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Remembering North Korea: Today, I’m Happy Because I Can Have Ice Cream

May 29, 2026

By: Hyeyoung Woon

Hyeyong escaped from North Korea in 2009. She currently works as a financial accountant, and strives to grow her ability as a storyteller and writer to share her personal experiences as a North Korean defector.

[Photo via Korea JooAng Daily] 

There are days when happiness feels complicated.
And then there are days when it feels very simple.

For me, sometimes, it is just ice cream.

When I was young in North Korea, ice cream was very different.
We had “eoreum bosunge” which is sweet pink water frozen in a small metal can with a stick inside. It was icy and rough, and the taste was so strong. That was all I knew.

But everything changed on my first day in South Korea.

I went to a small neighborhood store with my mom and that was where I first saw an ice cream called “Pure Milk”.

At that time, I had just started becoming interested in the English language, so maybe that is why the name catch my eyes

I picked it up and took a bite. 

And honestly, it felt like a different world.

It was soft, smooth, and full of real milk flavor.
Until then, ice cream had only meant frozen sweet water to me. I did not know something so simple could taste so real.

After that day, I kept choosing the same ice cream again and again.

Of course, now I know there are more expensive and famous ice creams in the world and, just like that, my life has changed too.

But maybe that is why I still choose Pure Milk.

Not because it is the best,
But because it reminds me of who I used to be.

When I first came to South Korea, everything felt new and exciting.
And little by little, this new world made me forget the old one.

Maybe that is part of growing up.
Or maybe it is part of learning how to survive in a new society.

But sometimes, I become afraid that my old memories are slowly fading away too.

That is why small things like this ice cream still matter to me.

They remind me of where I started.
They help me keep a part of myself that I do not want to lose.

And I still want to remember the girl who once believed pink frozen water was enough to be called ice cream.

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.

Give Today.

The Most Dangerous Contraband in North Korea Isn’t a Weapon. It’s a Wish.

May 29, 2026

By: Jihyun Kang

Growing up in North Korea, Jihyun took inspiration from the smuggled South Korean dramas she watched to create her own unique clothing. After reaching freedom in 2010, she has continued to pursue her interests in fashion and culture as a catalyst for change. She runs several business ventures, practices fine art under the name “Da Gyeol,” and works with the Ministry of Unification as an advisor. She’s pursuing her Masters in Entrepreneurship, Dept. of Future Science & Technology Business, at Korea University.

[Photo by Srattha Nualsate via Pexels] 

I grew up in North Korea, and at fifteen, I encountered a Westerner for the first time at the top of Mount Paektu. He stood over 190 centimeters tall with a thick beard, wearing ripped jeans and a frayed T-shirt. In North Korea, worn-out clothing was a symbol of deprivation. Yet my father whispered, "He is wearing that for style." With that single remark, the worldview I had been taught, began, the first time, to crack. And I thought: I want to dress like that, too.

Fashion is more than clothing. It is the moment when individual desire moves faster than collective command. People follow taste before ideology, and express themselves through what they wear long before any political declaration. 

A state can enforce a dress code, but it cannot manufacture desire. That is why North Korea's fear of blue jeans was not irrational—it was the regime recognizing, however dimly, that something it could not control was already growing.

Clayton Christensen, a professor at Harvard Business School, argued that transformation always begins at the margins—in forms so crude and insignificant that those in power dismiss them entirely. Christensen built his theory around corporations, but the logic applies to any system that holds a monopoly over its people, including a state. North Korea's regime was so focused on maintaining ideological control at the centre that it ignored what was happening at the bottom.

That bottom was the jangmadang—the spontaneous, bottom-up market ecosystem created by ordinary people to survive after the collapse of North Korea's state-led distribution system. When that system imploded during the Arduous March—a famine in the mid-1990s that killed hundreds of thousands—people built informal markets out of sheer necessity: not revolution, not ideology, but survival. Yet by 2018, a CSIS study found 436 officially recognized markets operating across the country. What began as a desperate improvisation had quietly become the infrastructure keeping North Koreans alive.

These markets did not merely sell food. They became conduits for Chinese clothing, USB drives loaded with South Korean dramas, and glimpses of a world no one had taught them existed. When a system ignores what people actually want, the market finds the gap. 

The act of choosing—what to eat, what to wear, what to watch—may seem trivial. But a person who has tasted choice cannot fully return to obedience. 

The jangmadang was the first place where North Koreans learned they could survive without the state. That desire did not stay underground—it surfaced. People began wearing jeans, dyeing their hair, and pulling on T-shirts printed with foreign letters. The regime could no longer ignore it. Authorities branded jeans and Western fashion as 'anti-socialist infiltrations' and deployed street patrols. Teenagers caught in these sweeps were sent to re-education camps; in severe cases, their names and home addresses were read aloud on state broadcasts as public shaming (Radio Free Asia).

In 2024, state-run Korean Central Television went so far as to blur the jeans worn by British TV presenter Alan Titchmarsh during a broadcast. The ruling party's official newspaper, the Rodong Sinmun, warned that a country could 'become vulnerable and eventually collapse like a damp wall' if it failed to preserve its own way of life (Newsweek, May 2021). 

Regulations cannot extinguish human desire; they only raise the price of the forbidden. This is the inflection point Christensen identified: by the time an incumbent recognizes the threat, it is already too late.

To date, more than 34,000 North Koreans have resettled in South Korea (South Korean Ministry of Unification, 2024). At the start of each of those journeys, there was something like my pair of jeans—not ideology, but desire; not a declaration, but a taste; not revolution, but the market.

No government in history has ever successfully suppressed the human impulse to trade, to choose, to want more. Not the Soviet Union. Not Cuba. Not Mao's China. North Korea will not be the exception.

Jihyun 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.

Give Today.

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