This Time Last Year

Remembering Sewol

To honor the first anniversary of the Sewol Ferry tragedy, Kwangju Foreign School students reflected on the nation’s loss in two essays.

By Cho Hae-jin

It has almost been a year since Sewol sank.

Again, winter is slowly making way for spring; glancing up at the clock, I realize that during this time last year, they would have either been sleeping in their beds or staying up late to study. Now they lie buried and still.

Since I first heard about the incident and felt its ripples throughout the country in the form of yellow ribbons and muted conversations, details have become fuzzy. I have never had a very good memory, and the act of forgetting has never pained me more than it does now.

I was strangely relieved to find that, after reviewing year-old news footage of an ominous ship’s keel protruding from the sea and human faces twisted in disbelief, I could still cry.

I remember staring at the footage playing out on television as the sun peeked in and I haltingly dressed for school. I remember sobbing at home after the rescue effort became a search for bodies. I just wanted to grieve forever and never move forward for these kids. I did not want to eat or sleep or go to the bathroom or move while there were those kids trapped in the cold, impenetrable slate waters.

It was the first time I had seen such raw emotion on a television in Korea. The same TV that usually streamed blank-faced pop stars and talk show hosts bombarded by cartoon mallets and bubble letters was now showing real families in distress. Parents familiar in their colorful windbreakers and Korean perms became unearthly in their grief as they struck at security guards and shrieked and sobbed or just lay there like corpses themselves while the nation watched. Such publicly displayed emotion I had never witnessed in my time here.

It has been a year and I am now able to write without wanting to slap myself, but the guilt is still here. I cannot fathom how painful it must have been for the parents of the boy who recorded a last video to hear him say, “I love you mom and dad” for the last time. Or the indescribable grief of those families whose children’s bodies have yet to be found. I can only wonder how they must have felt to hear the news, how they will feel years from now, moaning over so many minute details and decisions made in the past. For some reason, thinking about their suffering makes me cry the most.

I have never experienced anything like Sewol. I thought I understood, but I realize now that you can never understand until you see it yourself on your way to school, on the faces of real people around you, and even then your understanding is only a fraction of the emotions of those who helplessly watched as a ship drowned their children.

Scientists can tell you how many days a person has been dead or what phenomenon caused the blood to halt its flow to the brain. They cannot tell you how it felt, how their last moments were spent, what they said or thought, or whether they had time to do anything at all. They cannot tell you whether they will be remembered years from now—and they cannot tell you what their lives meant. What our lives mean.

I remember the victims of the Sewol tragedy and the screams coming from the white tents set up to identify the bodies, bodies of kids whom I could have gone to school with. While their deaths brought unspeakable pain, they have also served as a reminder of our connection to other people, a reminder to hold our loved ones closer and to live life a little better. I will be graduating high school this year and I am so grateful for the chance. I sincerely hope to honor their lives in some way with mine.

 

My Personal Response and a Letter that Cannot Be Sent

By Lilly Ahn

For the first time, I wished there was a superman. A man wearing underwear over tights who unbelievably flies over to the ship and drags the ship out of the water.

After the accident, everyone wore a yellow ribbon. We all wished them to walk out of the ship miraculously. We wished them to hold on so somebody could go in and save them. I resented myself because I could not do anything. Even the government did not do anything. They were irresponsible and tried to avoid being in charge. So instead of government officials, civilian divers jumped into the cold ocean to save them. During this process, a civilian diver died. I was angry, resentful, and sorry.

There was no superman who flew over and lifted the ship up. However, there were real heroes: Crew members who tried their best to extricate more people out of the ship abandoned by its captain and its mariners, students who conceded their lives to their friends, and fishermen and civilian divers who came right away to save people.

Dear Jeong Cha-woong (who conceded his life vest to another friend),

Hi. I did not know you personally and the only connection I could make was that we were born in the same year, 1997. When you were excited to go to Jeju Island for a school trip, I was doing my homework. When you were exhilarated going aboard the Sewol ship with your friends, I was on my way to school dragging my tired body. When you were shivering with fear in the tilted ship, I was in class studying. When I first received news about you, they told me that you and all of the passengers were rescued, so I was relieved. However, when I got home, I saw my mom watching the news nervously. Four hundred seventy-six people were trapped in the frigid sinking Sewol ship. The ship was not tilted that much on the first day. I thought the government would do something and save you and all the other people. I thought all the people would walk out of the ship. Living nineteen years, it was my first time so eagerly wishing for a miracle to happen.

Regardless of all the wishes, a miracle did not happen. Days, weeks, and months floated by and people started to say the possibility that the people on board were alive was low. So the government decided to start recovering the dead bodies. I was angry at the government because it was so incompetent. Were you waiting for rescue the whole time? I am so sorry that I could not do anything for you and for your friends. So I thought about what I can do for you. I concluded: first, I will never forget this accident, you, and all the other victims. Second, I will live my life wholeheartedly so you will not be ashamed of me. I heard your story. You conceded your life vest to your friend and tried to save another friend, but then got trapped in the ship. I was surprised at your courage. You were between life and death and you showed solicitude for others and even took care of others more than yourself. You were a superman.

Sincerely,
Your friend