"I was tired that day when he ended his life, and to this day, I haven't gotten rid of that tiredness."
"I was very tired that day. My head was hurting, my legs aching, and my eyes heavy with sleep. I wanted to reach home, lie down in my bed, and fall asleep. I wanted freshly cooked fish stew; my mother was used to cooking that for me. I knew it would heal me. I wanted it with rice and seaweed. I wanted to go to sleep dreaming about the next day and the day after that. I arrived at the opening of the street. The crowd had already begun gathering, and I tried recalling if I had missed some festivity. I pushed and squeezed through the confused and horrified faces. That was not the look I expected for a celebration. Whispers, I heard, as some looked at me with pity; now I know that was a pity, then I did not. Then I realised the siren of the police cars and the ambulance. The closer I came, the more I could hear cries. My heart began pounding. I grew scared and confused. I was clueless, and it haunted me. When I finally rushed to my house's forepart, I caught a glimpse of my sister weeping. So tiny and so sad she was. Then I made my way into the house and ran to my crying mother. Right then, from upstairs, my father's body, hidden under the white cloth, was brought down. I shivered and fell to my knees. A tear fell down my cheek, but nothing more. I did not cry, scream, or show any reaction. I sat there in shock and disbelief. An officer came to my mother and told her something I did not hear. My senses failed me that day. Nothing I could smell, taste, feel, hear, see or touch that day. I crouched near my room's window, but I did not cry. Tears, I thought, I would, and shall not, waste for a tale of betrayal. Days I had to live now without him. I felt scared to do so. But then had to accept it.
Weeks went by, the police had data from their initial investigation, and as had they come over to my house almost every day since my father's suicide to investigate, they came over to share the information with my mother. I eavesdropped. I had to. My mother would not tell me otherwise what had been found. The more I think, the more I wish I had not tried to seek the truth."
Aroku Kaoru was very young when his family moved from Japan to South Korea. It was a hard and long journey. Sitting next to his kins, he wished to ask one of them if they had the answer to why they were leaving their country. But neither did he ask nor did anyone tell him. They arrived in Incheon to stay with someone his family knew. The treacherous journey, Aroku thought, was over. But he was wrong, for a journey like this never ends. He was admitted to a local school, and a private tutor was hired to teach him Korean, for he knew little of this language. At school, no one had a hard time telling that he was not Korean. When he spoke, they asked him, "Are you Japanese?" He would think momentarily and say, "No, I am a Korean. Although....... I was born in Japan." To this, they would reply mockingly, "That means you are Japanese, you idiot!" He wanted to rebuke by stating that his identity cards and all other official documents noted him as a Korean citizen, but he failed to gather the courage to do so. No one wanted to sit with him or befriend him. They would tease him and say that he looked ugly and that he would never look Korean, even when he said he was. Over the years, he became fluent in Korean; speaking in it as if it was within him from the day he was born. But his name and his physical appearance made it hard for him to blend. "Kaoru?! Never heard of that clan. Where does your clan descend from?" they would ask, and he would say, "It is not. My family comes from Japan."
"Oh, so you are Japanese."
"No, I am not. I am a Korean!" he would reply, but inside, he would ask, "Who am I?"
But no matter how many times he ascertained that he was a Korean, no one believed or rather accepted him.
And so life blossomed for him when he was married to a Korean. He thought this would include him, but when he applied for his first job, he was rejected: "We do not admit Japanese or any foreigner for that matter into our workspace."
He was broken. But his documents stated he was Korean, so why did they not accept him? His name! He should change his name!
Somehow, however, he managed to get a job as an accountant for a small enterprise. Two years into his job and marriage, he had a son. He named him Ibuki. He loved him dearly. He was his joy. He worked day and night to give his son a worthy life.
But his identity never left him. At his office, he was constantly called 'jjokbari' even when he told them he was a Korean. Some would refrain from using a derogatory term and ask others to stop, but nevertheless, they never were friends with him. He was just another employee, except that he wasn't. His heart would fill with rage, but he could never find a way to pour his anger out. But he tried his best to control his rage.
He went to the higher officials working to let them know that he did not like to be referred to as a Japanese and preferred that he be accepted as Korean, and while they would take his complaint, they would never act on it.
He did find solace to some extent as some people around him, especially the people on the street where he lived, accepted him as a Korean and did not make fun of him. They treated his family as their own, and it was all fine for him as long as he had people close to him who respected him.
Five years after his son was born, Aroku welcomed a baby girl to his family. He loved her, too. He was happy for what he had, at least on the surface, but deep within, he would sit alone in darkness and have thoughts darker than night. He was slowly slipping away from satisfaction and happiness.
"I was eight when it began: the pain that he may have inflicted on my mother, but it passed to me and may never leave me. What had happened at his work that day, I do not know, but he came home far later than he would usually come, later than any day he was late before, probably near midnight. I was sleepy in my room, and my sister was sleeping downstairs. I was trying to fall asleep, but for some reason, I cannot recall why I was not able to. And suddenly, I heard a loud smash and a scream. I woke up panicked. I was sweating, thinking I had a dream, but I heard another loud sound. I ran downstairs and saw my sister standing at the kitchen door sobbing violently, leaning against the door. When she saw me, she ran to me and hugged me. I slowly pushed her aside and peeped through the door. My dad was violently hitting my mother, and all I could do was stand there and say nothing."
One day at the office, Aroku and his colleagues were gathered for a meeting. It was urgent. Their boss told them that the company was going through some financial troubles and would have to let go of some employees. Aroku's heart sank as he thought that he would be the first one to be fired. As he thought he was the first one on the list. Once the meeting was over and the names had been announced, Aroku took his boss aside and tried to motivate him not to fire him. The talk went on for hours, with Aroku trying his best to give his reasons for keeping his job. Finally, the boss gave in and let him stay. Aroku was relieved, but the tension grew on him. The company was going through a financial crisis, which meant Aroku was going to be affected. He went to a soju shop to drink that night, drinking is frustration away. He grew angrier with every sip. His rage was at its peak when he left for home. He arrived very drunk and poured all his rage on his wife, beating her violently and smashing things. His children stood at the door of the kitchen, staring helplessly as their mother cried in pain, asking her husband to stop.
"Then it never stopped the beatings. He went on with his habit of smashing things in rage and hitting my mother every time she tried to stop him. I did not ask him to stop, nor did I protect my mother. Not because I found myself too young to do it but because I wanted to see how worse he could do from here, what monster was hidden under the cover of love he had presented to me. My sister, I kept her in the room when the beatings happened and did not let her know what was happening. I would stay wide awake all night, either watching him do his sin or dreaming of stabbing him every time he hit my mother. I stopped talking to him one day and never spoke to him again; I never got to either once he silenced himself for good. I thought his death would be a good thing. No one would beat my mother again. But I was wrong. It put me in his place, and now I don't wish to turn into a monster like him. But was he really a monster, I wonder? Who was my father? I never asked him why I had a surname not so familiar in Korea. One day, my mom told me that he was from Japan. Nothing more do I know about him. I think I did, but now that he has gone, I don't think I knew or will know him."
Aroku tried to keep his rage in for so long that it had erupted from him overwhelmingly like a dam let open. He worked hard at his office but the financial condition only worsened for the company. Nothing was working for it. Aroku tried to apply to other places for work but got rejected. His financial condition also degraded parallel to the company. His wife tried to help, but he refused to take her money.
Then it happened. It went all down from there. Aroku arrived at his office that day to find it being closed due to a debt notice. A debt too huge to cover, and he was about to leave downcast; the boss approached him and blamed him for all that had happened. He blamed him for asking him to keep his job, which led to the debt. The boss asked him to pay him compensation. When Aroku was returning, he realised he did not have a source of income and that he was also in personal debt to a few of his close friends. He panicked and rushed home. He locked himself in the store cabin next to Ibuki's room. His wife was out buying vegetables. He smashed the things in the room until he was tired. Then, finally, he had had enough. He went out and bought a rope from a nearby fishing shop. He took a chair from the dining of his house. He went to the store cabin and tied the rope to an iron rod visible against the ceiling. Then he got onto the chair and looked through the small window, "I die for life has betrayed me. I die for I have betrayed me. I have lied so much that I have lost the truth. I cannot live anymore to see myself become a lie."
He put the rope around his neck and gave a loud scream before kicking the chair aside and strangling himself to death. He remained there for hours, a soulless body. When his wife came home, she tried to look for him after seeing his shoes at the front. She went around calling for him. Then she found the storeroom locked from the inside. She broke open it somehow using some tools and saw her husband hanging as a lifeless body. She gave a loud, panicked scream. The entire neighbourhood gathered. The police were called, and the ambulance was called. His body was brought down and carried away in front of his shocked and devasted family.
"I hate my father for sure. But I have begun hating myself more." Ibuki said as he lowered his head.
Misao was speechless. Her hands were shivering. Her eyes were teary. Life, something so beautiful and lovely as she thought, people could end it just like that. Was that easy to end one's life? You have to be developed for nine months inside the womb to be born into this world. But all it takes is a rope around your neck to end that life. How?