Treasure Hunt
October 2022
I’m a Californian by heart.
I’ve lived there since I was in third grade so most of my childhood memories take place next to palm trees and beautiful sunsets in dry, hot weather.
But before my family moved to California, we used to live in Massachusetts while my Dad worked for a short time at MIT.
So a lot of my childhood memories take place in Boston too—
next to evergreen trees and snowstorms in wetter, colder weather.
Touching John Harvard's foot is good luck.
While we were in Boston, my mom, brother, and I would go visit my dad pretty often while he was working.
And if you didn’t know, MIT has this big patch of grass.
I think they call it “the Lawn” or something like that, but it looks like this:
"The Lawn" at MIT
A lot of my memories in Boston take place on this lawn.
In the summer, my brother and I would race and wrestle on the lawn, and my family would picnic together under one of the big trees.
And in the winter, my brother and I would have snowball fights on the lawn, and my family would make snowmen together under the hazy, white sky.
Fun on the lawn
Eventually, my dad found a new job in California and we were forced to leave the lawn behind us.
But the night before we moved across the country,
My dad told me and my brother that he left something behind at MIT.
He said that somewhere on MIT’s campus,
he had hidden a treasure.
—
Time to time, whenever we remembered, we would ask our dad what the contents of the treasure were.
But every time we asked, he would simply say the same, repetitive thing—
He reassured us that if we were ever to go back to Boston, he would tell us where to go to find it.
But what kind of a treasure could you possibly hide on a college campus?
I always thought he was joking and him telling us to go find that treasure was just his way of saying
“go to MIT for college.”
Sorry Dad, none of us made it to MIT
But still.
A small part of me wasn’t sure.
A small part of me was hopeful.
What was this treasure that my Dad hid?
—
My dad emailed me today.
Ever since I left home for college, my dad’s been emailing me a lot more.
He doesn’t have a phone, so email’s our primary form of communication.
I’ve always nagged him to get a phone but he’s never once budged.
Seeing this, I always thought my dad was just stubborn.
But recently, I’ve realized that my dad not wanting to buy a phone isn’t just because he’s stubborn.
My dad quit smoking decades ago yet he still holds onto a box of cigarettes he bought 15 years ago.
My dad made it an annual family tradition to go hiking on the same trail every Thanksgiving since we moved to California over 10 years ago.
My dad knows all his friends no longer use email yet he still emails them to ask how they’re doing.
My dad just doesn’t want things to change.
There’s a part of him that grasps onto things the way he remembers them—
And he doesn’t let go.
Holding on tight
My dad reminisces about the past quite often.
Throughout the day he’ll say things like “On this day 1 year ago we did this,” or “2 years ago we were here.”
He keeps stacks of journals that record his life since elementary school and heaps of photo albums that narrate distinct parts of his story.
He writes all of his friends' birthdays on his calendar and my dad never fails to email each one of them on their birthday.
It may seem old-fashioned, but I respect my dad a lot for staying true to himself.
I just hope it doesn’t hurt him too much every time he tells me
one by one,
that his friends no longer reply to his emails.
—
Ever since I was in elementary school, my dad took me and my brother out to the park to play tennis with him.
As someone who’s emotionally reserved, tennis was an outlet for my dad to share his passion with his kids, and a way for him to bond with us.
And ever since elementary school, whenever my dad came back home after work, he would always ask us the same question.
A question that could be taken at face value, but a question with deeper, nuanced undertones.
A question that revealed his desire to spend time with his two sons and his eagerness to be a father that’s always present for his children—
“Are we playing tennis today?”
Bro time.
My dad emailed me again today.
He said Mom and him went shopping for groceries.
It was just another email, to let me know how he’s doing and to ask how I’m doing.
But at the end of his email,
He asked me a question.
A question that made me choke up a little inside.
A question that made me miss home a little bit more.
A question so familiar to me.
“Are we playing tennis today?”
Daddy's boy
—
Recently, the night before I left home to go back to Cornell for my second year of college,
I asked my dad again, expecting the same, repetitive response.
“Dad, what’s the treasure you hid at MIT?”And just like always, he gave a response.
But this time, it was different.
Through his breath, he finally revealed the treasure that he had kept hidden for the past 12 years—
"It’s the memories.”It was just as simple as that.
My dad’s treasure was his memories.
His memories of me and my brother running around on the MIT lawn, the meals we ate together on our picnics, and the time we all lived together in Boston.
My dad was holding onto his memories of Boston and had stored them away on the MIT lawn.
Fall in Boston
—
I’m someone who doesn’t think too much about the past.
There’s definitely many things I regret doing, but even if I could go back in time, I wouldn’t change anything.
I’d like to say that I’m someone who lives very much in the present.
But my dad has taught me that once in a while, it’s good to sit down and reminisce about the memories that bring me back to the experiences and emotions of my past—
The memories that make time stop for just a moment.
My chubby past
Sometimes I wish certain chapters of my life never ended.
I miss hearing my mom’s voice calling me to come eat dinner every night, and I wish I was still as close to the friends that shaped my life before college.
But I’m happy that these chapters had a time and a place in my life.
If they were to go on forever, what would’ve been a climax in the story of my life would’ve just been my new normal.
I want the good and the bad to come and go.
I want the climaxes of my life to stay as climaxes.
I want to appreciate how much color the mundane adds to my life.
Vibrant color
—
Now that I know what my dad’s treasure is, maybe I’ll go back someday to find it.
And reminisce on my short but memorable time in Boston.
But to be completely honest,
I don’t really want to go find it.
At least not yet.
Before that,
I want to collect the warmth of the sharp autumn breeze rustling through the discolored foliage,
the memories of me and my friends losing sleep to hang out,
the sorrow and grief of my mistakes and regrets,
and the rewarding struggle of finding myself in the midst of all of this.
And a couple years from now,
right before I leave Cornell,
I want to hide these memories somewhere safe.
Somewhere that only I know of.
Fall in Ithaca
And if I ever come back to this campus in the future,
I’ll go on a hunt.
A hunt to restore the memories of the people and the experiences that shaped my life here at Cornell.
A hunt to revisit this captured moment of time in a world that never seems to stop moving.
A treasure hunt.
Me and Dad. On the lawn.
