By Michael Moon
My grandfather had been a quiet and austere man for as long as I could remember. He never lacked warmth; it was just rare that he ever showed it. When he did, it was very brief. Most of the time, he seemed cold and melancholic, haunted by something or someone. My father told me he had always been like this, even when he, my aunt, and uncle grew up in Busan. Symbolically, my grandparents, specifically my grandfather, were the head of our family. Next in the family hierarchy was my aunt, father, and uncle, all in that order with their spouses. Finally, the kids were my older cousins, myself, and two younger siblings. As the symbolic head of our family, we gave my grandfather the utmost respect when we greeted him, bade him goodbye at the dinner table, and, most importantly, during his birthdays and holidays. Like always, he remained calm and reserved but showed some energy during that time, especially if it meant making his family happy.
However, his stern and quiet demeanor remained unchanged. We never entirely understood why until another birthday came to pass, not for him, but for my older cousin, Jeong-Soo. As always, my grandfather was stoic. This time, things were to change. Jeong-Soo was turning twenty-one and had served his mandatory years in the military. He, however, decided to continue in his military career and announced his intentions to carry on after cutting his cake. My grandfather remained silent throughout the announcement, and we thought it was him being his usual self. But something had changed in his appearance. His face grew pale, his expression grew dark, and his eyes grew colder than normal. He soon got up and gave Jeong-Soo a happy birthday and wished him good luck in his career. Without another word, he headed to his room while my grandmother followed him, looking worried. A minute or two later, she came back, still concerned.
"Eomeoni," My uncle asked, "Is he okay?"
"He'll be fine." She replied. "He wants to see you though."
Without missing a beat, my uncle headed to the room. My father shared his expression with my grandmother. Somehow, it was clear that they knew what all of this was about. After a few minutes, my father had me check on them to ensure everything was alright. As I approached the room with the door closed, I heard my uncle and grandfather arguing. They were loud, and the chilling voice of my grandfather made me freeze in fear.
"Abeoji!" My uncle shouted. "It was his choice to make. I only supported what he wanted, nothing more!"
"Mandatory service is one thing, but as a career? I will not lose one of my grandchildren to war!"
"Abeoji, who says there will be another war? We don't know that, and Jeong-Soo will be fine! And I promise you, he will not be Uncle!"
As they continued to argue, I started pondering why my grandfather was so against my cousin serving in the military. Moreover, I wondered why his mood suddenly changed from stoic and calm to emotional and angry. Was it because of the Korean War? And who was this "uncle" that my uncle was talking about? Before I could ponder more, my uncle came out and saw me. A look of frustration and shock entered his face, meeting my expression of fear. He quickly closed the door, regained his composure, and turned to address me.
"You will not tell Oppa about what you just heard, do you understand, Seo-Yoon?" he asked shakily.
"I won't," I replied, frightened.
And with that, he walked away, back to the rest of the family, with me following behind while I was still thinking about my uncle and grandfather. My grandfather was a soldier back during the war, so it made sense that he wouldn't jeopardize any of his offspring. Yet what didn't make sense was the "uncle." There had been no mention of this man, not once and not by anyone in the family. Puzzled, I returned with my uncle to the dining area, where the rest of the family awaited us. They looked at us with worried anticipation, especially my father and grandmother. However, my uncle assured the rest of us that my grandfather was okay; he just needed some rest. Of course, it was just an excuse that everyone else but me, my father, and my grandmother bought and believed. My uncle glanced at both of them, his eyes telling them something was wrong.
Slowly, one by one, the family began piling out and saying goodbyes. Meanwhile, my father told my mother, siblings, and I to wait in the car while he chatted with my uncle and grandmother. It took some time, but a few minutes later, he joined us, revealing nothing about the nature of his conversation until we got home. While he and my mother sent my siblings to bed, they kept me aside to speak. They exchanged looks, my mother nodding for him to tell me what I was trying to understand. With a deep breath, he relented.
"Seo-Yoon," He said. "I know you're wondering what's going on, and we will explain everything to you."
"What about Hae-Yoon?" I asked. "And Seong-Joon?"
"Your siblings will know when it's appropriate," my mother replied. Right now, we want you to know everything, including the secret of Harabeoji's brother."
My eyes widened. My parents sat at the table, gesturing for me also to sit. After a few seconds of silence, my father cleared his throat, ready to speak. This is the story he told.
Korea was a united country before the Korean and Second World Wars. In addition, it had been an independent kingdom until the Japanese colonized and annexed it in 1910. This was the world that my grandfather and his younger were born into in 1925 and 1929 in what was then Northern Korea. They were the eldest and the middle children of five siblings and the only boys in the family. As such, they shared the bond of brotherhood that was unique only to brothers and to them. When the Second World War ended in September 1945, my grandfather, who was twenty, was sent to the southern part of the country with one of his sisters, who was eighteen. They meant to move and start fresh, building new lives with the plan that the rest of the family would join them in a few years. Unfortunately, not all went according to plan, as the ROK and the DPRK became countries in 1948.
Then, the war started. My grandfather was drafted into the war as a soldier and fought in the major battles. From the First Battle for Seoul to the Battle of Busan Perimeter, he fought all over the peninsula, to the Chinese border, and back across the 38th parallel line. During this time, his family fled South to Busan from Hungnam, his sister joining them for safety. However, the one family member who did not join them was the younger brother.
During the Fourth Battle for Seoul, my grandfather and his comrades fought like they always had, hard and furiously. Only this Seoul would remain in South Korean hands with a failed counterattack from North Korea. In the thickness of battle, he shot away the Chinese and North Korean troops until one was desperate enough to charge him head-on. My grandfather didn't notice until the man was only a few feet away. It was too late for him to react properly when he saw it. Yet, somehow, he stood firm. He hit back hard, tackling the man and knocking away his rifle. After a short physical brawl, my grandfather managed to get the man off him in time to grab a gun and shoot him clean through the chest. As the force of the bullet knocked the man over, his helmet, too, fell off. As my grandfather was about to run into combat once again, he looked at the man who had fought so hard and desperately to try and keep Seoul for North Korea. Who he saw utterly shocked him and broke his heart to pieces.
Underneath the helmet covering the soldier's face was none other than his younger brother. In vain, he took off his headgear, hoping his brother might still be alive, but to no avail. The only thing my grandfather could do was hold him tight as he cried with anguish. When his comrades tried helping him up to finish the fight, he turned them away. Though the Fourth Battle for Seoul was won that day, for my grandfather, it was not without a price: the price of the flesh and blood of family. The following two years were a blur of grief and conflict for my grandfather. He fought out the rest of the war, but as the days wore on, he lost his taste for victory and honor. Any sense of these feelings was buried deep in grief and guilt. When the war finally ended, he was honorably discharged and headed for Busan, where his family now resided. Unable to move back North due to the Kim regime, his parents' old age, and not wanting to relive the horrors of the war, my grandfather and his family stayed in Busan. Eventually, my grandfather married. His parents arranged the wedding and, together with my grandmother, built a relationship of mutual fondness and respect. However, my grandfather still mourned. Deep inside, he still felt empty without his brother. Though he had fought the war, he knew it had all been pointless.
For the first two years of the war, he had seen the North Korean soldiers as enemies. Unknowingly killing his brother made him see the war for what it was: ideological and fratricidal. After all, did he, these men, and their families not suffer together under Japanese rule? Were they not fighting for the same country that was all rightfully theirs.? Finally, were these soldiers not brothers? Were they not a people? These were questions my grandfather continued to ask himself over the years. Because of this, he became bitter; as a result, though he allowed his sons, my father and uncle, to serve their mandatory terms, he disapproved of them building a career in the military.
So, when my cousin decided to stay, all the shock, pain, and memories he held onto poured out like a waterfall. He couldn't bear to lose another family member to another pointless war that would surely kill members of the same people. To my grandfather, there was no difference. We were all Korean, all the same. When my parents finished speaking, I finally understood my grandfather in a way I never did before. There had been a deeper reason why he was stoic and unrevealing. Now, I knew; even after all these years, he was mourning.
A few years later, my grandfather passed away from old age. His death date was July 27th, 2013, the 60th anniversary of the armistice signed to end the Korean War. Of course, he did not die without any last words to each of us. To his children, my aunt, my father, and my uncle, he wished them longevity and fulfillment in old age. To us, his grandchildren, he expressed hope for our generation and generations to come. Moreover, he hoped Korea would be reunited again, if not in our lifetimes, then in future lifetimes. Finally, he addressed all of us.
"Cremate my body," He commanded. "And spread my ashes in Paju. Let me rest there. Not military honors, and I want all of you to be present."
And so we did. We honored every one of my grandfather's final wishes. A week after the funeral, my family and I traveled to Paju and, as instructed, spread his ashes in the cemetery meant for Chinese and North Korean soldiers. Among the graves of those long-deceased men, we found the grave of my grandfather's younger brother. Like every other grave, it was marked with a name; this name was unique and stood out from the rest. "Kim Yong-Seo," the stone read. Yong-Seo, the word for forgiveness, was the younger brother's name. We all took turns spreading the ashes around. The warm breeze carried some of it away while some drifted onto the ground. By the time we finished, the ashes were gone, but we had fulfilled my grandfather's final wish, and the memories that were attached to it were kept alive. Now, he lay in peace with his brother, separated in life but reunited in death. It was a tale of war, pain, anguish, and family for my grandfather. This was the tale of the Brothers' Tragedy.
Michael Moon is a North Penn High School student and a member of the graduating class of 2024. During the pandemic, he turned to writing as a hobby and an outlet to explore the world. As a result, he adopted a Jack of all trade writing style with no particular preference for genre or another. At first, Michael viewed writing and wrote only for academic purposes. However, entering his sophomore year of high school, he began to consider and eventually chose writing as a career. After high school he plans to enter college to receive his degree in English. Being exposed to different kinds of writing styles and genres, Michael one day hopes to be a Jack of all Trade writer, being able to write and tell his stories and spread his messages through poetry, short stories, novels, and films.