hankyoreh

A child plays with a stuffed animal at a bus stop in Warsaw, Poland, on March 16 as her mother looks through clothing donations for refugees. (Kim Hye-yun/The Hankyoreh)

Cho Myung-hwan

At 10 am on March 14, I was standing at the border between Romania and Ukraine.

The sky was like a canvas painted in blue, and the trees gathered in the distance over the vast field were a peaceful, beautiful rural landscape like something out of a painting.

Yet before me, I could see one refugee after another traveling over from Ukraine, dragging bags containing their belongings. In contrast with that peaceful and beautiful surrounding scenery, their faces were filled with tension, fatigue, and despair.

I spoke to one exhausted-looking woman who was traveling with her daughter, while struggling to cart along her possessions. Her mother had died in the war, she explained, while her husband, who required dialysis, could no longer receive treatment.

His health had severely declined when he saw his daughter and wife off on their journey, she said. Having said goodbye to his family, he was now in the distressing situation of having to wait alone at home with their dog for the whole situation to be over. I could see tears in her eyes as she described having to flee her home, leaving her sick husband behind.

I didn’t feel like anything I said could offer any comfort to her or her daughter. I could not even imagine what a horrible feeling it must be.

Instead, I asked her if she had any pictures of the dog to show me. I felt like I should try, if only for a moment, to help her remember times when things were happier.

She took out her smartphone and showed me a video of the family playing with their dog. For a moment, I could see the smiles pass over her and her daughter’s faces. It seemed like she had found some blessed peace inside talking about the happy moments the family had spent together in the video.

While I’ve never experienced a war myself, I felt like I gained a little understanding of what my own parents must have experienced taking refuge at a young age during the Korean War, without knowing the reasons why. But there are also people in fear and sorrow who are taking refuge today — not 70 years ago, but at this very moment.

Izabela, a girl I met at a World Vision-supported refugee center not far from the border, had crossed the border with her mother. At seven years of age, she already knew about Korea, thanks to the K-pop group Blackpink.

When I showed her a video of Blackpink, Izabela began cheerfully bopping her shoulders and singing along. Her mother beamed as she looked on beside her.

At that moment, I could see how music reaches across borders and ethnicities to give people comfort. Izabela handed me her treasured apple juice and asked me to pass it along to Blackpink; I promised I would do so.

When I asked what she needed most, Izabela told me, “To go back home.”

Since the war began in February, over two-thirds of Ukraine’s 7.5 million children have had to leave their homes like Izabela. Ninety percent of the refugees are women and children; an estimated 40% of them are under the age of 14.

These young people have had their ordinary life taken away from them without knowing why: having to say goodbye to their beloved family and friends, not even being able to attend school.

We have no way of knowing how long the conflict will last or when they might return home. But we know many past examples that show what kind of effect this terrible, tragic conflict will have on children. Healing the emotional scars of the conflict, and providing our support so that children can continue to receive an education, is every bit as important as delivering essential items.

As I returned to Korea, carefully carrying the apple juice that Izabela had given me, I hoped that she would soon be able to go back home and return to her ordinary life of playing with friends and singing along to Blackpink songs.

And I made another promise: that I would be there with her and the other children like her until the day they can go back to a normal life.

Please direct questions or comments to [english@hani.co.kr]