Random Post - It’s not what you look that matters, it’s what you see.

“It’s not what you look that matters, it’s what you see.” --Henry David Thoreau

Last year I was in a volunteer program taking care of the old people living alone in our community. I was assigned to an old lady, Mrs. Huang, who has the cataract. Like many other elderly people, Mrs. Huang is kind and gentle. Unfortunately, the cataract left her poor eyesight and it was very difficult for her to see things clearly. My grandmother had the same problem so I understood the difficulty Mrs. Huang experienced in everyday life. I tried to keep her company and help her in any way possible.

Mrs. Huang had a special hobby of collecting Chinese seals. The noticeable pieces were the one with the engraving of Libai’s poem, the jade one with traditional calligraphy and the one that could date back to the beginning of last century, according to Mrs. Huang. We spent hours and hours looking through her collections. She would tell me each seal’s history, texture, meaning as if they were her children. She told me she could feel the special resonance from these seals, and the calligraphies were whispering to her at night. Her facial expression was so serious when saying such whimsical fairy tales and made me giggle.

The apartment had a lovely balcony with a cane swing facing the sunset. When it was dusk, I would make us fresh black tea while she was murmuring Chinese opera on the swing. I patiently waited for her to finish the last music note and applauded for her singing. Whenever I sit next to her, I naturally hold her hand in mine while listening to her meander through old stories. I would look at her eyes as if she could see me clearly, and nodded with attention. We chatted on history and classical music, and I also read the books she liked. I really wanted her to feel care and love.

One day, I noticed something very special about her: unlike the other elder people that I had to knock hard on the door for, Mrs. Huang could sense my arrival somehow and always waited for me at the door before my presence. “You are here!” Her voice was soft as silk. “How would you know I am here without even coming downstairs?” I was so surprised by her sensitiveness. “Thanks to my bad eyesight,” she replied, “I could only use my intuitions most of the time, and the intuition comes from how I’ve learned you, known you and felt about you. You always bring a sense of blundering and I could tell it from miles away.” She smiled while I was amazed but a little disappointed with her impression on me.

Later that afternoon when we sit side by side on her swing, as usual, she carefully took out that precious jade seal and put it in my hand. “Look at it,” she smiled softly, “When you appreciate a piece of jade, you would not only look at the surface. You have to see the inside and feel it. To me, you’re just like this jade, a little rough outside, but genuine inside. I can tell and feel the real you.” 

“Really?” I was still wondering. She could sense my disbelief. “I see things instead of looking,” she said. And in that moment I began to see past the cloudy cataracts in her eyes. I felt that I didn’t have to feign that she could see clearly, or pretend that I still couldn’t. I was not the caretaker, she was not the wizened teacher. I left the self-consciousness of being the listener. For a moment it was like two different species, generations apart in DNA, bowed to each other in a clear pasture. There was jade in those murky eyes, and if you peered deep enough you could see the crystallized galaxies of kindness.