hankyoreh

Park Ga-young, as illustrated by Kwon Min-ji.

19-year-old Ga-young was interested in “telling people’s stories through clothes.” Ga-young was a sophomore majoring in textile and fashion design at Mokwon University. “Mom, I want to make it in the fashion world. If I’m to do that, I need to learn about clothes.”

Ga-young believed that clothes and runways could help us remember forgotten independence activists in the heart of a city in the 21st century and make it possible for people with developmental disabilities to express themselves freely.

At the art academy she attended, she was told that she “had no talent for art.” Even her own mother suggested that she study art management. But Ga-young in high school believed in her passion for fashion. In order to get into an art school with a fashion design department, she spent double, even triple, the amount of time that her fellow classmates spent on certain classes.

Even after getting into university, Ga-young wanted to learn more about fashion shows. She dreamed of studying abroad in Canada. She spent 12 hours a day working part-time jobs during school breaks. After three school breaks, she managed to save up 14 million won (US$10,700).

“I want to see everything. I want to study abroad and travel.”

Ga-young’s family remembers her saying this sort of thing all the time. Even when she went to a university in Daejeon, a city 100 kilometers away from her hometown of Hongseong in South Chungcheong Province, Ga-young was full of expectation and hope, rather than fear.

Ga-young was a born adventurer. When she was in first grade, she took the train from Hongseong to Cheonan to go to the hospital. When she was in her last year of junior high, she took the KTX by herself to go to Busan. Her parents drove after her, anxious and afraid that something would happen, only to be caught by Ga-young. “I’m going to go by myself now, okay?” Ga-young’s parents could only nod at her declaration.

Despite her independent spirit, she was still considerate and cared deeply about her family. She would call her mother frequently to talk about things that happened in her daily life. Where she went with her friends, what she did that day — all sorts of unimportant facts were exchanged in those phone calls.

“I like talking to you, mom,” she would say.

Ga-young’s mother would do household chores or go on walks while listening to Ga-young talk. On days when things just didn’t go right, they’d joke about “grabbing a pint of coke at the fried chicken place,” and came up with short skits to make fun of Ga-young’s younger sibling for coming home late. The mother and daughter shared their own sense of humor.

On a winter day with heavy snow in 2021, Ga-young went outside with her sibling and made a snowman as tall as a person, without telling their mother.

The next day, Ga-young’s mother saw a picture of the snowman that Ga-young had taken with her phone and stepped out the front door to take a look. Around half of the snowman had melted in the morning sun. Ga-young, her sibling, and her mother all burst out laughing.

“What is this?! It looks so funny.” It was an unforgettable “winter gift,” for Ga-young’s mother.

The snowperson that Ga-young made with her younger sibling. (courtesy of the deceased’s family)

Ga-young, who lived alone in a place near her school in Daejeon, would always come back from a visit home with various side dishes such as nakji-jeotgal or seasoned dried radish. Friends who lived nearby or friends who were unable to enter the dorms after pulling all-nighters would drop by Ga-young’s place and be treated to a meal.

“Her fridge was always full, so that she could take care of her friends,” they remembered.

Even though more than a month has passed, Ga-young’s mother, Choi Seon-mi (49) still remembers that day like it was yesterday.

Ga-young had told her that she had a friend who lived near Itaewon. “We’re going to go see an exhibition together,” she said.

At 1:30 am on Oct. 30, just about when Mrs. Choi was about to drift to sleep, the phone rang.

“There’s been a big accident in Itaewon,” said the anxious, urgent voice of Ga-young’s friend on the line.

“I asked her, ‘What? How hurt is she?’ and she said that Ga-young was dead. I thought that she was saying things because she was flustered, but I felt like I needed to be there. Ga-young’s father and I didn’t even have time to get properly dressed; we were in such a rush to get from Hongseong to Seoul,” Choi said.

Ga-young’s parents arrived at the funeral hall of Soonchunhyang University Hospital in Seoul’s Yongsan District. Beyond the funeral hall, they could see victims being carried from ambulances. The hospital prevented the parents from entering the funeral hall, saying that the victims were yet to be identified.

“The police said that they’d contact us once they found her, but they didn’t get back to us. We had to take things into our own hands, and we found out through the community service center that she was at Kangdong Sacred Heart Hospital. As soon as we were informed, we ran over.”

Ga-young’s mother only learned of Ga-young’s whereabouts 12 hours after she’d pulled up to the hospital.

They so wished for it to be an error, but it was Ga-young. Her parents wanted to bring their daughter home immediately, but administrative procedures plagued the parents. The medical examination was delayed, so they had to wait another 12 hours in the hospital. While this was all happening, a district office official called Ga-young’s father to tell him that “he didn’t have to worry, since the funeral expenses would be covered.”

On a phone call with the police, the police said “Hello” in what was almost a cheerful voice before asking the parents to write a case report.

“We were appalled,” the young woman’s parents said. “We wondered what these people thought of this situation.”

A drawing Ga-young did as she prepared to apply for art school. (courtesy of the deceased’s family)

After a long wait, the parents were able to bring Ga-young back home to Hongseong at 5 pm on Oct. 30. Ga-young’s mother continually caressed her daughter’s face during the two hours she spent in the ambulance.

“I kept touching her cold face. She didn’t move. It feels like all time stopped for me from that point. I feel like I’m still in the ambulance.”

When Ga-young’s parents came to get their daughter’s belongings in the gymnasium in Yongsan in early November, they wanted to “pay their respects to the other children,” and parked near the memorial area that was in front of the National Assembly building in Yeouido.

What greeted them, however, was a narrow incense altar that didn’t have any memorial tablets or podiums for the deceased.

“Do you know how shabby it was? Even at ordinary funerals, people put a lot of effort into individual memorial tablets or memorial photographs. I couldn’t believe that the government just left the memorial area like that. They didn’t release the names of the victims because they were busy covering it up, not because they cared about our privacy.”

After becoming a recluse for a month after Ga-young’s death, her mother is now standing in front of people. She wants to tell the world about how heavy the deaths are that the state is taking lightly.

“As of now, it feels like my child isn’t a victim, but an aggressor who’s bringing this society down by making it depressed and is making people pay more taxes. I want to receive a sincere apology from the president, and I want this case to be investigated thoroughly.

Ga-young’s parents are participating in the preparatory meetings for an association of those who lost family members in the Oct. 29 crowd crush. Even in the dead of night, the families, who are unable to eat or sleep, leave messages in the group chat in KakaoTalk.

Even if someone sends a message at 3 or 4 am, it takes little to no time for everyone in the group chat to read that message. The number next to the messages, the number that so quickly disappears, the number that signals that this message is “unread,” also includes Ga-young’s mother and father, who are unable to sleep at night.

Ga-young’s mother can’t help but keep saying “sorry” to her daughter.

“I’m sorry that I gave her pocket money that day, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there at the time. I’m sorry that I didn’t go with her.”

19-year-old Ga-young was carried out from the funeral hall to her grave on her 20th birthday, Nov. 1. She who had been full of so many dreams became yet another star in the sky.

By Shin Da-eun, staff reporter

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