[에세이 경시대회 당선작-고등 부문 2위]The Meaning of Korean Liberation

Seijung Kim/McLean High School

그 시절 봄은 너무 추웠다 That spring was too cold
어린 꽃들은 펴보지 못하고 Little buds
서리에 덮이고 Froze and dropped
모래바람에 날아가 In the frost and wind
그렇게 떨어졌다

I started writing poems in Korean. The biggest influence on my passion for poetry came from Yun Dong-ju, a talented poet and independence activist. First reading his poem at the age of 11, I learned that poetry could portray so much love and sorrow. In his most admired poem, “Seosi,” Yun’s delicate voice and innocent soul moved my heart: “Till the day I die, I gaze at the sky, hoping I have not a single shame. Even at the howling wind among leaves, I feel guilty.” Although I did not fully understand his intention nor his pain, his poems made me love Korean and poetry. Yun’s entire life, only 28 years, began and ended in the Japanese occupation period. He loved literature and wished to speak love of his country through it. However, his poems could not be published in a country where speaking, writing, and publishing anything in Korean were strictly prohibited. Only after his death, after Korea was liberated, was his poetry published. Thanks to the liberation, the works of Yun and other poets such as Kim Sowol and Jeong Ji-young could reach the future generation like me. Without them, I would not be writing poems, nor would my poems have Korean spirit.

My poem talks about the lives of young girls, innocent like fresh-blown flowers, who faced brutal abuse that devastated their childhood and crushed their dreams. These girls were called “Comfort Women.” Only a handful returned home; most were consumed by the fire, with torn bodies and hearts. It talks about young men, who should had been dreaming of what they would become but were dragged into mines, railroads, and battle fronts. In the middle of writing the poem, I had to stop. I felt too sad to continue. As a teenager enjoying the freedom they longed for, how dare could I talk about the dark part of our history?

When Korea was under Japanese rule, Korean students could not learn their own language at school, and people were forced to receive new Japanese names. Those living under surveillance dreaded to speak their native language and history. And why was using Korean banned? Because it was what connected the souls and values of the race and what allowed Koreans to have the freedom of expression and communication. Eventually, losing language meant the destruction of history and spiritual independence. After its language was prohibited, Korea was under a threat of losing the key components that made up its identity.

Seventy one long years have passed since Korea’s liberation, but the fact that our independence and freedom came from the sacrifice of our ancestors should never be erased from our memories. Gwangbokjeol, the day Korea’s light was resurrected, exists for warning that we should not let such a tragic history repeat itself as well as for celebrating our freedom.

Time heals wound but brings oblivion. Therefore, our generation constantly struggles to retain the memories of Korea’s dark past. As an effort, this early spring, two awaited films finally were released in theater: “Dong-ju,” and “Spirits’ Homecoming.” “Dong-ju” is a film that narrates the short life of Yun Dong-ju and the vivid details of how Korean inmates were treated in jails. “Spirits’ Homecoming” explicitly informs about the torture and massacre of Comfort Women. Because I had often thought interest about these subjects were declining, I was glad to hear these movies were made, especially after I learned that it took 14 years for Spirits’ Homecoming to be fundraised and produced against concerns and oppositions. I also heard about another effort to keep Korean history: Korean provisional government in Shanghai recently went through renovations thanks to the donation of Song Hye-kyo, an actress. Now there are Korean guides to all of the exhibits and funds for protecting them, whereas the exhibits were exposed without sufficient care for proper display and maintenance when I visited in 2011. These efforts made by the younger generation serve as a proof we, Koreans, did not forget and will continue to remember.

However, remembering the atrocities in the Korean community alone is not enough. For instance, everyone in the world should know about Comfort Women, the biggest human trafficking of the 20th century done by a state. Comfort Women were not only from Korea but also the Netherlands, China, Philippines, Australia and more. It is shocking that such a few are knowledgeable about it and think there should be a sincere apology from Japan. We have to urge the world that only the transparency of the most shameful history can heal the hearts of innocent victims and correct distortions in history. The victims are still alive, and they have already struggled in indifference for decades. Now their lives are burning out like candles. The story behind Korea’s independence is distressing.

The approaching Korean Independence Day is a day when I thank for the freedom and happiness I enjoy, a day when I pay respect to the brave souls who brought this glory, and a day that reminds me of the unresolved problems concerning the comfort women and the correction of history. With this appreciation, I can finish my poem:

새봄이 왔다 Came another spring
떨어진 꽃들의 무덤 위에 On the graveyard of wilted flowers
눈물로 얼룩진 그 땅위에 In soil stained with tears
새로운 꽃나무가 돋아난다 Blossomed a new tree of hope