tiresome, don’t you think, my mother suggested.
Yes, I answered.
Its disappearance was therefore an inevitable course of action. Not even seven days passed before the
tree was cut down, its once-lengthy branches dispersed on the ground, its soft leaves left to a gray tone
as the men who chopped it down loaded its remains into their truck.
I didn’t feel anything, I didn’t feel anything, I told myself. But even my own thoughts couldn’t drown
out my emotion.
A single day passed.
One day later when I surprised myself by beginning to long for the tree’s once-sour lemons, when I
began to look with nostalgia at where it stood. Indeed, it was then that I began to realize.
Realize how much I depended on it. Realize how often I used to look out of my window in the midst of
hardships and see the tree smiling softly at me. Realize its old beauty, and the sweet aroma that
surrounded its soft branches as it shielded me from the sun.
Realize that, really, I did love that tree.