KF뉴스레터-A Common Mission

A Common Mission

To be honest, my attitude toward Korea was never simple. On the one hand, like all post-Soviet Koreans, I was fenced off by the language barrier, and accordingly a shallow knowledge of Korean culture. On the other hand, I was born in Pyongyang; my father, a North Korean citizen, met my mother, a Soviet Korean, during his studies in Leningrad at the time of the so-called thaw period (liberalization) of Khrushchev’s era, got married to her and after graduating from university, took her with him to his native land. I was only one year old when my mother brought me back to the USSR, due to the commencing political persecution of Soviet citizens. As a result, my connection with Korea turned out to be severed; nevertheless, due to the insuperable longing for my father, was immutable. Consequently, in 2008, I received an invitation from Korea Foundation to carry out my literary project of writing a book on the theme of the literature of CIS Koreans and the quest for their lost identity. I recall being infinitely pleased and at the same time worried and anxious. These complex feelings accompanied me on my flight to Seoul.

But, in pursuing such an unpractical occupation as literature, I have to be extremely practical. That is my principle. Therefore, upon arrival, casting away my agitation, I concentrated fully on the work. What constitutes the key to success when it comes to productivity in writing? Of course, an orderly daily agenda is needed. Hence, after having settled in at the Korea Foundation guesthouse in Gwanghwamun, I started to look for a location, where I could complete my morning runs. This, as a matter of fact, always guaranteed a high level of efficiency in my daily work. And this place was found. The Cheonggyecheon Stream became, in a literal sense, my lifeline in Seoul. After a fivekilometer jog, I am always brisk and creatively active. Afterward, having brought around 50 books of Russian-speaking Korean authors, I plunged into my work. And, after a month, I finally developed a work rhythm; I calmed down. Then, I began to attend various Korea Foundation events, university forums, seminars of writers and translators, to meet and mix with colleagues, and discover tourist joys through trips and walks around Seoul as well as around the whole country.
In the course of a holiday, located in my studio on the 11th floor with a beautiful panorama of the city from the window, at times, while shutting my eyes it seemed as if I was observing my entire life from a mountain peak: from the distant past to the present and the future. And I understood distinctly that literary work, which has occupied me throughout the last 20 years, is my primary meaning and justification. And precisely through literature, I and the other authors, whose creative works I focused on in my work, were able to truly return to the homeland. And thus, through this extremely difficult, but fascinating activity, month after month passed. And, in August, my daughter was expected to visit and this arrival was also to be the key moment of my life in Korea. For, through my unflinching writing I did not become an exemplary husband and father; my family disintegrated; my wife and my daughter moved to England many years ago. As a result, I did not often see my child, so her arrival was very important for me. I worried beforehand even more than I did before starting work on the book. And then she arrived; we met; and a different, positively restless, diverse kind of life began. Daily visits of the attractions of the vast city of Seoul, trips around the country – Busan, Gyeongju, the shore of the East Sea. My daughter was, above all, stricken by the Korean cuisine and by the benevolent and close to kindred treatment of her by the local people. In addition, she was delighted by Korea’s antiquity, its Buddhist temples, nature, mountains, seas, and well-kept urban and rural spaces. My daughter flew back to London with a newly conscious intention to learn about Korean culture in the future. As September began, I again became absorbed in my work. Moreover, without any particular difficulties, as usually happens in such cases, the book now wrote itself, and I was merely its obedient executor. At last, at the beginning of November, having completed my engrossing writer’s journey; I put a full stop. Two months remained before the end of my stay, and happy t imes fol lowed, which I exper ienced af ter the complet ion of my book with an utmost sense of freedom. The conception behind my book was found in the famous classical story about the illegitimate Hong Gil Dong. Under this conception all CIS Korean writers are Russian versions of Hong Gil Dong: illegitimate, abandoned, without a native land, who by means of literature rebelliously broke away from the national stereotypes of the Soviet regime with the aim of the reconstructing the true image of Korean diaspora in the 21st century. As is well known, toward the end of the story, the valiant Hong Gil Dong, while struggling for his personal dignity, finds his homeland in the magical country of Yuldo, where as a noble ruler, amidst his family circle, friends, and devoted comrades-in-arms, he happily lives out his days. In this book, I was arguing the fact that Korean CIS writers have found their homeland precisely through their works, with made me immeasurably gratified.

Spending a year in Korea, seeing how dynamically the count r y i s developing and how open, pos i t i ve, and energetic the Korean people are, I understood that all of us, Koreans, regardless of our place of residence, in our best manifestations, are constructing, each through his or her own profession, the wonderful country of Yuldo. We this ideal in complete accordance with our personal ideals, principles, and values. So, apart from the completion of the book, what conclusions can I make following my stay in Korea under the Korea Foundation program? Based in Seoul, some 200 kilometers from Pyongyang, my birth place, reflecting on the dramatic history of my own family, I realized once again that all of us, Koreans, living in our homeland or beyond its limits, must overcome the numerous political psychological and ideological barriers of Korean history that serve to separate us. Surmounting them in order to comprehend the simultaneously simple and complex, that in spite of circumstances, we are together; we must be together. Moreover, not formally according to national traits, but spiritually, morally, and profoundly – for good. And having understood this with our hearts solely, we will be able to put into action our common Korean pursuits, endowed with unique historical and human experiences and with our multiform talents and abilities. A common mission, which lies in the creation of a Korean worldview, the assertion of a higher meaning, and maintenance of the Korean nation, and, of course, in the further attainment of new spiritual and professional heights.

한국국제교류재단

A Common Mission

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A Common Mission

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