Satisfaction

She was born during a bombing. 

August, 1937. Shanghai, China. The Japanese had been attacking the city for days when Jane Lim arrived into the world—premature, small, and entirely unaware of the chaos around her. Amidst the havoc of war, a doctor did the only thing he could think of to protect her: he placed her in the hole in a broken wall.

She survived, and eighty-nine years later, sits across from me with a kind of peace that only comes from a life fully lived. She has lived in Shanghai, Hong Kong, Taiwan, New York, Indonesia, and Los Angeles. She has seen the pyramids in Egypt, the midnight sun in Norway, the opening ceremony of the 1984 Olympic Games. She has buried a husband, sold a home she lived in for sixty years, and shown up to church every Sunday for six decades without fail.

When I ask her to describe herself in one word, she answers without hesitation. 

Satisfaction, she says. I don’t need anything more.

Growing up, Jane Lim’s family moved often. First, from Shanghai to Hong Kong, driven by the instability of the war. She was too young to understand most of it, but she remembers the sirens and the way they had to pull their curtains shut so the lights would not show through the window to the enemy.

Hong Kong, though, she remembers well. It is still her very favorite place—the place she found herself and grew from a little kid to a high school graduate. Her two younger brothers, mother, father, and she would go out for picnics in the park, playing puzzles with thousands of pieces when the workday was over. She recalls how her first brother loved to sing and play piano, and how her second brother would always follow her around.

Jane Lim describes her younger self as obedient. She always understood her parents’ situation, and so behaved well, listened carefully, and took care of her brothers. She didn’t commit many naughty acts, but if, and very rarely, she didn’t study well enough or got a bad grade, she would cry and commit herself to doing better the next time.

She looks upon those precious years with fondness, noting that she always goes back to visit. She went to a Catholic girls’ school run by sisters and mothers who loved their students and worshipped their Lord in a very special way. They were very diligent, she describes. Very faithful to whatever they are ordered to do.

At that time, she and her friends loved to go out for lunch, walk around the blocks, and shop. They would flip through movie star magazines, pick out a dress they loved, and bring the picture along with a piece of fabric to the tailor. I like to have a dress like this, they would tell him, and he would make it. Every girl had something nobody else owned.

Jane Lim was also exceptional. In school, she studied quite hard, wanting to be somebody later on. She graduated high school at sixteen with great honor—two years ahead of schedule, having skipped classes during the move from Shanghai. She won a junior high school-wide writing competition, composing an essay in forty-five minutes explaining the importance of the English language for Chinese students. Her answer: so that we can contact more people, learn from others, and grow as a country. I won, she notes with a smile. And ever since then, it’s no problem for me to write. 

She won a cooking competition too, producing a chicken dish so good that her teachers couldn’t believe it was hers. They brought her back to their own kitchen to cook it again in front of them. She did, and it tasted just as good. Even now, her favorite dishes to cook are chicken and vegetables. Two dishes are not enough, she states. Cook three or four. People from Shanghai love to eat a variety. 

Her path to America was not a straight one. After Hong Kong came Taiwan, where she, having applied for medicine like her father, a doctor, only to find her score wasn’t quite good enough, studied English literature at the national university. During her two years there, she found support in her aunt and uncle, who welcomed her into their home on the weekends with food and comfort.

Then came New York to study English and accounting in graduate school, where a cousin mentioned to her a friend who had just arrived from Indonesia to study. They wrote letters to each other for months before they met, and married young. After I got married, she reflects, I lost the interest to be a doctor. I wanted to become a housewife. She found pride in caring for her husband, son, and in laws back in Indonesia. If she cooked, she cooked well. If she helped them in the house, she never complained.

When Jane Lim’s husband’s family needed them, they packed everything and moved to Indonesia. There, she found herself with four generations living under one roof—grandparents, parents, herself and her husband, nephews, nieces, and her infant son, Sam. I was pretty sad, she reflects. I didn’t know what to do, and so I cried a lot.

It was there, in that crowded house in another country, that two American missionaries found her. They had heard she was struggling and came to visit. They told her that even if it feels like nobody loves you, there is one who does. I opened up, she says, and the four generations didn’t bother me at all. 

Seven years later, her husband received a notice to immigrate to the United States. Her family came back to America, where she settled in Los Angeles. She notes the following years—with a little family, going to church, and serving regularly—as the most perfect time. Here is my home, she says with a smile. I’m very grateful.

Now, she has been in the same church for sixty years. She goes all day on Sundays and to prayer meetings on Wednesdays. She has sung in the choir for as long as she can remember, the same voice of a little girl in Hong Kong who performed in school singing groups and drama performances. Even today, she loves to take time to relax and see a good movie. Her favorites remain Gone with the Wind and The Sound of Music.

She and her husband traveled the world together. Norway, where the sun rises and sets in an hour. Egypt, where the pyramids rise out of the desert. The “Big 4” at Icuaso Falls, where the most breathtaking panoramic views amazed her. South America, Tahiti, Africa. In 1984, she and her husband sat in row 12 at the opening service of the LA Olympic Games, where she saw a hundred pianists play at once and thousands of white doves rise into the California sky. She and her husband had booked a cruise to Antarctica before he passed away. She canceled it after, but notes that she would still love to go there.

But while Jane Lim will always love to explore the world, her home is her central base. She describes it as the one place where we can relax ourselves. Where we don’t need to hide or pretend.

Six months ago, Jane Lim sold the house she had lived in for nearly sixty years—a house in the hills with sweeping views—and moved into a guest house. She gave nearly everything away but has no regrets. I made the decision and I’m happy here, she says. You have to understand what you are yourself. It’s important not to make decisions too fast. Be moderate. Be gentle. That would make life easier.

At the end of our conversation, I hand her a notecard and ask her to write down the advice she would give to her eighteen year old self. She asks me to transcribe her words, and says:

For the 18 year old person—I wish that they will be honest all the time. And positive. The most important thing is they should find their true God in their heart. And the rest of their life will be joyful, peaceful, and grateful.

She signs her name and writes the date.

Satisfaction, she said. We have plenty. I have been thinking over this word ever since. Not happiness, which comes and goes. Not success, which depends on someone else’s measure. Satisfaction, something is settled, quiet, full. A life lived and known and accepted, without remainder.

She has buried a husband, crossed oceans, and given almost everything away. She has done all this and arrived at eighty-nine years old needing nothing more than what she already has.

I hope that when someone sits across from me decades from now and asks me for one word, I can say the same.