A Blog About An Asian Medical Student. Yes that's redundant.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Smile

Smile

For the last few hours, I’ve been reading my friend’s Facebook wall.

And the numerous pages about her.

And the numerous events about her.

And I’m thinking:

“Wow, I wonder if I’m even that popular.”

I kinda doubt anyone really cares about me that much.

Apparently cute Asian girls are more likable than overweight David Poon’s.

Then again, she’s quite a bit more pleasant than I am.

When I first met Hanna at the Korean restaurant Ga Ya long ago, I wasn’t in very good spirits.

Quite honestly, I was the opposite.

The technical term is ‘NOT very good spirits.’

I wasn’t very open about my life at the time, so I do believe my stumbling in, disheveled, ordering kimchi fried rice and sitting by myself made me appear, at worst, a drunken Asian man (read: two glasses of wine) and at best, a disenchanted medical student. 

Hanna would come, with that gorgeous smile she always had on, take my order and ask me how I was doing.

And not in the matteroffact tone, where you know that they actually don’t care how you’re doing.

And certainly not in the flirty waitress style that ensures any unattractive guy will tip super well (I’m a lousy tipper).

She asked how I was doing…

because she cared how I was doing.

Hanna was consistent in her demeanor. And that isn’t an elaborate term to describe a stubborn person. I mean, you could always rely on her for a smile.

This is what she would have told me if I went to Ga Ya tomorrow.

My gaze downtrodden, my feet dragging, a slouch from lack of morale or overeating.

She’d see me from the window.

Exclaim as if I was the best part of her day.

Run to the front, open the door, welcome me with an excitement reserved for royalty. Grinning with a charm that defined her.

I think I have a pretty good idea of what she would say.

Cheer up. Hang in there. It’s not that bad.

“Smile.”

… and I truly believe that’s how she lives. With a wholehearted appreciation that a smile changes everything.

I’ve heard that smiling and laughing, even when forced, can make you feel better.

I doubt that was why Hanna did so.

I’ll put an entire year’s worth of tips (15 bucks) betting that she did so to cheer up everyone around her.

Ah who am I kidding.

10 bucks.

I’m pretty sure last time I saw her I tipped her something like $1.17.

She adored me.

^-_-^

Her words, not mine! For the most part anyway.

See, whenever I left her family’s restaurant, she would slip a sticky note on my receipt, or on the take out boxes.

These weren’t one word “Thanks!”

They were honestly paragraphs written entirely to encourage me, to help me face whatever ailed me, even when she had no idea. Covered in random highlighters, littered with little drawings, all on various coloured papers, I felt good. I felt better.

I felt special.

And this is arguably the only time I’ll ever say this about a girl who makes me feel special, but I’m pretty sure she did that for everyone – and I’m glad she did.

She introduced me to her family. She even set me up with my now ex girlfriend.

She emitted positivity. She exuded genuine admiration.

She left every single person with a smile.

My friend, Hanna Jo, is wonderful



My friend, Hanna Jo, is dead.

At 20 years old.

Two days after I last saw her.

Suddenly, without warning, without preexisting medical condition, without sense.

Her funeral was today.

My ex girlfriend contacted me today, after a very long time. She broke the news. And perhaps true to Hanna’s example, it didn’t matter what bad blood was had in our previous relationship. Everything will heal in the vast backdrop that is life’s blessing.

I’ve spent most of my spare time today looking at Hanna’s Facebook page. Memorial pages. Looked up her family’s restaurant just to be reminded of her.

Read about her viewing, watched her last slideshow.

The disconnect from a reality where she is present to the reality where she…

… oh God.

I never met her boyfriend. I think they were about to get engaged.

I read their correspondence online.

Heart wrenching.

Simple.

Beautiful.

Tragic.

Her younger sister wrote a beautiful note, a catharsis of appreciation, a loving goodbye at its purest.

In that note, she finishes with how inconsequential the mean glares, nitpicky arguments, and superficial fights really are – the sibling bond, the admiration of an older sister, the last rites for a role model were truly important. And we would be better to retain these lessons in our hearts.

Hanna had always emphasized the positive. The spectacular in the abysmal, the potential in the bleak.

And I doubt she had let anyone pass by her without letting them know how great they were.

I remember something she quoted – about the injustice of people in movies drawing only single, pretty tears, yet in real life, crying was far less dignified.

As I type, one tear goes down my right cheek. I remember the little moments, like reading her MSN messenger quotes. Visiting her at Ga Ya. Talking about relationships, even when she kept hers secret from her parents who were working in the kitchen only 3 meters away.

I will always remember the positive influence these little moments had on me.

After hours of reading, at about 2:30AM, I called my sister. Woke her up. Told her I loved her.

Contacted my girlfriend, let her know the same.

I think I’m going to go wake up my mom and hug her.



I doubt Hanna ever held a grudge – I’m not convinced she knew how to be bitter, though I realize that may be an overgeneralization.

Which all the more emphasizes her positivity. To virtually everyone she knew, it wasn’t her ability to approach pain with optimism that was her greatest strength (though obviously that was a pleasant trait nonetheless).

It was her ability to encourage those who met her to face their own obstacles with a courage not vetted in naïveté, but genuine hope.  

The last time I saw her, I told her that I kept all of the notes she wrote me. I explained how much they meant to me, exactly what I was going through, and how valuable her words were.

She seemed surprised.

To be consistent with her Christian background, I would say she didn’t believe that her powerful words could impact me because modesty is a trait of a Saint.



I’m sad tonight. I wish she would come back. She always knew how to brighten my day.

This is what she would have told me if I went to Ga Ya tomorrow.

My gaze downtrodden, my feet dragging, a slouch from lack of morale or overeating.

She’d see me from the window.

Exclaim as if I was the best part of her day.

Run to the front, open the door, welcome me with an excitement reserved for royalty. Grinning with a charm that defined her.

I think I have a pretty good idea of what she would say.

Cheer up. Hang in there. It’s not that bad.

“Smile.”

- David