The Waters That Hated

The Hateful Man

When you read these lines, I will have passed away and will hopefully be reborn, cleansed of the darkness within me. First and foremost, I need to say this: I have always loved you. Please believe me when I say that I have always given everything within my power to ensure that you grow up safe and secure, becoming a capable woman who will hopefully never lack anything.

I know you will disagree. I have always been a very strict mother, perhaps too harsh with you, but nothing was ever more important to me than teaching you principles, integrity, and morality. It was not only because I wanted to be a proper mother, but also because I didn't want you to burden yourself with the same mistakes and actions that I carry. The things I am writing down here are words and thoughts I couldn't tell you in person, my dear Joon-Ho, because I am too ashamed. I know there is nothing but bitterness in your heart when thinking of me, but I have always loved you. You were always the highest, the most important thing in my life, even if you probably don't believe me.

I know you hate me. You hate me for the strictness with which I raised you, for the coldness I often displayed. But please believe me that all I wanted was for you to live with care and never forget what is right. That's why I hope the following words will help you understand why I am the way I am, what I experienced, and what horrors I shielded you from. What I endured so that you lacked nothing, neither food nor education.

I know you have terrible nightmares, to this day. Of screams and fear and violence and death. Nightmares that you can't explain, but for which... there is an explanation. I always denied it because I wanted to protect you from the past, but I believe you have a right to know. I unfortunately can't tell you in person – partly because you don't want to see again, and partly because... I am too cowardly for it. I am so ashamed and hate myself too much for what I did... But Joon-Ho, I beg you, at least read these words and... forgive me if you can. I want to tell you where you come from. I want to tell you about the scars I carry on my soul. So much in my life has left deep wounds in me, some of which still fester and stole from me the warmth I would have liked to offer you.

My dear Joon-Ho, you often used to ask me about the small town where you were born. About your father – your biological father. About how we had lived and why I took you away from there. I never answered those questions. I always brushed you off and told you it was none of your business. That the past should be left alone because it was unimportant. That's what I always told you. But, Joon-Ho, that was a lie. One of the most foolish and terrible lies I've ever told, for the greater good: I only wanted to shield you, shield you from the truth, but now I believe it was a mistake. That my lies have caused you only harm...

You were born in a small town in North Korea near the southern border, which they called "Gipeun." That name won't mean anything to you and the town no longer exists...

At first glance, there didn't seem to be much wrong with Gipeun, but as you well know, appearances can often be deceiving. All those little run-down wooden houses, erected on the stormy east coast of North Korea, looked weathered and desolate. They carried within them many unpleasant, terrible, and bitter stories - as one would expect from that region. But there were also other, older stories. Stories told only by the elderly. Words spoken with reverence and fear, half-forgotten, used during sparse fireside evenings or stormy days to scare children. To warn them not to play too recklessly and far from home, or to be obedient and follow the instructions of the security personnel. But... every time I heard those stories from my grandparents, who had in turn heard them from their grandparents, a feeling would well up inside me. A feeling that was not just pure fear, not just pure dread of the things that were supposedly out there, but something else. It was as if something in me moved when I heard those words. As if an ancient premonition or memory stirred.