[Student Voices] The Rope of Hope
Published: 23 Sep. 2024, 09:20
Daeun Ko (Changdeok Girls' Middle School, Grade 2)
by Daeun Ko (Changdeok Girls' Middle School, Grade 2)
It was getting darker, and I realized we were stuck in the middle of the desert—without the Internet, water, or a map.
Earlier that day, my dad said, “Today, we’re going to a desert. We have to be careful, in case we meet wild animals!” My little sister and I thought it was a joke. Excited, we got in the car and headed to an unknown place: Joshua Tree National Park in California. When we first stepped into the park, I was overwhelmed. Towering on top of one another, the rocks seemed to be fencing the park and protecting the bushes growing under their guard. The afternoon sky seemed to stretch out into space like the ocean turned upside-down. The pink clouds floated above in a great pool, part of a vast landscape that made me feel so small—even the plants seemed too big for me.
As our family walked and climbed along nature’s aisles, we followed the footprints of other tourists, since there were no arrows to guide the way. When the path ended, we followed some signs indicating rare plants and animals that only lived in Joshua Tree Park. We occasionally saw lizards crawling quickly and were amazed by the strange creatures.
But our happiness didn’t last long. That day, time passed oddly fast. It was already past 7 p.m., and the towering piles of rocks began to create new shadows; soon we were gulped down by the veil of shadows, disappearing. There was no sunlight to shine our way back to the parking lot, and the grandeur of nature vanished under the blanket of night.
We realized we were lost in the middle of Joshua Tree Park. I remembered my dad’s warning from earlier that day, and grew intimidated by the invisible beasts we might encounter. Later, I learned that in 2021, a missing South Korean woman was found dead in Joshua Tree Park after a four-month search. Nobody knows how she died—attacked by a coyote, starved to death, or buried under loneliness and misery.
We moved deeper into the darkness. Trembling bushes made an eerie sound and the wind’s whooshing elevated my fear. The cheerful chirping birds from a few hours ago had turned into the sound of death at night. I gulped, feeling my throat beginning to dry up. I craved water. I held my mom’s hands tightly, crying out, “What if we never find the path?”
Mom replied, with a slightly trembling voice, “We’ll be able to find the path, I promise.”
With tears dripping from my eyes, I glanced at my little sister to find out whether she was crying or not, but she was expressionless. She didn’t know how much danger we were in.
We continued searching for the path. The only equipment we could rely on were the cellphone lights, since there was no phone signal or Internet connection. Eventually, I found a sign with a lizard painted on it. “Oh! That’s the same sign! Right before we saw the lizard!”
Soon my dad found another sign portraying a cactus. A speck of hope rose into my mom’s face. Although the sudden howling of coyotes made us shrivel, we continued looking for signs. To keep me from bursting into tears again, my little sister patted me on my back. Finally, my mom found the last sign: the towering piles of rocks. “There’s our car!” my sister cried.
Eight years have passed, but I often smile when I’m in the car, watching my parents chatting and my little sister playing on her phone. That day in the desert, we hung onto the rope of hope. We stayed together and supported each other, and that’s how we found the right path. Whenever I think of Joshua Tree National Park, I feel the family love that kept us connected.
with the Korea JoongAng Daily
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