Rust

The last days of fall semester are always a blur. I recall sitting at a desk with a dreaded white stack in the center.

“Given the following differential equation model, is the system stable?”

Before I can put the pencil to paper, the scene swirls around me, and now I’m in the dorm room of an RA friend. We’re sitting on the couch listening and laughing to “Let it Mo,” a holiday classic that has Sheck Wes rap perfectly over instrumentals from Frozen. That song was on my Christmas 2018 playlist.

As the laughter fades, I find myself seated under the hazy, ochre lights of Brick House, surrounded by the few who haven’t gone home yet, toasting to another semester under wraps. I look back on these vignettes fondly, but know that winter break is an absolute necessity. The wheels have come off the proverbial bus, and a month of relaxation is needed in order to recover.

My first winter break of college was a reprieve from the Wash U experience and a chance to retreat to the seemingly unchanging landscapes of Cupertino. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed my first semester away, but the sudden spike in responsibility had me begging for a taste of home. That desire shaped my expectations for the perfect break. Every routine with my family would be the same as it was before. I’d arrive at San Jose airport wearing sweatpants with eyes looking like a raccoon’s. The first few days were reserved for hibernation as I tried to regain the hours lost to studying and procrastination. As I crawled out of my slumber, I would meet with friends and take on the mantle of responsibility, picking my sister up from school. For New Year’s Eve, we would go to a party hosted by family friends. I would drift from one conversation to the other, letting the other aunties know that I am in fact “studying hard in engineering,” a phrase which always draws nods of approval. We would head home for the night, getting up early the next morning for mandir to pray for a year of good fortune.

[su_pullquote align=”right”]But much like rust settles into metal slowly, tarnishing the sheen, I was beginning to see the cracks in my illusion.[/su_pullquote]The first winter was exactly what I expected, down to the nitty gritty questions from family friends about my future career (hint: it should either be software engineering or medicine). But much like rust settles into metal slowly, tarnishing the sheen, I was beginning to see the cracks in my illusion. While in Saint Louis, life moves on. My sister dedicated herself to cross country, and got some veteran injuries in the process. My extended family consisting of aunts, uncles, and cousins would come and go, swaying the household dynamic like the gusts from thunderstorms that I would fight while making my way to class. Not only was I removed from the action, the cold fog of reality was beginning to set in, and my rosy, polaroid-esque view of family was being thrown into sharp contrast. Home life had changed.

This winter, we did something radical and traveled. Not to visit family, but to go on a vacation and explore the world. These trips were usually reserved for the summer, as is tradition. But in a sudden moment of inspiration, my mother decided we need to see the “upside down” part of the world, and swept us away. Touching down in New Zealand and walking outside to bright sunshine and a cool breeze was a welcome shock from the beige winter I was previously in. Looking back, it seemed like surprise was the theme of this trip.

As soon as we arrived at the hotel, the bags were dropped on the floor and our band of four trekked up to Mount Eden, the highest point in Auckland, which housed a dormant volcano. The ground was slick from previous showers, but also served as a warning for what was to come. As we climbed the rocky path, quick to avoid painting our new shoes with the brown, muddied trail, a vantage point of the city appeared on our right. Looking out over my shoulder, I was captured by the blend of suburban houses and urban restaurant fixtures. We made our way to the top, and were greeted with a view of the giant crater of a volcano. Mataaho, a Maori deity is said to live in the crater, guarding the secrets of the earth. As I pondered what secrets the soil could hide, my sister cut my train of thought.

“That’s a really dark cloud.”

Surprise! Within minutes the four of us were huddled under an umbrella, with rain battering us from all sides. While I’d normally be miserable and complaining how my shoes were soaked through, all of us were laughing at our terrible luck. Clearly the spirits of New Zealand did not want us here, but we stayed anyway.

Flashing forward, I found myself in the miniature world of Hobbiton, taking photos of the lush scenery spotted with brightly colored doors. We finished off the trip with an ice-cold cider and a visit to Rotorua, where the acrid smell of sulfur countered the beautiful views of geysers. Every hobbit hole and mud pit was an opportunity for my parents to take photos of us, where my sister and I gave our best effort to fake a smile. At the end of the day I definitely felt that I put up an Oscar-worthy performance. Interspersed through a day of fun were brief moments of impatience. My mother asked for repeated directions twice, while my father could not remember where he placed his phone on three different occasions.

As we hiked through Waitupu, trails that my parents used to effortlessly climb were leaving them more breathless and needing more breaks. I was upset at first—this should be easy! But nagging thoughts started creeping in my mind. My father’s occasional difficulty in hearing our words, my mother’s sporadic confusion about directions. As I put the puzzle pieces together, the harsh realization settled: they were growing old. I lean on my parents for every struggle and adversity, and my time to be the same backbone was coming. I finally saw the rust.

Through each step and hurdle of my life, my parents were always there advising, admonishing, and supporting me in my every move. During my first bike ride without training wheels, I sped around the cul-de-sac eager to reach top speed before hitting a rock and crashing into the gravel, bringing home a split lip and busted knee. My dad carried me home where my mom bandaged me, and for the first time I got to watch T.V. while eating dinner. There were countless times when we fought, and I rebelled only to find out I was horribly wrong. Even in these moments of weakness, my parents were determined to show me their wisdom, not prove some moral superiority. Some of their advice has rubbed off (like making reminders for doing laundry and cooking), and for others I chose to use my own experience to guide me (whether it’s an act of pig-headedness remains to be seen). For the longest time, my relationship with my parents was defined along mentor-mentee lines. In a moment of clarity, I saw the shift in this relationship. I will still need their help and guidance, especially when it’s 10 p.m. and I’m about to venture blindly into a new recipe. But I know they’ll need me too. Whether it’s in their concerns for physical health, or in figuring out how to cope with both children leaving the house, I am starting to play a larger and larger role in guidance, fulfilling my duty as a son. And knowing that they aren’t the invincible, bulletproof role models of childhood is haunting.

[su_pullquote]As much as I hated to admit it, I was facing the real world, with all of its visceral struggles.[/su_pullquote]Life is constantly changing, and with change comes discomfort. As our family welcomed the new year in Sydney, the crowds were dancing away, excited at the prospect of another year filled with opportunity. I sat on the steps of the Sydney Opera house, absentmindedly reviewing the photos I took of the fireworks, reflecting on how the meaning of family had changed for me. The epiphany I had on the trails a few days ago extended beyond just my parents and sister. The same transformation was happening in my high school friend groups as well. In the past everyone would be free to play frisbee or try the new Korean BBQ restaurant down the streets. The reunions became increasingly fractured as the bonds weathered years of changes. Some moved across the country to work an office job, attend graduate school, or even join a startup. Others dropped off the radar, sometimes to distance themselves from toxic side effects of social media, but more often than not, without any explanation. As much as I hated to admit it, I was facing the real world, with all of its visceral struggles.

[su_pullquote]Mataaho may have guarded many secrets while I was in New Zealand, but I think I escaped with one that serves as a guiding principle in my life.[/su_pullquote]Mataaho may have guarded many secrets while I was in New Zealand, but I think I escaped with one that serves as a guiding principle in my life. No one can control what happens to them, but they have to take responsibility over their situation. I don’t know if I can fill the role of mentor to the same standard my parents did. I do know, however, that, when the time comes, I will take action and adapt.

Akshay Thontakudi ‘19 studies in School of Engineering & Applied Science. He can be reached at a.m.thontakudi@wustl.edu.