Humans of North Korea: Remembering Why I Crossed That River
If I hadn’t crossed the Tumen River [into China], I’d be dead. My mom was already in China and the food shortages in North Korea were getting worse. I didn’t know where to get food. So I made up my mind to cross the river, but the day before I was supposed to go, the broker looked at the river’s water level and asked, “What if you drown in the middle of the river and die?”
I hesitated a little. Because I really could have died. But I didn’t turn back and I told the broker to send me across. I was so adamant about going that she didn’t stop me. If I had stopped or retreated because I was afraid of the water, I wouldn’t be here today. If I had tried to go back, I would have just died. In North Korea, there was no hope. No hope at all.
The morning I crossed everything was still covered in darkness. While I waited for the soldiers’ watch to end, all I could hear was the sound of the river in front of me.
It was completely black but I thought, if only I can reach the other side I can reunite with my mom.
When I stepped into the icy river I thought if I was going to die here in North Korea or trying to cross, I’d rather die trying to find my mother. That’s why I decided to cross the Tumen River that morning. It’s because of that one moment where I made the decision to cross that I can live my own life today.
Now when I’m having a hard time, I remember that moment when I stepped into the river and remind myself that my life has a purpose. I ask myself, “Why did you cross that river?”
- Pilju, escaped North Korea at 17 years old and reunited with his mom in South Korea.
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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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