The Eyes I Can Never Forget...

This summer, I had a chance to go to Yanbian as an academic trip with three of my hubaes. We had decided to research the play culture in Yanbian; since it is a place to which many ancestors of today's Koreans moved either for better life or more active independence movement under the suppressing Japanese rule, we decided that it would be the perfect place to study the evolutionary stages of Korean culture focused on gaming. Because of such sad reminders of Korea's sorrowful days of suffer, Manchuria, a region in which Yanbian is included, has been the topic of numerous Korean literature pertaining to the mournful stories of deep resentment and longing for old homelands. In Yanbian, we saw many historical sites and meaningful places such as the Duman River, Changbai Mountain, etc. as expected. And we did feel some sudden burst in our emotions regarding historical consciousness as we visited many of places figuratively filled with “tears” of our ancestors. However, there was something else other than such historical sites in Yanbian that gave me a shocking emotional burst. It was meeting with a North Korean for the first time in my life.

On the second day of our travel, our guide suggested that we go to a North Korean restaurant where we probably would experience many surprising things. Although the dinner at the LyuGyung restaurant was not originally planned, we decided to go since we were all curious about North Korean style restaurant. We had already watched some North Korean TV shows and newscasts on the first night inside the hotel, but we never had any real-life encountering with an actual North Korean. Both thrilled and somewhat anxious, we entered the restaurant with shiny neon signs.

Inside, the lights were similar to those of bars or clubs; they were a bit gloomy, but not really gothic or frightening. The waitresses, who were really young-all of them probably in their 20s- and beautiful, said hello as we entered in a feigned cheerful tone. They were so defeatist and were making all kinds of feigned welcomes(although many working at restaurants usually do so) that I felt as if I was in a position where I sort of “bought” the waitress’s fake kindness. They served food with a timid North Korean accent. What I noticed to be strange was the atmosphere of rigidity. My companions and I had only spent a little more than half an hour, but we could all feel the awkward sense of stiffness in the waitress’s manners and speech.

Just as we were almost done with our dishes, the lights changed and the ‘Peabada’(‘Blood ocean’ in Korean) concerts started. Our guide told us that the frightening name ‘Peabada’ was the name of this musical group and that the waitresses-who were also performers-were mostly daughters of high-ranking officials in North Korea. We couldn’t figure out why the daughters of high-ranking officials would come to Yanbian instead of living in their homeland, but we could guess that whatever the actual reason was, it was not entirely from their free will. In the acoustic “concert”, members of the Peabada group sang songs and played the piano, guitar, and Gayagum. The lyrics of the songs were all propagandist-praising of the Kim dynasty through excessive flattery.

a group photo with the young waitress whose eyes exhibited
complex feelings of sorrow that more than moved our hearts. 

Other than the conformity issue, there was something else that truly caught our attention. It was their melancholy eyes which could never be belied even with their “smiley” faces. Even though they were grinning and delightful on the stage, their eyes were filled with sorrow. I was amazed at how profound I could feel by simply looking at someone’s eyes. When I looked into one of the waitress’s eyes, I swear I saw with my heart a silent yet loud SOS. From those eyes, I-for the first time in my life-deeply pondered about the whole division issue of our nation. Last semester, I spent a long time thinking about North Korean issues to write an essay about them, but I never felt empathic at all. North Korea was a place so distanced away that separated families and Gaeseong industrial complex were none of my problem. Now that I have actually met a North Korean in person, I am shameful of my past indifference. I don’t think I could ever forget the sorrow in those eyes. Because of those eyes, North Korea will be a place with much more spirit and value than the mere object of ideological disparity and emotional wound from the war long ago.