Holly & Mia: North Korean mother and daughter
"When I was young, my mom took me to go see a fortune teller. The fortune teller stared quite forcefully into my eyes, then said that she couldn't see me—that my future was a mystery because she couldn't see me in this world. My mother started crying, asking if I was going to die. The fortune teller told her not to worry, that although I would leave this world, I was going to find success in a world away. That was the moment I understood. I knew I had to leave."
To not know a day’s rest, to never feel a moment's peace — these were common themes in Holly’s life. Since graduating high school, she worked tooth and nail just to stay afloat. Growing into adulthood in the midst of a changing North Korea, she knew that money would be the only thing that could keep her and her family safe. Her family was able to find security by doing business in the Jangmadang (North Korean Market), but it was not enough. Holly left her home to travel to the southern part of North Korea to try to run her own business. Instead of steady business, she found love. Holly’s newfound romantic bliss did not last long. Due to a series of unfortunate business transactions, her husband lost everything. Feeling helpless, she decided to give up everything she had and make for the border. After two attempts and two jail sentences for attempted escape, she finally made it out. But even in China, she could feel a target on her back. Shortly after crossing the border, with no options, Holly was sold into a marriage.
Holly had a daughter with this man, and stayed in a loveless “marriage” because she did not want to deprive her daughter a father. She wanted to be able to give the new light in her life everything — every chance and opportunity any other child is offered by birth in the free world. Seeing that her husband could not care or provide for her, let alone her child, she knew she was not yet free. With the dream of an opportunity-rich future for her baby, Holly was able to make the arduous journey to freedom through our rescue networks. Traveling thousands of miles with her baby, not yet two years old, she could feel her dream come true the further she got from her old life.Now, Holly and her daughter Mia are safely resettled in the United States. Holly is excited to be able to learn anything and everything. "I want to learn a skill, any skill, that allows me to gain a good career and provide for my baby."
On a recent visit with Holly and Mia, we learned something new about her. Mia had beautiful hats, scarves, mittens and sweaters that were all knit by her mother. Holly learned to knit from her own mother and was using her skills to dress her daughter. With limited resources, she was even knitting with two chopsticks! Holly is working diligently to learn English and is excited and motivated by all of the new information she has access to. When she is not studying English or playing with Mia, she is knitting. To support Holly and Mia in their resettlement, we worked together to provide a place for Holly to sell her beautiful, handmade hats. 100% of the proceeds will go directly to Holly and Mia. Thank you for your support!
A North Korean Refugee’s Journey - Pursuit of the Freedom to Learn
By Yukyung Lim
Yukyung 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.
I was born in North Korea—a place where identities are imposed, voices are silenced, and dreams are tightly confined. There, schooling is not a pathway to opportunity but a means of indoctrination, designed to enforce obedience and suppress individuality. But thanks to my mother’s courage, I never had to undergo that system. She made the bold decision to keep me out of school in North Korea. At age eight, I escaped to China to reunite with her, beginning a journey that would define not only my identity but also my deep, lifelong yearning to learn.
In China, my mother obtained a false identity for me so I could enroll in school. That first day in a rural classroom marked the beginning of a different kind of life. I was behind, anxious, and constantly aware of our fragile situation.
For the first time, however, I was learning not to obey—but to think.
A year later, we moved to Beijing. There, I stepped into a world I had never imagined—one of academic rigor, intellectual freedom, and cultural diversity. It was in that environment that I first witnessed how learning can transform a person. Each lesson, each classroom conversation, opened doors not only to knowledge but also to self expression, confidence, and hope.
One winter afternoon in 2010, I was on my way to the bookstore, backpack heavy on my shoulders. Beijing was bleak and cold that year. Snowflakes fell softly, only to be crushed by cars and vanish into the grime of the streets. That scene reflected my life: I bore a name I couldn’t speak aloud, fears I couldn’t share, and a fragile existence that felt quietly lonely.
Inside the bookstore, warmth greeted me. I wandered through the aisles, searching for a quiet corner to rest. Then, I saw it—a book with a black-and-white cover, its portrait etched in solemn ink. The man’s composed expression exuded a power I longed for. I picked it up, almost unconsciously.
“I Have a Dream.”
“I have a dream that one day... people will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
“This is the time to make real the promises of democracy.”
“We will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.”
These weren’t just words. They were light, seeping through a crack I hadn’t known existed. In a world that had taught me to stay small and silent, they spoke to a part of me I had hidden away. For the first time, I felt truly seen—not for where I was from or what I looked like, but for my thoughts, my voice, and the quiet strength I carried within.
Later, after arriving in South Korea, I faced new challenges. Though I had returned to my cultural roots, I felt out of place. I was older than my classmates, unfamiliar with many social norms, and unsure of how to fit in. But with time, I began to build friendships and navigate this new society. Again, learning was central—it provided not just academic skills but also the social space to grow and belong.
During university, I studied abroad in Texas. It was my first experience in a Western classroom. I was struck by the openness, the individuality, and the value placed on diverse opinions. Being among students from different backgrounds showed me how perspectives can differ—and how that difference enriches everyone.
Wherever I was—in China, Korea, or the United States—the classroom was where I grew the most. It was where I stepped outside my comfort zone, gained confidence, and slowly came to understand who I was becoming.
Across all these countries, I’ve developed not just a global perspective but a deep appreciation for the transformative power of learning. In each setting, the classroom became both a battlefield and a sanctuary. I struggled, but I also discovered. I learned new languages, absorbed new worldviews, and came to realize that I was more than a refugee or survivor. I was a thinker, a student, and a human being with agency.
And then I understood something deeper: My story is rare—but it shouldn’t be. There are still millions of children in North Korea growing up without the right to question, to dream, or to imagine a world beyond their borders. They deserve more than silence or sympathy. They deserve the same chance I had—to envision a different future and be equipped to pursue it.
That’s why I’m sharing my story through Liberty in North Korea. Because stories hold power. They build bridges, shatter stereotypes, and create connections.
North Korean people are not just victims. They are potential scholars, leaders, creators, and changemakers—if only they are given the freedom to grow.
My dream is to one day build a global school for children who, like me, come from hardship but brim with promise. I want to help others discover the same sense of identity and possibility that learning gave me. Until then, I will continue to advocate, teach, and connect.
If you’re reading this, I hope you’ll join me. Learn more. Speak up. Share stories. Support organizations like LiNK that are fighting to empower North Korean people with freedom, dignity, and opportunity.
Because when you invest in a child’s education, you’re not only changing one life—you’re challenging an entire system and planting seeds for a freer world.
Opportunities like LiNK’s Intensive English Program (LIEP) are helping North Koreans succeed in resettlement, 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.
