The Land of Silent Morning
by Kateleen K. Washington
“As I was walking the marketplace, I promised myself that I would never die like my mother. . .”
from The Land of Silent Morning

After years of bitter poverty and bone-crushing abuse, a twelve-year-old girl makes a promise to herself that she will survive—at any cost. Growing up near the notorious Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) in the 1960s and early 1970s, Kyong Mi is left with nothing, and no one. One day, she makes the crucial decision to leave her homeland, never to return.

While she gains some measure of comfort and security in the United States under a new identity, the terrors of the past stalk her every move. Can she keep her promise to herself, or will she crumble under the weight of her former life? The woman who once was Kyong Mi will come to realize that her journey to free herself has just begun . . .

Kateleen K. Washington (Kyong Mi)
Excerpts from The Land of Silent Morning (2009)

Mom said something to Dad. I don’t know what she said, but in a split second, the wood cutting board was flying over her head . . . the top of her head was split open. Streams of blood flowed down her forehead. I felt threatened by Dad’s action for the first time. I couldn’t breathe from all the crying. I handed her a towel, hoping that the bleeding would stop. As she held the towel down on the wound, she asked me to fetch her traditional Korean dress. I brought her an orange colored folk dress. While she put on her dress, I tried to hold the towel on her bleeding head. It was the first time I saw blood and I was scared. Finally, she had decided to leave all of us. She realized she could no longer bear her sufferings. She made the choice because she felt there was no hope. She went out the door full of tears in her eyes and up to the dike behind our home. I followed her as long as I could in the blizzard . . .

It seemed our luck had turned bad again . . . I was in the kitchen sitting quietly near the stove. Suddenly, the door flung open. My dad burst into the kitchen. He took the gasoline can into the room and poured gasoline over everything in it. He came back into the kitchen once more, grabbing the burning wood from the stove. I yelled very loud. “Dad, stop!” As he turned his face away from me and wiped his tears, I witnessed his tears. He was not a monster. That day, he almost killed us and our home could have gone up in flames. . .
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