hankyoreh

Hyeon-seo and his younger sisters, as illustrated by Kwon Min-ji

Hoping his son would live a virtuous life, he named the boy “Hyeon-seo,” which means “unfurling virtue.”

Just as 48-year-old Lee Ho-gon had hoped, Hyeon-seo grew up to be generous and kind. Hyeon-seo had three little sisters; the baby of the family was 15 years younger than him.

“Since I’m not around very much, you need to be a dad for the girls. Driving around on this motorcycle, I could die at any time. If that happens to me, I want you to look after your little sisters, Hyeon-seo.”

Following his day job at a supermarket, Hyeon-seo’s father did delivery on a motorcycle. He left early in the morning and came back late at night. The whole family was only able to share a meal together once a month.

Hyeon-seo holds his youngest sister as he uses the computer. (courtesy of Hyeon-seo’s family)

Hyeon-seo faithfully obeyed his father’s instructions. Since his father was typically away from home, Hyeon-seo had to fill his father’s shoes. He even attended relatives’ weddings and other family events in his father’s stead.

Hyeon-seo was particularly fond of 2-year-old Da-hyeon, his youngest sister. Whenever Hyeon-seo got a text from his mother, Park Yu-sun, 47, asking him to help her bathe the kids, for example, he would rush home from wherever he might be.

Da-hyeon, who saw her older brother Hyeon-seo more than her own father, had taken to calling Hyeon-seo “Daddy.” She always sat next to him at mealtime, too.

When Hyeon-seo’s father or mother would jokingly ask Da-hyeon who her daddy was, she would run to Hyeon-seo’s arms.

After Da-hyeon was born, Hyeon-seo didn’t spend very much time with his friends. He was afraid his little sister might catch COVID-19.

Instead, he spent most of his time playing with Da-hyeon at home. He would take photographs of her or set her on his lap when he was on the computer. He also enjoyed doing jigsaw puzzles.

The first time Hyeon-seo went somewhere with his friends was on a school trip to Jeju Island this fall. It was his first school trip in high school, as well as his first time on a plane.

Hyeon-seo was just happy to go somewhere with his friends, and after he returned, he thanked his parents for letting him go.

After coming back from the trip, Hyeon-seo started going to movie theaters and karaoke rooms with his friends, which was something he hadn’t done before. But he was still worried about his little sister and made sure to wear a mask both inside and out.

Hyeon-seo enjoyed playing with and operating machinery. It was a skill he’d picked up as a child while watching his father working with mechanical equipment.

Hyeon-seo would fix appliances when they broke, and he’d install the necessary applications when his mother or father bought a mobile phone.

Ho-gon couldn’t help trusting such an obedient son who wanted to be like his father. He would ask Hyeon-seo to wake him up on days he had to be up by 5 am.

Despite depending on each other, Hyeon-seo and his father did have one argument — about whether Hyeon-seo should go to college.

As a second-year student at a vocational high school, Hyeon-seo wanted to join the workforce upon graduation and earn money alongside his father.

“In Korea, people who get a job without going to college have a hard life. I want you to go to college so you won’t regret it later,” his father said.

While Hyeon-seo had always obeyed his father’s wishes, he wouldn’t budge on his plans for a job. On Oct. 30, his father realized that had been their last conversation.

A photo of Hyeon-seo’s boarding pass for his first school trip, to Jeju Island in September 2022. (courtesy of Hyeon-seo’s family)

On Oct. 29, the day of the crowd crush in Itaewon, Hyeon-seo sent a text message to his mother. “I’m going to stay at a friend’s house tonight.”

Hyeon-seo went to Itaewon with a classmate named Dong-gyu and two friends from another class.

Hyeon-seo’s father was doing delivery work that evening when he stepped into a restaurant around midnight.

As he waited for the food to be prepared, he watched the news on the television. The anchor said a crowd crush had occurred in Itaewon. Ho-gon wondered how something like that could happen in Seoul.

When he got home around 2 am, he strangely couldn’t get to sleep. Around 4 am, he idly turned on the television to watch the news about the Itaewon tragedy.

At 9:15 am on Oct. 30, the doorbell rang. Holding the receiver on the intercom, his second daughter said, “Dad, it’s the police.”

In consternation, Ho-gon went down to the first floor. He was trying to remember if he’d gone through another red light on his motorcycle.

But when Ho-gon met the police, they asked him if he was the father of Lee Hyeon-seo. What they told him next was unbelievable.

Ho-gon had a habit of checking his children’s shoes at the entryway when he came home late at night, but he realized he hadn’t done so the night before.

Ho-gon ran up to the fourth floor and threw open the door to his son’s room.

“Where did Hyeon-seo go?”

His tone bewildered Yu-sun, who had just gotten back from somewhere.

“Hyeon-seo said he was going to sleep over at a friend’s place. Didn’t he text you about that?”

Ho-gon collapsed to the ground, his body unresponsive.

With the help of his sister, Ho-gon somehow managed to reach the morgue at Ewha Womans University Seoul Hospital, where he saw Hyeon-seo’s body, covered in a white sheet. The police pulled the sheet down just far enough to reveal the boy’s face.

Ho-gon could barely breathe. The only thing he could do was cry.

Nothing on the death certificate was definite. The time of death was estimated to be around midnight, early on Oct. 30. And as for the place of death, the certificate listed “the street next to the Hamilton Hotel, 179 Itaewon Street, Yongsan District, Seoul.”

While the family had always thought of Hyeon-seo as being reserved and introverted, several hundred of his friends showed up at the wake. Friends not only from high school, but from middle school, elementary school and even kindergarten were there to send Hyeon-seo off on his final journey.

Hyeon-seo’s friends wrote letters to him. “It feels like you could step into the classroom at any moment. I can’t believe we won’t get to see you again… We won’t forget you! I hope you’ll always stay by our side,” one of the letters said.

Family members that Ho-gon hadn’t seen in decades and a friend that Ho-gon had cut ties with over a minor argument all came to Hyeon-seo’s wake.

Da-hyeon used to cry when Ho-gon would hold her, but following the funeral, she started calling him “Daddy.”

“I feel like Hyeon-seo has connected me with these people, as his final gift,” Ho-gon said.

The temporary altar set up by the government didn’t show any names or photographs. Ho-gon didn’t want his son’s name to be concealed, considering that he hadn’t done anything wrong.

So when a Korean media outlet published a list of the names of the victims, Ho-gon wasn’t inclined to protest. When Ho-gon used to brag about his son, his friends had always been amazed by his stories. Ho-gon wanted to leave a proper record of the fine son that he’d had.

A framed puzzle that Hyeon-seo put together, one of his favorite activities, hangs in his family’s home. (courtesy of Hyeon-seo’s family)

When Ho-gon gets a day off, he visits Hyeon-seo’s grave at a cemetery in Paju, Gyeonggi Province. Again and again, Ho-gon says he’s sorry they didn’t have many chances to talk because he was working so much, and he thanks Hyeon-seo for being his son.

Ho-gon has been teary-eyed since his son’s death. He weeps when Da-hyeon toddles over to him, calling him Daddy. Tears fall during normal conversation at family dinners, which have been increased to twice a week.

Ho-gon also cries when he turns out the lights in the living room before going to sleep each night. In the dark, his eyes are drawn to Hyeon-seo’s face in the family portrait hanging on the wall.

A letter written to Hyeon-so by friends (courtesy of Hyeon-seo’s family)

By Ryu Seok-woo, Hankyoreh 21 staff writer

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