Choi is a North Korean defector now
residing in Seoul, and her doorbell has not stopped ringing for a while. This
year, Choi (46; pseudonym) has invited other defectors like herself to
celebrate the Lunar New Year in her small apartment, where she has been
preparing food since the early hours of the morning. Her guests are from all
walks of life: there’s a middle-aged couple with kids in tow; a young woman living
in Seoul with her mother. They have all turned up on Choi’s suggestion
that they share hometown stories over a meal.
At this time of year, South Korea is a
nation on the move. This can make it an incredibly lonely time for outsiders,
including defectors, who have neither hometowns to visit nor relatives to whom
they can pay their respects. However, all around the country defectors just
like Choi seek out alternatives such as this neighborhood gathering in order to
ring in the New Year despite their limitations.
The table is piled high with North
Korean-style sundae, a form of steamed blood sausage, rice and tofu dishes. Each
guest has also prepared their own take on songpyeon, small rice
cakes traditionally prepared for the New Year. Rice cake soup is bubbling on
the stove in Choi’s narrow kitchen. Some sit around the table in the
living room clinking glasses, while two teenagers, clearly bored by the antics
of their parents, lean against the wall tapping away on smartphones.
Then a sudden hush falls upon the room. A woman
with a thick Hamkyung Province accent has announced that she will sing a song
from her hometown. Other guests join in as the song proceeds, and at its finale
the room erupts in deserved applause. Indeed, soon enough the adults are all
singing songs to remind them of home, though when it’s the turn of the young, they
all choose South Korean songs. Then it is the adults who look bored.
Hong Sun Nyo (49), who arrived in South
Korea in 2008, remarks, “My village in the North was deep in the
mountains. On holidays the whole village would gather to eat and play
together. You don’t see that kind of thing in the South, and that was very
strange to me at first.” In South Korean culture it is the case that if one has
family to spend holidays with, there is little need for neighbors.
“If South Korean people can go to meet
their family whenever they like, why would gathering with neighbors be
necessary?” a second guest muses.
Kang Myong Hun (48) agrees, adding, “Sometimes
the people at my office worry about how defectors like us spend our
holidays. They think it’s amazing that we meet in this way, and pass the
time by sharing stories of our hometowns.“
