I MISS THE OLD JADON
I hate the new Jadon. The self-centered Jadon. The work-hungry Jadon. The too prideful Jadon.
“Jeff Bezos is one of the most successful people in the world! Even he didn’t care only about the work! He actually spent time with his family and friends!” my eleven-year-old brother exclaims. Astounded, I sat silent and tried to work up a response.
“Johan, you wouldn’t understand why I work so hard. At least, not yet. Just please, let me do it,” I defeatedly responded. He was a child, yet he saw through me.
“NO KUYA (OLDER BROTHER)! Life isn’t just about always working. Sometimes, you have to relax! Mom, dad, and I always ask you to spend time with us. But what do you say?! You’re always in your room working!” he passionately stated, with tears falling from his eyes.
There was nothing left to say. Was he right? But when was it wrong to work hard or to stay diligent and persistent? Was there a limit?
I miss the old Jadon. The care-free Jadon.The big heart Jadon. The happy Jadon.
I came to the Liberty Science Center with numbers in mind. Jade, you need hours. Volunteering is essential for college.
However, a child quickly averted my desires into working towards something worth more: a smile. In my designated area, Block Party, we created an airplane-like structure made out of gigantic blue blocks in which I piloted.
"Where do you want to go?" I asked the boy. "THE JUNGLE!" he responded, "I want to see the monkeys!"
“Whoosh!” I exclaimed as I pretended to navigate our aircraft. He excitedly emulated me and beamed with delight. To resemble our imaginations, we built monkeys in front of the airplane and humorously imitated them.
His eyes gleamed with engagement as we continued to traverse continents, building, and imitating their native species. I became lost in the fulfilling moments of happiness that radiated from the boy when my assigned hour at Block Party ended. “You made my day!" the boy rejoiced, as he grinned. His elaborate smile was compelling. That’s what I worked hard for—to see the people around me happy. But I didn’t see smiles from my family.
I hate the new Jadon. The prove everyone wrong Jadon. The easily affected Jadon.
I walked down the school hallway with pride, wearing the sweater of one of the colleges I’d dreamt of going to since I was young. I felt comfortable. I felt like I could achieve my goal—until I saw one of my teachers.
He came up to me and exclaimed, “That sweater is the closest you’ll get to that college.”
That one statement embodied every doubt, restriction, and fear that people had for my aspirations. Throughout my life, I asked questions such as: why do so many people settle for less when the best is widely available? Why do people doubt my aspirations? I tried to answer those questions—but at what cost?
I used to love Jadon.
I was supposed to put an anecdote here about spending time with my family, carefree in the world. But I couldn’t. The negative doubts of others, clashing with my motives of proving them wrong, cast shadows in my mind that made me forget what’s important. It didn’t help that I had a selfish and determinist attitude.
My brother reminded me: whenever my mom comes home and joyfully shouts his nickname, or whenever my dad comes home, and my brother’s name is the first he calls. Whenever I see my parents excited on a Friday night because they finally get to spend time with us, but I selfishly reject it because of my priority for being productive. When my mom asks for kisses and hugs, and my brother unconditionally gives them to her, it reminds me. I used to be him.
I miss the old Jadon.
I realized that answering those questions is unimportant. Mindlessly working for the wrong motives was wrong. And I don’t want to see if it’d be worth it in the end. My brother’s right. I’d never believed that his words, and seeing myself in him, would be enough to make me understand that everything requires balance.
I want the happy Jadon. The work-focused Jadon. The big-heart Jadon. The selfless Jadon.
