13. Rise above Tribulation
After a sleepless night, I visited my high school homeroom teacher, Kim Jeong-ok, the morning after seeing off the colonel who was returning to Pyongyang. She was the person I missed the most after my parents. A mother of two, she had left her teaching career to make ends meet. She had started a liquor business at home.
As soon as she saw me entering the gate, she ran out barefoot, tears streaming down her face. She spoke to me using honorifics, rather than the familiar tone typically used with former students. After hearing the brief version of my career, she said, ‘You are a hero, not because you wear a hero’s medal, but because you’ve lived a hero’s life.’ She added, ‘I’ve been a teacher for decades, but you’re the first student to return as a Party member and to have had a commemorative photo taken with Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il.’ She then began preparing a table for drinks in my honor.
I told her that I had to visit the provincial Party committee and the Military Mobilization Department but promised to stop by again in the evening to greet her husband. Afterward, I went to meet Choi Soon-sik from the provincial Military Mobilization Department and received my workplace assignment from the provincial labor department.
I was assigned to the Samsu mine in Samsu County instead of being placed at a factory in downtown Hyesan. Historically, Samsu and Gapsan have been known as difficult places to live, and during the Chosun Dynasty, they were considered villages of exile. In the end, I was sent there on the grounds that I was a disgraced soldier.
In North Korea, everyone over the age of 17 receives a dispatch letter from the Labor Department. Regardless of personal preference, you are required to work only where you are assigned.
Afterward, I made my way to the provincial Party committee. The day before, I had been informed that my Party membership papers would be transferred there.
I arrived at the registration department and met the manager, Hwa-ok. She asked where I had been dispatched, and when I told her I had been assigned to work at Samsu mine, she said my Party membership papers would be transferred there as well.
I was shocked to learn that after a decade of military service, I was being sent to work in a remote mine, hundreds of miles from my hometown. Also puzzled, she asked how someone who had taken commemorative photos with Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il, and even served as the company’s head NCO, could be dishonorably punished.
Though in her mid-50s, she felt like a dependable mother or an older sister, so I opened up and shared my story. After listening patiently for a long time, she asked, ‘So how is the girl doing now?’ seeming more concerned about Young-ae as a woman than about my situation.
I couldn’t stay long in her office, as her subordinates kept coming in and out for document approvals. Still, I was deeply moved to have found someone I could open up to. someone who would truly listen to me for the first time since returning to society. I told her I would return and then left her office.
That evening, I stood across from the main gate of the provincial Party committee, holding two dried pollocks and a bottle of liquor, waiting for her to finish work. She finally came out of the building around 6 p.m.
Only top cadre members commute by business car; most ordinary executives walk to and from work. Typically, their homes are located less than a kilometer from their workplaces. I followed Hwa-ok from a distance of about 10 meters as she headed to her house, which was an average home in an alley behind the Hyemyeong distribution center—less than 500 meters from the provincial Party committee.
After she went inside, I waited for a moment before knocking on the door. When she saw me, she welcomed me in with a smile, asking how I had found her house.
I apologized for showing up unannounced and entered. The house was empty, and she explained that her two children—one son and one daughter—usually returned home later in the evening. Her husband, who had been a cadre member at the provincial Party committee, had passed away after falling ill, and she had succeeded him in his role as a Party official.
For about an hour, we chatted about various things. Her words were invaluable to me, as I had spent nearly 10 years in the military and knew little about life outside of that world.
Before I left, she informed me that my Party membership document would be sent to the Samsu Mine Party Committee and mentioned that she knew the mine’s Party secretary well. She encouraged me, saying she would write a letter on my behalf and that there was a chance things could work out. Filled with gratitude, I bowed and left her house, carefully holding the letter she gave me. Despite my offering, she refused to accept the alcohol and dried pollock, insisting I keep them.
Though this offered a potential solution to the issue with the Party documents, the problem with my military reassignment still lingered. I decided to visit Choi Soon-sik, from the provincial Military Department, the next day. On my way home, I stopped by my homeroom teacher’s house as I had promised.
I had no money on me at the time. I hadn’t had a chance to receive any pocket money from my parents due to my hectic schedule throughout the day. So, I decided to bring the alcohol I was carrying to the teacher’s house. Although I felt a lack of shame and respect, and hesitated for a long time unsure whether I should go in, I finally knocked on the door, thinking she must be expecting me.
The door opened immediately, as if they had been waiting for me. The teacher’s husband and several classmates greeted me. At that time, I was in my 20s, appearing as a spirited and disciplined soldier, deeply influenced by military life. As I saluted everyone, they responded with applause, and we ended up having a party to celebrate me that lasted until midnight.
The teacher’s husband enjoyed his drinks well, and I ended up consuming quite a bit of alcohol myself. By late at night, I was drunk from homemade liquor with about 45% alcohol, along with dried pollock and tofu.
Despite the late hour, my parents were still awake, waiting for me. My second brother, who lived next door, and my youngest brother, who lived with my parents, were all anxiously waiting as well.
It was challenging to keep everything from my family, and I knew they would eventually find out. I also faced the problem of needing to pay a bribe to handle my military and Party documents from Samsu Mine and re-register them in Hyesan City, but I had no money. After some consideration, I decided to be honest with my parents and ask for their help. As dawn approached, I shared everything that had happened during my military service with them.
My mother was sobbing uncontrollably throughout my story, but at a certain point, she stared at the ceiling, as if she had no more tears left to shed. My father remained silent, rolling his cigarette with a thick thumb and filling the room with a haze of white smoke. My second brother and his wife moved in and out of the room, glancing between me and my parents. Meanwhile, my youngest brother, who had previously felt a sense of pride for me, now looked at me with eyes filled with resentment.
Despite the tension, my youngest brother played a crucial role. The father of the girlfriend he was dating was the communications director of the 310th Brigade, and he was close friends with Choi Soon-sik from the Military Mobilization Department.
With the help of my youngest brother’s soon-to-be father-in-law, I visited Choi Soon-sik the following day. Choi welcomed me warmly and contacted an instructor at the Military Mobilization Department of Samsu County, whom he had once supervised. He advised me to visit the Samsu Military Department that same day, assuring me that I would be able to retrieve all the military transfer documents.
I rushed to catch the train to Samsu County, but it had already departed. Desperate, I waited for an hour or two before finally catching a cargo truck. I arrived in Samsu County before noon.
The instructor at the Military Mobilization Department, who had received Choi Soon-sik’s call, was waiting for me. He warned me to handle the matter with great care, as any mistake could cost him his position. He advised me to follow Director Choi’s specific instructions when I returned to Hyesan with the documents.
I thanked him several times and then made my way to the Samsu mine, located in a remote mountain valley. Upon arriving, I presented the letter from the director of the registration department at the provincial Party committee to the mine’s Party secretary. The secretary told me to return at 5 p.m., as he needed time to discuss the matter with the enterprise’s cadre members.
I returned to see him at 5 p.m., but it was to no avail. He told me that the factory manager responsible for labor administration opposed the transfer. I doubted his sincerity; after all, transferring a Party member’s documents was within the Party secretary’s discretion. I left his office, pleading with him to reconsider.
By this time, it was well past lunchtime, and I hadn’t even had breakfast. Traveling long distances and visiting various organizations had left me very hungry. I remembered that my mother had given me 20 won for lunch, and briefly considered stopping by a noodle restaurant, but decided against it.
Though I was indeed hungry, my prolonged sleep deprivation had diminished my appetite. I couldn’t give up now. After all, I was someone who had delivered a moving presentation in front of the nationwide head NCOs, causing the conference hall to be filled with tears. I resolved to persuade the Party secretary, even if it meant staying up all night.
I waited not far from the main gate of the factory. After an hour or two, the Party secretary and several cadre members emerged from the building. I approached the Party secretary abruptly and bowed deeply. Surprised, he asked why I was still there so late.
I explained that I had nowhere to stay and couldn’t afford to return to Hyesan. I added that I would rather stay there and face whatever came my way than go home empty-handed.
Even among various government officials, Party cadre members often had a sympathetic side. Unable to leave me alone as darkness fell, the Party secretary took me to his home.
At his home, the Party secretary was with his wife and two sons. He sent his sons to their room, asked his wife to prepare dinner, and invited me to make myself comfortable. We spent a long time at the dinner table, enjoying the meal she had carefully prepared, and had many conversations over drinks. He had already reviewed my documents and was well-acquainted with my situation. He showed sympathy for everything I discussed.
I lost track of time, but eventually, the Party secretary began to open up, seemingly moved by my passionate pleas. It turned out he had been a member of the 966 military unit in Pyongyang. Since the 966 unit was part of the same elite escort command I had proudly joined when I first entered the army, we had a shared connection. We were both delighted to discover this. Ultimately, thanks to a letter from the provincial Party committee’s director, a bond was formed between us as a junior and a senior from the same military unit.
After listening to my heartfelt stories, the Party secretary encouraged me to put the past behind, look forward, and stay positive. He reminded me that, having contributed significantly to a unit of great faith and trust, I should not let this difficulty hold me back but instead rise up again. He asked me to wait until lunchtime the next day, as he would visit the factory in the morning to hold a meeting and discuss the matter further.
When he returned home for lunch, he had all my transfer documents with him. He handed me everything except for the Party member’s life evaluation document, which he said would be sent by registered mail.
I promised him that I would strive to become a better person and said I would visit him again once I was settled. As I headed back to Hyesan, I felt as though I had finally regained something that had been unjustly taken from me. By then, I had spent days and nights without proper sleep, food, or rest.
I had been facing a future of working in an unsafe underground tunnel, where accidents and disability were common risks. Yet, within just a few days, my fate took a remarkable turn.
I believe this miraculous change was God’s grace for someone like me, who had been wrongly accused. Whenever I find myself rescued from trouble, I reflect on my birth year—the Year of the Sheep—and think that perhaps God extends a special blessing to me, a sinful lamb.
Even today, decades after my difficult return home, only a few people know about my past: my old troop colleagues, my parents and brothers, and a handful of individuals from Samsu Mine and the Military Mobilization Department.
Everything was fixed perfectly, and I was reassigned as a worker at the Hyesan Steel Factory (혜산강철공장). I turned in the letter of dispatch to Cho Man-ho, director of the labor department of the Factory and Party documents to the factory’s primary Party office (초급당 사무실).
Party Secretary Heo Jin-soo and Deputy Secretary Yeo Chang-un were extremely surprised and delighted upon receiving and reading my Party documents. They were thrilled that a distinguished young soldier, who had taken a commemorative photo with the leader and the general, had come to their factory. I explained that I had some unresolved issues with my military unit and had received approval to start work after returning from Pyongyang.
Once I had settled these matters, my parents, who had been anxious and worried, finally relaxed. They began asking about Pyongyang, and I informed them that I was preparing to go there soon.
After being discharged from the military, I had been wearing my military uniform for nearly a month. My parents prepared new clothes for me to wear when I went to Pyongyang. However, I only changed my underwear and continued wearing the same uniform, military cap, shoes, and class badges, looking just like an active soldier.
To be honest, I felt a deep sense of unfairness and resentment over the unexpected ordeal I had faced during my ambitious youth. I wanted to show those who had treated me so harshly that I was still alive and thriving, and that I would be even better in the future.
When I arrived in Pyongyang,I went straight to Young-ae’s house in the Daedong River area. I brought several gifts to show my remorse and seek forgiveness from Young-ae and her parents, who had likely suffered because of me. I prepared a fairly expensive jacket from China for her mother, a high-quality pair of underwear for her father, and high-end cosmetics for Young-ae. For Jin Young-cheol, who would soon be my brother-in-law and was serving with the April 25th National Defense Sports Team, I brought a popular waist belt and shoes of the time. I also included several bottles of bog billberry wine from the Bog Billberry Processing Factory (들쭉가공공장) where my eldest brother works.
I arrived in Pyongyang in the afternoon but chose to wait in the neighborhood until it got dark. Given the rumors about my unpleasant incident, I wanted to avoid drawing attention and embarrassing Young-ae’s family or myself. I entered her house quietly at night, like a stray cat.
When I arrived, her family was about to have dinner. Young-ae looked very troubled, with her cheeks sunken and without proper makeup, as if she had given up on everything. My sudden appearance caused quite a stir. Despite her emaciated appearance, Young-ae was overjoyed, crying and jumping up and down like an innocent child.
Her parents appeared a few years older than before. Jin Myung-hwan, her father, was very pleased and said he always knew I would return like this. Her mother held my hand, her face showing a mix of joy and sorrow. Young-cheol, who would soon be my brother-in-law, was also excited, quickly offering me a seat and taking away my luggage.
Though he was in his 20s, Young-cheol had a mature and dashing appearance, making him look like a man in his 30s. Until his untimely death in his early 30s, he was always like a brother to me, supporting me more faithfully than anyone else.
We enjoyed a pleasant dinner, laughing and chatting after a long time. After hearing about my past, Young-ae’s father was delighted and said, ‘I knew I judged you correctly. I always believed you would handle things well.’
I asked Young-ae to take a few days off from her work at the tailor’s shop. I wanted to make up for the times I couldn’t take her out on a proper date or treat her well because I was always in military uniform. She was the chairperson of the Sarochong Committee, managing around 30 women at her shop, and had earned a reputation as a model innovator. It pained me to think of her enduring a difficult life filled with shame and contempt because of me.
I also told Young-ae’s parents that I wanted to visit all of Young-ae’s uncles in Pyongyang, meet my third brother who also lived there, and plan an engagement ceremony. At that, the smiles on their faces quickly faded, and their expressions turned serious.
They had anticipated that I would graduate from Pyongyang’s prestigious central university and be appointed as a cadre member in a provincial or central institution, leading a successful life. Now, it seemed too much for them to consider entrusting their precious daughter to someone whose life had recently unraveled so drastically, ending up in the coldest, most remote mountainous area in just a few months.
Without receiving a clear answer on the first day, I decided to visit my base the next day to reconnect with my friends. I also called my brother, who lives on Tongil Street, to let him know that I had arrived in Pyongyang and would be visiting him within a few days.
The next morning, several instructors who were close to me, along with head NCOs from other companies, came to Young-ae’s house upon hearing that I had arrived in Pyongyang. They filled me in on what had transpired after my discharge. I learned that there had been significant criticism directed at the political commissar and the head of the security department who had handled my discharge with apparent malice.
My former company was currently stationed at an outdoor mobility training ground. Since the political instructor was scheduled to join the company the following day, I asked my friends to inform him that I was in Pyongyang and would join him on his way to the training site.
The next morning, the political instructor and I traveled to the training site, located in a valley in Saksong-ri, Sangwon County, about 100 kilometers away. Saksong-ri is known for its high mountains and deep valleys, making it ideal for outdoor camps. It is also home to the renowned Sangwon Cement Factory.
The Sangwon Stream, which is knee-high deep and about 20 meters wide, flows next to the cement factory. It wasn’t until almost lunchtime that the political instructor and I went to a restaurant to eat lunch in the Sangwon Cement factory complex. The training camp is still about an hour away.
A scuffle broke out between the restaurant staff and a big soldier who was dining next to our table.
Listening to the story, the soldier ate a lot of food with expensive meat and alcohol and was trying to leave without paying for it. Having seen injustice, I approached the soldier and asked him to pay and if he had no money.
The soldier retorted, “Hey, who do you think I am? Do I look like a beggar?” and then struck me in the face with his fist. If I hadn’t been alert, I might have taken a serious blow. I twisted my body sideways to avoid his strike and, as I did, I swung around behind him and landed a punch with my right fist. The soldier collapsed immediately.
Seeing the commotion, the political instructor intervened, saying, “That’s enough,” while the restaurant staff tried to restrain me. The soldier, regaining his composure, got up and left grumbling. Afterward, we offered to pay for the soldier’s meal as well, but the restaurant owner insisted on not accepting any additional payment from us, so we only covered the cost of our own meal.
After walking about 100 meters from the restaurant, we found ourselves in a pine forest next to the Sangwon Stream. Suddenly, about 20 soldiers in their undershirts appeared, and surrounded us. Among them was the soldier I had confronted at the restaurant.
A senior-looking soldier among the group asked, “Hey, are these the two guys who hit you earlier?”
Realizing that trouble was brewing, I stepped forward and said, “I don’t know which unit you’re from, but I admit that something happened at the restaurant, and I’m involved. Please don’t bother my colleague; he is responsible for our political life. I’m the one who hit your friend, so deal with me.” I then took off my bag and military top, and handed my Party membership bag to the political instructor, asking him to step away for a while.
I asked for a moment, sat down with my knees bent, and tightened my shoelaces. Just as I was about to stand up, another group of more than 10 soldiers arrived from 30-40 meters away. They were also from the same unit. Now, I faced a crowd of 30 people alone. I thought to myself, “No matter how well I fight, I’ll probably get hit a few times today.” I said, “I admit I hit your friend earlier, so do as you please—kill me or let me go. Let’s get this over with,” and prepared to fight.
Before I could finish my sentence, fists and feet began flying from all directions. I was soon rolling around on the ground, unable to defend myself. Desperate, I jumped into the stream, hoping they wouldn’t follow me into the water. But that was a mistake. They pursued me, and kicks kept coming from the riverbank. Realizing I might drown if I fell and couldn’t breathe, I struggled to get back up onto the road.
The fight lasted about 15 minutes, though it felt like it had been going on for over an hour. Despite being outnumbered, I managed to hit several of them simply by turning and swinging in different directions.
Even though I was being beaten severely and covered in blood, I experienced a strange sense of pleasure. As anyone who has practiced martial arts knows, being hit in a match can sometimes make you feel more alive and focused. Watching my opponents fall one by one only added to that sensation.
After about 15 minutes, my face was a mess of blood, and my back and ribs were sore. The damage to my opponents was even greater—some had broken arms and legs, and one had lost two front teeth. A few others were limping. The commander of the other group, who had been standing with my political instructor in the pine forest, finally shouted, “Hey, you guys, stop now.”
At the command, the entire group stopped in their tracks. I was both stunned and felt a strange respect for them. Honestly, the soldiers I had trained myself would not have responded to an order so promptly.
More than half of them went into the stream to wash the blood off their bodies. The others gathered around the road, and the commander from the other side signaled to help the severely injured and get them to safety.
When things calmed down, the commander said, “Now, let’s settle this like men.” They offered me a handshake and a cigarette, signaling a truce.
It was hard for me to stay standing, but I didn’t want to appear weak, so I stood upright, smiled calmly, and puffed on the cigarette they handed me. Oddly, the cigarettes they offered were Ryongsong, which had cigarette sticks—a luxury even high-ranking officers rarely received at the time.
“I can’t tell their military rank since they’re in casual clothing, but they must be from a special unit,” I thought. I then pulled out my own cigarette, a Chinese brand with a picture of a flying deer. It was a high-end cigarette found mainly in cities like Hyesan and Sinuiju, where there were many travelers from China. They were amazed to see a foreign cigarette they had never encountered before.
Among the group, I discovered that someone was from Hyesan like me. Although we didn’t reveal our exact bases, we shared information about our hometown, age, and names.
Before parting, their commander told me, “You’re quite hurt. I’d like to offer you a few days off at my base and provide treatment, but unfortunately, we have a restriction on external visitors because Father Oh (referring to Oh Jin-woo, head of armed forces) arrived by helicopter yesterday.”
I thanked him and apologized for the cause of the fight. The commander complimented my Political Instructor, saying, “Your Head NCO is quite manly and decent.” We hugged, rubbed cheeks, shook hands, and then went our separate ways.
When the political instructor and I finally arrived at the company camp, everyone was shocked by my sudden appearance and the extent of my injuries. My face was swollen, burst, and covered in blood.
There was a lot of commotion about where I had been hurt and calls for taking action against the attackers. I tried to calm everyone down and asked them to bring some liquor to help with the pain.
That night, I sat with my friends, caught up on old times, and drank heavily. The alcohol dulled the pain somewhat. I ended up canceling my plan to return to Pyongyang the next day and stayed on the base for two more days.
Still not fully recovered, I eventually went back to Pyongyang and met with my third brother, who had come to visit me at Young-ae’s family.
Eventually, we decided to proceed with the engagement between Jin Young-ae and me, as I had requested.
It was agreed that my third brother would represent my family from Hyesan at the engagement ceremony.
In North Korea, the engagement ceremony involves the man preparing everything needed for the event, mainly the food, and visiting the woman’s house in the afternoon or evening. Both families then approve of each other and decide on the wedding date. I intended the engagement ceremony to be a statement against the suppression I had faced. I invited my friends from the military to the event as well.
At the ceremony, Young-ae’s two uncles and her aunt were in attendance. On my side, my third brother from Pyongyang came, and the largest number of guests were from my military unit.
Since it was Sunday, we started the engagement ceremony around 9 a.m., breaking with tradition by holding the event in the morning. This timing allowed everyone to catch up and reconnect after being apart for a long time. For me, it was especially meaningful as I, as the prospective husband, had the chance to meet Young-ae’s family and get to know them better. Unfortunately, Young-ae’s eldest uncle, an important government cadre member, was unable to attend due to work commitments.
By noon, most of my friends from the military had left. The engagement ceremony was a significant moment for me, as it helped clear my name from the rumors that had spread at the school. I had been accused of leaving a mark on a woman’s life due to my sexual urges and running away irresponsibly.
I had considered confronting Ahn Young-soo, the political commissar, and seeking his punishment by providing a detailed report to the command. However, I decided against it, recognizing that such actions wouldn’t change anything at that point. Instead, I needed the courage and wisdom to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
My military friends took on much of the hard work. They transported two 50-kilogram bags of rice, one 60-kilogram frozen pig, 30 processed and frozen pigs’ feet, a box of alcohol with 20 bottles, and a 12-kilogram carp freshly caught from the Daedong River.
They used a one-ton truck sent by Romanian President Nicolae Ceausescu in commemoration of the 13th World Youth Festival in 1989, which had later been repurposed for military supplies. The quantity and value of the food provided on that day were significant, especially considering the tight living standards in Pyongyang at the time.
My six friends, all head NCOs, collected money and gave it to me as a gift. I handed the money to Young-ae’s mother, my soon-to-be mother-in-law, without knowing the exact amount, but the envelope was noticeably thick, indicating it was a considerable sum.
Thanks to the support from my military friends, the groom’s position was quite strong. However, the situation changed in the afternoon after all of them left. My brother also departed around 2 p.m., agreeing to finalize the wedding date at a later time.
The only people left were Young-ae’s parents, her two uncles, and her aunt. While Young-ae’s parents, her youngest uncle, and her aunt all approved of our marriage, the elder uncle was strongly opposed.
He declared that he could never approve of his niece Young-ae marrying someone who would live in a remote area like Yanggang Province. Despite a heated argument and even a stern rebuke from Young-ae’s father, who threatened that he would not welcome the younger brother into his home if he remained obstinate, the elder uncle stood firm in his opposition.
Having served in the scout unit in the military, a special force called Nongsandae (농산대), he was a well-known fighter with a violent temper.
Stubborn despite everyone’s opposition, the uncle played his final card. “Head NCO,” he said, “I know my brother and sister-in-law accept you, but I still can’t. How about a drinking contest? If I win, you’ll leave this house. If you win, I’ll approve the marriage. Are you up for it?”
After a moment of thought, I replied firmly, “I don’t see why an uncle who isn’t even Young-ae’s parent should take it this far. But if that’s what you want, I’m willing to take you on.”
Eventually, the contest was set to see who could drink more. My military friends had brought a box of 20 bottles, and Young-ae’s family had also prepared a box of alcohol. By the time my friends left around lunchtime, only a few glasses had been consumed, leaving over 30 bottles behind. Each bottle contained 500 grams of 30% alcohol.
The game was simple: pour a bottle of alcohol into a large soup bowl and drink it all at once without stopping.
Young-ae’s parents, aunt, and uncle watched with a mix of laughter and concern. We drank for about an hour, and as the two boxes of alcohol neared empty, I noticed the uncle’s head slump and his bowl fall to the floor. I finished the bowl I was holding and said to Young-ae’s parents, “Mother and Father, I won.” Then, I collapsed on the spot.
After a while, both the uncle and I managed to sit up, shaking our heads and debating who was the actual winner. Eventually, with the game’s outcome confirmed by the witnesses, the uncle flipped the table in frustration and kicked it.
He grabbed me by the collar, shaking me as if he were about to throw a punch. In his rage, he picked up the empty bottles from the floor and hurled them around, scattering glass shards everywhere. Stepping on the broken glass, he cut his feet, which only fueled his anger further.
Despite the efforts of his elder brother and sister-in-law to calm him, he remained uncontrollable. In response, I grabbed a couple of porcelain dishes from the table and broke them in half with my hands, trying to match his intensity.
Even though he was heavily drunk, he hesitated for a moment, then sat back down, saying he would leave after one more drink. We prepared the table again, shared another round, and eventually parted ways on a reconciliatory note.
I stayed in Pyongyang for one more day before boarding the train back to Hyesan. We agreed to set the wedding date after consulting with my parents.
My immediate priority was to begin my new role at the Hyesan Steel Factory. After a two-day train ride, I arrived in Hyesan and headed straight to the factory the following morning, without time to rest.
The Hyesan Steel Factory was a major producer of steel materials for construction. It had around 400 young party members, including the factory manager, (공장장/지배인) Kim Bok-joon, party secretary Heo Jin-soo, deputy secretary(당부비서) Yeo Chang-un, chief of staff (기사장, 참모장) Chun Gil-sun, and production manager (생산과장) Han Jung-ho.
The factory, comprising exceptional Party members who had been trained in the special forces and discharged in 1989, was a “gift” to the Yanggang residents from Supreme Leader Kim Il Sung and General Kim Jong Il. Over 80-90% of the workforce were discharged soldiers who were also Party members, while the remainder included renowned older veterans, a crane trainee, and a few female staff such as a bookkeeper and a statistician who had recently graduated.
Due to its composition and purpose, the factory was considered an elite, powerful group, with a reputation akin to that of large enterprises with thousands of workers. The factory was divided into three departments: steel (강철직장), rolling(압연직장), and public service (공무직장). On a smaller scale, there were departments that handle materials (자재), construction(건설), welfare(후방), production(생산), labor(노동), facility(설비) and security(보위).
After clocking in at the factory entrance, I went to the manager’s office for my department assignment. He greeted me warmly and was on the phone for quite some time. Once he hung up, he instructed me to go to the Party committee.
The manager, Kim Bok-jun, was a Korean War veteran who had been sent by Kim Jong Il to study in Moscow in 1951 for the purpose of preparing restoration and construction projects after the war.
When I arrived at the Party committee office on the same floor, I found Party Secretary Heo Jin-soo, Deputy Secretary Yeo Chang-un, and Chairman of the Sarochong Committee Park Chul present. I initially thought they were in a meeting and considered leaving, but Party Secretary Heo called me in and asked me to sit down.
He explained that they had recently discussed my assignment and believed I would excel in managing and controlling personnel due to my recent role as Head NCO for a military company. The factory had been established with the Party’s consideration, and while most workers were excellent former soldiers chosen for their skills, they were also quite prideful. As a result, the factory needed someone who could effectively manage and control them. He asked if I could take on this role.
Uncertain whether this was a blessing or a challenge, I answered confidently, “As a member of the Party, would I hesitate to face any challenge at its call? I am prepared to take on the most difficult tasks. Please assign me to the most challenging role, and I will repay you with my work.” My military-style tone and strong response were well-received by all three, and they assured each other that the security department was now in capable hands.
The Party Secretary also mentioned that while general social institutions and businesses were not allowed to have armed security squads, our factory was an exception and had received approval for one. Arms would be arriving soon, the number of guards would be increased from the current 4 to 12, and the position of head of the security squad would be elevated as well.
The security squad, resembling a military unit, seemed well-suited for me as I transitioned from military to civilian life. About ten minutes later, Han Jeong-ho, the production manager, entered and informed the Party Secretary that all the factory workers had gathered in the auditorium.
We proceeded to the auditorium, which was indeed filled with hundreds of young men.
Noticing a newcomer among the leadership, some workers whispered among themselves, speculating about my identity. Party Secretary Heo Jin-soo began his address: “Today’s employee meeting is called to officially announce the appointment of the head guard for the newly upgraded and expanded security squad. After thorough discussions between the Party and the administrative department, Park Sang-il has been appointed as the factory’s head guard. Comrade Park Sang-il, having served diligently for ten years in a crucial role defending our great Leader and General, stands as an exemplary figure for our youth. From today, the security squad will increase in size from 4 to 12, with responsible members selected from various departments. Necessary arms will be provided by the city’s Civil Defense Ministry and the Military Commission. Henceforth, all cadre members and workers, including myself, must uphold strong discipline and fully comply with the demands of the factory guard squad. Can everyone commit to this? Let’s give a warm round of applause to the newly appointed head guard, Park Sang-il.”
I was met with a wave of enthusiastic applause.
For nearly ten months from that day, I dedicated myself day and night to my mission. Despite being the subject of whispers and laughter behind my back, nothing deterred me from my path.
To stabilize production, the first priority was to address the workers’ erratic work hours. Although this was the responsibility of the labor department, the department head, Cho Man-ho, was advanced in age and struggled to manage it effectively. Consequently, the security forces took on the task of enforcing discipline regarding the commuting schedule.
About 200 workers at the factory lived in two apartment buildings. While some homes used firewood for heating, most relied on briquettes for cooking and warmth. However, theft was a frequent problem. Workers often stole coal from the factory, transporting it at night using ox-carts in summer and sleds in winter when supervisors were absent. They even stole steel products to sell for profit.
During my nearly year-long tenure as head guard, there were more nights I couldn’t go home than nights I did. At factory meetings, Party Secretary Heo Jin-soo would often remark, “The only people in our factory who truly defend the red flag are the head guard and myself,” implying that the rest of the workforce lacked patriotism or commitment. In response to such statements and to enforce order, I became deeply involved in maintaining discipline, even resorting to physical measures to deal with night-time thieves caught in the act.
I won the respect of the commanders and staff with my work at the factory, but this made me unpopular with the lower-level workers who could no longer steal.
I had been exchanging letters with Young-ae monthly since my visit to Pyongyang in May. Her letters grew more troubling as time went on. She wrote that her parents were strongly against our marriage, and she felt lost and even contemplated suicide. After a particularly desperate letter, we stopped corresponding for about two months.
At first, I was hurt by what seemed like a sudden change of heart, but over time, I began to understand her situation. In early October, I sent her a letter ending our engagement, suggesting she move on and find happiness with someone else.
Two months later, with no response, I assumed she had followed her parents’ wishes. It was painful to let her go, especially after all the struggles I had faced. I often cried quietly over it. In the end, I decided it was best for both of us to move on. I chose to focus on my work and leave the past behind.
One day, after the factory had been running smoothly and thefts had decreased, Party Secretary Huh Jin-soo called me into his office before the usual 6 p.m. production meeting.
When I arrived, he stopped what he was doing, pushed the ashtray toward me, and offered me a cigarette. I declined, saying I’d have it later. He then lit a cigarette for himself and said, “Head Guard Park, you’ve done an excellent job getting the factory and production back on track. I have something to propose. Since you’re now in a supervisory role, a discharged soldier, and a Party member, it’s a good time for you to consider marriage.
I have a friend who is a Party secretary at the Daeheung Bureau. He’s been asking me to introduce his daughter to someone. If you’re open to it, I’d like to set you up with her. Think about it and let me know.”
After losing touch with Young-ae, I had decided to focus solely on work and not think about women. However, when the Party Secretary, the highest authority at the factory, made me this offer, I found it hard to refuse immediately. I couldn’t bring myself to mention my previous engagement in Pyongyang, so I asked for some time to think it over.
The Party Secretary agreed and mentioned that he was making the offer because he saw something special in me. As time went on, his interest and attention grew, making it harder for me to ignore his offer.
One day, the factory accountant came to my office and said, “Comrade Party Secretary is looking for you. Go right away.” When I entered the Party Secretary’s office, he asked if I had considered his proposal. Before I could respond, he interrupted, saying, “No one completes their work before dying, no matter how dedicated they are to the revolution. You should live your life too. How do you feel about the accountant who just visited you?”
I thought the Party Secretary was joking at first and replied, “Well, she seemed fine. She appeared calm, responsible, and diligent with her accounting work.” I had seen her at staff meetings, where she sat in the corner of the manager’s room, busy with the accounting books.
He said, “The daughter of my friend I mentioned earlier is our factory accountant, Jeong Chang-soon. What do you think? If you have no objections, I can arrange a match.”
He added that doctors, bookkeepers, and seamstresses are considered ideal professions for women these days, and that Chang-soon was very intelligent and came from a well-to-do cadre family.
After that, my interactions with Jeong Chang-soon became awkward. She was the same age as me, which meant she was considered quite advanced in age for a single woman, as most women in North Korea married between 23 and 24. Her single status was attributed to her high standards for choosing a partner.
Despite her impeccable attitude, job performance, and family background, I wasn’t fond of her short stature. However, as those around me continued to encourage the match, I began to develop feelings for her. Around the same time, my parents started to let go of their hopes for Young-ae, suggesting it was unrealistic to expect a Pyongyang woman to move to the countryside.
Chang-soon and some cadre members often brought lunch from home and ate at the office, while I usually ate at the factory cafeteria or at restaurants in the village when I stayed late at work. A couple of days later, Chang-soon came to my security squad’s office during lunch to inform me that the Party Secretary was looking for me.
When we arrived at the Party Secretary’s room, Chang-soon revealed that she had been the one looking for me and then invited me to the factory manager’s room at the end of the hallway.
There, the manager and chief engineer were away for lunch. Chang-soon took out food from her bag—it was a meal for two, neatly arranged and quite valuable, reflecting her family’s affluence. I felt obliged to join her and share the meal due to her kindness and consideration.
We talked for about 30 minutes after the meal. Chang-soon mentioned that her older brother worked as a department head at the Hyesan Magnet Factory and gave me her home address.
I thanked her for the unexpected meal and asked why she had shared such detailed information about herself. She explained that I seemed different from other discharged soldiers she had encountered and that she had asked the Party Secretary to set up a match with me since he was a friend of her father.
As I was still unsure how to respond, others who had gone to lunch began to return, and we parted ways. This pattern continued, and eventually, she invited me to her house, saying that her parents wanted to meet me.
I said I would think about it and let her know when I got off work in the evening. Around 5 p.m. that day, the Party Secretary called me into his room and mentioned that Chang-soon’s father, his friend, wanted to see me and had requested that I join him for a drink.
We traveled to her house, which was more than 10 li away from the factory, in the Party Secretary’s business car. When we arrived, Chang-soon’s parents were already there, likely having been informed of our visit. Her father had the demeanor of a high-ranking cadre member, and her mother exuded the calm and composed presence of a mature wife.
When I greeted them briefly in the People’s Army style, they welcomed me warmly, saying they had heard I was a wonderful young man. Chang-soon’s brother arrived after we had a few drinks. Though he was of average height and somewhat small in physique, his sharp eyes gave him a smart appearance.
That night, we enjoyed dinner with drinks for about an hour and a half. Her father primarily asked me about my family, as he had already learned a lot about me from Party Secretary Heo Jin-soo.
After some time, he inquired about my thoughts on his daughter. I replied that she was very responsible and dedicated to her work, just like her parents. Upon hearing this, they suggested that we could have an engagement ceremony either this month or the next, unless I or my parents had other considerations.
In North Korea at that time, engagements and weddings were traditionally carried out with strict adherence to customs and parental approval. Although nowadays some young men and women marry without formal ceremonies or parental permission, back then these practices were strictly observed.
I expressed my gratitude but requested some time to consider, as my parents were not yet informed. Chang-soon’s father and the party secretary seemed understanding and suggested setting a date for Chang-soon to visit my parents and meet them. I promised to think about it for a few days and let Chang-soon know.
As we parted, her parents urged me to visit often and emphasized the need for a prompt decision, given that the year was drawing to a close. Chang-soon’s age, having surpassed the average marriage age for women, made their concern understandable. They mentioned that several matchmakers had tried to find a suitable match for her over the years, but she had consistently declined without meeting any of the proposed suitors.
I hesitated to give Chang-soon’s parents an immediate answer that evening due to my unresolved feelings for Young-ae. She and I hadn’t been separated for long, and our correspondence had only been missing for a few months, so I wasn’t entirely at peace with the past.
For several days, I wrestled with the thought that Young-ae, as the eldest child in Pyongyang, would likely find it impossible to leave the capital and move to the remote Yanggang Province, especially given her parents’ opposition. Without any recent correspondence, it seemed clear that she would have eventually followed her parents’ wishes.
I decided to write one final letter to Young-ae, using four stamps to expedite it. In the letter, I reiterated my previous message: I wished her happiness with a good man and informed her that I was going to marry someone chosen by my parents in my hometown. Repeating my decision in the letter gave me a sense of closure.
About two weeks later, I decided to invite Chang-soon to my home on my way back from work. Given that regular mail took 3-5 days to arrive, my expedited letter definitely would have reached her. I assumed that Young-ae must have moved on since she hadn’t responded to my final letter. I felt deep regret for the hurt I had caused Young-ae and was ashamed of my actions I was going to take, planning marriage with a different woman so soon. Yet, I believed my decision was for her happiness, and I also harbored some resentment towards her parents, who had ended our engagement because of my rural background.
That evening, Chang-soon was waiting outside the security guard’s office instead of taking the commuting bus. After finishing a review meeting and giving instructions for the night shift, I walked with her to my home, a 30-minute journey on foot. With winter settling in, it was already dark by around 7 p.m.
As we approached the house, we heard loud laughter and conversation from inside, which was unusual for a quiet evening. Curious, I opened the door.
The kitchen was filled with steam and delicious smells. As I ushered Chang-soon in, I was taken aback. I felt as if I had been hit by a wooden hammer and an electric shock all at once. My family, too, had a similar reaction.
Standing up to greet me was none other than Young-ae from Pyongyang, who had been so dearly missed.
Young-ae, who was delightedly walking towards me couldn’t move and stood frozen in place at my and my family’s reaction. Chang-soon, who was following me, also became rigid, glancing between me and Young-ae in confusion.
My parents and younger brother, who had been laughing joyfully just moments before, were now stunned into silence, staring at each other in disbelief. Though it was only 5-10 seconds, it felt like an eternity. I desperately wished it were just a dream and not the harsh reality I was facing. But it was indeed real, and I was left feeling trapped and responsible, with nowhere to turn.
In any case, I took off my shoes and stepped inside, followed by Chang-soon. I introduced Chang-soon to my parents as an accountant at the factory where I worked, and I introduced Young-ae to Chang-soon as my girlfriend from Pyongyang.
Though my parents had been urging me to move on from Young-ae and marry someone in Hyesan, they were completely caught off guard by my sudden introduction of Chang-soon. They felt betrayed by me, and they were deeply sorry for Young-ae, who had traveled thousands of li from Pyongyang. Regardless of the situation, I was the one at fault, and both women were victims in this tangled mess.
In the midst of the awkward silence, Young-ae began setting the table with delicious foods, ginseng wine, and southern fruit she had brought from Pyongyang. She served the drinks she had brought for my father, mother, and me.
I opened my mouth and spoke, “Father, Mother, you already know about Young-ae, as she arrived before me. And this is Chang-soon, who has been seeing me recently. She came here today to introduce herself to you.”
My parents seemed to brighten slightly by this point, but both women remained silent. The tension was thick, so I pressed on.
“I deeply apologize to everyone. To clarify, Young-ae is the woman I had been dating in Pyongyang, and Chang-soon is someone I’ve recently begun seeing. That’s all I have to say. Now, it’s your turn. You can scold me, or even kill me—I’m not worth a penny.”
With that, I took another drink.
My father, usually a man of strong character, remained silent, smoking one cigarette after another, as if unsure how to handle the situation. It seemed my parents were more sympathetic toward Young-ae, whom I had thought they’d forgotten, than toward Chang-soon. Perhaps they assumed I had been hiding my relationship with Chang-soon from Young-ae, even though Chang-soon and I had been seeing each other for some time, with me even visiting her home.
After about an hour of awkward tension, the atmosphere began to ease, and I felt more comfortable speaking up—likely due to the alcohol I had been drinking.
“Now that I’ve laid everything out, let’s hear from Young-ae and Chang-soon. If neither of you is willing to step back, I’ll give up on marriage altogether and focus on my work, living the rest of my life as a single man. Whoever is ready, please speak.”
After a brief silence, Chang-soon spoke first. “Father, Mother, I deeply apologize for showing up like this so suddenly. To be honest, I don’t even know what to say. Comrade Sang-il and I haven’t been dating for long, and if I’m told to break up with him, I wouldn’t know how to handle it—I think it would break me. But now that I’ve heard everything, I understand that he has known her since his time in the military in Pyongyang, and you two even had an engagement ceremony. There’s nothing more for me to say. Please, live happily with her until the end.”
Then, Chang-soon began to sob. Though she must have felt ashamed to cry openly in front of my parents and a woman she had never met, the sight of her weeping so sorrowfully made my heart feel like it was sinking into the ground.
Young-ae, who had remained silent until then, finally spoke. “Sister, thank you so much. I know it’s not easy to let go and make such a concession. If I had known things would turn out like this, I wouldn’t have left Pyongyang in the first place. If you hadn’t stepped back, I honestly wouldn’t have known what to do. I have no family here in Yanggang-do—no parents, no relatives. I was just waiting for the final word. But thank you again for your understanding and for making this decision. From now on, I’ll give it my all.”
In the end, reconciliation was achieved within about two hours. Not only were my parents at ease, but even my younger brother, who had been worried, joined in and spoke with relief. “I almost ended up with two sisters-in-law, or worse, my brother could’ve lost both and grown old as a bachelor. Earlier, I was siding with our sister-in-law from Pyongyang and silently cursing my brother, but now I’m truly grateful to our sister-in-law from Hyesan for making such a big decision.” Everyone laughed heartily and shared a few more drinks in celebration.
Nowadays, women drink with men more freely, influenced by the South Korean dramas smuggled into North Korea. But back then, it was seen as arrogant and immoral for women to drink with men. Yet that night, we all drank together.
Hyesan Beer was decent, but the “Ryongsong Beer” produced in Pyongyang was quite famous. The two women, however, were in a completely different state of mind, even though they were smiling on the surface. If Chang-soon felt sorry when she first entered the house in the early evening because she thought she was an uninvited guest, now Young-ae felt more sorry for having earned a concession from Chang-soon.
It was now almost 11 p.m. From Yeonpung-dong to Changsoon’s Hyetan-dong, it was 5km away. The distance was one thing, but the depth of the night and the brutal coldness of December added to the problem. While chatting with a smile, I was thinking about Chang-soon’s return home in my mind. Then, Chang-soon said that she should head home and asked, “I’m sorry, but can I walk home with comrade Sang-il for the last time? I will not insist if I can’t.”
Then, Young-ae said, “No, please go with him. But are you sure it’s safe at this hour, and in this cold? It’s quite a distance to your home.” She graciously offered these words on my behalf, knowing there was no room for her to stay in our cramped house.
After leaving, Chang-soon and I wandered through the night until 5 a.m. Although she had forced a smile while at my house, it only took about 50 meters before she collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Despite my efforts to help her stand, her legs wouldn’t support her, and she couldn’t straighten her knees.
In the end, I was a selfish, unscrupulous man who had hurt a woman far too deeply. It was around 5 a.m., just before dawn, when we finally reached her house. I somehow managed to persuade her to go inside. As for me, I don’t even remember how I made it home in the freezing cold, my mind completely blank, weighed down by guilt and remorse.
I hastily ate breakfast and went to work, but Chang-soon, who usually arrived early to clean the office, didn’t show up. For the next 40 days, she was unable to come to work. During her absence, the bitter glances from the Party Secretary troubled me less than the heavy guilt I felt for what I had done to Chang-soon.
When I returned home that evening with a heavy heart, Young-ae told me what had happened. After I left Pyongyang, her parents opposed the marriage, causing her to be so depressed and unable to work at the tailor shop. She was bedridden at home for two months, unable to eat or sleep properly. It wasn’t until she received my final letter that she decided to escape Pyongyang.
No matter how wealthy or powerful a man might be, it was a firm principle that women from Pyongyang would not marry a man from the provinces. As a joke goes, the Pyongyang maidens would rather “live embracing an electric pole in Pyongyang (in the place of a husband) than marry a man outside of Pyongyang.
One of Young-ae’s coworkers lived near Pyongyang Station. Before coming to Hyesan, Young-ae moved various items her mother had bought for her marriage—everything from bowls and spoons to chopsticks and glasses—to her coworker’s place. In total, there were 12 lugguage. She then arranged through an acquaintance to obtain a travel permit to Hyesan City. In North Korea, securing travel approval to the border is one of the most difficult tasks after leaving Pyongyang.
Once she had the travel permit, she left a letter for her parents and boarded the train at night with all her lugguage. The letter stated that she intended to throw herself into the Daedong River and asked them not to search for her.
The next day, I took a brief leave from work and went with Young-ae to the post office, where we sent a telegram to her parents in Pyongyang informing them that she had arrived safely in Hyesan. Two days later, we received a response urging us to come to Pyongyang quickly to arrange the wedding.
Young-ae, my family, and I were all overjoyed. In Hyesan, it was decided that my second brother would attend the wedding on behalf of our older parents, along with my third brother who lives in Pyongyang.
However, I was still troubled by the fact that Chang-soon had not been able to return to work since her visit to my house. A week later, I went to see the party secretary to explain the situation in detail and informed him of my intention to visit Chang-soon’s home.
I was both ashamed and apprehensive about facing Chang-soon’s parents. Having dated her for a while and discussed marriage, I could only imagine the pain they must have felt watching their grieving daughter separated from her loved one. I felt a strong obligation to visit and offer a sincere apology.
Her parents’ generosity humbled me further. They understood that there was no other choice and expressed more concern for Young-ae and me, worrying about the challenges she would face adjusting to life in Hyesan.
Even though Chang-soon was bedridden, she forced herself to get up and welcome me. As I left, she saw me off, asking me not to visit her again, as it would be too difficult for me.
I respected her request and never visited her house again. Several years later, after 5 or 6 years, I ran into her on the street. She told me about her upcoming wedding and invited me, but I chose not to attend, believing it was for the best. On the night she returned home after visiting my parents, she wept bitterly, saying she would never see another man. However, after 5 or 6 years, she eventually gave in to her parents’ insistence.
After getting married, Chang-soon resigned from the factory and started a business from home. I later happened to see her on the street again, and she appeared to be in the later stages of pregnancy. I congratulated her and mentioned that I’d like to send a gift, like baby clothes, once the baby was born. We parted on good terms that day.
However, when I saw her shortly afterward, she looked thin and had freckles on her face. I gathered my courage and asked how she was and whether she had given birth to a son or a daughter. With a forced smile and after a long pause, she revealed that she had not been able to give birth normally and had ultimately miscarried.
Upon hearing that, I felt overwhelmed with guilt and could barely keep my head up. Chang-soon had stayed unmarried for 5-6 years and continued to face misfortune because of me.
When I saw her again a few years later, she still had no children. Chang-soon remains the person I feel most sorry for and indebted to in my life. If I have the chance to return to my hometown in North Korea, I want to find her and seek her forgiveness once more. If she is still alive, I want to offer her my sincere blessings for the rest of her life.
Eight months have passed since my discharge from the military. As December ended and 1993 began, Young-ae’s parents had called us several times, urging us to come to Pyongyang to hold the wedding.
At the end of January, I received a travel certificate and boarded a train bound for Pyongyang with Young-ae and my second brother. We arrived at Pyongyang Station at dawn on February 1 and safely reached my in-laws’ house. We were married the following day, February 2.
At that time, it was customary to hold wedding ceremonies at both the bride’s and groom’s homes, though these days the ceremony can be skipped altogether due to financial constraints. If the bride and groom lived in the same city, the wedding would start at the bride’s house in the morning, then move to the groom’s house for a second ceremony. Afterward, they would visit various revolutionary historical sites and scenic spots for photographs. In the evening, relatives and friends would gather for a party, dancing and singing late into the night.
Our wedding ceremony in Pyongyang on February 2 was truly grand. Young-ae and I had our pictures taken at all the famous attractions in Pyongyang. Color photos were very rare at that time, and the entire wedding was video recorded by a broadcasting station.
At the in-laws’ side, only Young-ae’s eldest uncle, Jin Myung-chul, was unable to attend. The rest of the relatives were present, along with all my military friends and many of the workers from Young-ae’s tailor shop.
It was particularly touching to see Young-ae’s uncle, who had opposed the marriage and had been very vocal during the engagement ceremony, now actively participating and blessing our future.
After the wedding, we visited all the relatives’ houses in Pyongyang one after another for two days, and lastly we went to Kim Il Sung High-level Party School (김일성고급당학교). There, Young-ae’s eldest uncle, Jin Myung-chul, was receiving training that was mandatory for cadre members. Previously serving as the director of the Central Party Division 2 (중앙당간부 2과 과장), he was working as the Party Secretary for the Seungho District (승호구역당책임비서) at the time.
Since he couldn’t attend our wedding, Young-ae’s uncle sent his son, Jin-ho, in his place. Jin-ho was a student at Kim Il Sung University and a discharged member of the military. He arrived with all the finest wedding gifts in a business vehicle.
In those days, the license plates for vehicles belonging to senior Central Party officials had the number 2.16, commemorating Kim Jong Il’s birthday. Cars with this license plate number could pass through any checkpoint in North Korea without being stopped or inspected and even received salutes from soldiers.
At present, the number is switched to 7.27, the date of the signing of the Armistice Agreement after the Korean War, which is commemorated in North Korea as the anniversary of the victory of the War on the Liberation of the Fatherland(조국해방전쟁승리기념일).
In Yanggang province, only the provincial Party Secretary (도당책임비서) and the manager of Yanggang Mining Association (양강도 광업연합지배인) rode in a vehicle with such a prestigious license plate. Jin Myung-chul was traveling in one of these high-status cars. When the car arrived at the bride’s house, where the wedding was being held, and unloaded the gifts, it left all the villagers and guests amazed.
Jin Myung-chul’s position was comparable to that of a governor or mayor in South Korea. When I met him in person, he exuded the presence and demeanor of a high-ranking official. I admired his composed and authoritative manner, and without realizing it, I said, “My uncle, I know this might sound presumptuous, but I will definitely bring Young-ae back to Pyongyang myself, so please wait.”
In fact, our marriage stirred up a lot of discussion both before and after the wedding. Upon learning about our situation, Jin Myung-chul ordered his staff to arrange residency for us in Pyongyang and find suitable jobs for both Young-ae and me. However, I declined the generous offer. At the time, I was overconfident, believing that I had overcome all obstacles and that a bright future lay ahead, not realizing the immense and painful challenges that awaited us.
After the grand wedding in Pyongyang, we boarded the train to Hyesan with the blessings of many well-wishers. There was no time to rest from the long train journey; I went straight to the factory and reported back to work.
During my long absence, someone else was acting as head guard, and I was assigned with a new task from Deputy Secretary Yeo Chang-un: Cell Secretary of Rolling Department Unit 1(압연직장 1세포비서). He also let me in on the news that Chang-soon was likely to return to work soon.
At that time, there were five cells in the Rolling Department, with around 170-180 people. I was assigned as the cell secretary of the first cell. I pledged to repay the party’s trust, no matter how difficult the task.
The following day was my wedding in Hyesan. All the cadre members and those from my security squad attended. Although Chang-soon could not make it, she sent a bouquet of flowers through a friend.
The wedding ceremony in Hyesan on February 10 was not as grand or colorful as the one in Pyongyang, but it was attended by my family, relatives, school friends, and factory colleagues. The party, which began in the early evening, continued until 5 a.m. the next day.
Just like in Pyongyang, both the bride and groom hardly ate all day and were exhausted. Guests at the wedding couldn’t stop discussing how the bride had left the wonderful capital of Pyongyang to come to Hyesan.
Jin Myung-hwan, my father-in-law, and Jin Young-cheol, my brother-in-law, who had traveled to Hyesan for the wedding, were very pleased and impressed. After returning to Pyongyang, it was said that he frequently spoke of the warmth and loyalty of the people in Hyesan.