Ji Eun Son
Bio: Ji Eun is 16 years old and a student at South High School in California. She enjoys playing tennis, watching movies, writing, drawing, and studying Japanese culture and language. In her spare time, she volunteers in her community with organizations for people with disabilities. Ji Eun would like to study psychology and be a counselor or psychiatrist in the future to continue studying and observing more human behavior and brain activity.
Statement:
"Before now, I had the thought of what it would be like to be a patient living behind closed doors, but I never had the chance to really express it. When I started writing, I noticed more specific difficulties of not being able to control one's own mind and body. In my piece, I became one of the patients I volunteer with, reminiscing about his family by connecting it to stimulations in his environment. By being Ken, I understood him better and thought that if people read my poem, they might be able to catch my message that these patients still have hope even if they have little or no control over their body and mind."
Until my mind goes out again…
By Ji Eun Son
To Ken, my favorite grandpa
There are two souls to everyone. One in the mind, one in the body.
The soul in my mind comes back and forth and until it vanishes again, I will keep the warmth of the memory inside my heart.
When my view shortened, the only thing I saw was my wheelchair buddies.
When one of my wheelchair buddies gave a splendid shot at the balloon game and shrugged her shoulder in pride, the smell of the sweet sweat of the basketball games with my son came along.
When holiday decorations cover the ceiling with red and green, the sight of huge star on the tree and big stomach of the fake Santa came along.
When the nurse's slight sigh with a tired face slapped me, the tastes of bitterness of the rigorous moments my family went through together came along.
When the pitch-black night engulfed the silent hospital with an occasional beeps, the sound of my wife's pleasant heartbeat that made me fall in sleep, came along.
When a girl a quarter of my age smiles and chops my food to pieces, the touch of my daughter's warm hands encouraging me to smile and be strong, came along.
Those memories are just faint few clips of memory, but I have hope of retrieving that warmth again some day and expanding my view again.
Unless my wheelchair buddies, holiday decorations, nurse's sighs, pitch black nights, and smiles of volunteers continue, my mind will bring the memories back and forth, giving me a sense of hope that I could grab.
My memory will slip away again, leaving me another day that my mind will come back to fill my heart.
I won't let go…
