The story of Yong-hwa.

​

As the wind howled through the solitary mountains of Kaesong, I realized that now I stand alone among the elements and between destinies. I had no direction, but a muddy road that led to a village where my father's military friend resided. The typhoon season was nearing, so I had to move fast. There were few, if any, rations, so it was a race between starvation, physical exhaustion, and loss of will to live. However, through the muddy waters and dense forests, through the rolling hills and bypassing steep mountains, I got there just before collapsing. 
My father's friend, an older man named Dae-hyun at first glance, didn't want to take me in. His heart might have been filled with kindness, but his cupboards weren’t filled with rice, so he knew the risk. Yet, as I collapsed from exhaustion, he was left with little choice but to allow his better nature to take over. After some time of being fed and clothed by his family, I tried helping around, chopping wood, foraging in the nearby woods for mushrooms, berries, and any animal that we could find, as well as helping with house repairs. This, however, wouldn’t be enough to get us all through the winter. 

On a foggy afternoon, a man with dark leather boots, a sharp uniform, and a shiny bronze medal walked through the door. Dae-hyun seemingly tried to smile, but his attempt failed to look genuine, as he was doing his best to hide his anxiety. His visitor also attempted to smile, but on his cold face, such an expression barely looked humane. As they exchanged niceties, it was clear that it wasn’t the only thing meant for trade that evening. Dae-hyun offered a generous amount of poppy milk that he bartered in a nearby village in exchange for my acceptance to the military academy. The man in shiny boots laughed so hard that we thought he must have lost his mind. “The best I can do is send him to the battalion under my friend's direct supervision”. They bowed, and I packed my bags to join the military.

Soon, I got my own black boots, and even sooner, they received their first taste of blood. As I was first putting on my new green uniform, the standard issue helmet,  I was filled with hope and wonder as stories from my childhood kept rushing into my mind. I remembered how my father would tell me about his glorious battles and the heroes that he fought with. I also started remembering my kindergarten teacher, who infused our young minds with tales about our great war and struggle against the Japanese imperialists. All those stories flew right off of my mind as I received my first sucker punch into the stomach from an officer, because I dared to look at him in a manner that was perceived as disrespectful. I would say that the meagre rations that we received were better than nothing at all, but my tongue would disagree. However, as many beatings as I received, it was nothing compared to what female soldiers had to go through; the constant fear of being stripped of both your clothes and dignity is beyond physical humiliation, as it wounds the soul. This would happen to men as well, often to establish control and “put the rural boys in their place”, as the officers from Pyongyang would say. 

​

A few months after I joined the military, a high-ranking marshal with medals that filled his chest and a cap that was way to big for his head told us that we will be traveling thousands of miles for a glorious purpose, without mentioning exactly what it would be, he said we are going for a training exercise with our neighboring comrades. Both fear and excitement filled my mind. I barely ever imagined the outside world; everything outside of our glorious nation that the supreme leader watched over seemed like a distant image in the fog. Is there a land without hunger?

As we crossed Siberia, I saw more of the world than I had ever imagined existed.  As we disembarked from the train, our boots landed on the ground, and a loud screech of the megaphone greeted our soldiers. After a few weeks of receiving orders in a foreign language, we were sent for our first “field assignment”. Shortly after arrival, something seemed different; cold wind and dark smoke filled the air around me as our brigade marched towards what we thought would be our training site. Suddenly, an explosion blasted next to us, and I saw a body being thrown in the air. 

This was no training, said our officer, this was now a real battle, and there is no way back because the Russian and Korean high-ranking commanders will shoot anyone who retreats. We were the first to jump into the firing rounds. Amid the confusion, some of my compatriots started shooting from all angles, eventually killing each other. I saw drones dropping bombs right over our heads, fear and panic spread across the ranks, and we ran in all directions. While running, I fell over the my comrade, kicking his dead body away from terror. I fell into a trench and was surrounded by soldiers. We were trained that surrender is the way of the weak, and what I must do, according to the instructions of my superiors, is to “hold the grenade tightly in my hand, place it under my chin or body armor, pull out the ring and release the safety pin boldly”. Yet, my body refused to move, I was slowly sinking into the mud as my eyes were closing. I then woke up next to a Ukrainian nurse and a man who spoke in Korean but with an accent I had never heard before. This was the beginning of my new life.