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| Han Song-mi, the co-author with Casey Lartigue of the book "Greenlight to Freedom," poses with the book. The paperback version of her memoir is scheduled to be released at a book talk, May 14. Courtesy of Casey Lartigue |
By Han Song-mi
Growing up in North Korea, I was a tomboy who wanted to play, run and wrestle. I was so active, I had so much energy, and I was constantly in motion as a child.
This turned out to be a disaster for my uncle who was often my babysitter. Uncle Gicheol had recently been discharged from the military after being diagnosed with tuberculosis. The 1990s were a tough time in North Korea; many people were dying of starvation and various diseases. Because he was too sick to work, he would be at home during the day, mainly reading, and keeping me from destroying the house.
I was three years old. I couldn't understand why he was so interested in reading all day. To distract him, I would throw a pillow at him. War had been declared in our living room. He would throw the pillow back at me, to let me know that he had accepted my challenge.
He was kind, like my grandma. He always talked so nicely, and he never got angry at me, although there were times that he should have. His voice was weak, his body was even weaker, frail. He was sick so often, but I wanted to play! Sometimes I would spill something, then my uncle would admonish me by having me stand in the corner.
When I did something wrong, or when he thought I had done something wrong, he would tell me: "Songmi-ya. Go. Stand in the corner on one foot." He would have me hold two arms up in the air as I stood on either my right or left foot, as instructed. When I got tired, I would secretly shift from one foot to the other. Without looking up, he would tell me in a stern voice: "I saw you. Stand on your right foot only."
I was always amazed. He would be reading while directing me, without looking at me. "Stand up." "Down." "Up." "Down." Was he watching me or just reading those words "Up" and "Down" on the page? It seemed that he had an eye hidden on top of his head to watch me even as he was focused on a book.
"Uncle, I'm so tired. It hurts. I'm sorry. I won't do it again." My thighs and knees hurt so much going up and down.
"I can't hear you," he would say.
In a louder voice: "I won't do it again."
"Really? Can I believe you?"
I would promise him that I wouldn't do whatever I had just done, even if I had been caught for the second, third or whatever number of times. Eventually, probably after he had finished another chapter in a book, he would set me free from the corner. Then a few minutes later, another pillow would go flying past his head or into the back of his head if I had good aim.
After our battles during the day, my uncle would get serious. "Songmi-ya, now it is time to clean up." Others were out working, so we would quickly clean up before they got back. Then we would be happily cleaning together, my various crimes and his punishment long forgotten. I was happy during that time. I could smile and laugh so much with my family. I was laughing so much, even when others didn't see the humor. One time, my grandma asked, "Why are you laughing so much?"
"I don't know, everything is funny." Others would be laughing at me laughing at things.
However, once it was almost dinner time, everything would change. It would be difficult for me to laugh or play. For various reasons, as a child and as an adult, I have had to remind myself to smile, to love life like that three-year-old girl inside me once did. My memoir is about my struggle to smile, how I lost my voice for so long, why I am grateful for the good things that have happened to me, and how I was able to live life again with the greenlight of my life.
Casey Lartigue Jr., co-founder with Eunkoo Lee of Freedom Speakers International (FSI) and co-author with Songmi Han of Greenlight to Freedom, edited this excerpt for publication.
