Escape from North Korea

Voices of Freedom: An eye-opening birthday present

On March 7th, I celebrated my 14th birthday. Knowing that I couldn't expect any gifts - unlike the children of the rich 'Donju' families - I was prepared for a quiet celebration. But at dawn, as I was making my way to the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of the table. There was Naengmyeon, the traditional birthday dish. A feeling of warmth flowed through me, tears of emotion formed in my eyes, as I realized the sacrifices my parents had made to bring me this joy.

As we sat down to eat, I noticed that there was no naengmyeon in front of my parents. “Why aren’t you eating?” I asked, overcome by a wave of worry. “We want you to have this special meal all to yourself,” they replied with a smile that reflected deep love and sacrifice. I suddenly realized how limited the food was. In an act of connection, I decided to share the meal. I got two more bowls and divided the naengmyeon evenly among us. This moment of sharing, enveloped in the soft light of the morning, was an indescribably precious expression of our family bond.

They urged that I use the day for relaxation, away from hard work in the fields. “On your birthday, you should experience joy, do something special,” they said, with an expression of caring that touched my heart. But deep down I knew that in our family every contribution counted to ensure our daily survival. So I insisted on working on my birthday too. In the harsh reality of North Korea, where we were among the many poor families, every day was a fight for survival - including my birthday. After thoroughly enjoying the delicious meal, my father, mother and I headed out to the field. Our humble house, passed down from generation to generation, was only separated from the field by a narrow river. But this river was not a hurdle for us, because my father, my grandfather and I had joined forces to build a simple but stable bridge out of fallen trees. My grandfather and I shared a particularly deep connection, a bond that made us inseparable.

Hard work awaited us out in the rice field. It was time to plow the field – a time-consuming and strenuous task. Lacking animals that could make this work easier - they were simply too expensive for our standards - we were a family living in poverty, plagued by constant worries.

As I was working, I suddenly felt a touch on my shoulder. A shiver of fear ran through me at the thought that it might be a North Korean inspector checking to make sure the portraits of Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il in our home were free of dust and hung in a place of honor. Because in North Korea it is mandatory to present the pictures of the state leaders visible and in pristine condition. Failure to comply with this rule can result in harsh punishments, including confinement to a forced camp where people are forced to work in harsh conditions, often without knowing what offense they have committed. The thought of escaping was no stranger to me, but the fear of the consequences always quickly banished this thought to the background.

But it wasn't an inspector who touched me, but my grandfather. I looked up and saw his familiar smile. He handed me a small package – my first gift in over a decade. The gratitude and joy overwhelmed me, tears pooled in my eyes. I wrapped my arms around my grandfather in a warm embrace. He then asked me to test out the new radio with him.
At home, after Grandfather turned on the radio and South Korean waves echoed through the room, fear gripped me. "Isn't that forbidden? Did you buy the radio illegally?" I asked hastily, the terror of the possible consequences making my heart beat faster. But my grandfather reassured me with a giggling laugh. "Don't worry, I bought it honestly. I tinkered with it a little, that's all."

We decided to just listen briefly before returning to the official channels. But what we heard opened my eyes. Reports from refugees, stories of freedom and rights that were a reality beyond our borders. I listened, spellbound and shocked at the same time, as my grandfather told me about a world in which people could freely express their opinions, a world without forced camps, a world in which human rights were not just a dream.

I could hardly sleep that night. The thought of escape, of a life in freedom and without fear, never left me. Our existence here, characterized by poverty, fear and isolation, suddenly seemed even more oppressive to me. Every word that came from the radio was like a ray of light breaking through the darkness of our daily experiences. It opened up a world of possibilities for me, far removed from the rigid boundaries of our lives. As I sat next to my grandfather, I listened intently to the stories from afar and felt a spark of hope being ignited within me. It was a tender feeling, almost fleeting, but powerful enough to fuel the desire for change.