I still remember, quite vividly, that one day about ten or eleven years ago. A family friend had just brought me and my sister home from an outing, and he was walking us into our house. I would soon discover that after walking through my white front doors, I would never be quite the same again - I would finally and completely realize the grave situation that would have the most influence on my life thereafter. Upon entering the house, I could smell a very sour and acrid odor emanating from the living room, and I could also hear a person groaning disconcertingly. As we walked slowly into the living room, a staggering sight met our eyes. There, lying face down on a couch, was my father, with an ashen-faced complexion. His head was completely bald, and his grisly figure appeared enervated. He was gasping for air, and then suddenly, without a warning, he grabbed a blue pan, put his face to it, and just vomited with such vehemence that it really shook me. Before this, I used to think words like "cancer", "tumor", "chemotherapy", etc. - were all terms describing a simple illness that went away as fast as the common cold. Upon seeing what was happening to my father, I then realized that colon cancer was neither quick nor painless, but rather agonizing and disturbing. After vomiting, my dad lifted his frail head up and uttered a weak "Hello," before vomiting even more. I looked at our friend, and I understood the look on his face. "Let's go to my house, Jeff," he said, "Let your dad rest - he has been fighting brave and hard."

My dad, my hero; the one whom I cherished and looked up to for love and guidance, was now battling for his life. His colon cancer was first detected in 1987, and for the next two years or so, things got worse as the illness became more and more malignant. The whole situation was then exacerbated by a series of debilitating surgeries and chemotherapy treatments. Because of this ordeal, my mom had to spend most of her time, energy, effort, not to mention large amounts of money, taking care of my father's health. As a result, my mother had to set aside both my needs and my sister's needs. Because of this involuntary neglect, I, as a seven-year-old developing child, never got much of a chance to expand my talents and personality, and many opportunities, such as learning piano at a very young age, had to be put off because of this family crisis. I had trouble coping with the absence of my father, due to his constant hospitalization, and I had problems finding my identity, lacking a close role model to look up to. I had difficulty performing well in school, and I felt bad when I saw other children already cultivating their talents and skills at very early ages. From around age seven to recent times, I've been at a disadvantage compared to my peers, in terms of personal maturation, intellectual development, and talent growth. I had been "lagging" behind.

Like my father, I too had a struggle to overcome, and I was determined to fight on. But the path ahead was not going to be easy; it was going to be a test of patience and perseverance.

Growing up without a "dad" figure at my side, I had always felt different from the other children. In elementary and middle school, I noticed that most other youths always seemed happy, easy-going, and extroverted. I remember that I knew a lot of peers around me who always got the newest clothing and toys, but since my family had a tight budget, we weren't able to afford any luxuries. I saw other kids taking long family vacations with their dads, while I saw my own father lying in bed. I remember a classmate asking me, "Where are you going this summer?" and I replied, "I'm going to the hospital to see my dad." I was quiet, shy, and timid, since my parents weren't always there to encourage me to express myself openly. Thus besides having kept to myself, I had problems communicating with others, and at one point it had gotten so bad that I was avoiding human contact, and couldn't bring myself to look at people's faces when they were speaking to me. Some children considered me an outcast; therefore I was often the target of harassment and ridicule. Early on, I had a low self-esteem, which was worsened by my poor performance in school. My dad had always stressed academics quite heavily, but after seeing my grades, I felt like I had failed my father, just like his health had failed him. Adding to the blow, I saw others around me already learning instruments, attending tutoring programs, and picking up art lessons - all at very young ages. I was a late starter, and that would be the cause of my struggle. Often, my predicament seemed hopeless - others were better off than I was; I was picked on and ignored by peers; I had an identity problem and was unable to express myself well; I had a hard time in school, and my talents were atrophying away. At a lot of times, I would simply say to myself, "I can't take this any longer. I don't have the patience or the spirit for this - I just don't know what to do anymore."

Funny how I said all that, because whenever I felt like giving up, my dad would pop into my mind: Boom. A crystal clear memory of that day when I saw my dad throwing up and dying right before my eyes, and when the family friend said to me, "Let your dad rest - he's been fighting brave and hard."

I saw the truth in this. My dad fought and struggled with the disease, and never once did he give in, because if he had, he probably wouldn't be alive today. By his bearing all that suffering just so that he could live another day to see his family, he had taught me determination and steadfastness. He taught me to never give up. I then realized that I had to go on and defeat this difficult but crucial time period in my life; thus, I made up my mind. I will catch up. I will fully develop my personality, which had been holding me back. I will improve my academics, no matter what, and I will go out of my way to harvest my talents. No more delays. No more fear. No more shame, and most importantly, no more giving up.

Beginning in middle school and all the way through high school, I worked hard and persistently to catch up, and I've accomplished a lot of my goals. Beginning in the sixth grade, I really started to focus on academics, and with each passing year, I got better and better grades. Particularly, these past few years in high school, I've been proud of my exceptionally high marks, and I owe all my determination to my father's high academic standards and the valuable lesson he had taught me. Also in middle school, I tried to catch up in cultivating one of my talents and interests - piano. I know that others who had been playing for a while had an advantage over me, as learning an instrument such as the piano is best undertaken at very young ages. But following my dad's attitude, I pushed myself; I practiced and practiced, although it became more difficult to find practice time as my grade level advanced. Finally, I had practiced so much that my teacher allowed me to skip levels in the piano Certificate of Merit exam, just so I could get up to speed with the others. As a result, I jumped from a CM level 4 to a level 8 in just two years. This is another accomplishment of which I am especially proud of, and in March of 2001, I achieved the level 9. My dad's tenacity had motivated me to pursue not only a musical talent, but other things as well, such as tennis, abacus, Chinese school, and tutoring. But I think the crowning achievement of my youth was my ability to overcome my personality flaw. In eighth grade, I sacrificed time for other activities, and joined an Asian youth leadership program, which basically taught me how to communicate openly and effectively as a peer mentor, and as a leader in the community. I am now able to speak clearly and confidently to my peers, and it has worked wonders. Last year, I was even able to host an open house event for the program, speaking comfortably in front of a very large audience, an accomplished feat of which I am very proud of and that I owe to my father, my reason for living.

My dad had been at my side all this time. Even if he had been lying sick in bed from chemotherapy treatments, his spirit was with me every step of the way. He taught me how to live life as well as the most fundamental of all problem-solving skills: never give up, no matter how desperate things seem. Watching him in deep discomfort and agony, seeing him suffer with dignity, is something that I'll never forget. His struggle with the cancer became a model for my own struggle to get caught up, especially during my early childhood and adolescence. I've worked long and hard, doing whatever I could to make up for all those years of lost progress. His will to live on became my will to work harder and to improve my person as a whole, all for the sake of catching up. Fortunately, my father's will paid off, as in 1992, there was a period of remission. He got better, but my struggle didn't stop then, because it was ongoing. I continued the fight through elementary, middle, and high school, and even now in my senior year, I've been struggling, especially with college entrance tests like the SAT. Nevertheless, I can never thank my dad enough for what he has given me. I think I'll go to my dad now, and really show him all of my accomplishments. Perhaps he'll then say to me: "I'm proud of you son...you've been fighting brave and hard."