The following essay was the 1st place winner in the Jade Ribbon Youth Council's 1st Annual B-Inspired! contest. Andrea flew from Texas to the Asian Liver Center's LIVERight 5K run and was honored there for her achieved. Her piece was schedueled to be read on KQED's Perspectives radio but unfortunately due to the winner living in Texas and certain technicalities, another piece will be aired on Perspectives so look forward to that in July.

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Human Resilience
By Andrea Tan

Every thirty seconds, hepatitis B claims another life. 350 million people in the world are affected each year, and out of the ten percent of Asians, one in four dies. Eight years ago, the second hand of that clock made half a revolution in my family, striking a deep blow to our hearts. My uncle was just one of the many taken away by the silent killer. Although to the world, his death may just be a statistic, our family emerged from the loss with resilience and hope.

As I turn through pages of dusty photo albums, each picture beckons to me, inviting me to delve into long-lost memories. One is of my grandparents, another of my parents’ wedding, and a third of a laughing young man cradling a baby girl in his arms. It is at this photo that I gaze the longest, for my uncle and I were always very close. He was like a big brother, constantly playing games with me and sneaking me candy.

My uncle eventually became a chef at a restaurant in Taiwan, doing what he loved best. Ironically, it was most likely during this period that he contracted HBV. At first, he felt fine and exhibited few symptoms warning us of his condition. Although the virus was steadily degenerating his health, my uncle was not aware of the danger he was in until the liver cancer had already reached a critical stage. By that time, it was too late.

All we could do was stay by his side and try to make his time left easier. Though I was only in second grade, I can still recall my beloved uncle lying there on the bed, thin and weak. We murmured words of encouragement to keep our morale high, urging him to pull through. Hanging on to that tiny piece of hope gave us the courage to confront such a hardship.

In the end, my uncle eventually lost the battle against hepatitis B. When he finally let go, our family was devastated. That was my first exposure to a tangible concept of death, and I mourned deeply. For a long while, it seemed as if the dark clouds that had amassed above our lives would never part.

Eight years have since passed, and I still think about him. As my vision slowly refocuses on the photograph and I draw myself out of my thoughts, I realize the enormous influence this man had on my life. Even through his death, my uncle taught us to see things in a positive light, to always hope for the better. We became determined to appreciate our family and to be thankful for good health. Life goes on, and although the wounds in our hearts have gradually healed over time, the scars still bear remembrance to this great man. He gave us the strength to keep going and the strength to love. Above all, he gave us the ultimate gift – the gift of human resilience.