Though I major in Korean and minor in Chinese, writing has a special place in my heart. Throughout high school, I attempted to write three novels and two plays, dedicating a large chunk of my time to writing, reading, and editing. The rest of my time, aside from schoolwork, was spent self-studying Mandarin Chinese. I was exposed to Mandarin Chinese in the 7th grade, and I have been hooked on it ever since. I guess one could say I was drawn to language because it was yet another medium for self-expression. It gave me infinite more ways to enunciate the things I wanted to say. I was exposed to the Korean language much later, at the beginning of my senior year of high school. I was over high school’s small community drama and even smaller class sizes and found myself at the Ohio State University full-time through the Academy Program studying everything I could get my hands on. As with great friends, I discovered that my passion for the language was not deterred because I was exposed to Korean at a later time. The moment I began to study, it just clicked.
I truly enjoyed listening to Mah Chonggi because his work is a fluid mesh of two of my favorite things: writing and language. Mah changed how I viewed poetry because when asked, “What do you do when you have writer’s block” in the Q&A portion of the night, he responded with a nonchalant, “I don’t.” To clarify, he did not say that he does not cope with writer’s block, but instead that he does not get it. He went on to explain that writing poetry does not need to be overly practiced and that if he does not know what to write or particularly feel like writing, he doesn’t. That boggled my mind. For years, every writing teacher I have had preached that it does not matter what you write as long as you stay in the habit of writing and this man completely contradicted their teachings. Why? He was a doctor for thirty years. When he wasn’t in school busily studying to become a doctor, he was working hard hours as one, and he simply did not have the luxury of writing freely or consistently. That, however, was what molded his writing. He described a moment he’d never forget: he was in an American hospital after a patient passed away, and looked out at the falling autumn leaves and thought about how people, too, fall. That was the inspiration for one of his most famous poems.
That struck me deeply. It was profound. When I imagine that moment, I hear the numbing shrill of the EKG ringing throughout the room as the clock steadily ticks on, and I understand how sometimes writing just happens. Even more, it is okay to just let it happen. In writing, language learning, and my personal life I find that I often cannot find the will to just let things happen. The same routines that ground me are the ones that will not let me free. I learned from Mah Chonggi that many of life’s lessons cannot be planned for and that I need to be in the present to receive them. He also taught me, that it doesn’t take a certain major in college to be a writer– he was a doctor of all things. Being a writer takes heart and a person with something to say, that in the moment, has the courage to say it. 
Novel Cover