Growing up, my neighborhood was the world. I was an infant, safe and sound in the clutches of my surroundings, an overindulgent mother. It somehow never occurred to me that anything could possibly exist outside of my mellow little haven.

As a child swaddled by familiarities, I had one simple yet genuine love: listening to my grandfather’s stories. At night, when he sat, cigar in hand, in his old wooden armchair gazing out the window, his expression wistful like that of a sage, I would beg him to once again entertain me with the tales of his invigorating adventures.

“Grandpa, grandpa! Tell me about the time when you saved a plane from crashing into the mountains!”

Then he would smile, his face crinkling into thousands of channels furrowed by the vicissitudes of life, and gently pull me onto his lap. He was never tired of telling his stories. Tapping his cigar on the armrest, he would begin, his voice as light as the tiny pieces of ash falling onto the shiny white-tiled floor.

“Ahh let’s see. It was a foggy day. We were flying over the mountains of Sichuan, and suddenly...”

My grandpa was born into a family of penurious peasants in a grave period of cultural repression in China. He, along with his seven siblings, struggled to maintain their basic needs; there were so many mouths to feed yet such little income that people were bound to their impoverished lives, forced to labor generation after generation. A lack of education and fear of the unknown also disheartened people from venturing into the foreign realms, fettering them to this terrible cycle. However, my grandfather, back then still a reckless teenager, was determined to change this phenomenon. One night at the age of sixteen, he sneaked away from home to join the army as a combat pilot. Life was unimaginably tough, but his grit
helped him pull through. Ten years later, he rose to the position of captain in China’s main airline company.

Grandfather’s tales always seemed to be some kind of faraway fantasy in which he, the daring warrior surrounded by the halo of plot armor, was destined to succeed. I, however, a plain young girl born into a world of spotlights, was destined to play a minor role. Born and educated in an environment of traditional Chinese ideology, my surroundings instilled in me conventional values throughout the years. The neat troop of A’s that lined my report cards became my obligatory and natural duty, and I was to adhere to society’s expectations, obedient as the flower to the tender’s will. I have always remained doubtful towards the purpose of stepping outside of one’s comfort zone. Wouldn’t it be nicer, safer even, so stay forever cocooned in one place, snuggling in the familiar warmth without a worry? However, over the years, I seemed to find the answers to my doubts in my grandfather’s stories.

As I matured, the walls of my small world began to feel confining. I began to ponder beyond my superficial interpretation of grandfather’s anecdotes. Grandfather wouldn’t have made it to this position if he hadn’t stepped out into the world and embraced the millions of possibilities it had to offer. His experiences echoed in my mind, urging me to venture beyond the familiar horizon into unknown territory. Inspired, I made the choice to study abroad, aspiring to free myself from the boundaries of my childhood neighborhood.

The night before my flight to the US, my grandfather asked me to take a walk with him outside. A cool summer zephyr brushed past my face, bringing the tips of my dark hair to a dance. The air tasted of the sweet scent of freshly-mowed green grass. All was quiet except for the crisp, rhythmic tap-tapping of his cane on the gravel.

“My dear, do you still remember that story about parachuting?”
I nodded enthusiastically. How could I not remember? Every one of his tales was already engraved in my heart. Even though the darkness obscured my grandfather’s face, I could sense the corners of his mouth stretching crookedly to form a proud smile. As a part of his training to become a pilot, my grandfather, along with nine other brilliant young men, had to jump off a plane 4000 feet in the sky with only a parachute strapped to their backs, a feat that even the bravest of warriors would quail at. As soon as the general blew his whistle, most other men, with their panic-stricken eyes uttering cries of trepidation, staggered backwards, their once sleek uniforms now suddenly sagging off their shoulders. However, grandfather, his eyes set and resolute, was the first to leap off the plane, plummeting through the unfathomable sky.

“Were you scared?” I asked tentatively. The answer was obvious, I thought, but grandfather’s reply surprised me.

“Was I scared? Oh sure, I was scared half to death. But did I hesitate? Not for half a second. Half of the men failed the test that day, and they were all some of the most intelligent people I had ever met. Such a shame, really. They were really just one step away. The world is out there, and sometimes, you just need to take one small step of courage. You’ve been unimaginably brave to even board this plane, and I am so, so proud of you.”

I swallowed hard. A sensation I had been trying to repress for months came bubbling up, rising like a demon from the nefarious pits of Tartarus.

“I-I’m not ready...” The words spilled out of my mouth, childish and ludicrous. I was not Grandfather. I did not have his daring spirit to challenge the almighty. I was doomed to wallow remorsefully in the Fields of Asphodel, a coward who refuses to reconcile with her banal fate yet lacks the valor to confront destiny.
A street lamp illuminated my grandfather’s face as we passed by, “You are ready. I believe in you. We believe in you.” He paused, “Just... just take care of yourself over there, all right? Call us whenever you need anything, and we-we’ll do the best we can over half the globe.”

We embraced. A wordless expression of “I love you.”

The crescent moon smiled as her tender gaze lingered over the two figures——a young girl and an old man——strolling side by side serenely through the silent night.

Twenty-four hours later, I was standing in front of my new boarding school in a different country. A flurry of strange faces conversing in foreign tongues enveloped me, threatening to suffocate my will.

We believe in you...

Taking a deep breath, I lifted a white-sneakered foot, placing it carefully beyond the gates onto new soil——a small step into the big world.

My neighborhood, once the entirety of my world, has now become a starting point. The streets that once confined me have become pathways to new possibilities. There was so much beyond to see and experience.

Grandfather always says, “don’t be the frog at the bottom of the well who only sees a small portion of the sky; be the eagle that soars freely with a panoramic view of the world.” The safety of the well may offer temporary solace, but the true essence of life lies in navigating the vast expanse of the sky.