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Nonfiction

I Want to Call Her Mother Again

By Park Gui-ok
Translated from Korean by Sora Kim-Russell
North Korean defector Park Gui-ok reflects on his separation from his mother and native land.

My mother’s last words to us as we stood in the middle of the empty potato field, her voice carrying above the razor-sharp wind that seemed to carve away at our flesh, still ring in my ears. “You’re on your own now. I don’t have the strength to go any farther with you two.” Despite the howling wind that ripped and tore at my body, I felt no pain. Even when my frostbitten toes began to rot and ooze with pus, it did not hurt. Nothing could have hurt more than her words…       

As I watched her say those heartless words and walk away coldly, never once looking back, I was too shocked to even cry. “How can a mother leave her babies in the middle of an empty field and just walk away? How can she call herself a mother?” Each word that I uttered in my head was a flame, a burning arrow of hatred toward my mother. With no desire to comfort my younger brother and stop his crying, I lay flat on the ground and stared up at the sky. How could it be such a vibrant blue at a time like this…

After that day, I had no mother. I took my little brother and sought shelter in train station waiting rooms, marketplaces, and on the steps of freight trains. I thought that was how things were going to be for the rest of our lives. We nearly died once after eating rotten-smelling food that had been discarded in the corner of the marketplace, but with the help of an older homeless boy, we ate some toothpaste and just barely survived. I was at my wits’ end when my brother’s face swelled up and turned blue from eating a poisonous amount of ragweed, but fortunately he did not die. It was as if he were meant to live. We stayed alive long enough through the bitter hardship, and luck eventually returned to our godforsaken lives. After all, escaping that hell where we were as good as dead was itself a heaven-sent stroke of luck.

Eight years have passed since we came to South Korea after five years of wandering around China. Over the years, I did my best to erase all memory of my mother, but lately, my longing for her has been growing with each passing day for reasons I don’t understand. Thoughts of her pop into my mind unbidden and reduce me to many sleepless nights spent with tears spilling from my eyes, much to my embarrassment. What became of her after we parted ways? Is she alive somewhere? If she is still alive, then where is she and what is she doing? I hated her so much, and yet now I miss her so much that I can barely stand it. Is this what they mean by “blood ties”?

After coming to South Korea, I met many North Korean defectors who had been through worse hardships than I have. They were all torn and broken and shattered, left with nothing but scars. By the time I realized that my mother was not to blame for my suffering, I was already carrying her deep inside my heart. All at once, the hatred and ugliness I had harbored toward her turned to longing and flooded my heart. How she must have suffered! How bad things must have been for her to abandon her babies! When I think back on that potato field all those years ago, the image of my mother removing all of her clothes, dressing me and my younger sibling in them, and keeping nothing but a layer of tattered rags for herself fills me with such pain. Now, as I picture her hands, blistered and scratched from digging through the frozen earth in search of even a single potato no bigger than a bean, the memory tears at my heart.

I will stop resenting you. I will stop hating you. I will cast aside all of the bitterness and call you Mother again. Mother! O, Mother! Where are you now? Are you still alive? If you had to abandon your children to save yourself, then you must live to see a hundred. You must live long enough for your abandoned son to return home to you. Because I cannot erase you from my heart no matter how hard I try. Even if the world turns upside down and the sky crumbles, you will always be my one and only mother, the one who gave birth to me. Your son that you abandoned when he was thirteen now calls out to you at the top of his lungs. Mother! Mother . . .

 

Cast Away Your Empty Dreams

Somehow, five years have already passed since that overwhelming moment when I first stepped foot on South Korean soil. Now, that moment of excitement, my heart buoyant with expectation, when I completed the resettlement program at Hanawon and stepped out into society on my own, and even the moment I felt as anxious and lonely as a motherless bird, are nothing but old memories.

It makes me laugh now to think about how I spent those three months at Hanawon floating around with my head filled with wild dreams, only to find myself at wit’s end, confronted by the cold light of reality. When our teachers at Hanawon exclaimed over the defectors who could sing or dance or play musical instruments really well, I had preened inwardly, thinking, “With our talent, we’ll all make good money out there!” I was such a fool. Though I had become disillusioned about the North and defected, I still felt pride in my hometown, and was like the grasshopper that climbs to the top of a stalk of mugwort and crows of his accomplishment. It shames me to think about it now. Surely I was not the only defector who thought this way back then? Frankly, I imagine we all had similar thoughts.

Even after leaving Hanawon, I spent my days and nights pondering how I could make it as a pop singer. I would lie under my blanket, watching pop music shows on TV day and night and quacking along with the pop stars on the screen. Once, I even spotted a sign on the street for a music school and went in to inquire about lessons, only to leave in disgrace. I did everything I could to try to make my lifelong dream of being an artist come true in South Korea, but all that came my way was harsh reality. Two and a half million of the three million won (approx. 3,000 USD) that I received from Hanawon went to the broker who led me to South Korea, and since I spent a month at home doing nothing but singing with only the 500,000 that was left, I had no idea how to make a living for myself, or even where to go to buy things I needed. All too often, I would get on the subway only to go the wrong direction and spend the entire day wandering around, lost, not finding my way home until late at night. And if I so much as mentioned my pop star ambitions to anyone, I had to suffer through their ridicule and derision.

Now, five years later, those days are just a fond memory. On TV, I once saw the television newscaster Jun Hyun-moo say, “If you can’t make your dream come true, then cast it away bravely. If you cling to the impossible, you’ll only waste your time and exhaust yourself. When you let things go, you make room for new things to come in.”

It is true that dreams are precious to everyone. But you must see reality for what it is and cast things aside bravely. I think the reason I am here today is because I faced reality and threw out that dream. I was deluded to think that I might have competed with those baby-faced South Korean singers who spend their teens enduring ferocious training and sweating blood to make their debuts. No matter how precious that dream was to me, it was already as unsuited to me as a sock to a dog.

I no longer dream of becoming a pop singer. I feel no envy whatsoever for pop stars. I know that if I find something else I am good at and work hard at it, I will be able to live as happily as any pop star. Over the past five years, I have dedicated myself assiduously to proving my talents. I applied my strength—namely, my ability to apply myself to any task at hand—to working for a company and taking college courses at the same time. Since getting a job with a company and learning the business, I can now handle any task proficiently. Also, as a result of studying hard every night after returning home from work, I am now set to graduate from the four-year Korea Open National University. I also managed to pass the notoriously difficult top-level national exam in Chinese characters on my first try.

Now I know this for certain. The future of North Korean society, which has focused on strange “arts” for the sake of idolizing its leaders rather than encouraging science, is already set. It is not a rich and powerful country to be envied for its many artists who can sing and play the guitar or the accordion well, but rather a society that is rotten to the core. Instead, South Korea has become a rich and powerful nation, a world leader, by exercising all of the skills and potential that people possess.

Today, I head to work as always. Lately I am so tired that it is hard to open my eyes in the morning, but each time I feel that way, I pull myself together and jump out of bed. It is with this energy, which has kept me moving all this time, that I will continue to work toward the goals I have set for myself, one step at a time. Dreaming of a unified homeland, I prepare for another day so that I might do my part.

© Park Gui-ok. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2013 by Sora Kim-Russell. All rights reserved.

English Korean (Original)

My mother’s last words to us as we stood in the middle of the empty potato field, her voice carrying above the razor-sharp wind that seemed to carve away at our flesh, still ring in my ears. “You’re on your own now. I don’t have the strength to go any farther with you two.” Despite the howling wind that ripped and tore at my body, I felt no pain. Even when my frostbitten toes began to rot and ooze with pus, it did not hurt. Nothing could have hurt more than her words…       

As I watched her say those heartless words and walk away coldly, never once looking back, I was too shocked to even cry. “How can a mother leave her babies in the middle of an empty field and just walk away? How can she call herself a mother?” Each word that I uttered in my head was a flame, a burning arrow of hatred toward my mother. With no desire to comfort my younger brother and stop his crying, I lay flat on the ground and stared up at the sky. How could it be such a vibrant blue at a time like this…

After that day, I had no mother. I took my little brother and sought shelter in train station waiting rooms, marketplaces, and on the steps of freight trains. I thought that was how things were going to be for the rest of our lives. We nearly died once after eating rotten-smelling food that had been discarded in the corner of the marketplace, but with the help of an older homeless boy, we ate some toothpaste and just barely survived. I was at my wits’ end when my brother’s face swelled up and turned blue from eating a poisonous amount of ragweed, but fortunately he did not die. It was as if he were meant to live. We stayed alive long enough through the bitter hardship, and luck eventually returned to our godforsaken lives. After all, escaping that hell where we were as good as dead was itself a heaven-sent stroke of luck.

Eight years have passed since we came to South Korea after five years of wandering around China. Over the years, I did my best to erase all memory of my mother, but lately, my longing for her has been growing with each passing day for reasons I don’t understand. Thoughts of her pop into my mind unbidden and reduce me to many sleepless nights spent with tears spilling from my eyes, much to my embarrassment. What became of her after we parted ways? Is she alive somewhere? If she is still alive, then where is she and what is she doing? I hated her so much, and yet now I miss her so much that I can barely stand it. Is this what they mean by “blood ties”?

After coming to South Korea, I met many North Korean defectors who had been through worse hardships than I have. They were all torn and broken and shattered, left with nothing but scars. By the time I realized that my mother was not to blame for my suffering, I was already carrying her deep inside my heart. All at once, the hatred and ugliness I had harbored toward her turned to longing and flooded my heart. How she must have suffered! How bad things must have been for her to abandon her babies! When I think back on that potato field all those years ago, the image of my mother removing all of her clothes, dressing me and my younger sibling in them, and keeping nothing but a layer of tattered rags for herself fills me with such pain. Now, as I picture her hands, blistered and scratched from digging through the frozen earth in search of even a single potato no bigger than a bean, the memory tears at my heart.

I will stop resenting you. I will stop hating you. I will cast aside all of the bitterness and call you Mother again. Mother! O, Mother! Where are you now? Are you still alive? If you had to abandon your children to save yourself, then you must live to see a hundred. You must live long enough for your abandoned son to return home to you. Because I cannot erase you from my heart no matter how hard I try. Even if the world turns upside down and the sky crumbles, you will always be my one and only mother, the one who gave birth to me. Your son that you abandoned when he was thirteen now calls out to you at the top of his lungs. Mother! Mother . . .

 

Cast Away Your Empty Dreams

Somehow, five years have already passed since that overwhelming moment when I first stepped foot on South Korean soil. Now, that moment of excitement, my heart buoyant with expectation, when I completed the resettlement program at Hanawon and stepped out into society on my own, and even the moment I felt as anxious and lonely as a motherless bird, are nothing but old memories.

It makes me laugh now to think about how I spent those three months at Hanawon floating around with my head filled with wild dreams, only to find myself at wit’s end, confronted by the cold light of reality. When our teachers at Hanawon exclaimed over the defectors who could sing or dance or play musical instruments really well, I had preened inwardly, thinking, “With our talent, we’ll all make good money out there!” I was such a fool. Though I had become disillusioned about the North and defected, I still felt pride in my hometown, and was like the grasshopper that climbs to the top of a stalk of mugwort and crows of his accomplishment. It shames me to think about it now. Surely I was not the only defector who thought this way back then? Frankly, I imagine we all had similar thoughts.

Even after leaving Hanawon, I spent my days and nights pondering how I could make it as a pop singer. I would lie under my blanket, watching pop music shows on TV day and night and quacking along with the pop stars on the screen. Once, I even spotted a sign on the street for a music school and went in to inquire about lessons, only to leave in disgrace. I did everything I could to try to make my lifelong dream of being an artist come true in South Korea, but all that came my way was harsh reality. Two and a half million of the three million won (approx. 3,000 USD) that I received from Hanawon went to the broker who led me to South Korea, and since I spent a month at home doing nothing but singing with only the 500,000 that was left, I had no idea how to make a living for myself, or even where to go to buy things I needed. All too often, I would get on the subway only to go the wrong direction and spend the entire day wandering around, lost, not finding my way home until late at night. And if I so much as mentioned my pop star ambitions to anyone, I had to suffer through their ridicule and derision.

Now, five years later, those days are just a fond memory. On TV, I once saw the television newscaster Jun Hyun-moo say, “If you can’t make your dream come true, then cast it away bravely. If you cling to the impossible, you’ll only waste your time and exhaust yourself. When you let things go, you make room for new things to come in.”

It is true that dreams are precious to everyone. But you must see reality for what it is and cast things aside bravely. I think the reason I am here today is because I faced reality and threw out that dream. I was deluded to think that I might have competed with those baby-faced South Korean singers who spend their teens enduring ferocious training and sweating blood to make their debuts. No matter how precious that dream was to me, it was already as unsuited to me as a sock to a dog.

I no longer dream of becoming a pop singer. I feel no envy whatsoever for pop stars. I know that if I find something else I am good at and work hard at it, I will be able to live as happily as any pop star. Over the past five years, I have dedicated myself assiduously to proving my talents. I applied my strength—namely, my ability to apply myself to any task at hand—to working for a company and taking college courses at the same time. Since getting a job with a company and learning the business, I can now handle any task proficiently. Also, as a result of studying hard every night after returning home from work, I am now set to graduate from the four-year Korea Open National University. I also managed to pass the notoriously difficult top-level national exam in Chinese characters on my first try.

Now I know this for certain. The future of North Korean society, which has focused on strange “arts” for the sake of idolizing its leaders rather than encouraging science, is already set. It is not a rich and powerful country to be envied for its many artists who can sing and play the guitar or the accordion well, but rather a society that is rotten to the core. Instead, South Korea has become a rich and powerful nation, a world leader, by exercising all of the skills and potential that people possess.

Today, I head to work as always. Lately I am so tired that it is hard to open my eyes in the morning, but each time I feel that way, I pull myself together and jump out of bed. It is with this energy, which has kept me moving all this time, that I will continue to work toward the goals I have set for myself, one step at a time. Dreaming of a unified homeland, I prepare for another day so that I might do my part.

© Park Gui-ok. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2013 by Sora Kim-Russell. All rights reserved.

이젠 어머니라 부르고 싶습니다.

 

 텅빈 감자 밭 한가운데에  살을 에이듯 불어오는 칼바람속에서  울리던 엄마의 마지막 한마디가

 

지금도 귀전에 맴돌고 있습니다. “이젠 너희들끼리  알아서 살아라,

 

더 이상 나두 힘들어서 너

 

희를 데리고 다니지 못하겠다.”

 

쌩쌩 불어오는 칼바람에 살이 찢겨 터 갈라져도 아프지 않았

 

습니다.

 

동상에 언 발가락이 썩어 들어가 진물이 나도 아프지 않았습니다.

 

엄마의 그 말 한마

 

디 보다는...

 

 

매정한 그 한마디 남기고 뒤 한번 돌아보지도  않고 무정하게  떠나가던 엄마의 뒤 모습을 보며

 

너무도 기가 막혀 울음도 안나왔습니다.    어쩌면 엄마라는게,

 

새끼들을 허허벌판 한 가운데 버

 

리고 저렇게 갈 수 있을까?

 

저것두 다 엄마야?!

 

속으로 터져나오던  한마디 한마디는 엄마에

 

대한 증오의 불이고 화살이였습니다.

 

우는 동생을 달랠 마음도 없어 그 자리에 벌렁 드러누워

 

바라보던 그 하늘은 왜 그리도 격에 맞지 않게 파랗던지

 

 

 

그 날 이후로 내겐 엄마 따윈 없었습니다.

 

동생을 데리고 역전 대합실이며,

 

장마당이며, 기차

 

빵통 계단에서 먹구 자면서 죽기 전까진 그렇게 사는 거라 생각했습니다.

 

장마당 구석에 버려

 

진 쉰내나는  음식찌꺼기를  먹고 죽을 뻔도 했지만 선배 꽃제비 형의 도움으로 치약을 먹고 간

 

신히 살아났습니다.

 

돼지 풀을 너무 많이 뜯어먹어 중독된 동생 얼굴이 시퍼렇게 퉁퉁 부었을

 

때도 어찌 할 줄 몰라 당황했지만,

 

그래도 살 놈이였는지  다행히 죽진 않더라구요,

 

그 모진

 

고생 속에서도 죽지만 않고 살아 있으니까 버려진 운명에도 행운은 찾아오더군요,

 

살아도 죽

 

은 목숨이었던 지옥같은 그 땅을 탈출하는 그 자체,

 

우리에겐 하늘이 준 행운이였으니까요,

 

 

 

 

중국을 떠돌아

 

5,

 

한국에 온지는

 

8년이란 세월이 지났습니다.

 

그동안 엄마란 존재를 영원히

 

기억속에서  지워버리려고      애쓰며   살았지만  왠지   요즘은  날이   갈수록  엄마에  대한   그리움은

 

더해만 갑니다.

 

문득 문득 드는 엄마 생각 때문에 주책없이 눈물을 흘리고 뜬 눈으로 밤을

 

지샐   때가   많습니다.

 

우리와  혜여진  후로 어떻게   되셨을까?

 

살아계시기나      할까?

 

살아있다면

 

지금쯤  어디서  무엇을  할까?

 

그토록 미워하고   증오하던 엄마였지만  지금은 왜    이다지도  못

 

견디게 그립고 보고 싶은지,

 

이런 게 바로 혈연이란 건가요?!

 

 

 

 

남한 땅에 와서 나보다 더 아픈 고초를 겪은 탈북자들을  많이 보았습니다.

 

모두들 찢기고 터

 

지고 부셔져 남은 건 온통 상처투성이  뿐이였습니다.

 

어찌 보면 내가 겪은 고난이 엄마 한 사

 

람의 잘못이 아니라는 사실을 깨달았을 땐 이미 엄마는 내 심장속 깊은 곳에 계셨습니다.   

토록 증오하고 미워했던 마음은 한꺼번에 그리움으로  뒤바뀌여 이 가슴에 몰려왔습니다.    얼마

 

나 힘드셨을까,

 

오죽하면 새끼들을 버리고 갔을까,

 

생각하며

 

10여년전 그 감자밭으로  다시 돌

 

아가보니 입던 옷까지 다 벗어 나와 동생한테  걸쳐주고 헌 거적데기만  걸친 엄마의 모습이 너

 

무나 아프게 아려옵니다.

 

콩알만한 감자한알이라도  건져내느라  언 땅을 뚜지며 부르트고 찢겨

 

진 엄마의 손이 이 가슴을 아프게 파고 듭니다.

 

 

 

더 이상 미워하지 않겠습니다.

 

증오하지 않겠습니다,

 

그 모든 미움 다 내려놓고 이제는 어머

 

니라 부르겠습니다.

 

어머니,

 

어머니!~

 

지금 어데 계십니까,

 

죽지   않고 살아계시기나  한 건가

 

?  우릴 버리고 혼자 살겠다고 가셨으면,

 

백살까진 사셔야죠,

 

버린 이 아들이 어머니 찾아

 

 

 

 

고향으로 가는 날까지 꼭 살아계셔야  합니다.

 

아무리 지우려 해도 지울수 없는 어머니는 세상

 

이 뒤바뀌고 하늘이 무너져도 나를 낳아주신 단 한분밖에 없는 내 어머니까요,

 

열세살 때 버

 

림받은 아들 강철이 이제부턴 목청껏 어머니를 부르렵니다.

 

어머니,

 

어머니

 

 

 

 

 

 

헛된 꿈은 버려라

 

 

 

 

 

이 땅에 첫 발을 내디디며 가슴 벅찼던 그 순간으로부터  어느덧

 

5년이란 시간이 지났다.

 

나원( 탈북자들이  남한에 입국하면 정착교육을  받는         곳)

때 부풀고 들뜬 마음에 한껏 흥분되어 있던 그 순간도,

냥 외롭고 불안하던 그 순간도 인젠 다 지나간 옛일로 남았다.

 

교육을 마치고 이    사회에 홀로 섰을

또 한편으론 어미 잃은 새끼 새 마

 

 

 

지금도 하나원 석 달 동안 허황된 생각으로 붕 떠서 돌아가다 사회에 나와 냉혹한 현실에

 

부딫혀 어찌할 줄 몰라하던 생각을 하면 헛웃음이 나온다.

 

유별나게 노래도 잘 하고 춤 잘

 

추고 악기도 잘 타는 탈북자들을  보면서 하나원 선생님들이  어찌나 감탄을 하던지,

 

그런 남

 

한   선생들을  보면서  내심 우쭐해하며

 

우린  재간둥이들이니       사회에  나가서도  얼마든지  돈도

 

잘 벌어 살아갈   수 있겠구나,’고  생각했으니  얼마나       어이상실할  일인가,

 

아무리 환멸을 느끼

 

고 탈출한   북조선이라  하지만 그래도 나름 고향에 대한 자긍심을 느끼며 민충이 쑥대 끝에

 

올라간  마냥 으스댔으니  정말     생각할  수록   창피한  일이다.

 

당시   그런   생각을  한   탈북자가

 

비단 나 하나뿐은 었을까?

 

솔직히 거의 비숫한 생각을 했을거라 본다.

 

 

 

사회에  나가서도  어떻게 하나 가수가   되어 보겠다고  밤낮으로  티비를 보며 아이돌   가수들의

 

노래를  이불속에서  꽥꽥   소리지르며  따라불렀고,

 

한번은  거리   음악학원  간판을  찾아   들어갔

 

다가 망신이나 당하고 나오고 말았다.

 

어렸을 적부터 품은 예술인의 꿈을 이 대한민국 땅에

 

서   어떻게하나  이뤄보려고  발버둥  쳐봤지만  내   앞에   다가오는  것은   냉혹한  현실뿐이었다.

 

하나원에서  나올 때 받은

 

300만원 중

 

2 50만원은 브로커비용으로      주고   남은   돈

 

50 만원으로

 

한   달을   집안에서  노래만   부르며   살았으니  당장   어떻게   밥벌어먹어야  할지부터  막막했고,

 

심지어 필요한 물건을 어디에 가야 살 수 있는 지도 몰랐다.

 

지하철을 타고 나갔다가는  거

 

꾸로 잘못   실려갔다 종일   혜매다  밤늦게야  집을   찾아 들어오기가  일쑤였고,

이야기만 해도 비웃음과 조롱 섞인 말만 들어야 했다.

 

누구한테  가수

 

 

 

 

5년이 지난 오늘   그 때 일은 재미나는 추억으로만  남았다.

 

언젠가  티비에서 전현무 아나운

 

서가 특강에서 이런 말을 했다.      “꿈을 이룰 수 없다면 과감히 버려라.

 

안 되는걸 붙잡고 있

 

어봐야 시간낭비고 자신만 지친다.

 

버릴 줄 알아야 새로운 걸 얻을 수 있는 것이다

 

 

 

 

그렇다,

 

누구에게나  꿈은   소중하다.

 

하지만 현실을 바로 알고 과감히    버릴   줄도   알아야 한

 

.   나도   현실을  직시하고  과감히  버렸기에  오늘의  내가   있지   않았을까,  10대의  어린나이

때부터  맹렬한 훈련과   피나는 노력으로 데뷔하는 남한의 앳된     가수들과 겨루는 것은 그야말

 

로 허황한 망상이었다.

 

그 꿈이 아무리 소중하다 해도 나에겐 이미 개발의 버선처럼 어울리

 

 

 

지 않는 것으로 되어있었던 것이다.

 

 

 

이제 더 이상 나는 가수를    꿈꾸지 않는다.

 

여기   아이돌 가수들도   인젠 전혀 부럽지 않다.

 

분명히 내가 잘 할 수 있는 또 다른 능력을 찾아냈고 거기서 열심히 노력한다면  가수 못지

 

않은 행복한 삶을 살 수 있다는 것을 잘 알고 있기 때문이다.

 

나는 그동안 내가 잘 할 수

 

있는   능력을  최대한  발휘하기로  결심하고  달라붙었다.

 

무엇이든  꾸준히  노력하는  장점을  살

 

려 회사일과 대학공부를  동시에 밀고 나갔다.

 

회사에 취직하여 열심히 업무를 배워 이젠 그

 

어떤 일도   능숙하게  처리할  수   있는   능력을  갖추었다.

 

또   퇴근하여 짬짬이 열심히 공부한

 

결과   현재   방송통신대학

단번에 당당히 합격하였다.

 

4학년,

 

어느덧  졸업반이다.

 

그렇게   어렵다던  한자1급  국가시험에도

 

 

 

 

나는 인제야 확실히 깨달았다.

 

과학보다도  수령에 대한 우상화를 위한 희한한

 

예술에만 치

 

중하던 북조선 사회가 갈 길은 이미 정해져 있었다.

 

노래나 잘하고 손풍금에 기타나 잘 타

 

는 예술인이  많아   부럽고 부강한 나라가    아니라,

 

그래서 푹 썩어빠진   사회였던 것이다.

 

간이   가지고  있는   다양한  능력과  잠재력을  깡그리  발동시킨  남조선은  그래서  오늘의  세계

 

강대국,

 

부강한 나라가 된 것이다.

 

 

 

 

어떻게하면  적게 일하고도 남들과 똑같은,

 

아니,

 

더 큰 대우를 받을 수 있을까,

 

하는 허튼

 

꾀만 늘어가는 북한 사회,

 

우리 탈북자들은  이런 북과 남의 차이부터 명명백백히  깨닫고 이

 

나라의 한    성원으로써  열과 성을 다하여 자신의 능력을 남김없이 발휘하며 살아야 할 것이

.

 

 

 

나는 오늘도 출근한다.

 

요즘은 아침에 눈 뜨기 힘들 정도로 지쳐있지만  그때마다 마음을 다

 

잡고 일어선다.

 

지금까지 쉬지 않고 달려 온 이 기세로 끊임없는 도전하여 한 단계 한 단계

 

내가 세운 목표를 이뤄나갈   것이다.

위해 나는 오늘도 준비하고 있다.

 

통일된  조국을 그리며,

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