Aro's grandfather

 

Born in Nampo, North Korea, I escaped to South Korea during the Korean War, leaving my wife and children behind in North Korea. My son, who took refuge in South Korea with me, married a South Korean woman and gave birth to a grandson. I named my first grandchild, born in South Korea, Hyokab. Hyo means filial piety, and Kab means first, meaning to be the child who is most filial to his parents. Filial piety is the center of morality. Those who are filial and filial will be blessed. It was my first grandchild in South Korea, so I often took him with me because he was so precious to me. In particular, I would sometimes be invited to the place where the foundation of a new house was being completed, have a drink, and write calligraphy on the ridge beam, and my grandson would watch calmly.

 

My grandson has slept in my room since he was in elementary school. We often had dinner together. I drank a bottle of soju with dinner every day. I saved the empty bottles and let him trade them for sweets at the store. At the end of the year, I drank more because I thought about my wife and children I left behind in North Korea. I drank two or three bottles a day. Then I told my grandson the story of when I left home in North Korea: I was walking out the front door to go to South Korea, and my youngest son said he wanted to follow me. After some hesitation, I told him that the war would be over soon, and I would be back before long, so I told him to take care of his mother at home so she wouldn't have to suffer. My son said he would, and that was the last time I saw him. I often think of that youngest son. I regretted leaving him behind, wishing I could have come to South Korea with him if he asked one more time. Every year at the end of the year, I got drunk and told the same story to my grandson. He just listened and said nothing.

 

The grandson kept a picture diary even before he entered elementary school. One day, coming home from work, the son scolded the grandson for not saying hello to him and for being so focused on his picture diary. He didn't keep a picture diary anymore.... The son raised the grandson strictly. The grandson would sometimes run to my room to escape his scolding father, and my son would glare at him through the window of my room, but he never came into my room. 

He  used to secretly listen to North Korean radio stations that were banned in South Korea. My grandson, who watches a lot of cartoons, once thought his dad was a spy. 

The daughter-in-law was a South Korean woman, very good, and she went to church and did a lot of things to help others. The grandson went to church with his mother since he was little. He thought a lot about the existence of God since he became a middle school student. One day, during a sermon, the pastor said that the chair in the center of the pulpit was God's seat, and that seat was always empty. The grandson wanted to believe that the invisible God was sitting in the center. He went to the church pulpit when no one was there. He stood still and watched the center chair. For the first time, he stepped up to the pulpit. Risking his life, he sat in the center pew. Nothing happened, and he ran home. God didn't kill him.

 

My grandson was in middle school. His school was far from home, but he woke up at 5 a.m. and headed to school early with his friends. Every morning, he played around the temple at the foot of the mountain inside the National Cemetery before heading to school. The National Cemetery holds more than 170,000 soldiers who died in the Korean War.

Looking down from the base of the mountain, there were rows and rows of white tombstones. He and his friends would chase animals, climb trees, and act out Hong Kong martial arts movies. Sometimes he and his friends would get rowdy and get chased away by the monks at the temple. At school, he liked to draw portraits of his friends or doodle football players.

After reaching high school, the grandson rebelled against his father for the first time: he grabbed his father's arm to hit him, pushed him away, and ran outside. He hid under a truck and ran to a friend's room after his father passed by. 

He lived in his friend's room. At that time, all high schools had military drill classes. The drill teacher, dressed as a soldier, kept the students under control with corporal punishment. The grandson didn't want to face the teacher, so he often climbed over the school wall. The teacher also roamed around the school, controlling the students. One day, he barged into a comic book store. To escape him, the grandson and his friends went up to the first floor and jumped down to the ground floor to run away.

 

After my grandson left home, he often went to the local private library in the evenings. While studying in the library, at night, he would sit on the roof of the library and listen to university students drinking and discussing topics that he had never thought about. They talked about politics, swearing at the president of the country, talking about democracy, socialism, life and the future. He became interested in the books they were talking about. However, books such as capitalism were boring. However, existentialist books were very interesting. He liked people-watching. My grandson never participated in discussions, but always listened and watched people.

 

My grandson went home and told his father about his university admission results. His father was thrilled and gave him an American cigarette "more". He still loves the song more than a feeling by Boston. For a year in university, he did design work at a Cartier subcontracting factory. He saw a calendar with Raoul dufy's paintings hanging in the factory and was very impressed. He knew that lines and colors running without boundaries, painting is freedom. He realized that he must paint at some point. 

During university, boys have to go through a week-long barracks military training. My grandson was with his buddies, so it was hard but fun. At 10 p.m., an officer inspects the restrooms. Someone has taken a hard shit in a well-cleaned toilet. The officer lifted the poop out with his hand and gave it to the cleaning student. It was quite impressive.

​

I thought that if I lived long enough, there would be unification and I would be able to return to my hometown and see my youngest son and family. However, although I waited for 24 years after fleeing to South Korea, I could not go to my hometown even when I turned 90 and it was time to die. My grandson, who came home after a long time knowing that I was in critical condition, looked down at me as I was unable to move. I gave him a thumbs up. The grandson didn't cry. He even watched me through the glass window in my room until the end when I was filming my dead body. I watched my grandson's back as he watched me die. My grandson walked ahead of the funeral holding my portrait photo and did not cry until the funeral was over. Just a few days later, he drew a picture of me holding my grandson on A4 paper. And, he went on a trip across the country during summer vacation.

 

During the trip, the grandson met a woman. On a starry night, he talked alone with a woman under a big tree in the countryside. He sent her postcards of his travels during his 40-day trip. When my grandson returned home, he found a notice to enlist in the military.

​

After a week-long going-away party, he joined the army. He shaved his head and went through the hard and scary life of training camp. One night, he woke up and was walking to the bathroom, hoping to close his eyes in his sleep. Suddenly, a huge blow hit him in the face and he fell out. As he fell, he heard swearing over his head.  An officer had punched his grandson in the face for not saluting. He saluted the officer in the distance. After urinating, he returned to his seat, shed a few tears, and immediately fell asleep. The grandson hasn't shed a tear since. The grandson understood the officer, who wanted to build a strong army.

 

 He started his military career as a communicator, deployed to the front lines close to the DMZ. A few soldiers died in accidents. One soldier was shot dead by a deserter. A platoon sergeant in the same platoon died in the middle of winter when he was driving an armored personnel carrier and was hit by a tank gun, crushing his head. For the funeral, my grandson washed the body with alcohol. At each funeral, my grandson wrote large letters on the memorial plaque.

​

 During his military career, the president was assassinated and the country went into a state of emergency. The soldiers thought a war was starting. My grandson got into an armored vehicle loaded with ammunition and prepared to go to North Korea to die. 

Suddenly, a soldier became the new president and training became more intense. 

​

There was a new program of cultural activities in the corps, but no one could participate because of the busy and hard training. My grandson made many works instead of others under the direction of his superiors. He wrote and drew many poems by himself, skipping sleep. He also wrote songs for the unit and entered many of them with the names of other members of the unit. When the military tells you to do something, you do it. The grandson wondered if the military songs he wrote were still sung in the unit. After his discharge, the grandson went to visit the grave of a fallen soldier in the national cemetery that had been his playground in middle school.

​

 Back in university, my grandson studied in the school library late every night in order to get a job at a good company. During his breaks, he looked at many of the drawings in the library's books by famous painters, perhaps most of the books in the library. Many of the formulas in his major subject, electrical engineering, looked like art. Maxwell's equations looked beautiful.

 

My grandson graduated from university, got a job, and got married. By chance, he met a University of Toronto art professor who was exhibiting in Korea, and they talked about immigration and painting. Instead of Canada, my grandson chose New Zealand, where he immigrated to study visual communication.

My grandson went back to Korea to get a job because there was an IMF economic crisis in Korea around the time he graduated from polytechnic. He did some design work in Korea, taught at a university, had his first solo exhibition, and went to China with a curator. He went to an auction in Beijing and saw a lot of paintings being sold. He also participated in an auction in Singapore. In China, he had exhibitions in Beijing, Shanghai, and Chengdu. He experimented with new styles of painting every time he changed studios. He stopped painting for about two years and took care of his sick parents. After his parents died, he came back to New Zealand. Now that his parents were gone, the name Hyokab was meaningless. He created the name "Aro". "A" means himself, and "ro" means path.

 

Now Aro goes to his path. He thought painting was his path, but as he immersed himself in painting, he realized that there were still things he must do. The grandson thinks he must go to Nampo, his grandfather's hometown. He will definitely go to Nampo, North Korea, so that the picture of his life will be complete. Aro will fulfill my desire. What is socialism, what is capitalism, I don't need them. I return to where I came from. Break the walls. Break the frame. I am dead, but I am going home. I'm done running away, I'm going with my grandson.

​