How Has Having Essential Tremor Affected My Life? (Scholarship Essay)
On an eerie white hospital wall, cartoon animals stared at me with creepy smiles.
Unknown children’s piercing laughter and cries sounded as one. Just like last time, Mom held my hands tightly, unable to hide her unease; the doctor sighed with pity. But I wasn’t fearful: I smiled.
At 11, the doctor had just diagnosed me with bon-tae-sung tremor (essential tremor). I said, “Umma, eul-ji-ma, Na gwan-chan-a” (Mom, please don’t cry; I’m fine). I hugged her, without knowing what “incurable” means. In a way, I felt excited, thinking of ET as Spider-Sense of my favorite hero. Wondering what kind of superpower I might have, I stared at my hands, and soon it became a habit. I stared at my hands when pencils dropped occasionally and when bullies learned of my “incurable superpower.” Soon enough, I realized ET is a great responsibility with no power.
But over time, though it came with challenges, ET began to teach what each moment of my life truly meant.
As a child from a Christian family, I used to pray under a blanket on hot summer nights, afraid of nighttime monsters. Yet, I began to notice gaps: between what the bible said and what science explained; between the existence of God and endless war; between my desire to follow Jesus’s ideals and my behavior that made me ashamed to call myself a Christian. First, I tried to silence doubts and ignore imperfection. But one day, I looked at my shaking hands while praying. I realized these gaps are part of me, just like my imperfect hands.
When I decided to move alone from South Korea to Dallas, I wasn’t nervous at all, rather overly confident until the day I left Korea. While Umma cried, I emotionlessly told her not to worry. While, with thirty minutes left, I rushed through the airport, I had to stop because of my badly shaking hands; this shaking was a sign of nervousness. Coincidentally, I looked out the airport window. Although the airplane was vivid and clear, the only thing I could see was my faint reflection. Reflection was not a young man with the American Dream. But the first thing I noticed was a teenager hiding fear and pain of loneliness. As I looked more, it was a five-year-old boy who had lost his parents in crowds; finally, I saw a son who regretted not saying “love you” to mom and crying in her arms on the day I left.
ET was the deepest truth of myself I had been ignoring and fearing for a long time. Despite hardship, I learned how to embrace my identity and how to find true value while chasing dreams. Of course, ET wasn’t a superpower, meaning there is no change in my habit of taking propranolol from the blue container as soon as I wake up. However, ET has taught me how to fully live with uncontrollable motion, loving fear and pain. With honesty. And with a smile.
***********
If you want to be involved in supporting students with essential tremor as they work toward their higher education goals, consider making a donation to the Catherine Rice Scholarship Fund. The IETF awards up to 10 college scholarships each year to students with essential tremor.