13. Relationship
We returned to our hometown in shame after the defeat in Pyongyang. After getting off the train at 9 a.m., we were instructed to take a two-day break before returning to work, and then we dispersed.
When I arrived home, the house was empty. My mother was already at work, and my two younger siblings were at school. I washed up first and then organized my belongings.
My aunt had given me candy, snacks, and several pieces of clothing that she couldn’t send through my father, who had left Pyongyang before me. She also gave me a stylish coat that she used to wear when she was in the art troupe.
Since childhood, my siblings and I have been much loved by our uncles and aunts. While I was in Pyongyang, my aunt bought clothes for me and my two younger siblings (the older ones no longer lived at home) at the department store. She packed all the goodies at her home and gave them to me to bring back.
A little after lunch, my father, mother, and two younger siblings came home. As we sat at the dining table, I told them I didn’t make it to the top three spots in the Pyongyang competition. I explained that it was already an achievement to go to Pyongyang as a representative of Yanggang Province.
My mother said, “You went all the way to Pyongyang and played. You’re not a national player, so you did a good job.” My father agreed and told me I did well. Their kind words quickly made me feel better.
After lunch, my parents went back to work, and my siblings returned to school for cleaning duty. I was so exhausted from the long train ride that I fell asleep immediately.
After a two-day break, I went back to work with the athletic team. Since it was winter and there were no games to play, we had to be reassigned to the casting department of the factory.
The soccer players were unhappy about this change. Unlike me, they had initially joined the factory as selected athletes and didn’t like the production work. They preferred to hang out in the athletic team’s lounge and only showed up at the factory once or twice a week. Despite this, they still received their ration slips, and no one stopped them from slacking off.
In contrast, I returned to my original position. Jeongnam, having graduated from mechanical college, had joined the factory’s product inspection team.
On my way back to the factory after a long break, I ran into my former colleagues from the facility department I used to work in. They were surprised to see me and exclaimed, “Oh, who is this? It’s Mi-sun! Look how tall she’s gotten. You’ve grown up like a radish!” I greeted them warmly and then headed to the casting department.
In the casting department, iron is melted in an electric furnace and poured into molds to make products. However, production often stopped due to power outages or a shortage of graphite rods. Because of the frequent interruptions, we were often sent to different construction sites as needed.
Many of my classmates and junior alumni were working in the casting department. With production halted, the worksite was empty, and everyone was gathered in the lounge chatting.
I went up to the office to meet with the department head and entered the lounge, which was filled with cigarette smoke and a murky haze from the large crowd of people. I greeted those sitting in the lounge and joined the women’s group.
After a while, we were informed that instead of working, there would be a major cleanup. Following my friend Geum-sun, I spent the entire day cleaning and getting covered in dust.
As we left work together after the cleanup, I told Geum-sun that I had met Yong-cheol in Pyongyang and mentioned that my father opposed our relationship.
I first met Yong-cheol in December, just before I turned 19, and it had been exactly a year since then. However, we had spent little time together because I was busy with the athletic team and he was focused on preparing for the college entrance exam.
Yong-cheol is the only son raised by his disabled father. His father was an honorary soldier who was injured in a battle near the 38th parallel toward the end of the Korean War. Despite being paralyzed from the waist down due to a bullet that damaged his spine, he graduated from Pyongyang Light Industry University.
During his time at the university, he met and married a fellow student. However, Yong-cheol’s mother fell ill and passed away when Yong-cheol was just 12 years old. Since then, Yong-cheol’s father has raised him alone.
We hardly saw each other when dating in person, and now, we could only see him when he returns to Hyesan during vacations.
My father, having learned about my relationship with Yong-cheol from my mother, objected to it. He has asked me to bring him home the next time he visits Hyesan.
At the end of 1984, construction began on a new railroad route in Hyesan City, extending towards Samjiyon where the train from Pyongyang enters Hyesan. This project aimed to create a new railroad track and station in preparation for visits from Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il to Baekdu Mountain.
The city of Hyesan assigned the construction tasks to factories, while village units handled smaller jobs. The station was ultimately built by soldiers from the 1st Brigade of the Korean People’s Armed Forces. On holidays, school students were also mobilized to help with the construction.
My factory was responsible for building columns for the railroad bridge. With production on hold, workers from the casting department, including the soccer players, were assigned to this task.
My co-workers and I welcomed the new year of 1985 by carrying soil to fill pits, lifting stones, and building embankments. One day, I learned that Yong-cheol had come home on vacation, so that evening I took a bus to visit him.
It had been three months since I had briefly seen Yong-chol at Kim Il Sung University while I was in Pyongyang. Being mindful of my mother’s concerns about me coming home late, we only had a short time together before parting ways.
After the New Year’s holiday, on January 15, I brought Yong-chol to my house as my father had requested. Yong-chol, who had heard from Geum-seon about my father’s objections to our relationship, agreed to meet with him.
After hesitating for a moment in front of my house, Yong-chol followed me inside. It was dinner time, and my entire family was present. My father seated Yong-chol and me and then told us that we should not see each other again. He told Yong-chol that a student at Kim Il Sung University would eventually view a girl from Hyesan differently in the future. Claiming that there would be many more suitable women in Pyongyang, he insisted that we end our relationship immediately.
Listening attentively to my father, Yong-chol likely felt that no further discussion was needed, so he simply agreed. We had once been excited just by seeing each other and chatting, but it’s hard to understand how we could part ways without regret. Perhaps our feelings had faded with the distance and time apart.
When Yong-chol visited his friends at my factory in August of that year, we merely smiled and passed each other.
In December, I met someone who would later become a significant part of my life and bring me many tears over the years.
Summer came, and I returned to the sports team to participate in the games. When winter arrived, I went back to the factory for work. Along with my female colleagues, I was assigned to repair military uniforms at an artillery base outside the city.
The 5th Battalion of the 310th Artillery Brigade, part of the 380th Army Unit in the 10th district of Hyesan City, was beginning its annual winter training in December. This battalion included factory workers as reserve soldiers. The commander of the 5th Battalion requested that the Factory Committee arrange for the repair of military uniforms so the reservists could use them during their winter training. This is how my coworkers and I ended up at the base.
The 5th Battalion was 15 kilometers from the factory, and since transportation was inconvenient, we walked there. When we arrived and informed the sentry at the entrance that we had come to repair uniforms, an officer came out to meet us and escorted us into the unit.
The officer who greeted us was a young second lieutenant (소위), seemingly fresh from the mlitary academy. With his striking appearance and big eyes, he caught our attention immediately. As we exchanged whispers, we remarked, “Hey, that officer is handsome!” and speculated about his age. All of us being singles aged 20 or 21, we couldn’t help but keep glancing in his direction.
The officer, looking uninterested in us, led us to a warehouse where the uniforms were stored. The warehouse had several wooden shelves, each holding a uniform, cap, and belt, with shoes stacked in small compartments underneath. The uniforms, hats, belts, and shoes had all been heavily used by the reservists during training sessions, showing signs of wear and tear. Some buttons were missing, and many items were worn out from extended use.
He instructed us to inspect each item and set aside those that needed repairs, before leaving the warehouse.
We pulled out the old, dust-covered uniforms one by one, examined them, and set aside those that needed repairs. Then, we gathered around a pile of uniforms and busily replaced buttons and sewed up holes. As we worked quickly, we chatted and laughed, typical of young women in their early twenties. We laughed, imagining that if a war broke out and soldiers had to wear these uniforms, they’d be in tatters and exposing their flesh within a day.
The uniforms were decades old and should have been discarded long ago, but they were still being stored in the warehouse.
The officer came in several times, inspecting various items and watching us closely.
As we were about to leave after working into the late afternoon, the officer called Kyong-ok and me over and asked if we could help him with some shoe insoles.
He spoke very quickly with a Pyongan provincial accent, so we struggled to understand him and just looked at his face in confusion.
Noticing our puzzled expressions, he smiled and repeated slowly, “There are some shoes in the warehouse that don’t have insoles. Could I get about 20 shoe insoles?”
Understanding him now, Kyong-ok replied, “The insoles aren’t in the store; you’ll need to make them at home with a sewing machine.” She glanced at me as she spoke, since I was the only one with a sewing machine at home.
I hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’ll make them at home. Should I bring them tomorrow?” The officer agreed and thanked me.
At that time, there were no marketplaces in North Korea for such needs, so we had to figure things out ourselves. My family had a sewing machine that my mother used, and I had learned how to use it to make repairs and adjustments to clothes.
I made the shoe insoles from old fabric at home. Two days later, I completed 20 insoles and went to the unit around 5 p.m. to deliver them.
The officer took me to the company office. While a few security squad soldiers were visible in the playground, the area was otherwise deserted. In the corner of the office, there were several pairs of shoes stacked up. He placed them on the desk and asked me to insert the insoles into the shoes and tie up each pair.
The officer and I paired the moldy-smelling shoes with the insoles, tied them up, and returned them to the warehouse. We checked each shelf and placed a pair in compartments that were missing shoes.
After completing the work in silence, we stepped outside. As I was about to head towards the main gate, the officer called out to me, “Let’s stop by the company office and leave together. I need to go downtown to meet someone too.” Since I preferred not to walk alone in the dark, I followed him back to the office.
Once inside, the officer offered me a seat and invited me to warm up in front of the heater. I declined the offer and chose to stand by the stove, warming my hands.
In the awkward silence, the officer spoke up, “My name is Paek Geum-chol.” He spoke so quickly that I initially misheard his last name as Park.
He introduced himself as 25 years old, a graduate of Kim Chol-ju Artillery Military School, and mentioned that he had been assigned to the district command just a month ago. He was from Parkchon County, North Pyongan Province, and was the eldest of two brothers and three sisters.
He explained that among all the young women who came to repair the uniforms, I had stood out, which is why he used the request for shoe insoles as an excuse to speak with me.
My face flushed and my heart raced as I stammered, “Why me? Out of all the women…?”
The officer then laughed and said he liked me at first sight because I was well-dressed and had a pretty face and figure.
I had been told before that while I didn’t have a particularly pretty face, I had a good figure. So, it was surprising and flattering to hear this officer compliment both my appearance and my body. He asked me out because he liked me, and I was thrilled that such a handsome soldier was interested in me. He shared details about his family and asked about mine.
I told him my name and explained that I came from a family of seven siblings, with both my parents originally from Pyongyang. I also mentioned that my father was the first manager of the shoe factory and that my youngest uncle worked as an organizational instructor in the political department of the 10th District Command, which is part of the 6th Corps. The officer, Geum-chol, then said that he and my youngest uncle were both part of the 10th District Command.
It wasn’t until eight o’clock that night that I finally got home, after accompanying him downtown. At the three-way intersection, we said our goodbyes with a promise to meet again the next day.
I was supposed to meet Geum-chol the next day, but I couldn’t keep my promise. In December, when the entire army begins its training, the Labor-Farm Red Guards (적위대) also join in. Except for those in reserve units, everyone living a civilian life is required to be part of the Labor-Farm Red Guards.
The Department Party Secretary (부분당비서) becomes the company commander, while the work group leaders (작업 반장) take on the role of platoon commanders.
For the training, Labor-Farm Red Guards must carry a wooden gun and an emergency backpack filled with essential supplies for wartime.
The backpack must contain 1 kilogram of rice, a pair of underwear, a pack of matches, a candle, basic medicine, and a notebook for reflection sessions. This backpack should be packed and hung on the wall of your home at all times.
Emergency backpacks are checked during drills, and if they aren’t properly stocked, people face public criticism.
On the afternoon I was supposed to meet Geum-chol, I was involved in Red Guards training, carrying my emergency backpack and a wooden gun. We marched along the Aprok River and then climbed the snow-covered mountain beside the road.
Even though this was an annual winter exercise, everyone was out of breath and tired from climbing the snowy hill. The elderly work group leader, acting as our platoon commander, complained that the role was exhausting as he struggled up the slope.
We took a short break halfway up the mountain and practiced drills and shooting, following the commands of our tired leader.
We pretended to shoot with our wooden guns, imagining a scenario where war had broken out. As we did this, we shouted “tang, tang, tang,” mimicking the sound of gunfire.
We couldn’t help but laugh heartily, our laughter echoing across the mountainside. The sound of our laughter shook the entire slope, causing startled snowflakes to fall from the branches.
No one enjoys the annual Red Guard training, which is always the same. Yet, if you skip it, you risk being labeled a war evader and branded as someone who opposes the Party’s policies. So, people attend reluctantly.
I later learned that while I was on the mountain laughing, Geum-chol had come to the factory to visit the Party office and had stopped by the casting department looking for me. The statistician at the factory told him that everyone was on the mountain for Red Guard training, so he returned to his base.
The next day, while I was in the lounge waiting for new work instructions with my co-workers, I spotted Geum-chol through the window as he came down the stairs from the office on the second floor.
All the discharged soldiers and young people in my department were reservists in his 3rd company. The officer, a platoon commander, often visited our factory because of the reservists’ training. I assumed we’d have another chance to meet and continued chatting with my friends.
Then, the door to the lounge opened and Geum-chol walked in. As he chatted with a work group leader, he glanced towards the women’s group.
Everyone from my casting department was in the lounge, and people began to wonder why the officer was looking for someone among us. I pretended not to notice and continued talking to Young-ok beside me.
After scanning the room for a moment, Geum-chol spoke up, “Is there…?”
Feeling embarrassed and self-conscious, I walked out of the lounge. Noticing me, he followed and caught up as I headed to a secluded spot for privacy near the factory wall, which had been partially demolished. I stopped by the wall and said to him, “Why are you making a scene like this? What will people think?”
He smiled awkwardly and replied, “How else was I supposed to find you?”
We arranged to meet again at the factory’s front door after work, and I went back into the lounge. When the girls saw me come in, they mischievously asked, “Hey, is he here to see you? Are you close? He’s handsome!”
“I didn’t get a good look at him when I went to repair the uniforms, but he really is handsome,” they chattered, gathering around me.
I responded, “No, he just thanked me for the shoe insoles. That’s all.”
The women laughed and said, “Oh, I’d love to go out with someone like that.”
We wrapped up early that day after spending hours going through the motions of Red Guard training, repeating the same exercises over.
My friends would not leave me behind, so I was heading towards the main gate with Geum-seon and Kyung-ok. Noticing me from a distance, Geum-chol approached us quickly. Trying not to draw attention from my friends, I kept walking and passed through the entrance.
“Excuse me for a moment!” he called out to us.
The three of us turned as we heard Geum-chol’s voice. He smiled and gestured towards me. “You guys go ahead. The platoon commander must need something from me. See you later.”
Kyung-ok and Geum-seon gave me puzzled looks but waved goodbye and continued on their way. As Geum-chol approached with a smile, I looked at him and said,
“I think my friends might have noticed something between us. What if rumors start spreading at the factory? And the same goes for your base. You’ve just graduated and been deployed. What if people talk about us there?”
Geum-chol chuckled at my worried tone and reassured me. “Why be so concerned about a girl and a guy meeting? There’s really nothing to worry about.”
We continued to walk slowly, chatting, until we reached the front of my house.
I said goodbye, saying we’d meet again, and was about to go inside. But Geum-chol suggested he’d like to say hello to my parents. Since it was only our second date and we’d just met a week ago, I was surprised. Not knowing what to do, I just stood there for a long time looking at him, but eventually decided to entere the house with him.
My mother, who was sewing in the inner room, saw Geum-chol coming in and asked who he was.
“Hello! I’m Miseon’s boyfriend,” he said cheerfully. My mother, pleased by his valiant attitude, smiled and invited him to sit down. She asked where I had met such a nice officer. Geum-chol shared the same details about his age, hometown, and family that he had told me.
That evening, she made a nice dinner for him, which he ate gladly. He also said he wanted to meet my father, so he waited until my father came home from work late at night. After meeting him, Geum-chol returned to his base.
The next day, when I came home from work, Geum-chol was already there. He asked my parents to allow us to marry once I reached the right age, saying he would do the same with his parents. My mother agreed to the idea, but my father suggested we take some time to think about it.
Despite this, Geum-chol started visiting my home frequently, making himself feel at ease as if he were part of the family. He treated me and my two younger siblings casually and acted like he was already a son-in-law.
I felt overjoyed, as if my heart was soaring. A bachelor officer, whom many girls admired and wanted to date, was visiting my home so often and talking about marrying me. It felt like I had everything I could ever wish for.
The new year of 1986 began. By now Geum-chol announced to his fellow officers that he was dating me and brought them to my home. He showed up with six other officers, including three platoon leaders from his military academy days, and introduced them all to my mother.
I was taken aback by his bold gesture. Seven large men filled our tiny room, so my younger siblings huddled in a corner, trying to stay out of the way.
Despite the crowded space, my mother was thrilled. She eagerly asked what they would like to eat, and they all requested noodles. They complained that the noodles at the military cafeteria were bland and said that Geum-chol had spoken so highly of my mother’s cooking that they came to try it for themselves.
Hearing the officers’ compliments, she laughed and told them to wait while she prepared the meal. She quickly got to work, and with my help, the noodles were soon ready.
Having spent years hosting guests for my father, a cadre member, my mom was an expert cook. She served big bowls of noodles with hot meat broth, and the soldiers enjoyed them along with cabbage kimchi.
Seeing the soldiers enjoy their meal, Mom couldn’t help but say, “It’s so unusual to have such impressive military officers eating at our house.”
It was probably the first time we had a military officer visit our home. My third sister was also dating a military officer at that time, but he was so intimidated by my parents that he hadn’t dared come to the house.
In contrast, Geum-chol had no such fears and often came over with one or two friends, making himself at home and enjoying our meals.
Since 1985, food conditions in North Korea were worsening. For example, the price of 10 dried pollacks jumped from 10 jeon to 30 jeon in 1985 and continued to rise. The declining of the socialist market and reduced imports meant that people relying solely on rationing often struggled to have enough to eat. The ration for civilians came to a halt in 1992.
Luckily, my family had plenty of noodles stored in the underground kimchi cellar, thanks to corn sent by my second uncle in Gilju, which was then milled and pressed into noodles.
My father’s shoe factory also imported fabric for making shoes, but due to reduced imports, production had stopped. To deal with this, the factory set up a plan where people could trade old pants or fabric for new shoes. They still had to pay the retail price of the shoes. But those who brought the fabric were allowed to purchase the shoes. For example, If you brought an old pair of pants or fabric that could make two pairs of shoes, you were allowed to buy a pair of shoes.
Back then, buying shoes from the store required a supply slip issued by the people’s office (인민반). Because of this limitation, many people could not get hold of shoes even if they could afford them. Farmers in rural areas often had their shoes torn from hard work. So, those shoes purchased at the retail price from the factory were sold at a price multiplied manyfolds in different regions.
When people heard that the shoe factory was offering a production swap program (주문작업반), they began bringing in blanket sheets and other types of fabric to trade for shoes, which then they sold the shoes at higher prices and bought food with the money earned. At that time, my father’s factory shoes were so valuable that one pair could be exchanged for three kilograms of corn.
It was reported in 1999 that some of these shoes ended up in South Korea through China. As a result, the Primary Party Secretary and the sales instructor from the shoe factory were executed along with those under other charges at the now-closed Hyesan Airfield.
The fabric-shoe swap team (주문작업반) was made up of the wives of factory cadre members, and my mother joined it. The business was quite successful, so even my aunt from Kimchaek came to our house and traded fabric for many pairs of shoes.
On her way back, my mother gave her extra pairs of shoes to trade them for more food. Thanks to this, my aunt made a good amount of money, and in turn, our family was able to stock up on a lot of corn and rice.
This allowed my mother to feed Geum-chol and his friends generously. Geum-chol started visiting our house so often that it felt like he was coming and going as if he lived there.
On the last day of the first month of the new year, Geum-chol came to my house in the evening and told me he was being sent to Kim Chaek Fishery Station to catch pollacks the next day.
The next afternoon, I went to Hyesan Station with a package of meals my mother had prepared for him to eat on the train. The waiting room was filled with military officers and soldiers waiting for their trains.
When Geum-chol saw me from across the room, he walked over. I handed him the package and wished him well. I wanted to stay longer, but I said goodbye and walked back home in the dark.
The house felt empty without Geum-chol’s frequent visits and random knocks on the door. All I could hear was the sound of my two younger siblings arguing.
I continued working at the casting department and studying at night school. It normally took two years, but it took me three years to graduate due to my involvement in track and field training, the Pyongyang games, and the bridge construction.
I struggled to concentrate on my studies because I was always anticipating Geum-chol’s return from his business trip. I feared that if this distraction continued, I might not pass my exams.
Meanwhile, rumors about my relationship with Geum-chol circulated among the women in the casting department. Kyung-ok and my close friends cheered me on and envied our relationship. Some of the other girls, however, were bitter, wondering why he had chosen me out of so many.
Young-sil, who lived in the village behind my house, was particularly resentful of my relationship with Geum-chol. Although she was the same age as me, she had graduated from high school a year later. Tall with a long face, she was later called by Geum-chol and his friends, “military horse.”
Despite her somewhat awkward appearance, Young-sil had a remarkable talent for calligraphy, writing with such precision that her work looked printed. This skill made her indispensable for any writing tasks at the factory. Later, Geum-chol’s best friend, Hak-nam, who was a reconnaissance officer in the 5th Battalion, also took notice of her talent and asked her to handle all the name tags needed for the base.
Hak-nam, the reconnaissance officer, often met with Young-sil to discuss the name tags and used these opportunities to ask her about me.
It had been over a month since Geum-chol left for Kimchaek, and I was growing increasingly anxious about his prolonged absence. One evening, as I ran into Hak-nam in front of my house, who had come to visit Young-sil’s house to collect name tags.
I asked Hak-nam if Geum-chol had returned from Kimchaek, but he replied that Geum-chol was already back. He said he would inform Geum-chol that I was waiting for him when he arrived at the base.
Even after that evening, Geum-chol didn’t come to visit. My longing for him was so intense that each day without seeing him felt like a year. The fact that he was back but still didn’t show up made me anxious and distressed. I was overwhelmed by worry and felt like I was falling apart.
On the eighth day since Hak-nam told me Geum-chol was back, I came home from work to find him chatting with my mother. He greeted me briefly, then got up and said he needed to return to the base. His demeanor was different from two months ago.
I followed him outside, feeling uneasy. He told me he’d return the next day and walked away without looking back.
“What’s wrong with him?” My heart, once full of joy, was now clouded with worry. I resolved to ask him about it when he came back the next day and went inside.
My mother looked at me and said, “Is he gone now? Look, he brought pollacks in his combat bag.”
“Why on earth did he bring pollacks in his combat bag? We already have plenty at home,” I murmured.
My mother, smiling, replied, “He probably didn’t want to come back empty-handed from his trip.”
In the past, he would have stayed for a long time and definitely joined us for dinner, so his sudden departure puzzled me. Restless and unable to sleep, I dragged myself to work the next day.
I was supposed to join the sports team soon, as the spring games were approaching. But with my mind in such turmoil, I felt incapable of focusing on anything.
When I got home from work the next day, Geum-chol wasn’t there—only my two siblings and mother. My frustration and worry suddenly flared up, and I quickly changed clothes and headed to his base.
Even walking alone on a dark, remote road, I wasn’t afraid. I told the sentinel I was there to see Geum-chol, a platoon commander. The sentinel told me to wait away from the main gate and rang the bell to summon Geum-chol.
I waited a long time, listening to the distant ringing as the sentinel called for Geum-chol. Growing increasingly anxious, I approached the sentinel again and asked, “Is he not on the base?”
“Please wait,” he said and phoned again. I was once again told to wait at a distance from the gate.
After another 20 minutes of waiting, my frustration and anger mounting, I decided to walk back, feeling foolish for having waited so long.
As I reached the wooden bridge across the Osicheon River, which separates the base from the road, I heard the small iron door attached to the main gate creak open.
I turned around, hoping it was Geum-chol, but to my disappointment, it was Hak-nam, not the person I was expecting.
I quickly walked up to him, standing at the iron gate and scanning the darkness for someone.
“Hello, Comrade Hak-nam. Is the 2nd platoon commander not here? I’ve been waiting for over an hour, and he still hasn’t come out.”
Looking uncomfortable, Hak-nam suggested we talk somewhere other than the main gate. We moved to a spot by the river where the water trickled gently. There, Hak-nam told me,
“I’m not sure if I should be saying this, but Geum-chol can’t come out right now. The daughter of the woman who runs the place where he stayed during his trip is in town. She’s staying with the 3rd company’s vice-commander.”
He explained that the landlady had introduced her daughter to Geum-chol, hoping he would marry her. The daughter, a former teacher at a People’s School, had recently quit her job and returned home, hoping to settle down soon.
Not long after the daughter returned home, the soldiers came to stay at her house. She started helping her mother prepare meals for the soldiers. During their stay, she got to know Geum-chol and become close to him.
The landlady, thrilled with Geum-chol , sent her daughter to the base, hoping that she and Geum-chol would have more time together.
Hak-nam explained the situation and relayed Geum-chol’s request for understanding, saying he couldn’t come out to meet me.
Overwhelmed with anger and sadness, I spoke with a trembling voice, feeling as if my heart might burst.
“Alright. Please let Geum-chol know that there’s no need for us to meet again. I won’t come to the base anymore. He can feel at ease now. I clearly misjudged him.”
I couldn’t be mad at Hak-nam; he was just passing on Geum-chol’s message. I felt deeply humiliated by Geum-chol’s behavior. I had trusted him to be a person of good character, despite his youth, and now I felt betrayed. I remembered my father’s advice to take things slowly and wondered if he had anticipated this.
Walking alone in the dark, I cried my eyes out, overwhelmed by anger towards Geum-chol. When I got home late that night, my mother asked if I had seen Geum-chol. I told her I had come back because it took him too long to return from the brigade. She told me to eat and go to bed, saying he would come eventually. I lay down next to my sleeping sister, refusing to eat. After a few agonizing days, I couldn’t stay still anymore, so I wrote a letter to Geum-chol.
I walked through the quiet corridor on the second floor of the casting department, passing the Union Members’ Education Room and the Youth Workers’ Education Room. Since production had stopped, the factory was eerily silent, and everyone was lounging around, taking it easy.
I slipped into the quiet Youth Workers’ Education Room to write a letter to Geum-chol, trying to avoid anyone’s gaze. After sealing the letter in an envelope, I tucked it between the pages of the novel I had brought along for reading.
Leaving the factory early with my friends, I made an excuse about needing to stop by somewhere and headed to Geum-chol’s military base in Geomsan-ri.
That day, I was supposed to take a graduation exam, but it felt insignificant compared to what I was going through. My heart was heavy with a confusing mix of longing and anger towards Geum-chol, and I felt on the verge of tears.
I ended up skipping the exam that night and had to take a makeup test later. I managed to receive my diploma.
Yanggang Province, where I live, is the highest mountainous areas on the Korean Peninsula, so it gets dark quickly.
After a 40-minute walk, I arrived at the 5th Battalion. By then, it was very dark outside.
At the unit’s front gate, I greeted the sentry and told him I was there to see the reconnaissance officer, Hak-nam. Since Hak-nam was Geum-chol’s best friend and had visited my house with him, I wanted to give him the letter I had written.
The sentry asked why I was visiting. I showed him the novel I was carrying and lied Hak-nam had requested it. I waited away from the gate, and after about 20 minutes, Hak-nam came out through the small iron door.
Unable to see me in the dark, Hak-nam searched around for a while before finally spotting me from a distance. He walked over, and I greeted him awkwardly. I handed him the letter for Geum-chol and repeatedly apologized for the trouble. He took the letter with a chuckle.
As I turned to leave, I started crying without even realizing it. Hearing the sound of the iron door opening and closing, I crossed the bridge over the flowing river and stood on the road.
I walked for a while, lost in my thoughts, when I heard someone calling from behind. I didn’t want to look back, but then I heard footsteps running closer. When I finally turned, I saw Hak-nam running toward me, out of breath.
I stopped and waited for him to catch up. When he reached me, he took a deep breath and asked if I could forgive Geum-chol.
Hak-nam then shared a story from the factory. Kim Pil-gyu, an electrician who worked there, had learned about my relationship with Geum-chol, as most of the workers had by then.
While many people at the factory liked me, there were also those who resented me, and Pil-gyu was one of them. He thought I was arrogant and had a strong personality, which he stereotyped as typical of athletes.
Like many sports enthusiasts, I was stubborn and competitive, never easily yielding to others.
It was said that Pil-gyu had tried to dissuade Geum-chol from continuing the relationship with me, questioning why such a gentleman would be involved with someone like me, who was perceived as tough and unyielding.
Young-sil, who had interacted with Hak-nam and Geum-chol due to the name tags, also gossiped about me behind my back. She spread rumors that women who play sports are tough, and that I was particularly bad-tempered and strong-willed, making me stand out among my friends.
After I heard these comments, I avoided speaking with Young-sil, even though we lived in the same neighborhood, both before and after my marriage.
According to Hak-nam, Geum-chol paid no attention to such gossip. He dismissed it casually, saying, “Who cares? If I like her, that’s all that matters.”
Hak-nam also filled me in on what had happened during Geum-chol’s business trip. Geum-chol had no idea that the lady at the accommodation would send her daughter to their remote base. He meant his words to be jokes when he agreed to marrying the landlady’s daughter. Geum-chol admitted that he compared pros and cons of marrying each woman. The daughter, Young-sook had a calm demeanor. She was 26, the same age as Geum-chol, and shorter than me. Geum-chol also had confided in Hak-nam that he felt too young to marry, especially since he was still a candidate Party member and not yet a full member, while Young-sook wanted to settle down soon.
Geum-chol had sent Young-sook back to Kimchaek, apologizing profusely for any misunderstanding caused.
Hak-nam told me that Geum-chol felt deeply guilty about the situation and had shared all the details with him after receiving my letter. Hak-nam had encouraged Geum-chol to come and make things right with me, but he was too ashamed to face me just yet. Feeling sorry for his friend, Hak-nam ran after me to speak on Geum-chol’s behalf.
I couldn’t help but feel infuriated by the way Geum-chol compared me to Young-sook. I was deeply hurt by what he had done. Even after 40 years, I still remember the letter I wrote him vividly:
“Comrade Platoon Commander,
I’m sorry to write this letter to someone who has so many duties while wearing military uniforms to protect our country. I was deeply shocked to discover how insignificant our relationship was. I must have underestimated the seriousness of what was at stake. You might think this letter is pointless coming from someone who doesn’t fully understand relationships. I wish you happiness, but don’t treat others as you have treated me, whether in future relationships or with friends. If you do, it will be difficult for both you and the other person. Thank you for the time we shared.”
After hearing Hak-nam’s long explanation, I told him, “No more excuses are needed. I’m not interested anymore.”
Geum-chol’s excuses felt hollow to me. His actions were baffling, and my anger remained unresolved.
I couldn’t wrap my head around how someone could behave like that, and I couldn’t bring myself to forgive him. I thanked Hak-nam for caring about his friend and walked away, feeling foolish for my anger and my inability to calm myself.
The next day, I had to focus on my training with the athletic team for the provincial competition celebrating May Day. I spent the night tossing and turning, mulling over what Hak-nam had told me, and only managed to fall asleep at dawn.
The following morning, I joined Jung-nam and the other long-distance runners on our designated training course. As I ran, my heart would skip a beat whenever I saw someone in a military uniform.
Since mid-April, our training had moved to the downtown stadium. One day, the weather turned gloomy and windy, as if a storm was coming. As the sky darkened with clouds and dust blew around, our instructor, Jeong-gil, decided to cancel the afternoon session.
We ran back to where our bags and clothes were scattered on the chairs in front of the stadium’s bleachers. As I neared my belongings, I noticed several soldiers sitting on the top row of the bleachers.
As I got closer, I realized that one of them was Geum-chol.
Throughout this time, I hadn’t told my mother about what had happened with Geum-chol. I wanted to avoid her nagging and was content to let her believe that his absence was simply due to his busy work schedule. I didn’t want to deal with her criticism.
I was making a real effort to move on and forget him. The thought of facing him again, especially after he had another woman looking for him, was too distasteful.
I don’t remember how I managed to grab my bag, change my shoes, or pack my clothes. Inside, I was trembling, but I left the stadium with a smile on my face, chatting and laughing with the other players.
Even though it had only been 15 days since I last saw Geum-chol, it felt like ages. After having dinner with the sports team, I got home late. As I walked through the door, I couldn’t help but think about Geum-chol, the sight of him at the stadium still fresh in my mind.
I was taken aback when I walked into the house and saw Geum-chol sitting with my mother and younger siblings, chatting and laughing. I couldn’t believe he had come back. “How did you get here?” I asked, trying to mask my mixed emotions of longing and resolve.
My mother, looking disapproving, scolded me for my bluntness and told me to join them for dinner. I quickly explained that I’d already eaten at the gym and decided to go wash up in the river instead.
I went to the river with a towel and soap. It was still cold in April. The chilly air made the water feel even colder as I washed my body and hair. I was shivering as I dried my hair with a towel when I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel.
Turning around, I saw Geum-chol approaching me, towel in hand. I didn’t say anything as I waded back into the river to wash my feet and socks, trying to ignore the awkwardness between us.
“I was at the command today and stopped by the stadium to see you train. Are you still upset? I’m sorry,” Geum-chol said, his voice filled with regret.
“Is the woman from Kimchaek still staying at the vice-commander’s house?” I asked.
“No, I sent her back a few days ago. I feel bad about the lady at the accommodation too. I should have told her in Kimchaek that I was seeing someone here and apologized,” he explained.
As he spoke, he shared more about himself and the events of the past. Despite the cold, I stood by the river, trembling, and listened to him. I continued to rub my wet hair with the towel.
He explained that after graduating from military academy, he was stationed in Hyesan rather than Gaesong, where he had anticipated serving. During his time there, he had heard that Yanggang Province, known for being the coldest region in North Korea, was a place of severe scarcity. It was said to be a harsh environment where people struggled to get by, and that those who lived there were as tough and rugged as the land itself.
When he went home for vacation after his assignment, his parents were deeply concerned about him being sent to such a difficult and remote place.
Meeting me and my family in Yanggang, he was touched by our kindness and how we made him feel welcome. He expressed his gratitude, saying how much our hospitality meant to him in an otherwise harsh environment.
Military officers usually came from a good family background (songbun, 성분) and were expected to marry women with respectable jobs, like teachers or doctors. But with the country’s economy getting worse, even soldiers were facing food shortages and other difficulties. As a result, it became more common for officers to choose partners who lived nearby rather than someone their parents had picked out for them.
By marrying someone local, officers could get practical support from their partner’s family while they were stationed far from home.
Geum-chol regretted not telling the landlady in Kimchaek that he was already in a committed relationship. He didn’t want to disappoint her because she had been so kind to him. He never expected her daughter, Young-sook, to travel all the way to his remote base, especially with the trains running so infrequently.
His friends from the military academy, including Hak-nam, were just as surprised by the situation. They couldn’t understand why he let Young-sook from Kimchaek come all the way to his base when he was already in a relationship with me in Hyesan.
He also said that that he had been coming to my house every night, but he was too afraid to go inside. He would just stay outside and then head back to his unit. He was embarrassed to face my parents, fearing they might already know what had happened.
Later, Hak-nam playfully reminisce about the incident, “When Young-sook came to the base to try to marry Geum-chol, I joked that I’d date Misun instead. Geum-chol got so upset that he called me crazy and almost hit me.”
On the dark riverside that day, Geum-chol admitted he had been wrong to be indecisive and promised it wouldn’t happen again.
On our way back home, he mentioned he had met my youngest uncle earlier that day at the headquarters. Geum-chol was close to finishing his time as a candidate Party member, and the headquarters was interviewing candidates at that time.
After meeting my uncle, who interviewed him, Geum-chol thought more about me. That’s why he had asked other soldiers to come to the stadium to see me train. He said that he knew that I was still very upset because I was avoiding eye contact.
From that day on, Geum-chol came to my house frequently, just like before, often bringing his friends along and sharing meals with us.
In May 1986, my third sister got married to her current husband through an arranged match. Chun-il, the platoon commander who had previously shown interest in her, was not approved by my father. My youngest uncle, who had great respect for my father, advised against the match. He explained that Chun-il hadn’t graduated from military academy and, at 30, didn’t have strong prospects for advancement.
In truth, my sister wasn’t very fond of Chun-il. He was short, had a rough complexion, and didn’t take much care with his appearance. He often wore his military uniform in a sloppy manner, which didn’t sit well with her. My third sister, known for her meticulousness, always kept herself and her surroundings impeccably clean.
Among my siblings, I was seen as the most scatter-brained, while my third sister was renowned in our neighborhood for her neatness. Our parents had always emphasized the importance of cleanliness, especially for women, and this standard was well-regarded by our neighbors.
Despite my own tendency towards clumsiness, I maintained a neat appearance and avoided being disheveled. Growing up in such a family environment, my third sister simply couldn’t accept someone like Chun-il, who appeared so unkempt. After learning of my youngest uncle’s advice, my father advised her to end the relationship. Consequently, she ended up marrying a man from across the river.
For my sister’s wedding, all six of my father’s siblings gathered at our house. My oldest and second sisters, who were already married, attended with their husbands and children. The only one missing was my brother, who was away serving in the army.
It seemed that my third sister’s wedding drew more guests than my first and second sisters’ weddings did.
On May 25, after the wedding, my sister moved to her new home across the river. A truck from my father’s factory was filled with all the household items my parents had prepared for her.
People who attended the wedding envied my sister, noting how much a daughter from a well-off family could take with her when she got married. My mother and sister had meticulously prepared everything for the big day.
In the truck carrying my sister’s belongings, I, my two sisters, and two of my uncles rode as guests. When we arrived at the alley leading to her husband’s home, we saw my sister’s mother-in-law come out and dance to welcome her.
As the truck followed, the neighborhood watched in awe. People commented, “Oh, look at all the luggage the daughter of a cadre family has brought!” “What a lucky woman to have such a daughter-in-law!”
“Oh my, look at how many blankets they brought! You can see what you get with wealthy parents!” the local women commented as they watched the luggage being unloaded.
In North Korea at that time, it was customary for the bride to bring all the household items, and the number of blankets was especially important. It was seen as a measure of the bride’s family’s financial status. Even if other household items like furniture couldn’t be provided, the blankets had to be of the finest quality, made from the best cotton and cloth.
Back in the 1980s, there was a foreign currency store on the lower floor of the Hyesan maternity hospital building, right in Hyesan Station Square. This store was where people who had worked in the former Soviet Union or China could exchange their foreign currency and buy goods. While dollars and RMB are commonly used in the markets today, back then, people had to exchange foreign currency at a specific rate at the bank.
My mother, dedicated to providing for her family, worked hard to save money as her children reached marriageable age. People working at the shoe factory made a good amount of money through the fabric-shoe swap, and the wives of cadre members, in particular, earned substantial sums.
With the money she made from this trade, my mother purchased the finest blankets and linings from the foreign currency store. For my third sister’s wedding, she prepared three high-quality blankets. It was common for average households to provide just one blanket for a daughter’s marriage, and having two was considered impressive. For my oldest and second sisters, my mother had given two blankets each, but for my third sister, she went above and beyond.
After my third sister’s wedding, the house, once bustling with guests, fell silent as my two older sisters and other relatives headed back to their homes. I had invited Geum-chol to the wedding and hoped he would bring his army friends along, but he didn’t show up. I wondered if he felt uncomfortable around my relatives, and it left me feeling a bit disappointed.
Today, the third day since the wedding, my mother asked me to visit the base in the evening and bring Geum-chol over, as there was still plenty of food left from the celebration. “He’ll come when it’s time, Mom. I don’t really want to make the trip,” I said, sitting in front of the warehouse chatting with Kyung-ok, who had stopped by.
Just then, Geum-chol and Hak-nam appeared in the distance, walking towards us. Kyung-ok, spotting them, quickly stood up to greet them.
“Talk of a tiger and he is sure to appear!” Kyung-ok said with a smile. My mother, seeing them approach, happily called out for Geum-chol to come in and join us.
As we continued chatting outside, my newly married sister and her husband arrived home, bringing life back to the quiet house. I introduced Geum-chol and Hak-nam to my brother-in-law.
Geum-chol and my brother-in-law were excited to discover that they had both served in the same unit in Gaesong. My brother-in-law had been discharged from the military five months prior. That evening, everyone—my family, Geum-chol, and my brother-in-law—enjoyed a hearty meal together.
After the wedding festivities, my focus shifted to training for the upcoming Hyesan-Baekdu Mountain relay race, set to start on June 15. Following the relay, I would travel to Baekam County, located high above sea level, to participate in a sports event with forest stations (림산사업소) organized by the Forest General Bureau (림업총국산하).
The relay race this time included soccer players, with only Jung-nam and me as the female competitors. I had to shift my training focus from the 100 meters and 200 meters to the 1500-meter and 3000-meter races.
The athletic team decided to keep just Jung-nam and me, so we were responsible for all the track and field events.
One evening, after returning home from training and washing in the river, I had dinner with my family. While we were watching TV, Geum-chol suddenly asked me to step outside.
I followed him, grumbling, “You can talk inside. Why do we need to go outside?” He didn’t go far; he simply pulled out a chair from the shed and offered me a seat next to him.
He looked serious and asked if I could quit sports. I couldn’t help laughing. He tapped me lightly and told me to listen.
He explained that he had seen me running on the road in the morning while he was returning from the brigade. He was with other officers from the 5th Battalion, and they made comments about how I looked running in short sportswear alongside male athletes. They teased Geum-chol about it.
Until then, I had been wearing long sportswear, but with the weather change, we switched to shorts. Geum-chol also mentioned, almost in a reproachful tone, that I wore sneakers like a man even when I wasn’t training or competing.
I chuckled and said, “How ridiculous. My father has finally stopped nagging me about playing sports, and now some random person is trying to do it? Poor me.”
Back then, I had hardly called him “Comrade Geum-chol” or “Comrade Platoon Commander.” I somehow felt awkward using “comrade” for him, so I just avoided using his title and said “jo-gi” (excuse me) when I needed to address him.
But just then, I accidentally referred to him as “someone else,” which made him protest.
“Why am I ‘someone else’? How could you call your future spouse ‘someone else’?! How tasteless is your choice of words!” We both ended up laughing at the mix-up.
I told him that evening that it was normal to train in a short tracksuit and that he should ignore what the other officers said.
After that conversation, I didn’t get to see Geum-chol because of the relay race to Baekdu Mountain. However, he still made frequent visits to my house to greet my parents whenever he returned to the unit from the headquarters or the brigade.
The relay race started at Hyesan Stadium and finished near Samjiyon Pond, where a statue of Kim Il Sung faced Baekdu Mountain. The event, hosted by the Yanggang Sports Committee, was held to commemorate Kim Jong Il’s visit to Mt. Baekdu with his classmates in June 1958.
The section I was assigned to for the relay race was a 20-ri stretch, from the boundary of Bochon County, at the edge of Hyesan City, to Bongsu-ri in Bochon County. Each team had nine runners, with each person covering a 20-ri segment.
The road conditions worsened beyond the Hyesan City boundary. Our instructor Jeong-gil, placed Jeong-nam and me in the front section. The rest of the team, except for those who started at Hyesan Stadium, got off the bus at designated points along the route.
At the start of my section, I waited with the other runners. Shin Young-sik from the soccer team was the first to depart from Hyesan Stadium. He passed the baton to me, and I ran my 20-ri section, keeping a steady pace. After completing my part, I handed the baton to Jeong-nam and then boarded the waiting bus. That afternoon, we held a closing ceremony in front of the statue of Kim Il Sung in Samjiyeon, and the following day, we climbed Baekdu Mountain.