A Thousand Miles to Freedom: My Escape from North Korea by Eunsun Kim

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By Eunsun Kim

Eunsun Kim was once born in North Korea, the most secretive and oppressive international locations within the sleek international. As a baby Eunsun enjoyed her country...despite her college box journeys to public executions, day-by-day self-criticism classes, and the expanding gnaw of starvation because the country-wide famine escalated.

By the time she used to be 11 years outdated, Eunsun's father and grandparents had died of hunger, and Eunsun was once at risk of an analogous. ultimately, her mom determined to flee North Korea with Eunsun and her sister, now not figuring out that they have been embarking on a trip that will take them 9 lengthy years to accomplish. sooner than eventually attaining South Korea and freedom, Eunsun and her relatives may dwell homeless, fall into the arms of chinese language human traffickers, live to tell the tale a North Korean exertions camp, and go the deserts of Mongolia on foot.

Now, Eunsun is sharing her extraordinary tale to provide voice to the tens of thousands of North Koreans nonetheless affliction in silence. advised with grace and braveness, her memoir is a riveting exposé of North Korea's totalitarian regime and, eventually, a testomony to the energy and resilience of the human spirit.

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Extra info for A Thousand Miles to Freedom: My Escape from North Korea

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Her dad worked in the same factory as mine, but since he was ranked one level higher than my father, her family received better provisions than mine did. At school, you needed to respect the class hierarchy. At the beginning of each year, we “elected” a class president and other people responsible for other important tasks. Even though officially these were free elections, there was only ever one candidate for each position. It’s only now, as I reflect back on my childhood, that I realize the elections were just for show.

All around me, ajumas—the Korean term used to address married or middle-age women—watch their favorite shows on their cell phones with antennas sticking out. Some students, perched atop their high heels and holding on to the train’s metal bars for balance, are listening to their iPods. Others, staring into their pocket mirrors, are applying mascara. They disdainfully ignore the street vendor trying to sell his Frank Sinatra CDs. Talking through speakers on wheels that he drags along behind him, the vendor tries to peddle his CD collection to the older gentlemen on the train.

She knew that she was our last hope against the malady that had struck our country and was growing worse each day: the famine. Since 1995, my family members had been slowly dying one after the other, and the three of us were next on the list. Within a span of two years, my mother had lost my grandmother and then my grandfather shortly afterward. Just one month ago, it had been my father’s turn to go. Behind her closed eyes, my mom must have been watching this seemingly endless nightmare replay over and over again in her mind.

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