Alyssa Yoo/Responses to ?s and Character Description Essay/Narrative Composition/Tues. 9-11a.m.

Task 3.3 #3

The use of "rain" in the writing as a metaphor is very effective. The writer explains how the man is like the rain by saying that the man has a voice like the "quiet harmony" of rain. I thought the writing was sad because it gave me the impression that the man both came and went unexpectedly. Also, the use of rain as a metaphor gives off a mysterious feeling.

Task 3.4 #1

My grandfather is the world to me.

Good Bye, My Perfect Man

Prologue

His face was so pale, yet peaceful. The wrinkles he had when he was alive were no longer there on his face. It was as if he was glad all his troubles were finally over. I saw the last moments of my best friend who was a big part of my life, if not my whole life. Four or five people were in the room, and as men in white pulled a white sheet over his face, most of us were sobbing, unable to control ourselves. That was the last of him.

After spending a couple of days at the funeral, when my family came back home, I had a lot of thoughts running through my mind. I had mixed feelings of sadness and regret. Sadness for the death of my grandfather and regret for not having done anything for him when he was alive.

I opened the upper drawer of my wooden desk and started rummaging through my stuff to find anything that would remind me of him. A round, black mp3 caught my eye, and when I took it out, I began fidgeting with it. It reminded me of one of the best memories I had with the old man.

I

"Surprise!" Gramps was standing in the living room with his arms wide open, waiting for me to fall into his delicate arms. He was a small, skinny Asian man, and the twinkle in his little eyes on his small face provided everyone with warmth. Tufts of white hair on his nearly bald head did not make him look old; it made him look wise. My old buddy was one of the most kind-hearted people, and he never forgot to smile.

"Ahh, Grandpa, you shouldn't have." I was deeply touched by the event he had prepared just for me. He had spent hours blowing up balloons and sticking them up on the ceiling and rails next to the stairs. He had done all of the preparation alone. No one helped him come up with the idea nor prepare the surprise. I did not need an event from him; his presence was enough to please me.

He took one of his professional cameras out and started taking pictures of me. He seemed to be the most intelligent man in the world when he used his professional cameras or when he sat in front of the computer, with a pair of golden glasses parched on his nose. The old man was a retired technician who had traveled to 48 states in America in his younger days. Although he was almost 80, he filmed and edited videos of our family, and he could fix almost anything, including computers.

"You look beautiful, my little angel," he said with a sincerity I couldn't feel from anyone else. My parents weren't home as always, and my grandmother was sitting on the sofa, watching everything that went on between Gramps and me.

Just as I thought that I couldn't be any happier, Grandpa handed me a square package, wrapped neatly, just like him. He always remembered to shave, and he dressed neatly, even at home.

"Open it. Go on." He spoke these words softly, waiting for me to unwrap the present like a kid who was waiting to see if his mother liked the first birthday present he gave to her.

It was the mp3 player I'd wanted for so long. I only mentioned it once to him, and I couldn't believe he remembered, unlike my father who was always busy working. He winked at me, and I smiled back. I thought his smile would last forever, and he'd always be the same old Gramps I knew, but I was wrong.

II

   "I am your granddaughter."

It was the third time I reminded him who I was. There was no focus in his eyes, and his delicate hands had turned fragile. I still loved him, but I wanted my old Gramps back. This man sitting feebly in front of me was not the man who had given me the mp3 years ago. He did not have the twinkle in his eyes anymore. His face was unclean as he hadn't shaved for a long time. The tufts of white hair on his nearly bald head were messy, untamed. He smelled awful as if the people at the nursery home did not take the time to give him a nice, clean shower.

Who was he? What was wrong with him? I did not know this person who was staring blankly into midair. I refused to look at him; I simply couldn't.

It was too late for me to do anything for this man who had provided unconditional love and care to everyone in his family. He wouldn't even remember if I did do something as he suffered from the Alzheimer's disease.

It probably happened because he was the kind of man who tolerated everything. He never yelled or got angry at anyone. Instead, he would have quiet conversations to figure out what the cause of the problem was. I never saw a moment of anger in his life. Even when my grandmother yelled at him, he'd always say sorry and never yell back. I don't know why no one ever thought about how much he was really tolerating for the happiness of his family.

It just made me so sad looking at him. Where was the man who could fix all the problems in the world? I held his wrinkly and extremely fragile hand, careful not to break it.

Gramps, I love you. I regret not ever saying these words out loud to him.

 

Epilogue

He passed away after I made a few visits to the nursery home he was at. I try to remember the good memories we had together before he became too weak to remember or say my name. When I want to remember my best birthday, I take out the old mp3 and look at it, without listening to any music. I still have it in the same drawer in the same wooden desk so that I'll never lose it. Although it does not work anymore, I don't think I'll ever throw it away. It reminds me of one of the best memories of Grandpa.