I just received news today that Miss Jennie Kuk-Ying Wong has passed away. She was my piano teacher when I attended Biola University. She was the head of the Piano Department, and Aunt Laurie, who taught me piano in middle school and high school had also been one of her students years before. Ms. Wong, who never married or had children, told me that I was essentially, as her student’s student, her granddaughter. 

I was intimidated by Ms. Wong. And that’s putting it mildly. She had the highest standards and was not quick to compliment or praise. When I am nervous I have a tendency to crack jokes and make little comments. I remember sitting in lessons and I would say some joking comment and she would pause and just look at me, blank faced, almost in disbelief, and then shake her head and tap the piano book to get me back on focus. But occasionally she would flash a quick smile and that felt like a big win for me. 

During my first semester I developed a bad tendonitis that kept me from being able to practice. Ms Wong said that she knew of a place that did some kind of shock therapy to help people get a quick recovery. She had never been there, but was really interested in finding out if it worked. She asked if I’d be interested in trying it. I said yes and she made the appointment for me and then drove me there. It felt so bizarre to be in Ms Wong’s car with her. She was not the talkative type, and neither was I, and we drove mostly in silence. When we got to the reception area, we walked up the desk to get signed in, me slightly behind Ms Wong, very nervous. The receptionist looked at me and then looked at Ms Wong and asked in a stage-whisper, “Does your student speak English?” Ms Wong assured her that I did and we went on with the appointment. But later, when we left the office, my arms now tingling, Ms Wong laughed so long and so hard. It was a new experience for her, a Chinese woman, to be asked if her student, a white American, spoke English. On the way back from the appointment, Ms Wong took us out for lunch at a Chinese restaurant. She ordered for me and soon a large bowl of egg drop soup arrived at the table for me. I do not like Egg Drop Soup. But, I picked up my spoon and ate my soup, because it would be inconceivable to do anything else. 

My second year under Ms Wong I started to relax more. Probably because I started to realize that she actually liked me. The real turning point though happened late in the semester. It was winter time and finals were looming and we were all practicing a ridiculous number of hours a day to get ready for piano juries. It was a Thursday evening and I was standing in the lobby of the music building looking up at the cafeteria which was next door. Ms Wong walked by and saw me standing there, just staring, and she came up to me and asked me what I was doing. I explained that I only had two meals left on my meal plan for the week and I was debating whether I should go up and eat supper at the cafeteria or take the long walk back to my dorm and have a bowl of cereal. She nodded and said goodnight and left. I ended up finishing my evening of practice and homework and then eating some dry cereal before I crashed into bed. 

The next day one of Ms Wong’s other students told me there was a note for me on Ms Wong’s studio door. This was a typical way that she communicated with her students so I went to see what it said. The note told me there was something for me in the fridge in her studio. Since the studio was empty at the time, I let myself in and peaked into the little dorm fridge Ms Wong kept there. Inside was a tupperware with my name on it, filled with rice and some kind of Asian meat and vegetable dish. It was delicious. I was a little embarrassed the next time I saw her and thanked her for the food. But I think it broke down some of the formality we usually had. I remember she talked to me more. About music, her own experiences, students she had taught. 

Now, when I think of her, I picture her looking up at me (she was very short) and shaking her head and then laughing about some comment I had just made. The other thing I think of are her hands. They were small, square, so wrinkled and so soft. And when she touched the piano she would make sounds come out that were impossibly beautiful. When she played it brought to my mind rich velvet and gold, deep royal blues and reds. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything more beautiful than her playing. 

I left Biola after two years and kept in touch with Ms Wong for several years through letters. But eventually we fell out of touch. 

She was strong and formidable, stern and intimidating. A genius. And she was also generous and kind and an amazing teacher. I am a richer person for having been her student.