Jee Won Yang '15 addressed the student body at Church Assembly on Thursday, January 29.
She spoke about how she found her true sense of self once she stopped trying to emulate her older brother.
Following is the transcript of Jee Won's talk.
In my childhood, whenever I was asked about my dreams for the future, I would always answer, "I'm going to be Hyun!" My reply only created more bewilderment. Who? Why?
I have an older brother whose image in my mind I can capture in two words: wicked intelligent. Or intelligently wicked. Or just intelligent and wicked. Any older brother-younger sister relationship can be described in biological terms: symbiosis or, in my case, natural selection. I grew up with guillotine chokes, arm bars, or simply random smacks on my head. If I learned few valuable virtues from my childhood, they were resilience and patience. Lots of patience. Patiently, I plotted long-term vengeance, and prayed to be as strong, if not stronger, than Hyun someday.
Despite his maliciousness, now and then I admired Hyun, for several profound reasons. Well, first, he was a pretty good fighter—even among his peers—and often protected me from other boys if they tried to pull pranks on me. And he was so talented at playing race-car video games that my friends and I were never able to beat his highest scores. His strength and skill gave him what I most wanted: that sense of self.
Hyun was confident. He always thought that he was the best, no matter what the truth might be. He went to a local public elementary school, yet he always mocked me for going to a private one, and made fun of me for being unable to solve his 5th-grade math, even though I was still in 3rd grade. According to him, his rowing team was the best in the district, his friends were the coolest among his peers, and he was always on the march, achieving one goal after another. His real talent, though, was in making me jealous and wishing I could be like him.
I tried. I even adopted his musical taste. For two weeks I tried to play Chopin's "Fantasie Impromptu," which Hyun had performed in our middle school's talent show, only to realize that my left hand wasn't quite big enough. I joined an a cappella group, too . . . and I liked it. But I didn't love it. No matter which of Hyun's interests I took up, my attention span never lasted for more than two weeks.
Since I never really had the chance to think outside the influence of Hyun, I was confounded when, as we got older, I started to notice the growing disparity between us. Unlike me, Hyun didn't paint. Hyun didn't read On the Origin of Species. Hyun didn't just break into a waltz and dance with his best friend in the middle of a chemistry experiment. I was secretly shocked when Hyun told me he didn't enjoy any science, which was one of my favorite subjects, with or without dancing.
However, it wasn't until after my brother left for boarding school in America that I noticed the biggest difference. Suddenly left alone, I stood in front of a blank canvas on the easel. I looked at my array of unused pastel paints. I held my brush ready, but I had nothing to paint. I no longer had a perfect portrait to copy.
Since then, I've had to figure out what shapes and colors belong in my own painting. I can't sing in a deep bass voice (maybe higher tenor), but I can sing some alto lines with relatively perfect pitch. I'm still not too good at fighting or video games, but I have found an unexpected passion for teaching mentally disabled children. By not imitating or comparing myself to Hyun, I found I could express myself more freely than ever, whether it be on a canvas or simply to other people.
The paradox is, the more we can just be ourselves, instead of imitating others, the more we can forget ourselves and think of others. More people can get into the picture. It was easier, now, for me to share the excitement in my peer-tutored classmate's eyes when she showed me the calculus test on which she had raised her grade from a D+ to a B-. It was easier to hear the relieved "thank you's" from the Third Formers and their parents on move-in day when the prefects helped carry their luggage upstairs. When, in our first experiment, the Chem Club successfully analyzed the components of Potassium Ferrioxalate, it was easier to enjoy Ms. Brady shouting "We did it!" Group portraits are a lot better than selfies.
When we are born, certain traits are pre-determined, regardless of our preference. We're given different water-colors, oil paints, or sketching pencils. Still, what really matters is how we decide to accept who are, what we have, and what we can make of it. Don't let your life be a series of tracings. Don't follow someone else's lines. Use all your colors, fill your whole canvas. Make it a masterpiece.
Thank you.