The Moth Radio Hour: All About Time
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I grew up with a mother, a sister, and a grandmother who were always, always on time. My grandmother especially. She showed up dressed to the nines and early. Also, she would say to me, life will make sense in good time. I, on the other hand, respect time. But let's just say the respect is not mutual. I'm always trying to balance my time correctly or just plainly make sense of it.

In this hour, stories of how time can change the way we understand life. Our first story comes from Otis Gray. Otis told this at our New Orleans slam at Cafe Istanbul, where we partner with WWNO. Here's Otis. In the summer of 2018, after seven years of an incredible relationship,

my girlfriend and I were at a crossroads with our differences. And a big one of those was kids. Grace never wanted kids. I always wanted kids, so that was a big one. But it wasn't the only one. We were also living in Brooklyn, where she wanted to live forever, and I was reluctant to move to in the first place. And she valued things like financial stability and being able to go out and do nice, classy New York things. And I was a sculptor turned radio producer, so...

And I wanted to go one day without talking about the apocalypse. Like, that was her thing, and it was also a reason for her not having kids. I logged into her Amazon account by accident one day, and there was a flare gun, a map of the Hudson River, and a raft, which led to a really heated discussion about not if the rapture was nigh, but where, in our Brooklyn apartment, she thought we were going to put a goddamn raft...

We loved each other very, very much. But it just, it felt like we wanted things that we couldn't have together. And no matter how much we tried to change for each other, it just felt like we were fighting the inevitable and we were growing apart. But I'm very stubborn. And I could not see myself not growing old with this person. And I really, I wanted to show her that I could maybe be the person that sometimes she wished I was.

I thought that would be like the brave thing to do. So as a grand gesture on her birthday with very limited funds, I decided I was going to take Grace to Carnegie Hall. Like classic New York Humphrey Bogart, Grace Kelly kind of night. I got the suit. I got the haircut. I found a concerto on her birthday. Yeah, I live into like Italian words and the word chorus. I'm like that, that's what I want. And I called her and I'm like, hey, wear a red dress and meet me at the South entrance of Central Park.

Falling in love with myself at this point. So the night comes, and we meet, and we look amazing. And she takes my arm, and I escort her up the stairs of the majestic Carnegie Hall to our box seats with the red velvet chairs and the booming architecture and looking at the stage that Pavarotti sang on. And I'm just crushing this so hard. Like, just as soon as we sit down, something is awful.

First there's like a whole extended family in the balcony in front of us and they turn and ask, "Oh, who are you here to see?" Which is a weird thing to ask someone at a concert you are also at. But I'm like, "Okay, no, no, that's cool." And then the house lights go down and the stage is lit and this little girl walks on the stage followed by another and another and another.

So there's like 150 children on this stage and we both know what's happening and we don't want to say it and they immediately break out into the most uncoordinated, nightmarish rendition of Scarborough Fair.

And without looking, I can just hear Grace's jaw drop in utter amazement and disappointment. Like, this was so on brand for me to do. And oh, but then, like, this is all wrong. There's this Carnegie Hall. Why are these kids so sad? Why is the music so depressing? Why does that guy have, like, the flip-up sunglasses? And, like, some people in the crowd are crying, and they're taking videos on their phone. And I realize, I have brought my struggling relationship to an elementary school chorus recital.

Okay, but then the song the song ends and then this little girl walks up to the mic. She's got sequins She's like I'm Sandra. I'm like, okay Sandra. We got a we got to turn this thing around I got a lot riding on this show. She's like this is an original song about the poison water in Flint, Michigan Like if Grace's reasons for not having kids were turned into a musical This was it

And then, and the Flint song ends, and this dad at the other end of the theater just delivers the most perfectly executed snore that reverberates through the silence of Carnegie Hall. And for the first time, we look at each other dead in the eyes with just tears running down our face, trying not to break out of the most offensive laughter. And in that look was everything we had to say. Like...

"This is the worst thing ever. This is the best thing ever. You're a total train wreck. You're a crazy person. I love you. I love you too so much. Are we breaking up?" "Yeah, I think so." Finally, intermission hits and we sprint through the lobby and collapse outside in front of a bunch of parents on a smoke break and laugh at their children harder than we have laughed at anything in our entire lives.

And two weeks later, we decided to break up, which was the hardest, saddest thing either of us had ever done, besides sitting through half of that concert. And what I know now is the brave thing to do is not to always just relentlessly try to make something the way that you thought it would be, but to know when to walk away from something, especially if you love it, and no matter how much it hurts.

Grace and I are still really good friends and I joke that's how we're gonna grow old together and she's like probably not. Statistically with food shortages it's just... But she promised that when the world does come to an end I have a spot in her raft as long as I promise to never ever take her back to Carnegie Hall. Thank you. That was Otis Gray.

Otis is a radio producer from the woods of Belmont, Vermont. He currently lives in Brooklyn, making stories about people and food, and is the host of a podcast called Sleepy, where he reads old books to help people sleep. Six years later, Grace and Otis are still best friends, and neither of them has been back to Carnegie Hall. ♪

We are also happy to report that Otis is living a new love story. Our next storyteller, Raina Bowles, told the story at the Moths 2023 Education Showcase at Culture Lab in Long Island City. Here's Raina.

So I never thought I'd see the day my sister would go. Me and my sister Brenda did everything together. We wore the same clothes sometimes. We liked to coordinate. It was the same blue jean shorts and purple shirt because purple was her favorite color. And our favorite show to watch was SpongeBob. It was just something about the way SpongeBob and Patrick were best friends. And it reminded us of how me and Brenda were sisters by chance but always friends by choice. We loved each other so, so much.

People would often say me and Brenda were tied by the hip because of so much of the time we spent together. And I mean, I didn't disagree with that. But people would also tell me, "You know, Raina, one day Brenda's going to leave you." Because she was two years older than me. And at the time, I really didn't care what they said because there was never a time where Brenda did leave me. So I really undermined what they said and kept it going because my sister would never go anywhere.

And so at the age of seven, I remember watching this basketball game. And it was a women's basketball game, college basketball, and it resonated with me so much. It was something about the way they were so strong and fierce and how they played the game that made me want to play.

And so next thing I know, I'm telling my parents, "I think I want to play basketball." And so that's what I did. And because me and Brenda did everything together, she began playing basketball. And that kind of became our thing. We practiced all the time. We went outside. That's what we'd do. We loved basketball. But we never played on the same team because, like I said, Brenda was always two years older than me.

And, you know, it was okay because we got to practice together. But when I hit my freshman year of high school, Brenda was a junior. And luckily we went to the same school, so we got to play on the same basketball team. And when I say the first season I've ever played with my sister was the best season of my life, I mean it. I've played many, many basketball games from the age of seven, and I lost many basketball games, won many basketball games. But with her win or lose, it was just so amazing.

And so everyone would congratulate us because that happened to be one of our best seasons in our school when me and Brenda played together. And next year after that, I was a sophomore and Brenda was a senior. And as soon as the season started, everyone would ask me, "Raina, how does it feel that Brenda's going to leave you for college?"

I was just confused. I was like, "What do you mean? She's not going anywhere." Once again, I never ever had a moment where Brenda would leave me. It was just that never occurred to me that would happen. And so when they said it, I kind of felt angry. I was like, "Why would you ever say that to me?" I kind of just thought they were jealous or they were just making it up because she couldn't leave me.

And so the year goes by and we play another spectacular basketball season and everyone's congratulating us and we make it to our first playoff game. And it was a very, very interesting game and we ended up winning by three points. And you know, it was a beautiful thing. Our team was so happy and that was another game I got to play with Brenda. And so our second basketball game, playoff basketball game,

Brenda woke up that morning, and she was like, Raina, it's okay if we don't play another basketball game. I just want you to know, like, playing basketball was something that I will always cherish, and I will never, ever forget this time with you. And I looked at her, and I'm like, what is she talking about? She's not going anywhere. Why is she making this such a sentimental thing? And so...

I go to school with the same attitude, thinking Brenda's not going anywhere. And people are coming up to me saying, "Rina, how does it feel Brenda's leaving?" And I'm so irritated because I'm like, "Why do they keep coming up to me saying the same thing and nothing's going to happen? Brenda is not going anywhere."

And so we get to the lunchroom, ready to depart the school to go to our game. And there, Brenda comes up to me again. And she's giving me another big hug. And she's like, Raina, I want you to know, win or lose, I really, really appreciated this time with you. I'll never forget no matter how far I go. And I'm like, Brenda, you're not going anywhere. Why is this a thing? Why are people telling me she's leaving? This is crazy. And so...

We get to the game, and we get to the gym, and the stakes are already high as soon as we get there. The crowd is full, and there are people looking at us, already trash-talking us, you know, because we had lost five games, and they were undefeated. So, you know, we were kind of intimidated, and they were, like, not intimidated at all. They thought they were going to win, you know.

And so warming up, I see every like the mood is just different on my team. And we had a very like spectacular team that year. It was our chemistry was right on. We played as a team always. And so when I saw the mood was different, I was like, you know, something's off. Like everybody's smile is a little different. Their way they're talking is a little different. The way we're warming up is a little different. And that's when it occurred to me that this was going to be Brenda's last game if we lost.

And so I stood there in the layup line just looking and I was completely quiet. And I was just looking at Brenda smiling and looking at her enjoy herself. And that's also when I realized like this had to be the game where I had to like really shed blood, sweat and tears for my sister because if we lost this game, I'd be losing Brenda. She'd be going off to college before I knew it and that would be the end for us. And so

The game starts and there's pushing, there's shoving, there's yelling, there might have even been a little trash talking, not from me though. And you know, everybody's really playing their hardest game. And the other team thought this was going to be an easy game considering we lost a fair share of games, but it wasn't. And by the time there were 30 seconds left in this game,

we're up by three and I'm like yes and my chest is hurting my heart is beating and I'm like I we won this game and Brenda gets to stay another game I get to play another game with my sister and I'm so overjoyed and I'm running around and we're all smiling we're cheering and then all of a sudden I look at the the clock board again and we're down by three

There's 15 seconds left in the game and I'm like, we have to win. I have no choice. If we lose this game, I lose Burnett. I cannot let that happen. And so I go in for a layup and I get fouled. And the thing about me is I don't work well under pressure at all. And like I said, the crowd was full. There's people yelling. They're like, you're going to miss. And I'm like, maybe I will, but I'm not going to show you that. And so...

I get to the foul line, and I turn around. I see Brenda. She's like, Brenda, you got this. Take a deep breath. You can do it. I look at the bench where my coach and my team is, and they're like, Brenda, you got it. Just take a deep breath. And so the ref passes me the ball. I take a deep breath. I look at the big red numbers, the big red 15 on the time clock, and I look at the big red rim, and I look up, and I'm like, I can do it. My hands are sweating. My heart is beating. I take a deep breath, like everyone said, and I shoot.

And I miss. And I was like,

how did I do that? Everything is on the line here. How could I possibly have missed this foul shot from my sister? But I didn't give up. I was like, maybe if I make the second one, somebody on my team can make a layup. They can shoot, and we could win. Maybe it could be a tie. Maybe it could be a draw. Maybe we go into overtime. I'm thinking of all the possibilities that I could have another game with my sister. And so when I get the ball for the second time, I'm like, this is the second chance that I have to make sure me and Brenda have another game to play. So I take that deep breath, and I close my eyes.

I open them, I look at the rim, I look at the big red numbers, I look at Brenda, I dribble once, and I shoot, and I miss. And then I look at my team and everyone's scrambling for the rebound, and I'm like, "I have to get in there too," so I try to keep going and I try to keep playing, but before I know it, time is out. I hear the buzzer beater, the other team is cheering,

And my team is just like, "It's okay." They're happy for the run that we had. And Brenda runs up to me and she's like, "Raina, you played great." And I'm like, "How could she say that to me when I missed our only chance to play together again?" And in that moment, I was like, "I lost her. I lost the game and I lost Brenda." And that was hard. And then, you know, at the end of that year, Brenda went off to college.

She ended up going to Cornell, which is really good. And...

The other day I went to go see her and one of the first things we did was play basketball. And it was with that same smile that she had, the same fierceness, you know, we never end a game because there's always arguments and that's a foul and you miss. But we always love playing together and that's what we did. And the same feeling that I had when I played with her on the court for our last game was the same feeling I had when I played with her at the court of Cornell. And that's when I realized that

that no amount of distance could ever take away the friendship that me and my sister have. Thank you. That was Raina Bowles. Raina is currently a senior in high school. We met Raina when she joined the Moth team at Eastside Community High School. Raina enjoys going on long walks with her dogs, playing basketball, and trying new foods.

And note that Raina's sister Brenda Bowles in the story is also a Moth Education alumni and former teaching intern. To see a photo of her and her sister on the court, head over to themoth.org. After the break, a young woman in Bangalore, India, is running out of time to decide who her arranged marriage partner will be. That's when the Moth Radio Hour continues. ♪

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by the public radio exchange PRX.org. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jodi Powell. In this hour, we are listening to stories about time. And next up, Anu Senen is running out of time and has to make a decision whether she likes it or not.

Anu told this at a New York City Grand Slam at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, where WNYC is a media partner of the moth. Here's Anu. I was 21 when my dad started to look for a suitable boy for me. I was living in Bangalore, India at the time, and arranged marriages were pretty common in our family. It meant that not just the boy and the girl had to like each other, but the families also had to like each other.

Four years on, by the time I'm 25, I've met 14 boys. That's equal to 14 failed matches. Boy number one was very quiet and shy. I, obviously, loud and chatty. Never heard back from him. Boy number six was more into my high school grades than he was into me. I said no. Boy number 12, his profile seemed very interesting, but our horoscopes didn't match. The astrologer said the marriage would end in disaster, so the family said no.

And all the other guys I saw, they thought I wasn't good enough. It was like they were shopping for a wife and I didn't fit the bill. Now by this point, my father is very desperate. He thinks I'll end up single for the rest of my life and it freaks him out. Now when he gets desperate, I feel the pressure to commit to a marriage very quickly. And that freaks me out. Because honestly, I don't know what a happy marriage looks like. My parents have had an arranged marriage but theirs is a love-hate relationship that borders mostly on hate.

As a child, I once seen them get into a terrible argument and my mom ended up with a black eye. And that image is stuck in my head as I wonder if that would be my future. Seeing how conflicted I am, my best friend gives me a book. It's called The Secret. Now you may have heard of it. It talks about how to manifest what you want in life. And it has a chapter on attracting the partner of your dreams.

It talks of doing all kinds of fun stuff like sleeping on one side of your bed to create the physical space in your life for this person to come in. But my favorite is to create a list of all the qualities that you need in your partner. Now this is easy. All I have to do is look to my parents' marriage and then decide what I don't want.

My partner has to be loving. He has to be respectful. He has to be funny because it's sexy. He has to be mature and confident, you know, not insecure or jealous around my friends, especially the men. And he has to be understanding. That's it. Now that weekend, dad and I are going to meet boy number 15 in a coffee shop. One look at this guy and I make a note to update my list. Now I'm short, but he's shorter.

He's also very nervous and I'm not exactly warm. So coffee ends quickly and as he leaves the coffee shop, my dad and I, we get into a massive argument. My father thinks I should marry him because he's good enough. I said, "No way, he's too short." My father takes offense because he's 5'4". And he storms out of the coffee shop. I end up in tears and go to my best friend 'cause this is not the right guy for me. But my father doesn't seem to understand. So what do I do?

My friend, she comes up with a very practical solution. She pulls out a coin from her purse and she asks me to toss it. Heads, my family wins, I marry the boy. Tails, I win, I say no. Now I'm 25, tired of this matchmaking charade and very keen to get my dad off my back. So I agree to her plan and I toss. It lands heads. We look at each other and then I pick up the phone and call my mom and I say it's a yes.

Now my mom is my biggest supporter, she really wants to see me happy. But she just let out a sigh of relief. Everyone's getting tired. That night, I cannot sleep because I've just gambled with my life and agreed to marry someone I don't know or even like. What am I doing? The next morning, my mom calls me back. Apparently, the boy said no. I'm telling you, rejection has never felt so good. Life goes on.

Few months later, early December, my mom calls me back. Boy number 16 and his family are coming to our parents' house. So I go over, and as I walk into my parents' living room, I'm greeted by the boy's mom, aunt, uncle, the whole family is there. And then I turn to the boy, and he gives me a smile. It's very kind. And I smile back at him, and in that moment, I felt a connect. The family asks me a few questions, and then they leave the room to give us the space to talk.

His name is Deepu and he works in Delhi, in a different city. And he asks me if I can get a transfer from my office to Delhi. I say yes. In my head, that question translates to, do you like me? When they leave, I tell my mom, it's a yes. The next day, Deepu's mom calls to say it's a yes. So we start chatting. And the next week, he surprises me by showing up in Bangalore with a teddy bear and a box of chocolates. I don't like teddy bears.

But I love chocolates. We hang out the whole day and in the evening I take him bowling to meet my friends and he hits it off with them. And by the end of the night he has me laughing so hard I stop to think. I can't remember the last time I felt so good and that list seems to be coming true. Before I know it, I'm in love and six months on we get married in front of friends and family. Today we have a 12 year old son and there's one thing he definitely doesn't know.

And that's what an unhappy marriage looks like. Thank you. Anu Senan is the host of the podcast Heroes of New York that she started during the pandemic to tell stories of everyday heroes. She is a two-time Moth Story Slam winner and an avid camper, kayaker, and traveler.

Anu wants us to know that she still has the same husband. She has never done the coin flip again, but has applied the law of attraction several times to manifest a job she desired, to move to New York City, and to win the Moth Slam. To see photos of Anu and her family, head over to themoth.org.

Do you have a story of you racing against time or trying to make meaning of it? You can pitch us by recording it right on our site or call 877-799-MOTH. That's 877-799-6684. The best pitches are developed for moth shows all around the world. Here's a pitch from Christine Deng.

I grew up in the hustle and bustle of Chinatown. My mom worked as a nurse in the neighborhood, just a few streets away from where I attended elementary school. The two of us often took the F train together, me to kindergarten and my mom to the hospital. I was four when I started taking the subway with my mom, but I knew the stops by heart even before I was able to spell them. When I turned six, I felt confident enough to navigate the subway without needing to hold my mom's hand.

In between transfers, I started walking in front of her, pretending that I was going to school alone like all the other teenagers I saw. That all changed, though, a few weeks later, during one of our typical morning commutes, when I saw an express D train roll into the station.

In an attempt to minimize our commute time, I immediately bolted off the F train we were on. Surprised, my mom quickly ran after me, only for the subway doors to automatically close with her still inside. I turned around, shocked with the realization that I had left the train without her. As her subway car slowly moved away, she mouthed, "'Get off at the next stop.' I nodded, holding back my tears, and immediately boarded the D train to meet her."

Although my subway ride was brief, it was the first time I had ever taken it by myself. Suddenly, I missed the feeling of my mom's fingers interlocked with mine. As my train rolled into the following stop, I frantically scanned the station for my mom. When my eyes landed on a familiar frame, I shouted, Ma!

Her head immediately turned toward me. We ran to each other, ignoring all of the anxious onlookers. She hugged me and whispered, My baby, you did it. I am so glad you are safe. Remember, you can pitch us at 877-799-MOTH or online at themoth.org where you can also share these stories or others from the Moth Archive.

In a moment, a storyteller takes us down a hallway and up the stairwell to a room only a few know exists. That's when the Moth Radio Hour continues. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts and presented by the public radio exchange PRX.org. This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Jodi Powell.

In this episode, we've been listening to stories all about time. Our final story comes from Vivian Yoon. Vivian told this at our main stage in San Francisco at the Herbst Theatre. Here's Vivian. I grew up across the street from my high school. Every morning, I would bow goodbye to my grandma on the porch, and I would walk across the street to school. And she would stand there in her orange and cream pajamas and watch me while I went.

And even though I could feel her eyes on me the entire time, I never turned around because I was too busy thinking the same thing over and over again. How did I get here? So ever since I was a little kid, my grandma, she would tell everyone she knew that I was so smart, I was like a little genius. She would constantly bring up the fact that I started reading at the age of two or how as a toddler I would just strike up conversations with strangers.

My parents didn't think that these two things made me a genius, but they did want me to be smart. And my dad, he would do this thing where he would quiz me using these trivia cards for kids. And the stakes with these cards were so high. Because every time I got a question wrong, it was devastating, right? Like it was somehow proof that I wasn't a genius after all. But when I got a question right...

It was the best feeling in the world because I could see the pride in my dad's face. And all I wanted to do was chase that feeling of him seeing me and seeing what I could do.

But then my parents split up, and there were no more afternoons with the Karts. I was now living with my dad and my grandma. My dad was busy with work. I barely saw my mom. And my grandma, she mostly stayed in her room where she watched Korean dramas and American baseball. And anytime she would come out of her room to where I was, she would always say the same thing to me in Korean. 공부 열심히 해야 돼.

You have to study hard. She wanted me to get into a good school and get a good job and make lots of money, which you know, it's fine and kind of expected for a Korean grandmother, but it was also something she said to me every single time she saw me, which was multiple times a day, every day. And eventually got to be so suffocating, right? Like the pressure was too much and I started to feel like I couldn't even breathe without her telling me to study.

So I started to avoid her. Eventually she caught on and we saw each other less. And things got pretty lonely in that house. My parents would sometimes forget my birthdays and I was usually in charge of making dinner for myself. My specialty was Chef Boyardee ravioli. Mini, not regular. I had taste. And I watched a lot of TV.

And my favorite shows at the time were these old sitcoms from the 80s and 90s like Family Ties and Growing Pains, you know? Shows about happy families doing stuff together. And I idolized the teens in these stories and I couldn't wait to go to high school and do all the classic American things they did like walk across a grassy quad while holding your textbooks or go to football games with friends or stress out about who is taking who to prom.

But when it came time for me to go to high school, my parents decided that it would be best for everyone if I went to the school across the street from my dad's house. An inner-city high school that didn't have any of those classic American things I wanted. There was no grassy quad. The entire school was concrete and asphalt and chain-link fence. And I didn't even think about going to football games or prom with friends because I didn't have any friends.

At this school, I was just one faceless kid in a sea of thousands, and I felt completely invisible. And then one day, I was sitting in my biology class. You know, everyone's doing that thing where you take turns reading from the textbook. It's my turn, I start reading. And when I finish, I realize the entire class has gone silent, and the teacher is staring at me. And he writes me this note, and he hands it to me, and he says...

"Take this to the fourth floor." Which is confusing because this building only has three floors. But I do what he says, I go up the main steps, I go to the third floor, I turn right, and I see this plain unmarked door that I've never noticed before. And I open the door, and I see this narrow stairwell leading up. And there are these giant colorful dinosaur murals on both sides, and there's this security camera blinking down at me.

And I get to the top of the steps, and I push the door open, and I step out onto the roof. And the only thing around are these two big blue double doors. And when I push them open, I see this giant classroom. It's got like floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the walls, and there's like natural light streaming in through the windows. And it looks nothing like the rest of the school below. And there are all these kids just walking around, hanging out.

Like, one group of kids is looking at this anatomical skeleton in the corner, and there's another group over here discussing Eastern European politics, and then I hear one kid say the phrase, amorphous blob, and it hits me. This is where the nerds are. So the fourth floor, as we all called it, it quickly becomes my home, and I find out that the teacher here, Mr. Holland, he coaches something called academic decathlon.

Decathlon, it's this yearly competition where schools all over the country compete in a series of 10 subjects. You know, literature, art, math, science, etc. But there's one subject that's different. Super Quiz. Because Super Quiz is a live event held in front of an audience. And it turns out our school is actually pretty good at Super Quiz.

And the decathlon kids are like royalty on the fourth floor, okay? They get these like custom blue and white letterman jackets with their names stitched on them. And they get all these perks like free pizza on Fridays. And everybody knows who the team members are. So when Mr. Holland asked me my sophomore year if I want to join, I'm like, hell yeah. Because remember, I'm like...

starving for attention at home. So the fact that this adult sees something in me and wants to invite me to join this like super exclusive group of kids that get special treatment, I'm so in. So I joined the team, we study all year. It's finally competition time. The first two days of the competition go by in a blur, right? It's just a bunch of kids taking a bunch of tests in these big rooms. And in our downtime,

Our team scopes out the number one seed that year, Taft High. And everybody on my team is super intimidated by the team captain at Taft because there are all these rumors about him, right? Like how he's getting a full ride to Stanford and how he got a perfect score on his SATs and how his family doesn't even own a microwave because his mom cooks home-cooked meals every night using the oven. So yeah, he's scary. But me?

I am more intimidated by the second in command at Taft because I have seen this kid wearing purple Uggs. And in my mind, you cannot be the kind of kid that wears purple Uggs unless you have the most loving and supportive parents who encourage you to do things like express yourself. And every time I see this kid in his purple Uggs, my mind instantly flashes to his home life.

And I just picture his mom picking him up from school and saying, "How was your day, honey?" as she makes him ants on a log and PB&Js. But not too many snacks because dinner's already on the stove. And I compare that to my own life, where I come home after school to an empty house and eat canned food in front of the TV. And as I think about that difference between our two worlds,

I feel myself disappearing. Like that picture in Back to the Future, I just feel myself fading until I'm not there anymore. We get to the morning of Super Quiz. I put on my blue and white Letterman jacket and I catch a ride to the venue with my friend because my parents are busy. And when we get there, our coach leads us into this back room where all the teams are waiting for the event to start. You know, everybody's like talking, we're all nervous. Except for purple Ugg guy, he's totally fine.

And suddenly we hear music and the announcer and we realize the opening ceremonies have started. And one by one all the teams start walking into the auditorium holding their school signs and they start walking the floor. Finally it's our turn. I step inside and I see all these people in the bleachers cheering and there are these student desks lining the floor in threes like little canoes. Our team finds our spot on the sidelines and the competition begins.

I walk up to one of the desks, I sit down, the proctor reads the first question out loud. And I realize, I know the answer. So I bubble it in furiously, time runs out, the proctor announces the correct answer, and I take my pencil and I wave it around my head to show my teammates that I got it right. And the crowd erupts, and it feels like all of that applause is just for me.

And it's the best feeling, like getting those trivia questions right with my dad, but times a thousand because all these people are seeing me and seeing what I can do. There are nine more questions, and I wave my pencil nine more times. And at the end, I stand on stage with my teammates as the announcer declares us first place. Thank you.

So our teammates, you know, we are all hugging and cheering and high-fiving. And then slowly they all start to walk away to join their families who had come to see them. But I just hang back with my coach because no one had come to see me. And I look around and I see purple Ugg guy with his family. I'm right. They totally love him. And even though his team didn't win, I see his mom say to him, I am so proud of you.

And when I get home, my dad's out, my grandma's waiting by the door, she wants to know how it went. I show her my medals and I tell her we won and she wants to know more but I tell her I'm tired. And I go into my room and I cry myself to sleep. The next Monday we all show up to school, everyone's excited, you know, we're making big plans for next year, how it's going to be even better. But then our coach walks in and he says he got an offer

to coach the decathlon team at a different school, at a better school. And he's not coming back next year. And he leaves. And the rest of high school, for me, it's like a haze, right? Without decathlon, without my coach, I go back to feeling invisible. I hang out with, you know, the wrong crowd. I start ditching school. I barely graduate. And I don't even go to my own graduation because I'm not sure that anyone from my family will come.

And then a few weeks later, I pack my things and I move out. And as the years go by, I still visit my grandma from time to time. But I keep the visits short because that house just holds so many difficult memories. And then one day I'm at home and I'm looking through this box of old photos and I see a picture of me with my old decathlon teammates. And we're, you know, wearing our Letterman jackets and we're cheesing for the camera. And I start to wonder, whatever happened to my jacket and those medals?

So the next time I visit my grandma, I ask her, "Do you know what happened to my things from Decathlon?" And she says, "Yeah." And she leads me down the hallway, and she opens the door to her bedroom, and I'm hit with that familiar smell of old books and mothballs, and I see all the furniture is the same since I was a kid. The old wooden dresser and vanity, the little nightstand where she kept her radio and her newspaper,

the tiny silver TV she used to watch Korean dramas and American baseball. And then she points behind me, and I turn around, and I see all of my medals pinned in a row, and hanging up next to them, my blue and white letterman jacket with my name stitched on them. And I realize this spot on the wall is directly across from her bed, which means she has been staring at these every day for the last 10 years.

And I turn to her and I say, "이걸 다 갖고 계셨어요?" "You kept these all this time?" And she says, "그럼." "Of course." And in that moment, all these memories just come flooding back and I picture her standing there on the porch watching me walk to school, hoping that just once I would turn around and look at her.

And I think about that day after the competition, when I came home with all my medals, and I could tell how badly she wanted to know what happened, and how much she wished that she could have been there. And I think about how I had never even thought to invite her. And I imagine her standing in that empty house after I had left, collecting those medals and carefully pinning them up one by one,

Because even after all that time and all that distance between us, she was still so, so proud of her smart granddaughter, of her little genius. Growing up, all I wanted was for someone to see me. It turns out someone had. I just hadn't seen her. Thank you.

Vivian Yoon is a Korean-American writer and performer from Koreatown, Los Angeles. She recently wrote and hosted the award-winning podcast, K-Pop Dreaming. The series blends memoir, oral history, and pop culture analysis to explore Korean culture through music.

Vivian said she went back to LA High a few years ago and the fourth floor no longer exists. Turns out the place closed down shortly after that decathlon coach left the school. Current teachers she spoke with had no idea it had even been a thing. You can share these stories or others from the Moth Archive and buy tickets to Moth storytelling events in your area through our website themoth.org.

There are Moth events year-round. Find a show near you and come out and tell a story. You can find us on Facebook and X at The Moth and on Instagram and TikTok at Moth Stories. And that's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. Thank you to our storytellers for sharing with us and to you for listening. I hope you'll join us next time.

This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, and Jody Powell, who also hosted and directed the stories in the show. Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, associate producer Emily Couch. Additional education program instruction by Amy Blumberg and Eric Carrera.

The rest of the Malsa leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Sarah Austin-Jeunesse, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Cloutier, Leanne Gulley, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Caza.

The Moth Education Program is made possible by generous support from unlikely collaborators. Additional program support is provided by the New York State Council on the Arts, the New York City Department of Cultural Affairs, Alice Gottesman, the Cornelia T. Bailey Foundation, and Con Edison.

Most stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Stellwagen Symphonette, Antonio Vivaldi, Phil Cook, Little Bang, and Espa. We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts.

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, which we always hope you will, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.