From North Korea to South Korea: Under the Big Dipper
By: Hyeyoung Woon
Hyeyoung Woon is a financial accounting professional who escaped North Korea in 2009. Through essays based on personal experience, Hyeyoung shares reflections on life in North Korea, the journey of defection, and adaptation to a new society.
There was a time when the night sky felt like the only place I could hold on to.
I grew up in a small city in the northern part of North Korea. As a child, my happiest moments were simple. Every night, my mother would tell me stories while I searched for the seven stars of the Big Dipper above us. Those stars felt constant and comforting, quietly watching over me as I fell asleep.
When I was seven years old, everything changed. As the economy in the North worsened, my parents had to leave, and I was sent to live with my grandparents. I did not know when they would return. They promised it would be soon, and that they would bring candy if I waited patiently. At first, I believed them. But days became months, and months became years. Waiting quietly became part of my life.
Years later, I was briefly reunited with my mother. But she was no longer the same person I remembered. Prison and hardship had changed her in a way I could not fully understand. We promised never to separate again, yet one morning she disappeared once more.
All she left behind was a letter, promising that one day she would take me to South Korea. That promise became my direction.
A few years later, a broker secretly contacted me in the middle of the night. Hidden in the mountains, through an illegal phone call, I heard my mother’s voice for the first time in years. From that moment, I decided to leave everything behind, I decided to follow her path out of North Korea.
The journey out of North Korea was filled with fear. When I reached Beijing airport, I was terrified as I boarded the plane to South Korea. But, for the first time in my life, I felt like I was finally moving toward something, instead of simply waiting.
And then, after years of waiting, I found her.
For a while, life felt almost normal. My mother taught me how to survive in a completely new world: how to study, how to adapt, and how to build a future in South Korea. Everything around me felt unfamiliar, but I was no longer alone.
Then life changed again.
While I was in university, my mother was diagnosed with liver cancer and given only one year to live. It felt unbearably cruel. And yet, that final year together became one of the most meaningful years of my life.
Before she passed away, my mother had one wish: to tell her own mother, “I love you.”
But in North Korean culture, those words are rarely spoken, and by then, it was already too late. All I could do was share my memories of my grandmother with her. As I spoke, I watched her eyes brighten with memories she could no longer return to.
Exactly one year later, she passed away.
Once again, I was left alone.
For a long time, I did not know how to continue living after my mother passed away. I had risked everything just to follow her, and suddenly the person who had been my destination was gone. I was alone again.
But slowly, I began to move forward.
Years later, when I traveled abroad, I often wished she could see those places too. In every new city, I quietly imagined her beside me.
Even now, when I look up at the night sky, I still search for the Big Dipper. Thinking about that time, my mother and I used to look at those seven stars together.
So much in my life has changed since then.
Countries have changed.
People have disappeared.
And time has carried us into completely different worlds.
But the Big Dipper remains. Quietly shining above us.
Sometimes, when I look at those stars, I still feel connected to her.
As if, even now, we are somehow looking at the same night sky from different worlds.
And, maybe, that is why the Big Dipper still comforts me.
It reminds me that some people never completely leave us.
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Hyeyoung is a participant of the LiNK English Language Program (LELP), which serves to not only help North Korean defectors build confidence and skills in English, but develop their capacity as advocates for this issue. To that end, we partnered with select LELP “columnists” to write and polish personal essays through multiple rounds of external feedback and revision. Our goal is to have more North Koreans share their stories directly and lead efforts to change the narrative.
We believe the North Korean people can achieve their liberty in our lifetime.
Opportunities like LELP invest in the people building that future now. Help more North Koreans find their voice, reach their goals, and lead change on this issue.
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A North Korean Father Risks Everything for Family | Doohyun’s Story
I lived in North Korea for over 20 years, and for much of that time, I believed my life was normal. I grew up in a big city by the river. When the wind blew, I could smell the water on the breeze, and on holidays, I played along the banks with my friends.
The river ran along the border between North Korea and China. I could see across the water into a different world–one where cars lined the streets, and buildings stretched high into the sky.
But I didn’t realize that life should be different, until the day they took my father away.
My father was a great businessman. He provided for our family despite being forcibly discharged from the military when his Minister of Defense was executed by Kim Il Sung. Labeled as a “traitor,” he was banned from decent jobs and opportunities.
Still, my father was a clever man and found success within the private market system that many North Koreans rely on to survive. Until one day, the police came to investigate him.
Without reason or warning, my father was arrested and imprisoned. They tortured him for a year. When he was released, my father weighed only 66 pounds.
Even after surviving the unimaginable, he was defiant. He wrote 20 pages of complaints to the Central Party about the human rights abuses he endured. My family was terrified of the consequences, but we couldn’t stop him. He fought for his voice to be heard.
On a warm Spring day, a Mercedes-Benz, license plate number 216, arrived at our home. February 16th was Kim Jong Il’s birthday, and cars with this number were only given to his closest aides. My father spoke with the man for hours about his letter. The man apologized and promised something like this wouldn’t happen again. This gave us a bit of hope for the future – for the possibility of change.
But the man left for Pyongyang. And then the police returned. I never saw my father again.
For two years, my family and I lived in unknowing agony, receiving no news on my father. Eventually, we heard from my father’s friend, who was a police officer, that he had passed away in prison.
At the very least, we wanted to send him off properly, so we asked that same friend how we could get my father’s body. Three days later, he returned. He told us they would not return my father’s body. My father had been sentenced to eight years in prison. He’d passed away after two. He still had six more years to serve – as a dead body. As a corpse.
For the first time I wondered whether this was the way normal people lived.
In 2009 I decided to escape from North Korea. Life had become near impossible for me after my father’s death, and I continued to face discrimination due to our family’s status in society.
By then, I had been married to my wife, Jiyeon, for two years. Most of our relationship before marriage was through the phone, because we lived far apart, and traveling in North Korea is difficult. So we called each other every night and talked for hours.
Now, I didn’t know if I was going somewhere she would never be able to reach. I told her it was a business trip. Two weeks. I’ll just be gone for two weeks.
She still cried at the train station, thinking about those two weeks. I couldn’t cry with her because then she would know the truth. So I boarded the train without a word, and watched it take me away from her.
From the moment I escaped North Korea, it felt like I was being chased by a grim reaper. There were multiple close-calls where I felt death breathing down my neck.
I was once hiding in a corn field near the Chinese border. Lying on my stomach, I watched soldiers patrol the area when suddenly, one of them walked towards me. It was too late to run or hide.
I had brought poison with me in case something like this happened - I knew it would be better to kill myself rather than be captured. But as I prepared to take the poison, I thought of my wife. I thought about how she would never know what happened to me.
In that moment of sheer terror, I heard the sound of water. The soldier stood right beside me but he hadn’t seen me. He had only walked over to relieve himself. For the next few minutes, I couldn’t move. The soldier had left, but my body held onto the terror of that moment. I remained hunched and hurried for the rest of the journey.
Eventually, I made it safely to South Korea. I started working as soon as possible – 12 hour days to pay back the broker fee, and save up money for my wife’s escape. My schedule was just working and sleeping, working and sleeping. It was hard, but for the first time in a long time, I had hope.
I was able to find a broker who put me in contact with my wife. It had been ten months since I’d defected at that point – ten months of her not knowing whether I was dead or alive. The call couldn’t be made in the city because the signal could be intercepted, so my wife and the broker hiked to the top of a mountain.
When we heard each other’s voices again, all we could do was cry. But we didn’t have much time, and so I asked her, you’re coming, right?
She said she was.
On December 27th, 2011, Jiyeon crossed the river to escape North Korea on the same route that I took.
As soon as my wife arrived in South Korea, I went to meet her. I was so excited. I couldn’t stop crying. When my wife came into the room, she was crying too – but do you know what’s the first thing she did when she saw me?
She punched me – crying, calling me a liar. And I deserved it.
We live in Utah now with our two beautiful sons. We go fishing, camping, and enjoy the outdoors together. Every time I see them, I realize I’m living in a different world, one where we can finally dream and decide our own future.
This is the life I’ve made for my children. This is the life my father envisioned for me and for all North Koreans when he made his act of defiance. My father died fighting for his voice to be heard – and now, finally, he’ll be heard by the world.
Doohyun risked everything to create a future where his family could live together in freedom. Their story isn’t unique - there are many more North Koreans waiting and hoping for the day when they can reunite with loved ones. Help make freedom part of every North Korean’s story.
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Since resettling in the United States, Doohyun has completed his undergraduate studies and now works for a North Korean human rights organization. He considers helping the North Korean people to be his life’s mission, continuing his father’s legacy.
