Norma's Orange Backpack

“People will forget what you said and what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel.”

Minju often thought of Jeonghee as if trying to prove this quote. She wondered if Jeonghee still carried that heavy orange backpack around. The conversations they had were blurry now, but the image of that dark, oppressive orange bag stuck in her mind like the blood-red color of a poppy. It followed her like a shadow.

Minju was a lonely woman, wandering through darkness, hoping someone would reach out and hold her hand toward the faint light at the end of a tunnel. She worked at ice cream shops and clothing stores, living day by day in constant uncertainty. Twice a year, she worked as a poll worker during elections—on primary and general election days. Though the job was long, from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m., the pay was decent, so she never missed a chance.

One year in early November, on a Tuesday, it was the day of the general election. Minju was assigned to a polling place near Queens Invitation Church, at a local high school. That day, she met Jeonghee, who was also working the election. Maybe because they were around the same age, they quickly became friendly. By lunchtime, they went out to eat together.

Jeonghee had a large orange backpack that looked like a boulder pressing down on her back. She leaned forward to carry it, pulling the straps tightly and walking with long strides. Minju felt an odd distance from her as she watched.

They went into a nearby Chinese restaurant. Jeonghee gently placed her backpack on the chair next to her as if it were a part of herself. The two had been out since dawn, so when the waitress came, they both quickly ordered spicy noodle soup. Minju couldn’t finish even half of hers—it was too much. Jeonghee, on the other hand, ate every drop like a vacuum cleaner. She stared at the leftovers in Minju’s bowl as if she was sad to see it go to waste. Minju hadn’t realized Jeonghee had such an appetite and regretted not offering her some before starting to eat.

As Jeonghee finished, she kept a tight grip on her bag’s straps. Minju couldn't help but ask.

“Why do you carry such a heavy bag everywhere?”

“This backpack has all the important things in my life,” Jeonghee replied.

“But shouldn’t you leave important stuff at home? What if you lose it? Isn’t it heavy?”

“I live with a roommate who goes through my things. It’s heavy, but I feel safer carrying it with me.”

Minju wanted to say, "That orange backpack is controlling your mind and twisting your body," but she held her tongue.

Jeonghee’s thin body and dark expression, shaped by the weight of that backpack, left a lasting impression on Minju. She felt sorry for her but also wondered about her mental state. They exchanged numbers, but Minju never called.

One sunny day near the end of winter, Jeonghee called. Minju was glad to hear from her, and curious—Would she still be carrying that orange backpack?

They met at Washington Square on the NYU campus. Minju sat on a bench, warmed by the spring sun. From a distance, she saw Jeonghee, still carrying the same orange backpack, now faded to brown. She walked hunched over, and Minju recognized her immediately. Jeonghee leaned her bag on the bench and sat awkwardly on the edge, smiling shyly.

They talked about how little had changed in their lives. Jeonghee seemed eager to connect, while Minju’s eyes kept returning to the backpack.

“It looks even bigger than before,” Minju said, finally.

“I put my divorce papers in it. But it doesn’t feel much heavier,” Jeonghee replied.

“You were married? I thought you were single.”

“I just married to survive. But he didn’t want to let me go. I finally got the papers done. My life... it’s more dramatic than a TV show.”

Minju wanted to ask more but didn’t want to push. She looked off into the distance and stayed quiet. Jeonghee, as if uncomfortable with the silence, began to speak again.

“I was born the oldest of six kids in a poor mountain village in Jeolla Province. I quit school after middle school to help at home. One day, I followed a friend’s letter and went to Seoul to work in a factory. It was so hard that I followed her again to a US military base in Pyeongtaek. That’s where I met an American soldier and got married. He took me to Georgia. I thought America would be wonderful, but we ended up in a rural town full of his relatives. It was a shock.

“My husband drank a lot and hit me. He’d call me horrible names. Look at my face—don’t you think it’s kind of pretty?”

Minju looked closer. Jeonghee had some acne scars, but her pale skin, large double-lidded eyes, defined nose, and trembling lips made her stand out. Her body was thin but well-proportioned. Without that bag and with decent clothes, she might even look elegant. Her voice shifted between bright and hollow. She moved restlessly, glanced around, then smiled weakly when their eyes met. Talking about her past clearly wasn’t easy, but once she started, she didn’t stop.

“There was another Korean nearby—short, strong, and a taekwondo teacher. I used to watch him through the window. He gave me hope. One day, just like my husband said, I became a ‘loose woman.’ I had an affair. I knew I had to run or I’d die, so I escaped to New York—in the middle of winter, of all times. Everything was covered in snow. I cried so much when I got here. I had nowhere to go.

“I rented a room in Queens from two sisters. I worked at a bar. Every man looked like my abusive husband. I was terrified of their hands. I thought I was the only woman suffering until I lived with more roommates. They each had stories, too.

“One night, after work, I was eating rice with water and pickled radish when the younger sister yelled at me, saying I was too loud. She slammed the door. I was so shocked I threw away my food and hid in my room. I saw a big man leave the apartment shortly after. Later, the man’s wife came and dragged the sister by the hair—it was chaos.

“I used to ride the 7 train with the older sister to work. One evening, as the sky turned red, she looked like she was about to cry.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

She lowered her head and wiped her eyes.

‘I miss my daughter. Do you think she misses me too when the sun sets?’

‘You have a daughter?’

‘I worked as a waitress while my husband got his Ph.D. Then he cheated on me and took our daughter. He said I smelled like food.’

“We cried together that day.

“When I saved some money, I got my own apartment. I worked at night and studied English during the day. I lived in the living room and rented out the bedroom. I met so many roommates. One woman used to stare at herself in the mirror all day. Another brought home lots of lettuce from the market where she worked. She would say:

‘Unni, lettuce is my favorite food,’ and chew loudly like she was trying to swallow her sadness.

“All of that is in my backpack too. It’s filled with memories. That’s why it’s not too heavy. It’s part of me. If I lose it, I lose myself.”

Before getting her citizenship, Jeonghee asked Minju to help her choose an American name.

“How about Noah?”

“Noah? Like the ark? That sounds too religious. Do you go to church?”

“No. Then how about Norma?”

“Norma’s better. Did you check what it means?”

“I think it means standard, pattern, or rule. I want to forget my past and live a normal life with my new name.”

When Minju heard the word “normal,” she instinctively looked around for the orange backpack. It was lying next to the bed, looking comfortable.

Later, Jeonghee—now Norma—invited Minju to celebrate her citizenship at the bar where she worked near Chinatown. As Minju approached, she saw Norma through the window—wearing a short black skirt and a see-through black crop top, rushing between tables. She looked like a completely different person.

Minju saw the orange backpack in her mind, tired and worn out, begging to be taken off and put to rest. She felt a dull pain in her head, like something inside her had cracked. She wanted to run away from Norma, just like the backpack.

She stood at the doorway for a long time, then quietly walked away, vanishing into the alley like a shadow.