Eight years ago when my mom was packing up my luggage before I moved to America, I was sitting on the bed and rolling my eyes. For the past eleven years in China, I had been living with my mom. I listened to her about every trivial thing. Sometimes I felt that I lost the sense of being myself. Not that I had no say on what to do or what not to do, but the fact was I did not have many opinions. All of the things I bought to America, nothing was very special except for my lucky charm. It reminded me the old days in my country.

As I kid, I learned the habit of praying in the temple from my mom. Growing up just a few blocks from a temple, my mom and I were both superstitious. But what else could we do during our free time? We had been living in the same area for all our lives, and we had tried every possible entertainment. There was no computer in my house. Life was mostly about going out to the street. When I was tired, I liked to step out of my house and get some fresh air. I liked to walk around the neighborhood and sometimes shopped for groceries. After all these activities, there was nothing else to do. Going to the temple then became one of my weekly routines.

My first experience going to a temple took place at a very young age. It was so long ago that I cannot remember when it was. The one near my house is called the “Big Buddhist Temple.” Almost every Sunday, my mother would drag me to the temple and asked Buddha for good luck. At the beginning, I had no particular interest in the temple. Every time we passed the threshold of the main entrance, there were always rows of homeless people sitting on the ground and begging for money. Some of them had extremely poor appearances and sanitary conditions. The ragged homeless, some of whom were missing body parts such as arms and legs, did not scared the pilgrims away. Most of these people were apathetic towards the homeless. As we passed through the crowd, we would stop at a store to get sticks of incense. After that, my mom would kneel down on a pad in front of the giant golden statue of Buddha. I imitated her action and started praying by holding my palms together. Then she started saying, “My Gautama Buddha, please have mercy and bless my family.” She prayed for good health for the family, and wished that her relatives far away in the United States could have the best luck and earn more money.

A special amulet that I received from my mom before immigrating to the United States from the Big Buddhist Temple was a lucky charm. It should bring me luck in my academic career. It has traditional Chinese decoration with two knots sewn to a small wooden block. One side of the block contains the picture of Wenchange Emperor, who is the king of knowledge and studies. The other side is a big Chinese character that translated into “good fortune.” The red color of the lucky charm means good luck in the Chinese culture. I hung this lucky charm on the wall next to my desk. In my heart, I believed that it is the source of my good fortune. I always prayed to it before any important exam. Not only that, it is also a gift from my mom reminds the love and hope for the family.