#18
15. Taekwondo Instructor
Another major change occurred in my life in February 1996 when I was appointed as a Taekwondo instructor at the Hyesan Youth Center in Yanggang Province. This was during a time of rising taekwondo enthusiasm in North Korea, following the visit of Choi Hong-hee, president of the International Taekwondo Federation (ITF), who met with Kim Il Sung. A Taekwondo Hall was built in Pyongyang, and junior training bases were established in every province and city.
Among the sports taught at that time—soccer, basketball, and taekwondo—taekwondo quickly became the most popular, ultimately leading to the formation of two teams. I was in charge of one team, while the other was led by Kim Byung-guk, a Korean returnee from Japan. Originally a professional soccer teacher, Kim Byung-guk trained for three months in Pyongyang and earned his qualification as a Taekwondo instructor as the national craze for the sport took off.
As a returnee from Japan, Kim Byung-guk could not join the Communist Party because he had not served in the military. He was five years older than me, and I still remember his discouraged demeanor at every party meeting, feeling the weight of exclusion while everyone else participated. His wife was also a returnee from Japan, and they had a daughter named Hyo-sim, who was the same age as our son, and an older son, Hyo-jin, who was four years older.
Perhaps due to his frustration over being excluded from the Party, Kim Byung-guk turned to heavy drinking. More than ten years later, he succumbed to epilepsy caused by his alcoholism. He was someone I relied on as a mentor when I was first assigned to my position.
Years later, when I returned to Hyesan and heard the news of his death. I went to visit his home, but his wife had already moved to Pyongyang, where her mother lived, and their son Hyo-jin was serving in the military. The unforgettable memories of running and sweating alongside him for six years still linger in my mind.
Taekwondo felt familiar to me since I had already undergone specialized physical training in the military. The basic movements of taekwondo closely resembled those of the martial arts I learned during my service. In the 1970s and 1980s, taekwondo didn’t have an official name in North Korea, but it began to gain popularity in the early 1990s.
Before I joined, Kim Byung-guk only trained male students, totaling about 30. However, once I came on board, we began training both male and female students. Ideally, the students were supposed to attend school in the morning and train in the afternoon. Instead, many students quit school to dedicate themselves to training from morning until evening, reflecting the intense enthusiasm for taekwondo at that time. Almost all the children of high-ranking cadre members participated in our taekwondo classes.
Writing was the most burdensome aspect of my six-year career as a taekwondo instructor. I often had to produce over 30 pages a day, including fidelity education materials (충실성교양자료), class education materials (계급교양자료), training guidance, teaching plans, weekly and monthly project plans, and training goals. The paperwork consumed several hours each day.
During that time, some of my students competed in the Pyongyang Games and earned medals in both individual men’s and women’s events. After graduation, many were selected for positions in the North Korean spy agency (대남연락소) or the Reconnaissance General Bureau (정찰총국), which filled me with pride.
One time, I went to Kim Sung Ju Schoolchildren’s Palace in Huchang County (now Kim Hyung-jik County), Ryanggang Province, with a team of 27 people, including myself. The trip was initially planned for 7 days, but it ended up taking 15 days. I had originally intended to take only about 10 students who were participating in the games, but I decided to bring along all the other trainees who were curious about outdoor training and eager to experience life away from home. At that time, the budget assigned by the government for the Taekwondo class was significantly higher than that for basketball or soccer, so I was able to secure a larger budget.
The distance from Hyesan to the competition venue was 360 kilometers, which should have taken 4-5 hours. However, due to a power cut, it took us two days to reach our destination.
The delay was not just due to the power situation but also the chaos from boarding and disembarking countless passengers and their luggage. The train was packed not only with people but also with grains and various goods, leaving little room to move. Since we boarded at Hyesan Station, the starting point, we managed to secure good seats. However, the return journey after the games would likely be challenging, as we would be boarding at an intermediate station.
About an hour after leaving Hyesan Station, I started singing to myself while gazing out of the window. A young, beautiful woman sitting opposite me joined in and began singing as well. We eventually struck up a conversation, exchanging compliments about each other’s songs.
During our chat, we learned about each other’s families. Her name was Kim Hye-young, a native of Nampo City, Pyongannam-do, who had moved to Hyesan after her marriage. Her husband was a teacher at Hyesan Agricultural College and an overseas Korean who returned from Japan with his parents in the 1960s.
Her husband’s father owned a popular Japanese restaurant in front of Hyesan Station. She appeared to be about the same age as my wife, and her daughter was the same age as our son.
She shared that she had met her husband while still a high school student in Nampo. He was there for training as a college student and was captivated by her beauty. After persuading her parents, he waited a few years before finally marrying her.
Since the Arduous March began, even university teachers struggled with no income. She mentioned that she had sold her home appliances, such as a TV, sewing machine, and recorders, on credit in rural areas. She was returning to the area now, as payment was supposed to be made in grains when the harvest came in the following year. Although it was a long wait, she explained that the profit was substantial. The total value of all the appliances she sold last year would amount to 2 tons of grain.
It meant that she would be transporting 40 bags of 50kg. It was impossible for a woman to carry that much baggage alone at an intermediate station. At the time, it was already challenging to climb on the train with a mere small bag of personal belongings. To get on the train, people were pulling and pushing from the inside and outside the train. Some people even got on through the window.
Astounded, I asked her if she had any special plan to load all the grain luggage.
“They say that even if the sky collapses, there’s always a way to rise again. If you can die, you can also live. I started this trip, so there must be an end to it as well”
Her calm response and determined attitude reminded me of my wife, who had followed me from Pyongyang to Hyesan. In the early days of our marriage, she worked as a pork rice soup vendor while taking care of our young son, whom she sometimes carried on her back. She endured great hardships, and I felt a strong desire to help this woman, Kim Hye-young.
After two days, we arrived at Pobyong Station around 9 p.m. It was dark, and there was no transportation available, so we decided to spend the night in the village near the station. The village had about 100 houses. I assigned the boys to sleep in three different houses, while the girls and Kim Hye-young stayed with an elderly couple.
The next day, while we were having breakfast, Kim Hye-young asked if I could help her load the grain bags onto the train. I offered my assistance, and we agreed that whoever finished their errands in the city first would wait at the station. At that time, we didn’t have mobile phones for domestic calls in North Korea, so we had to rely on trust that the other person would show up.
I took my students to the Kim Seong Ju Student Palace and followed our planned schedule. After three days of events, my group arrived at the train station. I wondered if Kim Hye-young would actually be there with all the grain as she had promised.
As I passed through the ticket gate and reached the platform, I was surprised to see her waiting with a mountain of grain bags piled up and covered with a plastic sheet to protect them from the rain. I asked her how she managed to get all of that even inside the train station. She explained that she had hired a soldier’s truck and received help to unload the bags at the station. She had arrived a day before my team did.
Because thieves were everywhere, Kim Hye-young stayed nearby even at night to watch over the grain. The train’s arrival time was still uncertain, so we had to prepare to stay in the city overnight or even longer.
After dinner, the older boys volunteered to keep watch over the grain at the station. I sent the girls, Kim Hye-young, and the younger boys to their accommodations. I had enough budget to ensure that our entire group was comfortably housed throughout the trip.
The next day, the train finally arrived. As soon as it stopped, I approached the engine driver and asked him not to leave until the 40 bags of grain were loaded. Fortunately, he mentioned that he hadn’t eaten yet, so he told me to let him know when we were finished loading, and he would step out to get some food.
With the help of several soldiers and my students, we loaded all the grain bags within 30 minutes. Although there was a separate cargo compartment, it was already full and couldn’t accommodate anything more. The passenger cabins were also packed. We eventually managed to load the grains between the train cars and on the platform. Of course, those areas were crowded with people as well, but we squeezed everything in through some long squabbles and wriggling.
My group of 27 sat on top of the piles of grain bags, with some even crawling up to the roof of the train. I climbed up as well to see what it was like. It felt manageable since the train moved back and forth rather than shaking sideways. They held hands to prevent anyone from falling off, while the rest of us stayed close to the grain bags.
The train did not depart until after about five hours even after the driver returned from a meal due to a power outage. At some point, electricity was suddenly put on, and a student named Kwang-cheol who was on the roof of the train was electrocuted. His right ear touched a long electric cord that was lined up. His right ear and face were burned, but thankfully it was not life threatening.
In any case, it created a huge commotion in an instant and the surrounding area turned into chaos. We escorted him to a military hospital for treatment after waving down a cargo truck that was passing by. We were able to be back on the train after two hours of treatment and rest, because we were told that the shock could cause him mental problems.
The next day, at around 5 a.m., the train arrived at Hyesan Station. On the arriving platform, Kim Hye-young’s husband, Jeong Geum-cheon, was waiting with his five college students. It was said that they had been waiting at the station for her for the past five days.
Kwang-cheol’s condition remained stable, and all my students arrived home safely. Since it was still early in the morning, I sent my students home in groups and accompanied Kwang-cheol to his house. I explained the circumstances of the electric shock accident to his parents and apologized profusely. I declined their invitation to stay for breakfast and left.
As I passed by the station on my way home, I saw Kim Hye-young and her husband unloading the bags of grain from a truck. Their house was about 700-800 meters from the station. Kim Hye-young mentioned to her husband that she wouldn’t have been able to load the bags of grain without my help and that of my students. When her husband, Jeong Geum-cheon, heard this, he grabbed my wrist and insisted that I come to their house.
That’s how I ended up at their house. It was quite spacious, located in a neighborhood filled with single-story houses and no apartments nearby. Since it was next to Hyesan Market, it was a good area for business. Unlike typical North Korean homes, their house was designed for two families, with a shared kitchen in the middle.
They had stacked grains in a wide, long hallway. Jeong Geum-cheon, his five college students, and I all gathered around the food table. Since it was Sunday, the drinking began at 6 a.m. and continued until 9 a.m.
Kim Hye-young was six years younger than her husband, who was three years older than me. Once the five college students left, it was just me and the couple. Jeong Geum-cheon insisted I stay, and I ended up there until 5 p.m. Their daughter, Jung Soo-rim, looked just like her mother and was very pretty.
I eventually left their house in the evening, promising that we would continue to get along like brothers. Jeong Geum-cheon even asked his wife to set up a drinking table whenever I visited.
Before this, I believed that people who had lived in capitalist Japan and returned to North Korea would struggle to socialize with native North Koreans due to their strong individualistic tendencies, which seemed at odds with the collectivist thinking of North Koreans. However, Jeong Geum-cheon’s friendly demeanor left a great impression on me, and I found myself fond of him. After that incident, I visited him several times, sharing drinks, listening to each other’s stories, and building trust.
One day, about six months later, while I was training students on the playground, I felt someone watching me from over the concrete fence. When I looked back, I saw two young women smiling at me. One of them was Kim Hye-young. As I approached, she introduced her friend, who was wearing knee-high black leather shoes that only wealthy women wore at the time. Kim Hye-young invited me to her house after work that evening, saying her mother was visiting from Nampo City.
Her house was in the opposite direction from mine, so it took me an hour and a half to walk there. When I knocked and entered, a graceful-looking lady in her mid-50s greeted me. She explained that she wanted to meet me in person to express her gratitude for helping her daughter. She then led me to a room filled with fine liquor, beer, and food.
I mentioned that I would wait to eat with her until her husband got home from work, but she told me that he was away with her students for a month, working on the farm. I expressed my regret that she wouldn’t be able to see her son-in-law before leaving. However, her response seemed somewhat lukewarm.
Curious about her feelings, I asked if something was wrong. After a moment, she began to share. “I don’t care for that smug son-in-law. Just seeing my granddaughter Surim and my daughter is enough for me.”
Her husband was a repairman who made a living fixing broken dishes and other items. They led a humble life with their daughter. “I don’t know how we ended up with such a beautiful daughter,” she continued. “But Jeong Geum-cheon was captivated by her beauty and eventually married her.”
In the early days of their marriage, Jeong Geum-cheon was a good husband, but over time, his attitude changed. He not only verbally abused Kim Hye-young but also became upset with her even for simple interactions with male customers at her father-in-laws restaurant. Eventually, he started physically abusing her as well.
Kim Hye-young’s mother seemed to be considering the possibility of her daughter divorcing her husband. She then asked me if I would be interested in moving to Nampo, a city near Pyongyang that many North Koreans aspire to live in.
She mentioned that her daughter had feelings for me and asked for my thoughts on the matter. I explained that I was a man with a wife and children, and that my relationship with Kim Hye-young was one of mutual support in times of need.
As we chatted and tried to lighten the uncomfortable atmosphere, the time flew by, and soon it was 9 p.m. Kim Hye-young’s mother suggested that since it was late, I should stay the night and spend more time with Hye-young. She then took her granddaughter to a room on the other side, giving her daughter a subtle look that seemed to signal something.
I had felt comfortable with her mother when her husband wasn’t around, but that night felt quite awkward. To be honest, I found myself tempted by the situation. However, after talking for about an hour, I managed to overcome that temptation. I encouraged her, suggesting that we could remain close neighbors and friends, just as we were. The hour we spent talking that night felt like several.
After hearing my long story, Kim Hye-young either felt touched or hurt by my rejection, and she continued to sob. I tried to soothe her as I walked down the path along the banks of the Apnok River, the cold air biting my face.
Three days later, Hye-young visited me again and said her mother wanted to meet me one more time before returning to Nampo. This time, I brought a bottle of fine liquor and a bottle of Kanggye wine, hoping to pour her mother a drink before she left.
During our conversation, her mother expressed her distress, saying that if her son-in-law ever assaulted her precious daughter again, she would take Hye-young back to Nampo for good. With tears in her eyes, she asked me to contact her anytime if I ever wanted to move to Nampo.
After that day, I didn’t visit Kim Hye-young’s house for a while. One day, on my way back from work, I ran into her husband, Jeong Geum-cheon. He greeted me warmly and asked why I hadn’t visited recently, inviting me to stop by his house that evening. So, I decided to go.
When I arrived, something felt off. The couple was exchanging loud and irritable voices over trivial matters related to alcohol and food.
Jeong Geum-cheon announced that he would drink as much as he wanted since he had “an alcohol body” that day. Before long, he was drunk, shouting with a slurred tongue. The courteous demeanor he usually displayed as a university teacher had vanished.
He got drunk and shouted at me, “Hey, I don’t need you either. I don’t need friends or brothers, so don’t come to my house again!” Hye-young didn’t stay quiet; she scolded her husband, trying to stop him.
I had no interest in staying there for another minute, but I wanted to calm the situation before leaving. Unfortunately, nothing worked on a drunk person.
After that day, I never returned to their house. I decided it was best to stop visiting, worried that my presence might worsen the situation or lead to misunderstandings.
About a year later, I ran into Geum-cheon on the street. He was tearful and led me to a nearby pig’s feet restaurant. I tried to excuse myself after a brief greeting, but he insisted, and I was also curious about his situation, so I followed him. He poured me a glass of alcohol and downed three glasses in quick succession before crying out,
“Hey, Instructor Park, I deserve to die. I don’t even know how to apologize to you. My wife is no longer with me.”
After some time, he calmed down and explained that there had been several family disputes since I last visited. Eventually, Hye-young disappeared without a trace. He had gone to Nampo to check on her family, but she wasn’t there either.
After searching everywhere, he heard rumors that she was living with another man somewhere in Masan-dong, near Hyesan Mine, but when he went to look for her, she wasn’t there either.
In some ways, I felt regret. I wondered if I could have prevented Hye-young from going missing if I had been more proactive in helping the couple reconcile. Now, Geum-cheon was raising their daughter alone.
A few months later, I ran into him on the street again. His shoulders were drooping, and he looked shabby, even though his outfit hadn’t changed. This time, I took him to a restaurant to comfort him.
Many years later, I asked a friend who worked at his university about Geum-cheon. I learned that he had been promoted from a teacher to the department head and was now living with another woman.
His daughter’s whereabouts were unknown. I think Hye-young may have later taken her. I presume that she must have defected from North Korea either living in South Korea or China. If she is alive, I would really like to meet her again.