By Yewon Hong

A place of meticulously sliced fruit is silently placed in front of me. I stare at the ripe red skin and glowing white flesh of this apple, through eyes full of tears. My chest is still heavy and aching from our last argument. 

There’s this running joke within our community that Asian parents only ever express their feelings by offering food to their children. It’s their way of communicating. So when I see this apple, I think about how odd it is that the word for apple in Korean sounds the same as the word for apology. 사과. That makes every piece of this fruit a word that fits together to take the shape of a phrase that will never leave my mother’s lips: “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” 

I take a bite of an apple and it stings my tongue with the painful taste of a not-quite-ripe-enough tartness. I swallow it anyway. The silence continues. My eyes are still watery. The ache in my chest burns hotter. It’s not enough. I stare at the plate full of sagwas. 

Has it ever been enough? 

Yewon Hong (she/her) ’26 is a public relations major from Seattle, Washington. On campus, she is involved in PRSSA and Hill Communications. In her spare time, she likes to read, watch movies with her friends and jot down random thoughts she has until she can take one and turn it into an actual piece of writing.