Things That Grow Anyway

Dear Umma,

You won’t believe what I’m growing.

No, really—you won’t.

It started as a patch of dry earth behind the shed. Everyone said, “Don’t bother, nothing grows there.” But I figured, if pigs can learn to sprint, maybe vegetables can learn to hope.

I started with what we had: radish, cabbage, a few stubborn scallions. But then—something unexpected.

An old woman at the market, the one with the missing tooth and the eyes that see everything, called me over. She said, “You’re the pig boy, right? The one who talks to them like they’re students?”
I nodded. She smiled. And slipped me a paper packet—no label, just seeds.

“Superfood,” she whispered. “For someone who believes in things that grow.”

I planted them with no idea what they were. But now?
Broccoli.
Tomatoes.
I don’t even know how the climate forgave me—but they’re real, and green, and proud.

Every morning I check on them like they’re friends.
Every evening I chase birds away like a man defending his dreams.
There’s something about watching something rise from dirt that makes me feel less alone.

I’ll save some for you. Or maybe I’ll bring them myself.
You always said I’d never learn patience.
Well. The earth teaches slowly—but she teaches.

Your slightly sunburned, slightly amazed son,
Tae-yang