INSPIRATION
An Organ Donors Story
By: Tatevik Zatikian
By: Tatevik Zatikian
![Picture](/uploads/1/8/9/6/18969077/3892968.jpg)
It’s every sixteen year old has a dream of getting their drivers license. You head out to the DMV, wait in those immense lines and with hope after a good 2 hours, you’ll hear the automated system call your number. With excitement you’ll approach your designated window and proceed with your paperwork.
This was the case for sixteen-year-old Dillon Dorsey. Dillon Dorsey was just like any other ordinary teenager applying for his driver’s license when he came across the organ donation question. He was hesitant to answer and felt restricted so he asked his father for guidance. His father responded saying, “ You don’t need to do that”. Dorsey went along to ask his friends for assistance and they all said, “ don’t do it”. Dorsey was conflicted, yet curious. He went on to research more about organ donating and found interesting results. About 4,100 transplant candidates are added to the list each month, about 18 die each day waiting for transplants that cant take place because of the shortage of donated organs. Dillon decided to educate teenagers about making wise decisions when referring to organ donations. He wanted to help people like him, so if they were ever to come across a question on their paperwork, they would know how to handle the situation effectively. Dillon spoke to many youth organizations, one being USC. Dillon works with Donate Life America to get speakers who’ve received organs or have a family member who has donated an organ to the initiation. Dillon educates teenagers; he answers any questions and eliminates all conspiracy theories that are suspected.
Becoming a donor is a respectable decision, and is in high demand. Talk to you parents about becoming a donor. Currently, there are now more than 105,000 people on the waiting list for solid organ transplants. We could potentially save or help as many as 50 people by being an organ and tissue donor. For more information about organ donations, click the link below! Check it out, maybe one day you'll be a life savor yourself!
This was the case for sixteen-year-old Dillon Dorsey. Dillon Dorsey was just like any other ordinary teenager applying for his driver’s license when he came across the organ donation question. He was hesitant to answer and felt restricted so he asked his father for guidance. His father responded saying, “ You don’t need to do that”. Dorsey went along to ask his friends for assistance and they all said, “ don’t do it”. Dorsey was conflicted, yet curious. He went on to research more about organ donating and found interesting results. About 4,100 transplant candidates are added to the list each month, about 18 die each day waiting for transplants that cant take place because of the shortage of donated organs. Dillon decided to educate teenagers about making wise decisions when referring to organ donations. He wanted to help people like him, so if they were ever to come across a question on their paperwork, they would know how to handle the situation effectively. Dillon spoke to many youth organizations, one being USC. Dillon works with Donate Life America to get speakers who’ve received organs or have a family member who has donated an organ to the initiation. Dillon educates teenagers; he answers any questions and eliminates all conspiracy theories that are suspected.
Becoming a donor is a respectable decision, and is in high demand. Talk to you parents about becoming a donor. Currently, there are now more than 105,000 people on the waiting list for solid organ transplants. We could potentially save or help as many as 50 people by being an organ and tissue donor. For more information about organ donations, click the link below! Check it out, maybe one day you'll be a life savor yourself!
Through the Unknown: The Story of Dr. SN Charles Cho
By: Nathan Large
![Picture](/uploads/1/8/9/6/18969077/324871.jpg?1381904832)
What with the current crisis involving North Korea, it is highly appropriate that we inform our readers of the experiences of Dr. SN Charles Cho MD. Though his experiences yield little relevance to the current North Korean missile crisis, the story of his escape from North Korean troops during the Korean War in 1950 remains inspirational and unique, as if it were written as a script for a Hollywood movie.
The following is a biographical summarization by Nathan Large of the experiences of Dr. Cho. The central premises are historically accurate, but dialogue and narration has been added for dramatic purposes.
I
I began my life in a small South Korean city by the name of Kaesong. The name may in fact sound familiar to those knowledgeable of the force exercised by North Korea. Little more than twenty thousand people resided within its boundaries at that time.
Kaesong; today it stands ever so different from what I recall. Kaesong; the quiet yet fervent land from which I came. Kaesong; the old capital of all Korea during the reign of the Koryo Dynasty -- that for which my country was named. Its past lay in the heavenly ecstasy of leadership -- a peaceful city where our nation's elite sipped lightly from fine ceramic cups filled with ginseng tea.
But that was one hundred years before my time. Their bodies were buried deep within the soil when I first came to witness that city; they then served as fertilizer for that which they drank from those fine ceramic cups all of those years ago.
My grandfather made his living through the cultivation of that very same ginseng; his business was so successful that he made the livings of himself, my parents, my siblings, and myself before we even came into this world. It was because of this that I was in want of nothing during my childhood. I lived in a large house, I received the most superior of educations, and I drank ginseng tea from fine ceramic cups.
A mountainous range resides to the north of the city along the thirty-eighth parallel, the highest of which is Songak Mountain. It bears a striking resemblance to Mt. Fuji as it seems to almost touch the sky with its powdery snowcaps.
We knew all too well of the violent skirmishes which took place along those mountains. North and South Koreans had been battling high above us ever since the year 1945. We were so close to the North Korean border; we were so close to the dangers of war, but we still felt so far away thanks to those gargantuan barriers we presumed would protect us.
II
I was sixteen in the year 1950. I was sixteen when they came. I was sixteen when it all changed.
Six o'clock am, June 25, 1950: I was quickly awoken by the overpowering cacophony of sirens and my panicked family, and as I sat up in bed I could already see the white star upon a field of scarlet red flying high above many of the city buildings through my bedroom window signifying that the alarm was no accident. We rose from our beds and brusquely made our way into the shelter hidden in our basement.
There we waited for what seemed like days for the signal that the fighting was over.
It had in reality only been a matter of hours before the Northerners took the city, for the South Korean government had positioned its troops along the banks of the Imjin River a few miles south of the city. We were given no defense against the soldiers who came. Kaesong was under North Korean military rule by the end of the day.
III
Contrary to what you may think, the North Koreans were in reality quite kind. We needed for nothing, for the few needs which we did possess were seen to with utmost haste. We had the ability to engage in friendly conversations with the soldiers; one would almost think that they were pacifistic. We even had the opportunity to share our experiences in the consumption of ginseng from fine ceramic cups. We drank as equals -- aside from the fact that they controlled us through fear.
Their friendly disposition disappeared however by September when the UN sent the US General MacAurthur to assist the South Korean army. It was then that the North Koreans began to lose the ground they had gained in South Korea, creating a need for more soldiers. It was then that they came for every young man over the age of sixteen to draft them into their infantry It was then that they began forcing the civilians of Kaesong to fight against their own country.
One night, there came the harsh banging of the butt of a rifle upon our door as the North Koreans demanded that my male friends and I surrender ourselves to be drafted. I immediately darted into my closet out of fear as my friends rushed into the basement shelter. I found myself unable to build up the courage to make the trek with them.
"Why, we have no young candidates for your army here," my mother said calmly to the officer as he stepped over the threshold.
"Is that so?" he responded sarcastically, "We'll need to search your home."
Within minutes the soldiers were in my bedroom. They upturned my bed and frantically searched every inch of the room as I lay hidden in my closet, petrified from fear. Only god knows why, but they neglected to check the closet, and I remained safe among my coats when I heard the screams as my friends were dragged away all to be killed on the front by South Korean bullets.
It then became evident that I could not live safely inside my house after that night, so I ran away.
IV
The period of my running was a short one, as I would guess that it lasted little than a month. I spent the majority of my time searching through trashcans for food, finding a little bowl of half-eaten rice in one place and a small hunk of meat in another if I was lucky. The rest of my time was spent evading the attention of the North Korean soldiers, who remained adamant in their attempts to draft the civilians of Kaesong into their ranks.
There then came a period where I believed I was unequivocally safe, and that net of safety was strewn when General MacAurthur's troops finally reached my city. I eagerly returned home believing the soldiers would never again force us to share our love and wealth -- believing they would never again return to drink our ginseng tea from fine ceramic cups. This feeling of hope quickly disappeared however due to the Chinese reinforcements sent to help the North Korean army soon after.
Little did I know that my exile had not even begun.
One night, my father decided that it was time for him and I to leave our home in Kaesong; the Northern occupation of our city had reached the final threshold of his tolerance and he found it unbearable to watch as the Northerners marched over us as if we were nothing but ants . We speedily and dirtily stuffed our small bags, threw on our coats, and ever so quietly slipped out the door.
My ginseng tea would go on to lose its glowing warmth, as it remained a cold golden pool of memories upon the dining room table -- a cold golden pool inside of a fine ceramic cup.
V
"I cannot go with you," my father whispered remorsefully as we reached the end of the town, "I cannot go with you and leave behind your sisters and mother. They are my responsibility and I would with no doubt die of guilt if I were to leave them in the hands of those, those monsters."
"But father!" I pleaded as he cut me off with a wave of his hand. It was evident that his decision had been made, and with his obstinate decision, he turned and walked back to the city -- back into the hands of the monsters where I would never see him nor my mother again.
VI
During the course of my escape from Kaesong, I came across two others engaged in the same activity of evasion. They and I arrived at the conclusion that our attempts would prove most prolific if we worked as a group, and with that decision I began my journey south in search of the capital: Seoul.
Though I find it difficult to remember the names of these individuals, I distinctly recall that our little trio was composed of members of the Boy Scouts of Korea. This would prove to be most helpful; our skills were utilized constantly as we navigated and searched for food.
Then there was the train. The train was a small freighter comprised of several boxcars on a steel track headed straight for Seoul. It was at first a speck in the distance; then it was the size of my thumb; then it was little more than five-hundred yards away. As it passed, we ran along the side and managed to hop into an open boxcar.
We were at last safe. We were at last away from the cruelty of the Northerners. We were at last free!
VII
Ironically, our arrival in Seoul in early 1951 seemed to be expected. We were greeted by ninety-eight other Boy Scouts of Korea. The trio then became part of the one-hundred-one escaped Boy Scouts of Seoul.
The one-oh-one was quickly given employment as cooks and servers on a large freighter boat which evacuated families from Seoul; the Chinese/North Korean Army was well on its way. We all slept on the cement floor of a small theatre and were given a bowl of rice and a glass of milk three times a day as nourishment -- this was no ginseng tea, but I remained immensely grateful.
This would continue for three months.
VIII
"What do you want, boy?" said a corporal guarding the Seoul US military base.
"Job," I replied shyly. My education in Kaesong had given me a basic understanding of the English language, and to my luck, my sharp mind allowed me to pick out most of what he had said.
"What?" the corporal asked, irritated.
"Job!"
I began as a mere pot washer. Then I was promoted to waiter. Eventually I became the waiter for the officers' table, however I still was required to dine with the enlisted men. I began as a shy boy among men, but eventually I developed my confidence. The very same Corporal who had met me outside of the base educated me in English every day after lunch, and it was not long before I became fluent in the language. I was quickly given a new name, as none of the soldiers could correctly speak or even remember Sung-Nei. Charlie, they called me, after the famous bodybuilder, Charles Atlas; I was capable of lifting over twice my body weight.
It was always my goal to please my employers. If an officer was in want of something special, it was received moments later by my hand. The colonel had a particular liking for ice cream, so it became part of my routine to slip him a scoop every once and a while. I of course became his favorite waiter.
"What do you plan to do when this is all over?" he asked me one day.
"I would like to study medicine and become a doctor," I replied, "but I possess no means of paying for any such education."
"Let's see if there's anything we can do about that," he said with a smile.
I would go on to study at Piedmont College in 1954 after the war ended.
IX
Today I live in Saticoy, California. I have a son, a daughter, two step-children, two grandchildren, and two step-grandchildren. I am a physician by trade, and I like to golf during my free time on weekends, and I attend church in the San Fernando Valley every Sunday. I periodically have money and letters smuggled to my sister in North Korea, with whom I have reconnected.
Kaesong is once again under the South Korean dominion and remains the only place in the world that cultivates and exports ginseng tea, and every once in a while I am fortunate enough to come across one of those warm golden pools of nostalgic memories which I drink from a fine ceramic cup.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The following is a biographical summarization by Nathan Large of the experiences of Dr. Cho. The central premises are historically accurate, but dialogue and narration has been added for dramatic purposes.
I
I began my life in a small South Korean city by the name of Kaesong. The name may in fact sound familiar to those knowledgeable of the force exercised by North Korea. Little more than twenty thousand people resided within its boundaries at that time.
Kaesong; today it stands ever so different from what I recall. Kaesong; the quiet yet fervent land from which I came. Kaesong; the old capital of all Korea during the reign of the Koryo Dynasty -- that for which my country was named. Its past lay in the heavenly ecstasy of leadership -- a peaceful city where our nation's elite sipped lightly from fine ceramic cups filled with ginseng tea.
But that was one hundred years before my time. Their bodies were buried deep within the soil when I first came to witness that city; they then served as fertilizer for that which they drank from those fine ceramic cups all of those years ago.
My grandfather made his living through the cultivation of that very same ginseng; his business was so successful that he made the livings of himself, my parents, my siblings, and myself before we even came into this world. It was because of this that I was in want of nothing during my childhood. I lived in a large house, I received the most superior of educations, and I drank ginseng tea from fine ceramic cups.
A mountainous range resides to the north of the city along the thirty-eighth parallel, the highest of which is Songak Mountain. It bears a striking resemblance to Mt. Fuji as it seems to almost touch the sky with its powdery snowcaps.
We knew all too well of the violent skirmishes which took place along those mountains. North and South Koreans had been battling high above us ever since the year 1945. We were so close to the North Korean border; we were so close to the dangers of war, but we still felt so far away thanks to those gargantuan barriers we presumed would protect us.
II
I was sixteen in the year 1950. I was sixteen when they came. I was sixteen when it all changed.
Six o'clock am, June 25, 1950: I was quickly awoken by the overpowering cacophony of sirens and my panicked family, and as I sat up in bed I could already see the white star upon a field of scarlet red flying high above many of the city buildings through my bedroom window signifying that the alarm was no accident. We rose from our beds and brusquely made our way into the shelter hidden in our basement.
There we waited for what seemed like days for the signal that the fighting was over.
It had in reality only been a matter of hours before the Northerners took the city, for the South Korean government had positioned its troops along the banks of the Imjin River a few miles south of the city. We were given no defense against the soldiers who came. Kaesong was under North Korean military rule by the end of the day.
III
Contrary to what you may think, the North Koreans were in reality quite kind. We needed for nothing, for the few needs which we did possess were seen to with utmost haste. We had the ability to engage in friendly conversations with the soldiers; one would almost think that they were pacifistic. We even had the opportunity to share our experiences in the consumption of ginseng from fine ceramic cups. We drank as equals -- aside from the fact that they controlled us through fear.
Their friendly disposition disappeared however by September when the UN sent the US General MacAurthur to assist the South Korean army. It was then that the North Koreans began to lose the ground they had gained in South Korea, creating a need for more soldiers. It was then that they came for every young man over the age of sixteen to draft them into their infantry It was then that they began forcing the civilians of Kaesong to fight against their own country.
One night, there came the harsh banging of the butt of a rifle upon our door as the North Koreans demanded that my male friends and I surrender ourselves to be drafted. I immediately darted into my closet out of fear as my friends rushed into the basement shelter. I found myself unable to build up the courage to make the trek with them.
"Why, we have no young candidates for your army here," my mother said calmly to the officer as he stepped over the threshold.
"Is that so?" he responded sarcastically, "We'll need to search your home."
Within minutes the soldiers were in my bedroom. They upturned my bed and frantically searched every inch of the room as I lay hidden in my closet, petrified from fear. Only god knows why, but they neglected to check the closet, and I remained safe among my coats when I heard the screams as my friends were dragged away all to be killed on the front by South Korean bullets.
It then became evident that I could not live safely inside my house after that night, so I ran away.
IV
The period of my running was a short one, as I would guess that it lasted little than a month. I spent the majority of my time searching through trashcans for food, finding a little bowl of half-eaten rice in one place and a small hunk of meat in another if I was lucky. The rest of my time was spent evading the attention of the North Korean soldiers, who remained adamant in their attempts to draft the civilians of Kaesong into their ranks.
There then came a period where I believed I was unequivocally safe, and that net of safety was strewn when General MacAurthur's troops finally reached my city. I eagerly returned home believing the soldiers would never again force us to share our love and wealth -- believing they would never again return to drink our ginseng tea from fine ceramic cups. This feeling of hope quickly disappeared however due to the Chinese reinforcements sent to help the North Korean army soon after.
Little did I know that my exile had not even begun.
One night, my father decided that it was time for him and I to leave our home in Kaesong; the Northern occupation of our city had reached the final threshold of his tolerance and he found it unbearable to watch as the Northerners marched over us as if we were nothing but ants . We speedily and dirtily stuffed our small bags, threw on our coats, and ever so quietly slipped out the door.
My ginseng tea would go on to lose its glowing warmth, as it remained a cold golden pool of memories upon the dining room table -- a cold golden pool inside of a fine ceramic cup.
V
"I cannot go with you," my father whispered remorsefully as we reached the end of the town, "I cannot go with you and leave behind your sisters and mother. They are my responsibility and I would with no doubt die of guilt if I were to leave them in the hands of those, those monsters."
"But father!" I pleaded as he cut me off with a wave of his hand. It was evident that his decision had been made, and with his obstinate decision, he turned and walked back to the city -- back into the hands of the monsters where I would never see him nor my mother again.
VI
During the course of my escape from Kaesong, I came across two others engaged in the same activity of evasion. They and I arrived at the conclusion that our attempts would prove most prolific if we worked as a group, and with that decision I began my journey south in search of the capital: Seoul.
Though I find it difficult to remember the names of these individuals, I distinctly recall that our little trio was composed of members of the Boy Scouts of Korea. This would prove to be most helpful; our skills were utilized constantly as we navigated and searched for food.
Then there was the train. The train was a small freighter comprised of several boxcars on a steel track headed straight for Seoul. It was at first a speck in the distance; then it was the size of my thumb; then it was little more than five-hundred yards away. As it passed, we ran along the side and managed to hop into an open boxcar.
We were at last safe. We were at last away from the cruelty of the Northerners. We were at last free!
VII
Ironically, our arrival in Seoul in early 1951 seemed to be expected. We were greeted by ninety-eight other Boy Scouts of Korea. The trio then became part of the one-hundred-one escaped Boy Scouts of Seoul.
The one-oh-one was quickly given employment as cooks and servers on a large freighter boat which evacuated families from Seoul; the Chinese/North Korean Army was well on its way. We all slept on the cement floor of a small theatre and were given a bowl of rice and a glass of milk three times a day as nourishment -- this was no ginseng tea, but I remained immensely grateful.
This would continue for three months.
VIII
"What do you want, boy?" said a corporal guarding the Seoul US military base.
"Job," I replied shyly. My education in Kaesong had given me a basic understanding of the English language, and to my luck, my sharp mind allowed me to pick out most of what he had said.
"What?" the corporal asked, irritated.
"Job!"
I began as a mere pot washer. Then I was promoted to waiter. Eventually I became the waiter for the officers' table, however I still was required to dine with the enlisted men. I began as a shy boy among men, but eventually I developed my confidence. The very same Corporal who had met me outside of the base educated me in English every day after lunch, and it was not long before I became fluent in the language. I was quickly given a new name, as none of the soldiers could correctly speak or even remember Sung-Nei. Charlie, they called me, after the famous bodybuilder, Charles Atlas; I was capable of lifting over twice my body weight.
It was always my goal to please my employers. If an officer was in want of something special, it was received moments later by my hand. The colonel had a particular liking for ice cream, so it became part of my routine to slip him a scoop every once and a while. I of course became his favorite waiter.
"What do you plan to do when this is all over?" he asked me one day.
"I would like to study medicine and become a doctor," I replied, "but I possess no means of paying for any such education."
"Let's see if there's anything we can do about that," he said with a smile.
I would go on to study at Piedmont College in 1954 after the war ended.
IX
Today I live in Saticoy, California. I have a son, a daughter, two step-children, two grandchildren, and two step-grandchildren. I am a physician by trade, and I like to golf during my free time on weekends, and I attend church in the San Fernando Valley every Sunday. I periodically have money and letters smuggled to my sister in North Korea, with whom I have reconnected.
Kaesong is once again under the South Korean dominion and remains the only place in the world that cultivates and exports ginseng tea, and every once in a while I am fortunate enough to come across one of those warm golden pools of nostalgic memories which I drink from a fine ceramic cup.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Grandfather of a Lifetime
By Armine Chamichyan
When I was in 8th grade, my grandfather, whom I was very close to, passed away from lung cancer. The oncologists said that because the cancer was so metastasized, they could not treat him successfully. They sent him home with an oxygen tank, a wheelchair, and pain medication to alleviate his pain while we all waited for the inevitable, for my grandpa to pass away. For two months I watched my incapacitated grandpa deteriorate. This was the man who used to walk me home from elementary school every single day, rain or shine. This was the man who would put me on the kitchen counter and sing songs while he made fresh squeezed orange juice for me. This was the man who indefatigably tutored me day after day to play the piano. My grandpa was dying and I was utterly powerless to do anything about it.
When you think of something or someone that inspires you, you probably think of an instigator to do well in school, or donate money to a charity, or drop a few pounds. Merriam Webster defines inspiration as “the action or power of moving the intellect or emotion.” I did not realize this at the age of fourteen, but my grandpa has been the greatest inspiration in my life. His entire life my grandfather was enamored with music. Not only did he play countless instruments, ranging from mandolin, to classical piano, to Spanish guitar, he also spent the majority of his life as a music teacher. As a child I was lucky enough to be one of his pupils. He transformed practicing piano from a tedious chore to my favorite part of every day. He taught me to hear the story behind the notes and feel the music flowing through my veins. I remember spending winter evenings in the living-room practicing Chopin under the scintillating lights of the Christmas tree. My grandpa used peppermint candies to keep track of how many times I’d play each composition.
Not only was he a brilliant musician, my grandpa was also one of the kindest and most joyous people I have ever had the privilege of knowing. In every memory I have of him, aside from the ones during his illness, my grandpa was laughing and spreading his contagious happiness to everyone around him. At family gatherings instead of drinking espressos with the other adults my grandpa would take my cousins and I on treasure hunts throughout the neighborhood and help us find the best hiding spots when we played hide-and-seek. My grandpa was also a major food-lover, a trait that he has inarguably passed down to me. If there were only two words I could remember him saying they would be “Bon Appetit”. However, he was a much bolder risk taker than I am when it came to food.
Although he is no longer here with me today, my grandpa continues to inspire me on a daily basis. I choose to focus on all the years during which he was my boisterous, hilarious, joyful grandpa rather the ones when he was ill and bedridden. What my grandpa inspired me to do was to learn to be happy and to spread joy to others. The memories of my grandpa never cease to remind me that there is always a brighter side to life, I just have to be willing to see it. They remind me to enjoy life no matter how much stress four AP classes and college applications throw my way. Just as my grandpa inspires me to have a positive outlook on life, so I hope this article may inspire you to stay positive and stay strong no matter what stressors life puts in your way, whether they be college apps, family troubles, or boy/girlfriend issues.