English Original
My grandfather left Korea to live with us in New York when he was almost eighty years old. My parents fixed up the attic so that he had his own room. He wore traditional Korean clothes and chewed on small dried fish snacks that smelled up everything. He coughed a lot.
My grandfather spoke only Korean, so I never understood what he was saying. He scared me.
One day, my mother told me to take tea to him. I was reluctant, but I did. He smiled and began speaking Korean. When I said I didn't understand, he said, "Aigoo," and then, "Korean important. Yes?" I was surprised he knew some English.
He often spoke to me in Korean for long periods. I didn't understand the words, but I grew to like the sound of his raspy voice filling the warm attic.
One afternoon, I watched him practice calligraphy. He looked up and said, "You." Then, "Won Chul." That was my middle name. He drew two elegant characters on rice paper—one for "Won," one for "Chul"—and pushed the paper toward me. "For Won Chul," he said.
My mother later explained this was hanja, a Korean writing system using Chinese characters. She told me my name meant "Wise One," and that my grandfather had been a famous artist in his town.
Not long after, he moved to a nursing home and passed away the following summer. The attic became a storage room.
I still have the drawing of my name, framed and hanging in my room. I often wonder what he was trying to tell me during those long Korean monologues. Sometimes, in the quiet attic, I can almost hear his voice again, telling me stories I never learned to understand, and see him pointing to the characters that mean "me."
中文翻译
我的祖父快八十岁时离开韩国，来到纽约和我们同住。父母收拾好了阁楼，让他有了自己的房间。他穿着传统的韩服，嚼着气味浓烈的小鱼干，时常咳嗽。
祖父只说韩语，所以我从来听不懂他的话。他让我感到害怕。
一天，母亲让我给他送茶。我不情愿，但还是照做了。他微笑着开始用韩语对我说话。当我说听不懂时，他说了声“Aigoo”（哎呀），然后说：“韩语，重要。对吗？”我惊讶地发现他懂一点英语。
他常常长时间地用韩语对我说话。我听不懂那些词句，但渐渐喜欢上了他那沙哑的声音充满温暖阁楼的感觉。
一天下午，我看他练习书法。他抬起头说：“你。”接着又说：“Won Chul。”那是我的中间名。他在宣纸上画了两个优美的字——一个是“Won”，一个是“Chul”——然后把纸推向我。“给Won Chul的，”他说。
母亲后来告诉我，这是“韩文汉字”（hanja），一种使用汉字的韩国书写系统。她说我的名字意为“智者”，并告诉我祖父曾是家乡有名的书法家。
不久后，祖父搬去了疗养院，并在次年夏天去世了。阁楼变成了储藏室。
我至今仍保留着那幅名字的书法，它被装裱起来挂在我的房间里。我常常想，那些漫长的韩语独白中，他究竟想告诉我什么。有时，在寂静的阁楼里，我几乎能再次听到他的声音，讲述着我从未学会理解的故事，仿佛看见他指着那些代表“我”的字。