My Definition of 정(Jung): Gratitude in Sisterhood
In the words of Lara Jean Covey, from To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, 정(jung) is “the connection between two people that can’t be severed, even when love turns to hate. You still have those old feelings for them; you can’t ever shake them loose of you; you will always have tenderness in your heart for them.” My grandmother liked to define 정 as a moral imperative: an obligation to engage in acts of service toward another human because of a sentimental bond. Every gift she sent back with my father from Korea, every errand where she returned with bags of Korean snacks on a scorching summer day—even though she herself never liked sweets—was borne of the 정she had cultivated for my brother and me as our primary caretaker many years ago in Hong Kong.
To me, however, 정 is defined by neither residual feeling nor moral imperative. The ambiguity of the term 정, shifting endlessly based on the people, moments, and circumstances, gives me the opportunity to define the undefinable in a way unique to my experiences. I hold a strong belief that every girl needs a friend who isn’t a sister, but feels like one. And I’m lucky enough to say that my friendship with Jessie—my non-biological sister—came to define my high school years. It is this sibling-like relationship that gave form to my conception of 정: the recognition of emotional depth and consistency, shown through acts of gratitude.
In August of this year, Jessie left Singapore for university in the U.S., while I started my first semester of grade twelve here. Singapore and America are thirteen hours apart, which means my mornings are her nights, and vice versa. For the first time in years, we are separated by thousands of miles; yet somehow, our friendship has never felt stronger. Hours of FaceTime calls have replaced in-person debriefs. Weekend açaí runs or study dinners have evolved into texts like: “guess what I just ate,” followed by a flood of TikTok videos. Yes, it’s mundane, but within these small acts lie the thoughts that drive them: “oh, she would find this funny,”” this is so you,” or “you would love this.” Sending each other TikToks across oceans may seem trivial, but these tiny gestures carry the weight of gratitude: the appreciation of sustaining something precious amid the ever-changing landscape of our lives. This is what 정 means to me: expressing gratitude for a friendship so close it feels like sisterhood, even in the smallest, seemingly insignificant acts.
That said, I don’t just live for the TikTok videos. There’s a saying that goes, “you're lucky to have a friendship with someone if you can call them crying and hang up laughing.” Jessie and I have lived this countless times. A sibling-like friendship means seeing each other at the extreme highs: joy, triumph, but also the extreme lows: heartbreak, anxiety, and anger. I’ve called her bawling my eyes out over everything from AP season stress to friendships or sports, and she’s done the same with me. Yet, as sisters do, we always manage to lift each other up through words of wisdom and comfort. Sometimes it looks like the blind leading the blind, yes, but by the end of the call, one of us is cracking a joke, and the other is laughing hysterically. Moments like these embody 정 for me as well: gratitude for a shoulder to lean on, gratitude for the shared vulnerability, and gratitude for the unshakable trust we’ve built over the years.
Koreans like to debate what 정really means, endlessly. From my grandmother to Lara Jean Covey, the definitions are infinite and impossible to pin down from person to person. But that’s precisely the point. My experience of 정 isn’t measured by the number of grand gestures or minutes spent, but rather through the aspects of friendship that come from a place of gratitude. This is my definition of 정, and it is one I carry with me always.