Sookan Bak came from Korea to attend college in the United States. Her days are so busy, sookan hardly was time to write home. Her mother's first letter arrives.

　　I stared at the unopened letter from Mother. It felt strange to see my own handwriting on the envelope. The night before I left Seoul, I had stayed up al night attending to last-minute details. One of these was to stamp and address twenty envelopes to myself. Mother did not know English, and I wanted her to feel free to write me without having to ask my brothers to address the envelopes for her. I know how Mother hated imposing on her children. She always said that young people have their own worries, and that her job was to see that her children had the time to live their own lives.
　　She was very different from the other mothers I knew. She never talked of filial duty, of the obligations we had to our elders and our ancestors. One of Mother's favorite sayings was "Just as water runs down, so does love." She felt responsible for setting a good example, and just as she loved us, she expected us to love each other, and our children.
　　She never complained about her hardships, and instead said, "One cannot live looking up. One must look down to those less fortunate and must help them. One has to appreciate what one has in life." With Father gone, she struggled to make ends meet with the little money my brothers were able to earn. And yet, she was always there to help those less fortunate.
This flood of memories overwhelmed me. I longed for my mother. I missed her quiet smile that always seemed to fill me with strength. I felt guilty that I was not by her side. I slowly opened her letter.

　　Dear Sookan,
　　It is midnight. Even your ducks are asleep by the pond. They are big now, perhaps a little too big for our small pond. They waddle all around the yard, and sometimes follow men all the way to the street. I can hear your brother snoring. They fall asleep so quickly; it is the gift of youth.
　　I am wearing the sweater you insisted on finishing before you left. How stubborn you were to say up all night before that long trip. But I do love it, and wear it all the time. It keeps me warm on nights like tonight. The cool weather seems to be setting in already, and in the evening, it is quite chilly here. I wonder if we packed enough clothes for you if you are warm enough in America.
　　I was in the greenhouse earlier, checking on my chrysanthemums. They will be fluffy and beautiful this season. When they are in full bloom, I will cut some to give Father Lee for Sunday service. My contribution each Sunday is so small that I thought of supplementing it with my flowers. It will make me feel that I support my church.
　　Your older brothers like to wear the thin cotton socks you knit before you left. Inchun pulled out the vest you made, and wore it yesterday. I think he was glad the weather became cool enough for it. He looks so handsome in vest; the light gray color you chose suits him so well. It was a good thing you learned how to knit as that is one of the things I never learned.
　　We all miss you. The house fells empty without you.
　　I read your postcards as soon as our good mailman brings them. He is getting old now, and has been having more and more trouble with his legs this year. Bu he knows how important your letters are, and always brings them all the way op to the house for me. I am so grateful to him that I offer him a cup of tea every time he comes. He asked me to say hello to you for him.
　　In the evening, when we are all together, we read your postcards aloud. I am sorry we are not sending you any money. What little you had with you must have been gone long ago. I think your brothers do not write because they have no money to send you. For give this helpless mother who sends her daughter so far away and cannot even mail a little pocket money each month.
　　I am glad you like your new friends and college in America. It must be hard to adjust to the new culture and the new way of doing things. The language alone must cause you problems. Although you sound so cheerful and happy, I can imagine the difficulties you face. I will never know exactly what they are, though. I know you do not tell me things because you don't want to worry me.
　　I know you will blossom there, though things may be difficult for you now. It is always hard to be away from your homeland. The first year is always the worst, I think. We are all fine. Don't worry about anything here. And please make sure to get enough sleep.
　　You will see that four years will zoom by. Before you know it, we will be talking face to face.

Your loving mother.

　　I felt melancholy after reading Mothers letter. Despite her reassurances, I could tell that things were difficult back home. I pictured her worried expression, and my brothers' somber faces. I was glad that I had never mentioned anything about my scholarship work in the dining hall, my need to work for pocket money, and my late nights finishing my school work. I was ashamed at not being there to help Mother through her hardships. I knew how much she had always missed my sister, her firstborn, and how she must miss me. Now, she had no daughters at home.
　　Through her letter, I felt her love and concern for me. But what comforted me most was her deep faith and trust. She was sure I would succeed in America, and would come back to her.
　　Wiping away the tears that had filled my eyes, I opened my books and began to study. I must do well on my history test tomorrow. I must make other proud of me.

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