"Wing yun" and the Meaning of Happiness by Lindsey

"Wing yun" and the Meaning of Happiness by Lindsey - May 2026 Scholarship Essay

“Wing yun,” my Chinese name, means “forever happy.” I agree as much as anyone that a good life is a happy one. But how am I supposed to create it? See, I grew up seeing my mom’s hollow smile after she was laid off, my dad’s exhaustion after 13 hour shifts at the local grocery store, and my older sister growing up too fast because she had to take care of her 3 siblings. It saddened me to see them struggling and knowing that I couldn’t do anything about it. So my whole life I’ve wondered, is this state of “forever happy” even possible?

I learned early that my happiness was inseparable from those around me. So my first attempts at “forever happy” came in the form of bringing light into the room, especially on nights when my dad returned exhausted from working 13-hour shifts. Every day, I’d test ways to make him chuckle. Sat at the foot of his bed cracking the worst dad jokes, the beginnings of his smile filled me with warmth. But when his weariness returned the next morning, I knew that brief smiles and jokes alone wouldn’t solve his exhaustion forever. It overwhelmed me that I couldn’t make that sustained impact. And so, my grapple with “wing yun” proceeded.

Entering high school seeking more sustained and greater scale ways to create joy, I began organizing service conferences for local Interact clubs to facilitate discussion regarding educational accessibility. On paper, the conference was a success—full attendance, impressive speakers—and I took those metrics as proof that numbers were how you create “forever happy.” But seeing the hundreds of nervous eyes facing me, I realized they were weighed down by fear of judgement. It made sense because students from underfunded public schools sat with peers at private academies. The clashing lived realities made intellectual challenges feel personal and unsafe. And so, every bone in my body cringed as I smilingly joked,"lettuce serve!" But it worked. The laughter that erupted in response lowered our defenses, allowing us to discuss and challenge perspectives on education programs freely.

While I couldn’t fully lift the weight of others’ circumstances through programming, I could invite smiles—moments of levity that allow people across backgrounds to breathe and contribute. I learned that “forever happy” doesn’t mean always being happy but rather creating the intangible lightheartedness that opens others up to be vulnerable. My first jokes didn’t cure my Dad’s exhaustion but it did momentarily break him out of it. It showed him that his state of exhaustion wasn’t forever and that reminder was what he needed. This is what shapes my philosophy now. And as a community member and leader, I learned that I'm more than happy to embarrass myself and seem “unprofessional” if it enables peers to break out of their limiting feelings and feel safe sharing their perspectives.

This change in how I framed my name’s meaning helped fulfilling this state of “forever happy” seem more manageable. And in my lifelong pursuit of communal joy, I hope peers learn that showing up imperfect—but authentically—is the first step toward understanding the person across the table.