It is around 3 PM when I wake up in my bed. Jenny says I was taken into my room after passing out. Harin is unmoved so that the police can investigate further to find the culprit. Jenny and I are strictly forbidden to talk about the tragedy if it causes trauma to the little ones. Except it caused trauma for me. I recall back to the day when I first met Harin. Injured, holding photos and a book. Book? Back then I didn’t think it was unusual, but now that I come to think of it, she could have written something important for her there. And it turns out, I’m correct.


    “Harin Yoo, December 24, 1952” I realize the date is around 6 months before the war ended, which is fairly recent given that diaries were luxurious back then. “Today is Christmas Eve, although my parents have seemingly forgotten to give me a present. It shouldn’t be a surprise, with what’s going on these days, but still, I would have appreciated a box of honey cookies and puffed grains. I dare not nag my parents though. They seem tired and frustrated.”


    “January 8th 1953”


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    “ My parents left the house before I woke. They said they would be back in a matter of a few hours, but it was already noon by the time I woke in an empty house. I’m worried as the clock says it’s 7 PM; what if something happened to them?


    “February 28th 1958”


    “It’s been around 5 years since my parents disappeared. I’ve scrounging for food for those horrible years, staying in relatives’ houses, but they weren’t in the position financially to feed me. Wait, I’ve just spotted a sign that reads “Seocho Orphanage” Maybe they’ll take me in?


    “March 18th 1958”


    “I feel blessed here, with so many people congratulating me on my 14th birthday, which is today. And yet, I am not happy. Every day I miss my parents, and every night I call for them.”


    “March 20th 1958”


    “The director tells me that my parents are dead, from fighting bravely against the KPA, who brutally killed them, torturing them to give away the address of the headquarters of the Resistance. My parents died without telling them anything. I know what to do now. I want to follow them, to see them again.


    I race towards the director, telling her my suspicions and giving the boom in her hands. A few days later, we hosted a funeral for Harin, and it turned out that she did commit suicide. But I feel her. I don’t miss my parents as much as I used to. I feel…. mature.