From North Korea to Seoul National University | Noah’s Story
The house was too small. There was nowhere to hide, and so we had to leave.
I was only 8 years old when my parents divorced. My father was a violent alcoholic, and every day he would beat my mother, sister, and me. North Korea’s laws didn’t protect us from him, so my mother tried to protect us instead. My father stabbed her in the lungs for it.
We were suffocating, but there was no one to save us. The police, the law, and the regime didn’t care. So we left.
First, from our hometown. We moved to a remote city to escape our father’s shadow, but North Korea is a patriarchal society so families like ours are looked down upon. All people saw was a divorced woman and her fatherless children. They didn’t see my mother, who came back from the brink of death to protect her children at all costs. They didn’t see my older sister, who ran her own business and worked away from home to support our family.
All we had was each other, and everything we had, we shared. I remember the snacks we used to buy, the delicious things my sister would bring home and split three ways. We endured 8 years like this, surviving hardships and prejudice with little bits of sweetness.
With no social welfare or food rations to depend on, we had no hope of escaping extreme poverty and hunger. We tried our best, but there were days when I went to school starving. One time, while the other kids were getting ready to eat lunch, I snuck out to forage in a nearby mountain. I found some unripe apricots and ate them to satisfy my hunger. After school that day, I ran home and found some rice porridge leftover in the pot. Without thinking, I ate it all, only to find out later that my mother had sold her clothes in exchange for the rice.
That was worse than the hunger–the helplessness as I watched my mother sell her beloved belongings one by one.
We were still suffocating in a country that told us to be small and silent. To live so invisibly, perhaps they hoped we’d disappear altogether. And so we did. We left North Korea, in search of somewhere with breathing room. Somewhere we wouldn’t have to run from again.
That was eight years ago. My family lives in South Korea now. Today, my mother, who fought hard to protect her two children in a place with no freedom or human rights, works as a school teacher for other refugee children. My sister has since graduated from nursing school and works as a full-time ICU nurse. They’ve never stopped being the strongest, most loving people in my life.
I’m here because they protected me. And now, I can protect them too.
I used to be a terrified, 8 year-old boy, who could only rely on his mother. Now, I’m her proud son, studying politics at Seoul National University – the most prestigious college in South Korea.
As I learn and grow, I’m able to understand my past and leverage it for a better future. The politics and systems that people live under, the environments and experiences that people carry with them – all of these things can be different. But in the end, we are all people. We set the standards for our freedom. We can be the ones who bring change.
When I think about how my family used to live and how we live now, it’s actually easier to remember the bright, happy moments in North Korea, because they were so few and far between. Now, happiness is happenstance – it’s everyday and mundane. And I realize that’s what it must mean to be free. That I know this sweetness will stay, and I can too.
Noah was part of our 2022 class of Advocacy Fellows, a program that supports and develops the next generation of North Korean leaders, storytellers, and advocates. For three months, he traveled across the United States, sharing his story at universities, Fortune 500 companies, embassies, thank-tanks, and The White House. Ultimately, Fellows are working to bring a greater focus to the North Korean people and human rights issues rather than just politics.
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I Escaped at 6 Years Old. Am I Really North Korean?
By Sean
Sean 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.
From Fear to My Spear
Growing up, I was a very timid boy who avoided anything that made me uncomfortable. I never raised my hand in class because I was too embarrassed to speak in front of people. Just the thought of everyone looking at me made me freeze.
One time in elementary school, every student had to sing in front of the class for a music assignment. I was extremely nervous, not only because I hated standing on stage, but also because I was afraid people would laugh at my terrible singing. It felt like a kind of phobia. I ended up crying and quietly went back to my seat.
But as I grew older, things started to change.
In early 2021, I began playing the electric guitar. At first, I practiced by myself, but after a while I wanted to play with others and do something more meaningful with music. I heard that my church band was looking for a guitarist, so I asked the band leader if I could join—very unusual for someone like me, who had never wanted to be on stage before. To be honest, I wasn’t even good enough to play during a live service. But the band leader still let me join.
I made plenty of mistakes every week. Every Sunday, I was always nervous before going on stage. But this time, I didn’t run away from fear. I knew I wouldn’t grow if I kept avoiding challenges. I realized that achieving goals often comes with pain and discomfort.
Over time, I got better at guitar and became more comfortable performing in front of people. Now, I feel totally fine being in front of a crowd. That experience really changed me. Since then, I’ve tried to face challenges instead of avoiding them.
In the summer of 2023,I had the opportunity to go to England and help raise awareness about North Korea. A Christian organization invited me and some North Korean friends to speak to people in the UK about life in North Korea. My role was to translate their stories into English for the audience.
At one of the events, I was shocked by how many people were there. There were hundreds, maybe even thousands of chairs. I had never spoken in front of such a large crowd before and I had to speak in English, not my first language. I was terrified. But I reminded myself that this was another opportunity to grow. I didn’t back down. I did my job and didn’t give up. I continued translating for two weeks as we traveled across England, helping North Korean refugees share their stories.
There was another reason I had to translate. I didn’t have much of my own story to share. I was born in North Korea, but I left when I was six years old, so I don’t remember much. But during this trip, I learned a lot more about North Korea. I also saw that many people around the world truly care about what’s happening there and I realized that I care, too.
This was the first time I used my language skills for something meaningful. It was the first time I spoke, not just for myself, but for North Korea.
Growing up, I never really realized that I was from North Korea. My mother didn’t want me to interact with other North Korean kids, and I didn’t have any of the typical traits of a North Korean refugee. The way I spoke and behaved was completely South Korean. I spoke fluent South Korean, and I just lived like everyone else around me.
It wasn’t until late 2020 that I met North Korean students for the first time at an alternative school in Seoul. It was quite interesting to meet people who were born in the same place as me, but I felt different from them. Most of them had arrived in South Korea during their late teenage years. They spoke with a North Korean accent and shared detailed memories of their lives in the North. But I had nothing to share. I didn’t remember anything from North Korea. I felt like a South Korean kid surrounded by North Koreans. I couldn’t relate to their stories at all.
That’s when I started to question my identity. Am I South Korean or North Korean?
But after my experience in the UK, I can now say with confidence that I am both. I am North and South Korean.
One meaningful moment was when I shared my mother’s story---how she escaped North Korea and survived in China. She had told me this story many times, but saying it out loud myself was very different. I could feel it more deeply. It wasn’t just something I had heard anymore, it became something I carried. I realized more clearly that I am from North Korea and that my mother went through many hardships. Telling the story helped me feel more connected to my background. North Korea started to feel closer, more real, and more personal.
Now, more than anything, I want to study and learn more about North Korea. The world needs to be aware of what is happening in the North. With increasing attention and focus from the outside, we will be able to take the first step toward unification. Even if unification doesn’t happen, it could lead to the opening of borders.
Since I speak both French and English, I have come to realize that I am able to use my language skills to let the world know about North Korea. I’ve already overcome my fear of speaking on stage. That fear used to hold me back, but not anymore. Now, I feel that I need to get ready to speak up for North Korea and help the world understand its people and stories.
I’ve lived as a South Korean and connected deeply with North Koreans. I understand both sides in a way that not many people can. That’s why I believe I can become a bridge between the two Koreas.
As I continue to grow, I will keep improving my language skills and keep learning so that one day, I can stand on the global stage and speak for the people of North Korea. I want to be someone who helps the world see them not as strangers, but as part of one family.
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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 Sean.
