Chapter 1: My Name
My name is Lee Soo-im (李秀妊). The characters stand for Soo (秀), meaning "excellent," and Im (妊), meaning "to conceive." Together, they carry the wish to conceive an extraordinary child. My father chose this name because of the infamous female spy, Kim Soo-im (1911–1950). While the Soo in her name meant "life" and the Im meant "duty"—perhaps suggesting a life spent fulfilling a mission until death—my father was simply captivated by the image of the brilliant, English-speaking elite she had been.
Kim Soo-im was a renowned intellectual. While studying at Keijo Imperial University, she was introduced to communist theory and became the lover of Lee Kang-guk, an elite politician who had studied at Berlin University. During the U.S. military government era, she worked as a staff member for the Military Government Office. She was eventually executed as a spy, accused of passing classified information from her partner, U.S. military officer John Baird, to Lee Kang-guk and the Workers' Party of South Korea.
Lee Kang-guk was actually a distant relative of mine, born in Yangju. Twelve years older than my father, he often frequented the guest room of my grandfather, Lee Kang-bok. My father, who looked up to the brilliant Lee Kang-guk, met Kim Soo-im through him. The first impression of this intelligent Ewha Woman's University graduate left such a mark on him that he gave me her name the moment I was born.
My family history was one of solitude and survival. My great-grandmother became a widow on her wedding day when her groom passed away suddenly from indigestion. She never remarried, grew the family estate herself, and was eventually honored by the village for her virtuous devotion. Having no children of her own, she adopted my grandfather. He was an only son, as was my father. My mother tried desperately to continue the lineage, but of my siblings, only my eldest sister survived; three others passed away. I was finally born, a fragile child, when my mother was thirty-eight.
My father was overjoyed to have a child who resembled him. He would rub his bearded cheek against mine and lift me high toward the ceiling. Though no one believes me when I say I remember being a baby, I still recall the sharp pain of his stubble and the dizzying height—sensations so vivid they felt like a physical ache.
Over dinner, he would recount our family history. He took me everywhere, holding my hand as we walked the paths of Namsan. Even when I met friends, he would come along, and we would walk together, hanging onto his arms. His hands were always warm and soft. Over the years, I felt him aging through that grip—the firm hand eventually grew loose, and then, it began to tremble. I couldn't imagine a world without his constant encouragement.
Because of his doting love, I grew up spoiled; I knew that a little tantrum on the floor would get me anything I wanted. Yet, it was through his devotion that I learned how to love. I grew up feeling moved, grateful, and eventually apologetic toward him. Love is a powerful force that moves the heart.
To this day, I have never met anyone else named Soo-im. I cherish the name my father gave me. Even when I obtained my U.S. citizenship, I never considered changing it to a Western name. Beyond my silent promise to my father, I simply look "typically Korean"—with my small eyes and slight frame, a foreign name wouldn't suit me. Occasionally, people mispronounce my name as "Soon-im." When that happens, I don't even look at them. It would make my late father angry. I also politely correct those who introduce me only as "someone's wife" or "someone's mother."
"Please, introduce me by my own name," I tell them. I want to be called Lee Soo-im—the name my father gave me—as my own person, not defined by anyone else.
Chapter 2: Where Did I Come From?
I came from my mother’s womb. It was a dark, warm, and safe place. With my hands and feet tucked in, listening to the whispers of my mother and father, I waited for the day we would meet. Suddenly, the world turned bright.
I came from my father’s arms. A large face with a prickly beard drew closer. It stung. It hurt. It burned. I was lifted so high my head almost touched the ceiling. My breath caught. Then I fell back into his embrace. As I cried, my mother nursed me. The scent of radish soup filled the air. I liked my mother more than my father then.
Chewing gum, savoring the sweetness with my eyes closed, until it slipped down my throat. "Mom! I’m going to die! The gum is in my stomach!" I ran down the street crying. There, I saw my mother wearing a giant bowl, her hair like a goblin's. Startled, I stopped crying. The lady at the salon sat me down and turned me into a little goblin, just like my mother. The smell of burning hair and perming solution made my head spin. The world was exhausting.
A short skirt with lime and pink checks, and a soft red sweater—I wanted to wear them every single day. My mother took them away to wash them. I rolled on the floor and cried until they were dry. My mother, worried about my temper, took me to my favorite place, Manmi-jeong in Myeong-dong. Slurping noodles, nibbling on donuts. Looking at the love in my mother's eyes. The world was happy.
Every morning, I hid and peeked through the window. Two children covered in soot loitered outside. They scratched their heads with hands that had just rubbed their infected eyes. My mother put white rice into a black iron pot. The steam rose, highlighting the contrast between the dark pot and the white rice. Where were those children going in their torn rubber shoes? The world was sad.
In the yard where laundry fluttered in the breeze, I played jacks with my sister. "Mom! The laundry!" My mother ran out barefoot. The figures of the hungry, frail children clutching the laundry grew smaller and smaller until they vanished. The world was strange.
I snuck out of the house and crossed the street to the Shinsegae Department Store. I rode the elevator up and down. Up and down. Up and down. As I tried to go up again, a security guard caught me. The little "Namsan scholar" turned bright red like a carrot. My father put a necklace with his contact information around my neck. The world does not go my way.
Chapter 3: Hey, Kiddo
In the early summer of my first year of middle school, my father tried to shove me into a packed bus. Realizing it was impossible, he hopped on himself to escort me to school, even though he was dressed in a tracksuit for a walk on Namsan. "Let's go to the office," he said. "I need to see the music teacher." "Why? My homeroom teacher is the physics teacher." "I just had an idea."
In the faculty room, he told the music teacher, "This is my daughter. I have something to discuss regarding her." The teacher looked my father up and down—he was still in his gym clothes—and signaled for me to go to class. A year later, that same teacher called my father back. "I’ve taught her for a year, but your daughter has absolutely no talent for music. You should find another path for her."
My father immediately turned to the art teacher sitting nearby and asked for a evaluation. The art teacher said I had talent. From then on, I drew every single day until I went to college. I wasn't allowed to go home until I finished one plaster figure drawing. I never won any awards, but I never missed an art competition—mostly because it was an excuse to skip class. While other students painted the scenery under the peaceful clouds, I spent my time observing the boys—the "Adams" to my "Eve."
In the fall of my freshman year of high school, during a competition at Gyeongbokgung Palace, while everyone else was painting the famous Hyangwonjeong Pavilion, my teacher pulled me aside. "Go over there," he whispered, "and try to capture the gloomy atmosphere of that restroom."
As I sat there painting a toilet with watercolors, a male voice came from behind me. "The kid is actually capturing the mood quite well." I turned around and met the playful, rebellious, yet sad eyes of a boy who looked like James Dean. He was also carrying his art supplies. I tried to act indifferent and focus on my work, but he wouldn't leave. My hands started shaking. I couldn't paint anymore. "Sorry, I'll stop watching. Keep going," he said.
When I finally finished and headed toward the main gate, he appeared again. "Hey, kiddo. Finished? Are you going home now?" "Why do you keep calling me 'kiddo'? I'm not a kid." "It's because you're cute. But why were you painting a smelly restroom when everyone else was painting the pavilions?" "My teacher told me to."
I turned away and walked toward the bus stop, hoping he would follow. I took the #23 bus toward Itaewon. He got on too and stood right in front of my seat. "Where do you live? I think we're going the same way. You're in 9th grade, right?" "No, I'm a freshman in high school," I replied quickly, looking out the window. As usual, my father was waiting for me at the stop. Seeing my unusually quiet behavior, he asked, "Did the teacher scold you for acting up again?" I grumbled to myself, wishing my father hadn't shown up just this once. From behind the front door, I peeked out and saw the "Adam" standing in front of our house for a moment before turning away.
From then on, he would pop up like a ghost—Hong Gil-dong—asking, "Hey kiddo, where are you going?" He even asked me to go painting with him at the Secret Garden, but I couldn't because my father was always hovering nearby.
Years later, I saw him again. He was a college student now, a "hippie" with long hair and a leather jacket. He looked so cool—far too sophisticated for a "kid" like me. I told myself I had to get into college so I could become a hippie too and finally go on a date with him.
On my college entrance day, I wore bell-bottom jeans and high heels. I stumbled clumsily. My father told me to practice walking on a blanket. At the bus stop, "Adam" appeared again. "Hey kiddo, you're starting college today? Congrats. You've grown a bit. You look great." He followed me all the way to the induction ceremony. Afterward, he approached me. "I've been waiting for you to get into college. Now that you're a student, can we go to a tea house (dabang)?"
He took me to a place where he knew the DJ. He asked me what I wanted to hear. I chose a Korean folk song, but he told me to listen to his choice: The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkel. “When I left my home and my family, I was no more than a boy...” I fell in love with the song and with him instantly.
I eventually found out how he always knew my whereabouts. He was friends with my live-in tutor, a radical Seoul National University student who lived a wild life behind my father's back. She had been giving him my schedule on the condition that he stayed away until I got into college.
However, our "romance" was strange. He was always busy and rarely called. I spent my days waiting for the phone to ring, wondering if I was too childish for him. Then, during winter break, he finally called and asked me to come to a friend's house nearby.
The house was dark, with thick curtains drawn. Inside, several young men and women were slumped over, appearing dazed. The smell of burning herbs filled the room. Someone handed me a drink, and I took it. Then they offered me a cigarette. "Adam" told me to try it, saying it was part of being a hippie.
The atmosphere grew dark. A girl started screaming about water and fire, hallucinating. My heart raced; my body felt like it was turning into stone. When "Adam" tried to get me to try a "special" cigarette—one that promised a "new world"—I saw the faces of my mother and father in my mind.
Suddenly, the host tried to pull me toward the back of the house. "Adam" barely protested; he seemed to be in on it. I realized then that no one there would protect me. I bolted for the door. The host tried to block me, but eventually, "Adam" signaled for me to leave. I ran out, clutching my shoes, and didn't stop until I reached the safety of my front door.
I thought about telling my father so he could punish them, but then a new thought hit me: I was an adult now. I had to make my own decisions. That winter felt incredibly long. To keep my parents from being saddened by the harshness of the world, I decided to leave "Adam" behind and remain, in their eyes, their eternal "kiddo."
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