Three unrelated things happened yesterday.
First, I visited the apartment of a young Chinese couple who arrived in the U.S. in August 2023. In less than two years, they’ve accumulated so many belongings that their apartment now feels overwhelmingly crowded, leaving little space for them to enjoy.
Second, later that evening, during a session with my Korean student—who moved here in 2022—she mentioned how much stuff her family had collected since 2022, making her next move to Houston a daunting task.
These two moments reminded me how easy it is—if we're not mindful—to accumulate possessions over time, often faster than we realize, until they begin to weigh on us, taking up both our precious time and space.
The third event was more dramatic. I accompanied the husband of the young couple to take his second road test in Bronx. His first one was taken a week ago. It was pouring when the test officer approached our car. I stepped out with an umbrella, cold and soaked, trying to shield myself from the downpour. I handed over my driver’s license. The officer examined it, looked at me, then handed it back. With a disarming smile, I said, “Please, good luck to him.” He smiled kindly and replied, “Don’t worry. You stay here. We’ll be back.” “Thank you,” I said, still smiling, comforted by what felt like a quiet promise in his words.
Not long after, they returned. I rushed toward the officer and asked eagerly, “How did he do?” He replied politely, “It’s a privacy issue—I can’t discuss it—but the result will be posted online this evening.” I thanked him again. I could tell he was a good man—otherwise he wouldn’t have taken the time to explain.
The young man looked visibly crushed, believing he had failed again, so much so that I worried whether he was in the right mindset to drive home. On the way back, he kept analyzing what the officer criticized him and what went wrong. “I have a 100% chance of failing and 0% chance of passing,” he said, utterly convinced of his failure. Back at his apartment, he even began booking another test before the results were out. I told him, “Wait for the official result,” hoping for the miracle.
By early evening, nothing had posted yet. But at 8:45 p.m., I got a message: he had checked again—and passed.
We were all overjoyed.
His driving skills are very solid, though not flawless. From what I observed, the officer might have thought the young man was my son. Perhaps seeing me standing in the rain, enduring the cold for his sake, he wanted to spare me another trip. Maybe that, combined with the fact that the officer being kind-hearted, young man’s solid driving skill and—who knows—my smile perhaps, helped tip the scale.
It makes me wonder: sometimes, those small acts—an umbrella in the rain, a few kind words and free genuine smiles—are the very things that make a difference, not only in others’ lives but also in our own.
Comments
Post a Comment