I Left North Korea As a Child. My Life’s Work is to Return Home to a Free Country | Rose’s Story
As a child in North Korea, I loved quiet, warm mornings. At dawn, I’d wake to the sound of breakfast being made in the kitchen. When my feet grew cold, I’d burrow deeper into my grandfather's blanket. A day that began with the smell of a home-cooked meal was nothing special then—just an ordinary morning.
Growing up, I lived with my grandparents. We worked the fields together, swam in the Yalu River side by side, and grew tomatoes, eggplants, and cucumbers in a small garden. In the summers, my cousins and I played in the mountains and gathered wild strawberries. Every fall, I always looked forward to the corn harvest.
This was the world I knew, and I was quite happy with it.
My mother's work as a broker—helping families separated by the border reunite or at least connect via phone—and her other job selling smuggled CDs containing Korean dramas eventually led to her arrest. She was released quickly but was placed under close surveillance. With no other way to support our family, she made the difficult decision to defect. It was a choice made easier, she later told me, by the countless South Korean dramas she had watched over the years that offered a glimpse into a life outside North Korea.
One winter vacation, my mother said, "Let’s go on a trip." I could barely contain my excitement. I had rarely ventured far from my hometown and thought I was finally traveling somewhere new. My grandmother gave me a warm boiled egg and told me to be safe. I didn’t know that would be the last time I would ever see her.
The journey never stopped. We left in winter and ended up in Southeast Asia, where summer never ends. Only then did I realize this trip was an escape. And it was only one-way.
When we finally arrived in South Korea, I couldn’t accept my new reality. I was only a child, but in my heart, I knew I’d never see my grandparents again. It felt like a cruel trick.
But life carried on, and I found myself adapting to South Korean society pretty quickly. I changed my accent and learned things by asking friends. Even at a young age, I instinctively felt the need to fit in. I was proud of myself for not looking or sounding like a North Korean.
Then one day in our elementary school classroom, the topic of North Korea came up. At that moment, I felt everyone’s eyes on me.
Although no words were spoken, the silence between me and my classmates felt like a wall.
As much as I tried to push it away, that feeling continued to follow me. In middle school, while watching a soccer game with friends and cheering for South Korea, someone said, “Shouldn’t you be rooting for North Korea?” I felt the color drain from my face. Once again, I felt the gap between me and them. And I wondered if I could ever close the distance.
Years later, in university, a professor mistakenly thought my South Korean friend was North Korean. She strongly denied it and took great offense, demanding a formal apology from the professor. Seeing her reaction, I wondered what it said about me. This incident left a deep scar on my heart.
As time went on, I realized that I wasn’t as well-adapted as I thought. I had been living my life avoiding who I was. Whenever the topic of North Korea came up in conversation, I cringed and tried to change the subject. When my family in North Korea would secretly call us, I would hang up the phone after a brief greeting, afraid I’d burst into tears. I couldn’t face how much I missed them, because I didn’t want to accept that I may never see them again.
Amidst these complex emotions, I began my work on North Korean human rights. I wanted to change how North Koreans were portrayed as “pitiful,” or “dangerous.”
But doing this work scared me at first. If I shared my story, would people look at me again with those silent, disapproving eyes? Then I began to understand something important—those fears came from my own hidden prejudice. If I believed that North Koreans would only be seen in a certain way, didn’t that also mean it was how I saw them?
Confronting the deepest parts of myself allowed me to finally embrace who I was. I stopped hiding, and began to explore the thoughts and feelings I had suppressed for so long.
In 2022, I took part in Liberty in North Korea’s Co-Creators program. It’s a unique opportunity for North and South Korean students to work together on advocacy projects. Our team’s project was called “North Korea Travel.” We highlighted different regions of the country and shared facts about life there, leading naturally into conversations about human rights.
As I worked on this project, it occurred to me how much I actually didn’t know about my own country. Due to the regime’s strict restrictions on movement, I never traveled beyond my hometown until the day I left North Korea for good. When I explained this to participants, they listened attentively and said it was their first time learning about it.
Their sincerity caught me off guard. I realized that prejudice often does not come from malice, but simply from a lack of knowledge and understanding.
After that experience, I knew I wanted to continue creating moments of connection and understanding about North Korea. I figured the perfect way to reach people would be through the medium I know best: architecture.
For my graduation project, I designed a North Korean Human Rights Memorial Hall. I chose Imjingak, near the DMZ, as the symbolic location. The space I conceptualized commemorates the sorrow of separation, and allows visitors to experience the "surveillance," "chaos," and "oppression" North Koreans face in their daily lives.
The Pantheon in Rome directs our gaze toward the sky. I turned that idea upside down. In my design, the ceiling collapses into the ground, trapping people beneath, like the crushing weight of the regime’s oppression.
On the opposite wall, the names of loved ones are carved into stone, representing those we miss dearly. Before politics, before ideology, these are mothers and fathers, grandparents and children. This is a space where people can freely miss and yearn for the people they left behind. And it is a reminder that North Korea is home to our families, friends and neighbors.
Last year, when I visited the Holocaust Memorial in Washington DC, I felt that it was more than just a commemorative site. It was a space that showcased how to confront humanity's darkest history to ensure that such things are never repeated again.
Standing there, I hoped that one day, the human rights abuses faced by North Koreans would also just be a memory for us to reflect on.
I no longer hide my identity. My story began in North Korea, in a beautiful city by the Yalu River. Even now, on quiet mornings, my thoughts drift back to my grandparents’ house. I want the world to see North Korea like I do—through the warmth of ordinary days and the humanity of its people.
I dream of returning home one day, when all North Koreans can live free and full lives. Until then, I will continue to speak through the language of space and the power of stories.
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights begins with this: "all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights." These aren’t just words on paper, but a reality that we can create together.
Please join me today to advance freedom and human rights for all North Koreans.
In 2025, Rose traveled across the US, sharing her story and advocating for the North Korean people as a LiNK Advocacy Fellow. Our capacity-building programs are cultivating the next generation of North Korean activists and leaders who are bringing change to their homeland.
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Starting Fresh: A Conversation with Jin Kyung
Jin Kyung escaped North Korea after experiencing her own modern-day Cinderella story. Her parents divorced when she was still young, and for a short time she lived comfortably with her father, but when her father remarried a year later, Jin Kyung’s life took a turn for the worse. Her father often worked away from home, leaving her alone with her stepmother, who scolded and punished her every day. Resolving to find a better life for herself, she escaped to China.
Jin Kyung was sold soon after crossing the border, but the family she had been sold into showed kindness and love to her. Unlike many women who are sold, she was allowed to come and go as she pleased. She came to be fond of the Chinese man and his parents. However, Jin Kyung wasn’t ready to settle for a life as an illegal immigrant in China despite being grateful for a happy home. Her new family helped coordinate her escape to South Korea, which she admits is not a common occurrence. After resettling in South Korea, she attended school and eventually reunited with the Chinese man, who is now her husband. They have a four-month-old son together and she’s currently a stay-at-home mom.
Our resettlement coordinator Anna visited with Jin Kyung and her son recently to see how they're doing.
Anna: What was the best thing that happened to you recently?
Jin Kyung: I’m grateful for every day for numerous reasons. It especially warms my heart to see my baby smiling, although taking care of him is sometimes physically demanding. My husband and I talked about having a second, but I’m not sure if I can handle it if I start attending college. In fact, I also passed the GED this past April and just submitted two college applications yesterday as a hair design and make-up artist major.
Anna: What's your biggest challenge in South Korea?
Jin Kyung: Raising a child is very challenging and sometimes tiring, but I enjoy it so much and want to have a second one as soon as possible.
After I got out of Hanawon and for a few months after that, I felt so lost and clueless.
Anna: How did you overcome the challenge?
Jin Kyung: Although many people recommended for me to go back to school, I only wanted to earn money to send to my family in North Korea. I soon found a job at a factory, but realized that there’s a limitation to the types of careers that I can pursue if I don’t get a proper education. I realized what my priority should be after working in a labor-intensive job at the factory.
Anna: Who has been the biggest help (outside of LiNK) to you since you arrived in South Korea?
Jin Kyung: A teacher from the alternative school that I attended the last few years. She is the one who actually got me interested in studying and led me to gain different perspectives on the world and life. She’s such an enthusiastic person who didn’t mind if I asked her questions, and she was always available when I needed her. I’ve been able to achieve as much as I have up until now thanks to her.
Anna: What was your biggest challenge in North Korea?
Jin Kyung: Living itself was very hard. I always faced starvation and struggled with serious domestic conflict. When I reached puberty, I abruptly left home to escape from that reality.
Anna: What is it like living in freedom in South Korea?
Jin Kyung: I believe resettling in a new society is not easy whether you have more freedom or not. I had an inferiority complex because I had a different intonation and background from South Koreans. For example, I couldn't even understand what a bank clerk was saying to me one time. I used to care so much what other people thought about me. It just takes time to adjust to a new community.
Anna: What is something that you started to do in South Korea that you never did before?
Jin Kyung: STUDY! I've always wanted to attend school to study and make friends since I was back in North Korea, but I had to leave school at a young age for family reasons. At first, I had no confidence in myself to study again, and I was honestly afraid to start anything at that time. The teacher whom I mentioned earlier, she boosted my confidence by lavishing me with praise. She encouraged me with praise for one correct answer instead of scolding me over nine wrong answers. In spite of many unfamiliar words in math, Korean, science, sociology, and history classes, I quickly gained more confidence and started to catch up! I’m still so proud of myself for passing the GED this year and I’m anxious, yet excited, to start college soon.
Anna: Have your perceptions of Americans and South Koreans changed?
Jin Kyung: I honestly had no spare time to care anything other than living day by day. I really didn't know much about other countries, but the fact that I grew up hearing bad things about them gave a negative impression. I actually used to think that the U.S. is the cause of separation of the Korean peninsula and wished that the U.S. had never existed, however, those thoughts all changed once I arrived in China by simply watching Korean movies and dramas.
Anna: What advice would you give to a friend who just arrived in South Korea?
Jin Kyung: I don’t think I’m in a position of giving them advice because there are many defectors who have lived here longer than I have. Nonetheless, I realized a few things as I resettled in South Korea. I wish North Korean defectors opened up their mind more to accept this new culture and engaged with South Koreans. I believe that it’s difficult to understand someone’s hardship if you haven’t been in the same situation, so I, as a North Korean defector, would like take an approach to get along with South Korean friends.
Anna: How often do you think about North Korea? What do you think about?
Jin Kyung: I should, but I tend not to think much about North Korea. I get upset whenever I think of North Korea because it brings out my hurtful memories and struggles. I’m also so sad and feel pity for those who still live under the miserable circumstances.
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