A North Korean Refugee’s Legacy of Freedom | Holly & Mia’s Story
As a little girl in North Korea, I dreamt of becoming a musician. When I was 6 years old, I saw my school teacher playing the organ. After class one day, I went up and placed my hands on the keys, trying to mimic what she played. When the teacher got back, she asked who touched the organ. All the kids looked at me and I thought I’d get in trouble, but instead of punishing me, she started teaching me how to read music. Eventually, my teacher came to my home and urged my parents to send me to Pyongyang, North Korea’s capital, to pursue music with some of the country’s best musicians.
But my parents knew I could not achieve my dream. My grandfather had been a landowner before the North Korean regime took power. When the Korean War broke out, he had fled to the South, never to be heard from again. The regime didn’t forget my family’s past - to them, we were traitors. Before I was even born, my future had been decided.
I couldn’t attend a university or get a good job. While others studied, I would have to dig for coal and sell it.
One night, I was gathering firewood on a mountain near the South Korean border with another girl. In the distance, I saw a town that was dazzlingly bright in the dark evening. Electricity is a luxury in North Korea, and I soon realized I was looking across the border. I had secretly watched South Korean movies for years. I had seen the delicious food they ate and the amazing places they traveled. I stared at the lights and dreamed of what my life could be.
The dream was too powerful to ignore. I worked every day from sunrise to sunset to save money for my escape.
I gathered rare mushrooms on the slopes of North Korea’s tallest mountain, through the bitter cold. After sixty trips, I had enough money to hire a broker to help me escape into China.
But I trusted the wrong broker.
The broker betrayed us and sold us out. Soldiers were waiting for us at the meeting point and we were dragged from the river to an interrogation cell. The secret police want you to confess that you were trying to defect to South Korea. They beat you with a stick and slam your head against a wall until you just want the pain to stop. But if you confess, you’re sent to a political prison camp to die like an animal.
So I refused to say anything. They kept beating me and screaming at me, but I closed my eyes and held on to my dream of freedom. It was two weeks before they finally sent me to a detention center.
A woman in my cell told me about another broker who could help me escape. But there was a catch - I would have to be sold to a man in China.
I chose the unimaginable. I was sold for less than $3,000.
It is hard for me to talk about this time in my life. The man who bought me kept me in a small bedroom in his house. In one month, I was pregnant. When he found out, he told me to get an abortion. I refused. He tried to drug me and take me to get an abortion while I was unconscious.
One night I felt sick and thought it was food poisoning, but I was in labor and rushed to the hospital. After twenty hours, the doctor had to perform an emergency c-section. The man who bought me complained about the extra expense.
But when I woke up, there was my beautiful baby. I put her on my chest and knew she was my everything. My new dream was to give my daughter Mia a chance to have a better life than me.
I knew we couldn’t stay in China. The man who bought me didn’t want a child, and every day we stayed was another day we could get caught. But I couldn’t take a newborn baby on the dangerous journey. I waited until Mia was one year old, making secret plans with someone who could help us escape - now I know they were part of LiNK’s rescue network.
The day of our escape finally came, and we went to a safe house. I had Mia on my back and a bag full of diapers, clothes, and a small bracelet that was a gift for her. It was everything we had. We met up with other North Koreans, and they were not happy that Mia and I were joining them. I could not blame them. There were stories about groups that were caught because of a crying baby.
Taking care of a one year old is hard enough. Doing so while avoiding the Chinese police was one of the hardest things I have ever done.
I didn’t want Mia to cry so I never put her down, even when my back and arms ached from rocking her. We never stopped for more than a few hours so I had to breastfeed her along the way. Whenever we did have a break, I’d change her diapers, clean her, and make sure she ate enough. By the time I was done, we had to move again. I didn’t have time to eat so I went days with barely any food.
But every mile we traveled brought us closer to our new life. One hot morning, we climbed into a boat and crossed a river. With Mia in my arms, we were met by LiNK’s field team who welcomed us into freedom.
There are two days I will never forget. The day Mia was born and the day I arrived in the United States. I cried so much walking out of the airport. I had no idea what our new life would look like, but we were together and we were finally free.
Now when Mia falls asleep in my arms, all I feel is happiness. My story used to only be about my dreams, but now, I am watching my daughter grow into a fearless and curious person. If I never decided to escape and if I didn’t have LiNK’s help, Mia’s life would be so different. Instead of growing hungry, she has a full stomach. Instead of learning North Korean propaganda, she’s learning about science and animals and the world. Instead of fearing we could be sent to a political prison camp, I just worry she’s growing up too soon.
I believe that one day, every North Korean will be free. And every child will be able to write their own story, like my Mia.
Thanks to Holly’s bravery and the help of LiNK supporters around the world, Mia will never know a life without freedom. Holly will be leaving behind a legacy of freedom for her daughter and for generations to come.
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Lost Stories from North Korea — A Life With No Exit
By Jane
Jane is a participant of LiNK’s Intensive English Program (LIEP), designed to build the capacity of North Korean English speakers at the intermediate level. In partnership with the British Council, LIEP aims to cultivate participants’ communication and critical thinking skills in English. LIEP is complementary to our broader LiNK English Language Program (LELP), which supports speakers of all proficiency levels.
When I was young, we lived in the countryside. Like the other kids, I had to help my mom with farming. It was hard work. From spring to fall, everything was difficult. Carrying a heavy load on my back, climbing up the mountain, my hands covered in blisters from using farming tools—I would often return home late, completely exhausted.
Our field was located at the top of a high mountain. From there, I could look down and see the Amnok River flowing, with a railway track stretching beside it. One spring day when I was around 13, I was resting at the top of the mountain, looking down at the train passing by below.
Watching it move slowly like a caterpillar, I thought to myself, "I want to get on that train and go somewhere far away." That was the first time I dreamed of escaping. We were living in a prison with no exit, no hope.
Eventually, I managed to escape from that life in that prison. But my mother must have continued climbing that mountain and working in that field for many more years. Perhaps, during her moments of rest, she would look down at the river and the railroad. Perhaps, she thought about me, who had left for a place far away.
Now, I am living well in South Korea, as a mother of one myself. I carry dreams and hope in my heart. But not everyone has been as fortunate as I have in finding a way out.
I have a friend, a North Korean defector now living in the United States, who once shared a story that moved me to tears. A few years ago, she fled North Korea with her two young daughters and eventually made her way to America. She attempted to reach South Korea twice. The first time, she set out with her daughters, ages seven and eleven. They wandered for days through the vast Baekdudaegan mountains. When their water ran out, she dug into the earth with her bare hands, squeezing out a few drops to moisten their mouths.
Along the way, they came across the bodies of two people, sitting with their backs leaning against each other in the middle of a field. From their clothes, she could tell they were North Koreans, their bodies already beginning to decompose. Fearing that she and her daughters might meet the same fate, she decided to turn back and return to North Korea.
As I listened to her story, I couldn’t hold back my tears. Who were those two souls lost in the mountains? Where had they been trying to go? How long had they wandered? They might have been so exhausted that after sitting back to back, they couldn’t get up again. What thoughts filled their minds in their final moments?
That’s why I want to be a writer—to share these stories with the world.
For the people in North Korea who still dream of breaking free from a life with no exit, and for the nameless souls who never made it to freedom.
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Opportunities like LiNK’s Intensive English Program (LIEP) are helping North Koreans find their voice, reach their goals, and lead change on this issue. Your support can help us continue to make an impact in the lives of North Korean refugees, like Jane.
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