In the wrestling match, my knees buckled,
A staccato burst of defeat,
Feeling out of control, angry, a cacophony,
But then, ukulele strings under my fingers,
Offered a universe I commanded,
Composed of these memories.

In third grade, I trapped a caterpillar, watched it transform,
Its wings unfolded, maroon in the sunlight,
Debuting away beyond my reach.
I couldn’t control where it flew,
But I could control letting it go gracefully.
Let’s gently put in a brisk tremolo here.

In middle school, my friend faced assault,
By a bully who was being dissonant.
After I pinned him with precision, he left us alone.
I couldn’t control other people,
But I could control my boundaries.
Let’s interject a firm barre chord here with plucked strings,

Mom's "I love you," once a confident forte,
Now a fading chirp outside my door.
I couldn’t control my mom’s collapsing strength,
But I could control my echo back, “Sah-rang hae (Love you).”
Let’s strum some percussion here against the quiet.

No dinner that night; the cupboards were sparse,
Soy sauce and garlic percussed with tofu in the pan.
I couldn’t control my mom’s illness,
But I could control making the most of the ingredients.
Let’s insert a smooth legato between a G and A here.

My mom vomited blood staccato into the sink.
Frightened, I prayed to God, that she will heal.
Despite my longing, I couldn’t control her health,
But I could control my faith.
Let’s slide up to a higher pitch here.

I got word she will not come back for a while. 
Distressed, I wrote a note to her each day.
I couldn’t control her journey’s flight,
But I could control loving her gracefully.
Let’s place a … key change here, though wet with tears.

I cannot command when she will return,
But I will compose my Sah-rang refrain.
It will live on my ukulele,
And on the day of her return, we will strum what we can control, 
Uplifting each other on the things we cannot.