And with that, she pushed me through a door.
I couldn’t understand what she was talking about. But I could hear the sound of car engines. And then I noticed a corner of the floor had been dug up. I climbed down the hole and found a tunnel just big enough to crawl through. I didn’t need a guidebook. I just dropped to my knees and crawled forward as quickly as I could.
There were three cars waiting when I emerged from the tunnel. I heard a muffled voice call out from one of them.
The consul’s voice.
I ran over to the car and leaped in.
Someone shut the door, and all three cars sped off in a convoy.
There were several checkpoints on the way to Dalian. As we approached each one, I stretched out on the backseat, hidden under a blanket. We ate in the car and stopped only for bathroom breaks. Our destination was a kind of liaison center for Japanese companies doing business in Dalian. Run by the Japanese government, it would provide me with decent cover. We finally made it to the liaison office the following evening.
I can’t tell you how relieved I was to have escaped from Shenyang without being caught.
If you look at a map, you’ll see that Dalian is to the west of North Korea. Whereas Japan, of course, is to the east. So strictly speaking, the hellhole that had ruined my life was still sitting there defiantly between the place where I found myself and the place where I wanted to be.
Even so, Dalian is a port where you can at least look out to sea, where you can see the vast horizon and the ships sailing off to freedom. So never mind geography. Cooped up there in that liaison office, unsure whether the Chinese authorities would actually allow me to leave, I focused on the sea. The thought of it nearby gave me hope and made me smile. Japan was just over the horizon.
The building was cold, even with the heat on, so we all camped out together in one room. That suited me fine. I felt safe, and it was good to have company. I could talk about my dreams for the future and my plans for helping my family escape.
“I want to get a job right away. I don’t even care what it is. I’ll do anything, and I’ll work hard—I always have. I just need to save some money to get my family to Japan. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I’ve been risking my life for.”
Everyone nodded and murmured their support.
The First Secretary arrived the next day. He was very surprised that we were already in Dalian. He worked the case hard, calling the embassy in Beijing, double-checking this detail, and underlining that point. His planning was meticulous. I could tell that he was dedicated to the task, and I felt totally safe in his hands.
When he came to see me the following morning, he was ebullient. He said we should pose for a photograph.
“It’s all sorted out at last. But I have to warn you. If anything goes wrong, we’ve never heard of you. I’m sorry that’s the way it has to be. But don’t worry. Nothing will go wrong. I’ve made absolutely sure of that. Let’s get you ready to get out of here. But first let’s take a picture we can look back on for the rest of our lives,” he said.
I have that picture to this day. I look very nervous, but my eyes are shining. Sparkling with my future dreams.
Just after lunch, the consul came up to me and shook my hand.
“Are you ready?” he asked. I nodded, trying not to show how anxious I was.
He handed me something.
“Use this when you get to Japan. You might need it,” he said.
It was five hundred dollars.
I hadn’t ever held such a sum in my hands. I was stunned at his generosity, but there wasn’t time for long expressions of gratitude. I stuffed it into my jacket pocket and murmured a quick thank-you.
“Okay, everyone. It’s time. Let’s go!”
We piled into the waiting cars that whisked us off to the airport about fifteen minutes away.
I could see the terminal building up ahead. I couldn’t see any planes, but I could hear one coming in to land.
When I was just about to open the car door, the First Secretary grabbed my hand.
“No talking from now on. Okay? Just follow me. Don’t say a word!” he said.
As soon as I got out of the car, the consular staff surrounded me and swept me into the airport lobby. Everyone was moving very purposefully. Very fast. No looking around.
People heading in the opposite direction stopped to stare. I imagine we were a pretty strange-looking group.
Passport control? Forget about it. We went straight to the departure gate. I still have that passport I didn’t have to show. It was stamped by the consul in Shenyang, to be used by November 11. Single use. It showed I had arrived in Narita. There was a stamp to prove it. But where was I traveling from? It was a mystery. A blank.
Once I reached the gate, a wave of relief swept over me. It was obvious the whole thing was being stage-managed. The Chinese government was in control. I would soon be on my way.
We walked out onto the runway. It was cloudy. Cold. I could see a big airplane in front of me with silver wings.
I climbed the steps with the First Secretary. When I reached the door, two women appeared in front of me. Flight attendants. All smiles.
“Welcome back!”
I peered into the plane. There was no one on board. It was a charter. Just for us.
I turned back to say goodbye, and the consul and his staff were all waving at me. I tried to say, “Thank you,” but I couldn’t get the words out because I was crying like a baby.
The flight attendants took me to my seat. I buckled my seat belt. The engines began roaring, and the plane started to move. Soon we were thundering down the runway. My stomach plummeted as the plane took off.
It was the evening of October 15, 1996. The plane touched down in Tokyo a short while later. I was back in Japan.
It took me thirty-six years to get home, but I finally did it.
EPILOGUE
So there I was. Born again. Again. But how did I feel? Overwhelmed by complex emotions. As I looked out the window as we came in to land, I could hardly believe the sight of my home country. All the lights glittering below looked like jewels. I was elated to be returning at last, to be putting the hell of North Korea behind me, to have a chance at creating a future of my own design. After so many years of helplessness and despair, I would finally be able to do something for my family. Those sparkling lights gave me a surge of hope. I would do whatever it took to get my family out of North Korea. It was difficult for me to think of what they must be enduring, but I let myself imagine the moment when we would all be together in Japan.
But my dreams were to be shattered once again. And now? Now I have just one thing left. My only true possession. I’m sorry to say that it’s bitterness. Bitterness at the cruelty of life.
When I got back to Japan, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs arranged for me to be put up for the first few days in various hotels in Tokyo. The First Secretary stayed with me for a couple of days, but he soon had to get back to his job in Beijing. A man by the name of Matsui replaced him. Matsui, who served as the deputy director of the Asia and Oceanian Affairs Bureau, Northeast Asia Division, helped me move into a weekly apartment. Then he was gone, and I was alone, completely alone.
One day, Matsui came to see me. He asked me about the food situation in North Korea. But he didn’t ask me anything about any of the other so-called returnees, and he didn’t ask me anything about my family. Of course it was my family I wanted to talk about most. I hadn’t escaped from North Korea just for myself. The whole point was to get my family out. To me, if they couldn’t get out, my efforts had been a waste of time.
Matsui was then sent to Beijing to take over from the First Secretary. So then I had a new handler. He took me to my local ward office to help me get my residence card and so on. After that, he took me to an institution.