Two grandfathers. Two diseases.
One reason to keep going.
I grew up between two worlds. In South Korea, surrounded by family. At Mercersburg Academy in Pennsylvania, learning to think independently and rigorously. But no matter where I am, I carry the same weight: both of my grandfathers are being taken apart by diseases that science still cannot reverse.
My maternal grandfather has Parkinson's disease. He was one of the most present people I've ever known — warm, deliberate, always there. I watched his hands start to tremble. I watched him lose the steadiness that I associated with him so completely that it felt like losing part of who he was. The doctors gave him medication. They talked about managing symptoms. No one talked about a cure, because there isn't one.
My paternal grandfather has Alzheimer's disease. With him, the loss has been different — slower in some ways, more disorienting. He forgets things. Then he forgets people. There are days he looks at me and I can see him searching — reaching for something that used to be automatic. Both of them treated me like I was the most important person in any room. They gave me memories I will carry my whole life. They deserve better than what medicine currently offers them.
Losing someone to memory loss isn't like losing them all at once. It's hundreds of small losses — a name, a story, a moment of recognition. And each one reminds you how much still needs to be discovered.
I didn't set out to become interested in neuroscience. I became interested in it the way you become interested in anything that feels urgent — because the alternative was just watching, and I couldn't do that. So I read. I found papers on dopamine and alpha-synuclein aggregation. I learned what plaques and tangles actually are and why they kill neurons. I read about deep brain stimulation for Parkinson's and about anti-amyloid antibodies for Alzheimer's. I stayed up past 2 a.m. reading about clinical trials. I wasn't looking for comfort. I was looking for a way in.
That's when neurotechnology entered the picture. Brain-computer interfaces. Augmented reality as a diagnostic tool. Biosensors that detect neurological change before symptoms appear. Meta glasses that might one day map how perception breaks down in disease. I realized that the future of neuroscience wasn't just biology — it was the intersection of biology and technology. And that's the intersection I want to live and work in.
This website is where I document that journey. Every concept I learn, every paper I wrestle with, every question I can't yet answer — it goes here. I'm a junior in high school. I don't have the answers. But I'm building the foundation to find them.