I walked a lot today for the first time in a long time. It was so scary because the martial law troops were everywhere, but I guess I'm starting to feel a little more courageous now.
Since I'm a medical student, I work at a hospital. It's a good thing I brought my textbooks. At first, I was so scared I couldn't even stop the bleeding properly, but now I'm used to pulling bullets out. The doctors and nurses are all so kind to me. They're all covered in blood, but they still have smiles. I think they're really cool.
Subin
So many lives come and go here. I told you, didn't I? I came to medical school because I wanted to save lives. But among the countless people brought in each day, so many I miss. At first, whenever someone died, I would just cry for an entire day, but after a few days, I think I've become numb. In this bloody hospital, where life and death are at stake, I keep searching for you. When the doctor brings a stretcher, shouting that you're one of the militia, my heart sinks.
Someone else just came in. I'll cut it short here.
-May 28, 1980. Choi Yeon-jun
I can't quite picture my brother writing a letter. Was it because he was so impressed by the scooter ride? We're having a hard time, but we're still steadily achieving small victories. When I'm in battle, it's so futile that I want to run away. For a few seconds of joy, someone keeps falling, dying, or getting hurt right next to me. I'm so scared, and if I don't do this, I'll feel so guilty towards Dad that I'll die...
A few days ago, some ladies came, pitched a tent, and cooked us a meal. The food these inexperienced men made was incredibly simple, but it felt like eating a home-cooked meal after a long time. They all seemed to have the same thought. They all ate ravenously, like beggars who hadn't eaten for days. By the way, I met a young newspaper CEO and became friends with him. He said he'd just graduated from college and started his own newspaper, but something was unusual about Gwangju, so he came to cover the story. His name was Kang Tae-hyun, after my grandfather's older brother, who had fought in the independence movement. He hadn't even seen my grandfather born. Anyway, it was so cool to see him scurrying around the men, busily scribbling in his notebook.
It's time for us to sleep now. It's late at night. I stood guard all night last night, so I think I can just lay my head down and sleep. I'll send the letter tomorrow.
-May 29, 1980. Choi Soo-bin
Write a letter as soon as you receive it. If I had known you'd be so miserable there, I would have clung to you and stopped you. But I'm glad you became close to someone. I'm so worried about you. I'm worried about dying, but now I'm so worried about your feelings. At first, you protested because you thought it was the right thing to do, but after what happened, it seems like you're fighting only out of revenge and guilt. Don't do that. Fight solely with yourself, with the same heart you had when you first started. Don't fight with revenge, and don't fight with sadness.
Oh, now that I think about it, I have a dark story to tell. A martial law soldier came. He was shot in the stomach. He looked like he was about the same age as you. He must have crawled all the way here from the distant battlefield alone. His blood-stained uniform was covered in dirt, and I could see his name: Choi Beom-gyu. Everyone was shocked when they saw his uniform, and I was the same. Honestly, I briefly felt angry at that kid. I couldn't stop thinking about my grandmother. I was about to tell him there was no treatment, but he grabbed my trouser leg with two fingers and looked up at me. And through his chapped lips, he whispered, "Please save me. Please save me." Everyone else looked at him strangely, and the doctors told me not to waste my time, since he was already going to die anyway, but I couldn't turn away from him. I managed to get the bullet out, but his organs were so damaged that I didn't think he would survive. So I just stayed by his side, just the two of us in the operating room. Beomgyu opened his mouth and said he wanted to go home. We talked for a while (I just listened unilaterally), and he died at 2:29 PM on May 30, 1980.
When will this tiresome fight end?
-May 30, 1980. Choi Yeon-jun
Yeonjun felt the helpless weight resting on his blood-stained, gloved hands. He tried everything to save her, but it was all in vain. The young soldier, who looked like a high school student, had tears welling up in his eyes.
“…I’m scared.”
A soft voice was heard.
“Will dying… hurt a lot…?”
“……”
Instead of answering, the Fed took the weak, stained hand.
“I didn’t want to… kill the person… because he was a communist… I said it was okay to kill him… but… what I killed… wasn’t a communist, it was a person…”
Tears finally flowed from the young soldier's eyes. He bit his lip, desperately trying to hold back his tears, but it was no use.
“What will my mom think of me…?”
The Fed still didn't answer. The weight of this death weighed heavily on him, and he felt pity for the youth who had been tarnished just as much. And just then, another death sentence, heard from afar, sounded like his own.
“…I want to go home.”
With those words, the soldier's hand fell limply.