7 years old

            I was seven years old when I asked my father why. Really, really slowly, I guess I could say it went downhill from there.

            Why couldn’t we go to the sea? Why couldn’t we buy lamb for dinner? Why couldn’t we go to the arcade to play? He always changed the subject, and tried to avoid the question, until he got tired of it and went straight to the point: “Jaebeom, we can’t have everything we want. What we have now is what we will always have. Be glad to have.” I frowned. Dad didn’t make sense. “Have what?” I asked.

“Just be glad to have.”

         Since a very young age, I always believed in our Dear Leader. I remember making my parents chuckled when I said I wanted to be like him one day; they probably laughed because they knew I was going to be a soldier like them. My mom always told me that I would live a good life if I served the country, that military men in Pyongyang had nice apartments like ours. The other kids at school were jealous. They complained about not being able to get as much food as me and watch TV. At this age, I refused to believe them. I would tell myself that their parents were simply not working hard enough to get more food. So I thought they were all jealous of my family's success. That was until I became friend with Jinyoung.

            Jinyoung was the kid living two floors below mine. We walked to school together every day. On my birthday, my parents offered me a bike. Since Jinyoung did not have one, I often let him ride it, which made him so happy. He once told me: "One day Jaebeom, I'll drive a car." It would make us both laugh, because we knew it was impossible. Even my parents didn't own a car.

            He came to my apartment almost every evening for dinner, even if it was forbidden. Fortunately, the apartment lady was tolerant back then and let him eat with us. My desk mate never wanted me to go to his flat. He said it was too dirty, too small, too boring, and that my mom cooked better food. Jinyoung’s parents were working away from home, and he stayed with his grandfather since he was five. So he was a bit like my brother.

            We were inseparable. One time, at school, while we were singing the national anthem in the morning before classes, I started to tickle my friend. It was so funny to see him trying to sing while holding back his laugh. I kept tickling him until he finally stopped singing to let a high-pitched laugh out by accident. The guy before us turned around, and I particularly remember the look on his face. His eyes were screaming: "You are so going to die."  The teacher then yelled: "Who laughed?" Everyone remained silent. Jinyoung looked at me with fear. The teacher pushed his way through the crowd and grabbed my friend by the arm to bring him to the front. I felt my heart twist as I watched him getting scolded.

            “Don't you have any respect for your nation? How dare you laughing as we sing our great national anthem you punk!” yelled the teacher before slapping him.

            I couldn't stay there doing nothing, especially knowing that Jinyoung hadn't done anything wrong. Without thinking about it, I started to laugh loud enough for the teacher to hear me. He was mad. He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the front to slap me too. He slapped me twice, I don't quite remember the reason. My face was burning, and my arm was painful, but it was all better than seeing my friend discreetly wiping his tears. We both went back to our spots and started the song from the beginning. Jinyoung kept looking at me worryingly, and I smiled at him to reassure him. It was tolerable. If I couldn't take some of his pain away, I could at least suffer with him.