Man on the moon: Lee Jaeheon

My father is out in the yard. He’s riding the electric wheelchair he received through free support, as he has a Level 1 brain impairment. When the noon sun tilts halfway toward the mountains, he always asks to go outside. I sit a little distance away from him. While it’s a languid afternoon for me, it is a moment of fresh air for him.

 

The wheelchair he rides always moves counterclockwise. A repetitive motion. His gaze is also repeatedly directed downward. I silently whisper “Father! Try driving clockwise for a change.” When I meet his half-clouded eyes, I imagine he might be on a secret journey somewhere. Sometimes, when he fusses like a child or becomes aggressive, I often imagine it this way. Perhaps this is how my rational self tries to understand the part of him that exists elsewhere. 

 

Yet maybe he is standing “on the moon” and watching me from the opposite side. Perhaps to him, I am the one living a repetitive life, with clouded eyes. I think I am entering my father’s world, but in reality, he is entering mine. The distance between where I stand and the moon where he stands gradually narrows. It feels as if I am quietly following along on his secret journey