From the worst slum in Seoul, Korea

When I was around six years old, my father built a modest three-room house out of bricks and cement. Although it was an unlicensed structure, it was a far more dignified home than the tent we had lived in before. Our family finally had a safer, cozier place to call our own. Still, life remained difficult—especially without electricity or running water. We relied on an oil lamp for light, and to get water, we had to carry containers down to a shop in the market at the base of the mountain. Fetching water was exhausting and time-consuming, which meant we couldn’t use enough for daily washing. As a result, lice became an inevitable part of our lives, clinging to our bodies and clothes. At night, we would sit by the dim glow of the lamp, take off our clothes, and crush the lice between our thumbnails.

It was my first year of elementary school. One afternoon, I came home after classes to an empty house—my parents were away selling goods at the market. As I played alone, I accidentally knocked over the lamp, spilling the oil onto the floor. I struck a match and lit a piece of paper, attempting to burn off the oil just as I had seen my father do before. But the small flame I had meant to control refused to die out. Instead, it jumped to the blankets and rapidly grew into something far beyond my ability to contain. I grabbed a broom, desperately trying to beat the flames down, but it was no use. The fire spread in all directions, panic seized me, and I bolted from the house, collapsing onto the street in tears.

A woman from the neighborhood happened to pass by and asked why I was crying. But fear had locked my throat—I couldn’t form the words. Finally, I forced out, “Fire! Fire!” She immediately asked, “Where?” I pointed toward our house. She ran to check and, upon seeing the flames, shouted “Fire!” loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. People rushed in, carrying buckets of precious water, and doused the flames. Fortunately, the fire only damaged part of the inside of the house. But the terror of the moment and the fear of facing my parents overwhelmed me, so I stayed the night at my cousin’s house. The next day, I went to school, but my mind was elsewhere—I couldn’t hear a single word my teacher said.