Chapter 1: My Name Is...
My name is Lee Soo-im (李秀妊). The characters stand for "outstanding" (秀) and "to conceive" (妊). Taken together, it means "to conceive an outstanding child." My father named me after the famous female spy, Kim Soo-im (金壽任, 1911–1950). In her name, the character Soo (壽) means life and Im (任) means mission—perhaps suggesting someone who dies fulfilling their duty.
My father said that as soon as I was born, he was reminded of Kim Soo-im, who was known for her beauty and her fluency in English. However, unlike the spy who was executed, he chose the characters for my name to mean "conceiving an outstanding child."
Kim Soo-im was a renowned intellectual. While studying at Kyongsong Imperial University, she was introduced to communist theory and later became an elite figure who studied at Berlin University in Germany. She was the lover of Lee Kang-guk, a politician executed in 1955. During the U.S. military government era, she worked as an interpreter and employee for the military government office. She was a tragic woman, accused of leaking secrets from her partner, U.S. official John Baird, to Lee Kang-guk and the Workers' Party of South Korea, leading to her execution.
Lee Kang-guk was actually a 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 (who spoke six languages), met Kim Soo-im through him. The first impression of that intelligent Ewha Womans University graduate stayed with him so strongly that he gave me her name.
My family history is one of lone sons. My great-grandmother's husband died of sudden indigestion from eating pork on their wedding day. She never remarried, lived as a widow, and grew the family estate so significantly that the village erected a "Gate of Virtuous Women" in her honor. Having never spent the first night with her husband, she adopted my grandfather, Lee Kang-bok. He was an only child, as was my father. My mother tried hard to continue the lineage, but of my siblings, only my eldest sister survived; a younger sister and three brothers passed away. I was born when my mother was 38, a fragile baby.
My father was overjoyed when I was born, seeing himself in me. It gave him new life. He would rub his bearded cheek against mine, toss me toward the ceiling, and give me shoulder rides. No one believes me when I say I remember crying in terror during those moments, but I still recall the distinct feeling of pain and dizziness.
At dinner, over a drink, my father would tell me stories of his past and our family history. He took me everywhere, holding my hand as we walked Namsan trail. Even when I met friends, he would join us, and my friends and I would walk hanging onto his arms. His hands were always warm and soft. Over the years, I felt him aging through that grip. The hand that once held mine firmly began to loosen, and eventually, it started to tremble. A dull ache grew in my heart. I couldn't imagine a world without his encouragement.
As a child, I was spoiled; I believed I could get anything just by rolling around on the floor. But through my father’s love, I learned how to love. I grew up feeling moved, grateful, and sometimes apologetic for that love. Love has a powerful way of moving the heart.
To this day, I have never met anyone else named Soo-im. I love the name my father gave me. Even when I obtained my citizenship, I didn't change it. I never wanted a foreign name. Partly because of a silent promise to my father, but also because my features—my small eyes, flat head, and petite frame—are quintessentially Korean. A foreign name wouldn't suit me. Occasionally, someone calls me "Soon-im." I don't even respond to them; I don't want to associate with people who get it wrong. It would make my late father angry. I also dislike being introduced as someone's wife or mother. I gently tell them: "Please introduce me by my name."
I want to be called Lee Soo-im—the name my father gave me—not someone’s wife or someone’s mother.
Chapter 2: Where Did I Come From?
I came from my mother’s womb. It was dark, but warm and safe. With my hands and feet tucked in, I listened to the whispers of my parents And waited for the day we would meet. Suddenly, the world turned bright.
I came from my father’s arms. A large face with a scratchy beard drew near. It stung. It hurt. It burned. I was tossed up until my head nearly touched the ceiling. My breath caught. I fell back into his arms. As I cried, my mother nursed me. I smelled radish soup. I liked Mom better than Dad.
Chewing gum, Savoring the sweetness with my eyes closed, It slipped down my throat. "Mom, I’m dying! The gum is in my stomach!" I ran down the street crying. Mom looked like an ogre, wearing a giant bowl on her head. Startled, I stopped crying. The salon lady sat me in a chair And turned me into a little ogre, just like Mom. The smell of burning hair and the salon made my head spin. The world is tiring.
A light green and pink checkered skirt, And a soft red sweater—I wanted to wear them every day. Mom took them off to wash them. I rolled on the floor and cried until they were dry. Mom said she needed to give me herbal medicine to calm my temper, But instead, she took me to Manmi-jeong in Myeong-dong. Slurping noodle soup. Nibbling on donuts. My mother's eyes were full of love as she watched me. The world is happy.
Every morning, I peek through the window. Two children covered in soot linger outside. One scratches their head with a hand that just rubbed a stye-ridden eye. Mom puts white rice into a black iron container. The contrast between the stained iron and the white rice is stark. Steam rises from the bowl. Where are those children going in their torn rubber shoes? The world is sad.
In the yard where laundry flapped in the breeze, I played jacks with my sister. "Mom! The laundry!" Mom ran out barefoot. The sight of the hungry, frail children clutching the laundry grew smaller and disappeared. The world is strange.
I snuck out of the house and crossed the street To the Shinsegae Department Store. I rode the elevator up. And down. And up. Down, up, down. Just as I was about to go up again, a security guard caught me. The little "Namsan Scholar" turned bright red. Dad put a necklace with his contact info around my neck. The world doesn't always go my way.
Chapter 3: Hey, Kid
On my first day of middle school, my father tried to shove me into a packed bus. Realizing it was impossible, he jumped on with me, even though he was dressed in a tracksuit for his walk on Namsan. "Let's go to the faculty office," he said. "I need to see the music teacher." "Why? My homeroom teacher is the physics teacher." "I just had an idea."
We stood before the music teacher. My father said, "I have something to tell you." The teacher looked my father up and down in his tracksuit and signaled for me to go to class.
A year later, the music teacher, who had been giving me lessons at my father's request, called him in. "I’ve taught her for a year, but your daughter has absolutely no talent for music. You should look for another path." Right then, my father asked the art teacher sitting nearby to teach me instead. The art teacher said I had talent. From then until college, I drew one picture every day. I couldn't go home until I finished one plaster figure drawing.
I never won an award, but I diligently attended every art competition because it meant I could skip class. Sitting under puffy clouds in a "blue Eden," drawing all day, felt like a chore for this "Eve." I spent most of my time pretending to draw while peeking at the "Adams"—the boys.
In the fall of my freshman year of high school, I was at a competition at Gyeongbokgung Palace. While everyone else was drawing the famous Hyangwonjeong Pavilion, my teacher whispered to me: "You go over there and try to capture the gloomy atmosphere of that restroom."
I was painting the restroom with watercolors when a male voice spoke behind me. "The kid is doing a good job capturing the mood." I turned around. I met the eyes of a boy—rebellious, sad, and mischievous. He looked like James Dean. He was also carrying an easel and a tackle box.
I tried to act cold and focus on my painting, but this "Adam" wouldn't leave. He kept watching my hands. They started to shake. I couldn't draw anymore, so I put down my brush. "Sorry. I won't look. Keep going," he said. Hoping he wouldn't go far, I finished quickly, turned it in, and looked around. He was gone. I felt disappointed. But as I reached the main gate: "Hey, kid. Finished? Going home?" "Why do you keep calling me 'kid'? I'm not a kid." "It's because you're cute. But why were you drawing a smelly restroom when everyone else was drawing Gyeonghoeru?" "My teacher told me to."
I turned and walked quickly to the bus stop. I thought he was following me—or rather, I hoped he was. I boarded the number 23 bus. He got on too and stood right in front of me. "Where do you live? I think we're going the same way. You're a middle schooler, right?" "No, I'm in high school." I looked out the window to avoid his gaze. As usual, my father was waiting at the bus stop. Seeing my unusually quiet behavior, he asked, "Did you get in trouble for acting up again?" I wished my father hadn't come to meet me on a day like this. I reluctantly took his hand. Once inside, I peeked through the door and saw "Adam" standing in front of our house for a moment before turning away.
Adam started appearing everywhere. "Hey kid, where are you going?" "Hey kid, where have you been?" He even asked me to go drawing at Secret Garden (Biwon). But with my father always around, I couldn't.
When I was little, my father taught me to skate by having me practice on a blanket before taking me to the rink. Eventually, I went with friends. One day, I was skating fast in a black-and-red checkered coat. "Hey, kid." I was so startled I fell on the ice. It was him. He took my hand, pulled me up, and looked at my red, freckled face. "I want to put you in my pocket and carry you around," he whispered. My face turned even redder. I had to say something to change the mood. "How do you always know where I am? You're like Hong Gil-dong (a fictional Korean hero)." "I have my ways. It's a secret."
One day, I saw him out of his school uniform. He must have been a college student. He had long hair and was wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket. He looked cool—too cool for a "kid" like me. He looked like a hippie who probably had many stylish college girlfriends. I'll get into college, become a hippie, and when he asks me out, I'll pretend to give in, I thought. I studied hard for my exams.
The day before my college entrance ceremony, I put on bell-bottom jeans and a beige coat. I looked in the mirror wearing high heels. My father told me to walk. Because the heels were so high, I walked awkwardly with my knees bent. "Practice walking on the blanket with your back straight. I told you to buy low heels because high ones make you look even shorter, but you were so stubborn."
On the day of the ceremony, I was at the bus stop. "Hey, kid. You're going to your entrance ceremony today, right? Congratulations. You've grown a bit. You look great." "You scared me! How do you keep appearing like this? How did you know today was my ceremony?" "I know everything. I'll tell you if you listen to me."
He got on the same bus, then the same transfer. I wondered if we went to the same school, but didn't ask. He followed me into the auditorium and sat in the back row. I felt his eyes on the back of my neck the whole time. When it ended, he approached me. "Kid, you're always holding your father's hand. I've been waiting for you to get into college. Now that you're a student, we can go to a tea house (Dabang), right?" "Do you go to this school?" "No. I just followed you to see what kind of guys were hanging around you."
After I started college, my father stopped waiting for me at the bus stop. I was curious how Adam knew my every move. I followed him to a tea house. He acted cool, greeting the hippie DJ and introducing me to his friends. They were all hippies. He gave me a slip of paper to request a song. I wrote "Rain and I" by Yoon Hyung-joo. He told me to pick a foreign song too, but I told him I didn't know any. "Listen to the song I request. You'll like it."
He wrote down his request. "When I left my home and my family / I was no more than a boy / In the company of strangers / In the quiet of the railway station / Running scared / Laying low..." It was the 1969 hit "The Boxer" by Simon & Garfunkel. As soon as I heard it, I fell for the song—and for him. I loved the hidden sadness in the fast rhythm. From then on, as soon as I entered a tea house with friends, I would request "The Boxer" and tap my fingers to the "Lie-la-lie" chorus.
I eventually learned how he knew everything: through my live-in tutor. Apparently, she and his friends hung out together. She had made him promise not to get close to me until I entered college, and in exchange, she gave him my schedule. My tutor was a "wild" woman for her time—a Seoul National University student who had graduated from the prestigious Kyunggi Girls' High School. In summer, she wore her dyed, permed hair long, paired with plunging necklines and hot pants. Men would whistle as she passed. In winter, she would stay out until dawn, sometimes wearing only a coat with nothing underneath. "Why don't you wear clothes under your coat?" I once asked out of curiosity. "I'm looking for material for my novel. A writer needs experience. You wouldn't understand. Just don't tell your father. I'll make sure you get into college, so just keep your mouth shut and do what I say. Got it?"
Thinking back, I had run into Adam a few times while out with her. They had pretended not to know each other. She would often tell me she had business and sent me home early. I was moved that Adam had waited for me. I took it as a sign of his love. My father also gave me plenty of pocket money, telling me to enjoy college life. But Adam was always busy. He didn't call often. Even when we met, we parted before dinner. Waiting for his calls was boring. Is it because I'm a 'kid'? Or does he have a cool girlfriend and is just teasing me? I wondered. I flipped through magazines, trying to figure out how to look like a mature woman.
Winter break came at the end of my freshman year. Finally, the call I had been waiting for arrived. "Hey, kid. I'm in front of your house. Want to come out for a bit?" I was flustered by the suddenness. It was 2:00 PM. "My friend’s house is just down the street. His parents are traveling, so we've been hanging out there for days. Want to join?" He put his hand on my shoulder. I felt like I'd been struck by lightning. Unlike usual, his face was flushed, and he smelled like apples—the smell of alcohol. Since the house was nearby, I felt safe and followed him.
We entered a heavy gate and went into a large, dark living room with the curtains drawn. Seven or eight men and women were scattered about, looking intoxicated. There was a pungent smell of burning grass. Shin Jung-hyeon’s "Beautiful Rivers and Mountains" was playing loudly. It was an atmosphere I had never experienced. I sat nervously on the edge of a chair near the door. The host offered me a drink. I took it; I was confident in my drinking since I often had a glass with my father. Then they offered a cigarette. I looked at Adam. He told me to smoke it. Not wanting to ruin the mood and wanting to be a "hippie," I did as I was told.
But the vibe grew suspicious. One woman hugged a man and went upstairs. In a corner, people were rolling cigarettes in paper and passing them around. A small woman suddenly screamed: "Water! The water is covering me! Fire! My clothes are on fire! Help me, please!" The man next to her rubbed against her. Another man nearby sat frozen, while another couldn't stop laughing hysterically.
My pulse quickened. I felt like a mummy, my body shrinking in fear. I stood up abruptly, like a corpse rising from a coffin. Adam pulled me back down. He tried to comfort me, but the host, unfazed, took a puff of a thin cigarette and handed it to Adam. After a drag, Adam offered it to me. "Hey, kid. It’s no big deal. Try it. You can experience a new, peaceful world." The faces of my worried mother and father flashed in my mind. I clamped my mouth shut and shook my head, eyes fixed on the door.
Another woman leaned on a man and went into a room. The host whispered something to Adam, who nodded slowly. Something wrong was happening. I felt a chill. I checked the distance to the door. When Adam didn't do anything to me, the host whispered to him again. Adam hesitated, looking at my face. "Hey, don't ruin the mood!" the host suddenly snarled. He stood up, grabbed my arm, and tried to pull me further into the room. I shook him off. Adam stood up to stop him—or at least he pretended to. His effort was weak; it felt like he wanted me to just go along with it rather than protecting me. In that moment, I knew for sure: no one here would protect me.
I ran for the door. As I reached for the handle, the host caught up and pushed me away, locking the door. "Open the door! I want to go home!" Adam whispered something to calm the host. That confirmed it: This was all planned. They’re all in this together. I screamed even louder. The host gave up with a look of disgust and walked back to the sofa. Adam opened the door and signaled for me to leave. I grabbed my shoes and bolted across the garden. I didn't look back until I reached my house.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought of my kind parents. Part of me wanted to bring my father back there to teach them a lesson. But another thought came to me: I am an adult now. I have to judge, decide, and act for myself. Does being an adult mean you have to run this hard? I decided I needed to learn Taekwondo and wear flat shoes if I was going to date men. My head was a mess. It was a very long winter.
"To keep from saddening my mother and father, I decided to remain a 'kid' forever to Adam."
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