Another puzzle piece for unification (Songmi)

My birthday in North Korea (part 1)
By Han Song-mi

This time of year, I have many memories of my childhood in North Korea.

I will never forget my first birthday after my parents got divorced in May 1998. It had been a tough time, my mom and I were mainly eating grass and vegetables leading up to my fifth birthday. There was no food to celebrate, we were barely surviving. At that time, we were living in a barn that was just a few minutes away from my father's big home.

Mom bought some white rice and cooked some meat. It had been a long time since I had seen white rice. “Today is your birthday,” mom said. “I don't have a gift for you, but today we can have white rice.”

I was thrilled that we had white rice. I was staring at my bowl, but I couldn't eat. Mom had done it again, she had put almost all of the rice in my bowl. Mom's bowl had grass with a few sprinkles of rice.

I put down my spoon. “Mom, I'm not going to eat.”

“Why? It's your birthday.”

“Why are our bowls different?” I turned my head to the side, ignoring the delicious white rice that I really wanted to eat. She insisted that I eat, but I couldn't.

“I like white rice, but you only have grass. How can I eat?”

We were at a stand-off. She wanted to celebrate my birthday by having me eat white rice, and she was giving all of it to me. “Okay,” she said. “How can I get you to eat the rice? It is hot, so eat it now.”

I asked Mom to eat first. We went back and forth. “You first.” “No, you first.” “No, you first.”

We were interrupting each other, telling the other to eat first.

“Mom, let's eat it together. We can eat the rice first, then eat the grass after that.”

She agreed with that! Mom ate a little, then she said, “I'm full.”

I knew that she had not eaten much. It was my turn. I ate a little, it tasted so good, I could feel the rice dancing in my entire body. When I ate grass, I chewed for a long time, eating for the sake of survival. But white rice? I would quickly eat. It was so soft. I felt like I had gone back to a year before when I was always eating such delicious food.

“I'm full,” I said, as I patted my stomach. We were two hungry people, mother and daughter, both pretending to be full so the other would eat. Mom looked at me. She was pleading with her eyes for me to obey her. “Really, it's okay for you to eat it. Why don't you go ahead and eat it today? It's your birthday.”

“Because we don't eat rice very often,” I said. “I want to eat it with you for my birthday. That is my real present.” We began eating, taking turns eating a spoonful of rice. Mother, then daughter, then mother, then daughter. Finally, we got to the last spoonful of rice.

“Okay, this last one is for you,” Mom said. I was happy and satisfied to have shared the meal with Mom. After resisting earlier, I opened my mouth wide, ready to be fed. Mom fed me, laughing out loud. “You are like a little puppy.”

We were both laughing, then I spread my arms wide in celebration, exclaiming, “Happy birthday to me.” We both laughed again.

It was a very difficult two years of living together in a barn, but it brought us closer together. As we ate together on my birthday, I remember thinking to myself: “I don't have a father, but I know I have a mom.”

My birthday in North Korea (part 2)
By Han Song-mi

When I was in North Korea my mom and I were often separated. My parents had gotten divorced and my mom was doing her best to make money. I had gotten used to mom disappearing for months at a time, but this time she was with my stepfather. I felt secure with him in our family. It was probably 2002 or 2003, and I was at Aunt Yeonhui's home waiting for mom to return. Mom was visiting by herself, so there were no magic tricks or teasing from Dad. Mom would come and go, trying to make money in different ways.

One day, Aunt Seonhui came to visit. She whispered to me, “Your mom is at my house. She wants to see you.” I wasn't sure why it was a secret, but I sensed that I shouldn't announce that my mom was there. I was so excited, I was ready to run to see Mom. I told Aunt Yeonhui that I needed to visit Aunt Seonhui's house.

“Don't forget that it will be harvest time soon,” Aunt Yeonhui said. She always reminded me about work.

Aunt Seonhui and I made the one-hour walk to her home. It was September 25, 2005, two days before my 12th birthday. I cried as I hugged my mom for the first time in months. “Mom, you took so long to come back.” I was both joyful and complaining.

“My baby, I wanted to give you this money because it will be your birthday in two days. You can buy a book or something delicious to eat.” It was the perfect moment. My mom had returned to me just before my birthday. Then she ruined everything. “I need to leave tomorrow.”

“Oh, but my birthday is in two days, please stay with me.”

“I'm so sorry, I must leave. Your dad is waiting for me to return.” I was thinking that they must be planning something big. But what could it be? My mom gave me a knife next. “You can use it to make food. You need to be able to take care of yourself” In particular, she was referring to dubu bab, or North Korean rice tofu, which required a knife to prepare. Next, she gave me a multiplication table. She was worried because I had only attended elementary school for a year and hadn't been in school for a while. “Please study this. When I come back on October 10th, I will check to see if you have learned how to multiply.” She was the one person who was focused on my education.

I hated to see mom go, but I was happy to hear a speci?c date. Most of the time when mom left, I had no idea when she would return. In this case, I could prepare for our next meeting. I had new energy. Wherever I went for the next two weeks, I took that multiplication table with me and studied those numbers. I wanted to make mom proud.

I could barely sleep the night before mom was to return. While most people were celebrating the founding of the North Korea Workers' Party, I was memorizing math to be prepared for mom's test. The train station wasn't far from Aunt Seonhui's home; I could hear when a train was passing by.

Bbang-bbang! When I heard the train, I felt like mom was calling my name. I would run outside every day, wondering if mom was on that train. Then, the big day arrived. October 10th. I listened for the trains all day, but my mom wasn't on any of them. Every day after that, I ran to check if she had arrived. I would hear the bbang-bbang sound, but my excitement turned to anxiety and my joy turned to tears every time I heard the train sound.

Sobbing, I said, “Mom is not coming back. I want to go ?nd her.” Finally, Aunt Seonhui got frustrated with me crying every day. Crying, my aunt hit me on the side of my head. Aunt Seonhui looked at me and said, “Don't cry, your mom is not going to come back. So don't wait.” Then my aunt said something I wasn't expecting. “Your mom is not in this country. You don't need to wait for her.”

“Don't wait? Mom isn't coming back? She's not in the country?” I looked at my aunt. “Mom promised me that she would come back on October 10th. She's not lying. I will still wait.” I couldn't stop crying. “Mom will return to me.” I didn't give up, I still went to the train station every day to check for my mom. I cried whenever I heard the bbang-bbang sound.

For almost a month, I still hoped that my mom would return. When I opened my eyes in the morning, I would think about my mom. The bbang-bbang sound became a regular reminder that my mom was missing. Finally, I gave up. “Aunt, I can't keep staying here. Mom is not in this country; I hope she is safe.”

I returned to Aunt Yeonhui's house about an hour away from Aunt Seonhui's. I cried most of the time as I walked. I had gone looking for my mom so many times, but now there was nowhere for me to look. It dawned on me that at the age of 12, I would be on my own. How would I live? I wondered if I could live by myself. Both aunts had let me stay with them when my mom was gone for extended periods of time, but now my mom might not even be in the country. As I walked, I thought about the knife that my mom had given to me and how I could survive in this world without my mom. I thought that it might be easier for me to commit suicide.

I struggled very much over the next few years, hoping to be reunited with my mom. There were many twists and turns before that finally happened in late 2011. One week after my birthday in 2011, we were finally reunited in South Korea.

Thanks to a generous South Korean donor, Freedom Speakers International is running a Matching Challenge to empower North Korean refugees.

From June 22 to August 3, forty supporters of FSI set up donations in response. The donor has pledged to donate $100 for every fundraiser set up — up to 40 fundraisers total. Additionally, an American donor has secretly donated $20 to each fundraiser.

At FSI, we empower North Korean refugees through education and public speaking. Many are now giving speeches around the world, writing books, and telling their stories in English for the first time.

Our Korean donor has pledged to continue this Matching Challenge. He is inspired by the people who support FSI.

By starting or supporting a fundraiser, you’re helping them continue that journey.
Even if you don’t raise any money, just setting one up helps us unlock more support.

Set up your fundraiser. Show your support.
Together, we can amplify voices that were once silenced.

—
Casey Lartigue Jr.
Co-founder and Chairman
Freedom Speakers International (FSI)