In Order to Live

Imagine a world where the very air you breathe is thick with fear and silence. In the coldest part of North Korea, where winter nights can plunge to minus 40 degrees Fahrenheit, a young girl was born prematurely, barely weighing three pounds. Her survival depended on her mother's ingenuity, who heated a stone to keep her warm in a drafty, cramped home. This was not just a story of survival against nature, but against an oppressive regime that controlled every aspect of life through a system called songbun—a social caste that determined a person's fate from birth. Families were ranked according to their loyalty to the ruling dynasty, and this ranking dictated where they could live, what jobs they could hold, and even whether their children could attend school.

In this harsh environment, childhood was fragile. The girl’s neighborhood was a small, close-knit community where everyone knew each other, yet the threat of informants and secret police loomed constantly. The family’s modest house, perched above railroad tracks, was often cold and dark due to frequent power outages. During winter, the only warmth came from a small coal fire, around which the family huddled under thick blankets, playing games by candlelight. Despite these hardships, the sense of community provided small comforts, like neighbors checking on each other's chimneys for smoke or children playing in the muddy lanes after rain.

School was a battleground of propaganda and survival. Children were seated by height and test scores, and lessons were laced with tales of the supreme leaders’ greatness and the evil of their enemies. Math problems involved counting dead 'American bastards,' and songs praised the Dear Leader’s tireless sacrifices. Yet, beneath this indoctrination, the children bore witness to the grim realities outside the classroom—starving orphans, public executions, and the ever-present hunger gnawing at their bellies.

This world was a paradox of innocence and brutality. The girl’s family, though never part of the elite, managed to scrape together enough food to eat rice three times a day and meat occasionally, thanks to her father’s risky black market ventures. But such fortune was fragile and fleeting. The famine that ravaged the country was not just a natural disaster but a consequence of political isolation and economic collapse. As subsidies from former allies dried up, crops failed, and rationing became severe, many families faced starvation and death.

Yet, even in this darkness, small sparks of humanity glimmered. The girl’s grandmother, despite her own frailty, took in neighborhood children, sharing what little food she had. The community’s resilience was palpable, though often overshadowed by fear and suspicion.

Such early experiences left deep scars but also sowed seeds of determination and hope. The girl learned early that survival required cunning, courage, and an unyielding spirit. In a land where even birds and mice could hear your whispers, silence was often the safest refuge.

As this chapter of hardship closes, we prepare to follow her perilous journey beyond the borders of this isolated kingdom, into a world of uncertainty and danger, where freedom comes at a steep price.