In the twelfth month, the rebels started their long march from Busan to the capital to burn, kill and ruin everything and everyone in their way. Government provisions were made and conscripted soldiers met the miscreants in Ulsan.  The soldiers killed around 300. The rebels killed more.

The war for independence from our own country started when I was a teenager.

Back then, I did not realize the formidable weight and lasting imprint of the rebellion. 

I should have seen the signs- the sounds of the bombs getting louder and the news stations shifting from providing weekly to hourly updates on the slow but steady progress of the rebels. 

Just as seeing a car’s headlights does not dilute any pain from when the car actually hits, the signs did not hurt-- they did not mean anything until they took him away.

They took him away.

Unfortunately, only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.