5:40 a.m. — The Cheongjin-dong Courtyard 🔍

At 5:40 a.m. in the courtyard of Mrs. Han’s boarding house in Cheongjin-dong, I splashed cold well water over my face while the streetcar wheels shrieked beyond the alley. Breakfast was a shallow bowl of barley mixed with a little rice, soybean-paste broth, and two strips of salted radish, and the landlady warned us not to ask for another serving. Before leaving, I checked the precious ration coupons folded inside my worn wallet and tucked my lunch tin under one arm. The alley smelled of damp earth, charcoal ash, and sewage warming beneath the morning sun. On the way to the print shop, I saw a newly pasted notice saying there would be an important broadcast at noon, but nobody could tell me what it meant.

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12:00 noon — The Euljiro Print Shop 🔍

At 12:00 noon inside Samhwa Print Shop near Euljiro 3-ga, the foreman stopped the treadle press and turned up the wooden radio set kept on a high shelf. Static swallowed much of the distant, stiff voice, and its courtly Japanese was so difficult that I understood only fragments about accepting a declaration and ending the war. We stood among trays of lead type and the sharp smell of ink, looking from one face to another without daring to speak first. A Korean technician’s explanation followed, and someone behind me whispered that Japan had yielded to the four Allied powers. My fingers began to shake against the oily edge of the composing stick, yet through the open door I could still see an armed Japanese policeman walking his usual beat. No one shouted; the pressroom remained so quiet that the radio tubes seemed louder than our breathing.

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7:10 p.m. — The Supyo Bridge Alley 🔍

At 7:10 p.m. beside a noodle stall in the alley near Supyo Bridge, I ate a small bowl of buckwheat noodles while rumors moved faster than the evening streetcars. A deliveryman said political and economic prisoners would be freed, while another customer claimed Korean leaders were gathering to prepare for self-rule and public order. The stall keeper took a scrap of white cloth from beneath her counter and asked whether anyone remembered exactly how to draw the taegeuk and its bars. I helped grind a little red pigment in a chipped saucer, but we hid the cloth when boot heels sounded at the alley mouth. Back in my room, I wrote my Korean name, Park Sang-young, slowly on waste paper—the name I had been made to keep out of official sight—and stared at it until the lamp flame blurred. Freedom seems to have arrived, but tonight it is still a secret passed from mouth to mouth.

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The noon broadcast announces acceptance of the Allied declaration ↗

I heard the broadcast through heavy static at the print shop and understood its meaning only after a Korean explanation followed. Relief rose in me, but the armed authorities outside made celebration feel dangerous.

impeternews.com

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A committee begins preparing for national reconstruction ↗

By evening I heard that Korean leaders had organized to preserve order and prepare for a new country. The news made freedom feel less like a rumor and more like work that ordinary people must help carry.

weekly.chosun.com

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Political, economic, and labor-related prisoners are to be released ↗

A deliveryman brought word that prison doors were opening for people held on such charges. I thought of families who might hear footsteps returning home after years of waiting.

weekly.chosun.com

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