On Writing UNNIE by Yun-Yun

UNNIE by Yun-Yun

Throughout my childhood, school assignments frequently probed into our aspirations for future professions. Almost mechanically, I would list two options: teacher and writer. However, these choices were made without much fervor. At the time, my understanding of the professional world was limited, and my career aspirations were merely reflections of my childhood self-perception.

To be frank, I wasn’t much of a reader or writer. It wasn’t until after achieving my dream of becoming a teacher and being exposed to globally bestselling novels through the media that the idea of writing a book sparked my curiosity. I wondered if I could channel my vivid imagination into writing a fantasy novel or adapt old Korean dramas into novels to share Korea’s unique essence with the world. Then, the Sewol ferry accident occurred, drawing me into its heartbreaking stories and fueling a desire to share these stories with the world.

Writing this book was a profound emotional journey, one that brought me to tears countless times. The MV Sewol tragedy struck me deeply, particularly as a teacher. Witnessing the joy of students in the classroom serves as a poignant reminder of the students who perished, who might have worn those same smiles themselves.

My intention in writing this novel was never to assign blame or criticism. It began from a place of deep sorrow, observing how the profound loss of the victims’ lives was overshadowed by the politicization and hostility surrounding the tragedy. As the 10th anniversary draws near, my foremost desire for the book is to unite everyone in honoring the memory of the departed and offering solace to the mourning families.

Expressing oneself through speech or writing can sometimes feel like a heavy burden to bear. Behind every uttered or written word lies a vast expanse of unspoken thoughts and emotions from those who remain silent. Humans possess a unique capability to inflict harm, and even mortality, solely through language, distinguishing us from other animals. While my narrative aims to shed light on the often disregarded pain experienced by the grieving families of the victims, there are inevitably those whose stories remain untold.

This aspect is what renders the world a frightening place, as the truth is contingent upon the storyteller. That’s why, at the outset of the book, I stated, “The world is full of contradictions disguised as truth. Would there be such thing as an ‘absolute truth’? Truth within oneself may not be truth within the other. In this sense, I can’t say this book is the exception.” We have personally experienced the consequences of such misunderstandings created from the stark disparity in stories in our daily lives, whether in workplaces or schools.

Throughout the writing process, I couldn’t shake the feeling that writing this novel was my destiny. Surprisingly, despite it being my first attempt, the narrative flowed effortlessly, without encountering any blocks. This smooth progression was fueled by the seamless blending of my own life experiences with those of the families impacted by the tragedy.

Initially, I hadn’t fully grasped the significance behind the choice of the teacher’s name, Park Mi-na. It simply felt like a straightforward, easily accessible name for foreign readers. However, when questioned about its origin, a revelation struck me: “Mi” translates to “me” in English, while “Na” signifies “me” in Korean.

As an older sister with both a sister and a brother, like the character Unnie in the book, the term “Unnie,” a Korean word for an older sister, carries significant weight for me. Like many other older sisters, I’ve assumed the role of caregiver for my younger siblings from a young age, prioritizing their needs above my own. I’ve often found myself taking on parental responsibilities, nurturing and guiding them through life’s hardships. I rarely confided in others about my problems; instead, I always felt compelled to find solutions independently. I rarely remember being ‘a kid’ while I remember going to parent’s meeting at my sister’s school, despite my limited English proficiency in 7th grade while living in the United States. 

These experiences may underlie the sense of loneliness that arises when I perceive a difference in how they view me compared to how I see them. While they are wonderful siblings, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my yearning for solace might only grow with time, particularly considering how challenging it is for me to prioritize their needs less.

Unexpectedly, writing this book became a source of comfort, like having a sincere conversation with myself across time. Within the pages of my own narrative, I discovered solace and understanding, which, while not extensive, proved to be adequate for me.

Another significant influence on my writing originates from my lifelong struggle with self-imposed expectations. Since childhood, I’ve shouldered the burden of striving for high standards and deferring happiness until specific milestones were attained. This mindset persisted into adulthood, even after achieving my dream of becoming a teacher amid fierce competition. It took me a long time to realize that the child you once were only grows physically to become the adult you are today. So, as an educator, I began to see instilling in my students the importance of finding joy in their pursuits and fostering a positive self-relationship as my primary responsibility. Through my own challenges, I discovered that this mindset is essential not just for achieving favorable results   but also for discovering fulfillment and happiness in life.

There is a specific scene at the beginning of the book that profoundly connected with my empathy for my younger self, who had yet to grasp this understanding. It’s the one where Yun-young visits the neighborhood of Noryangjin in Seoul, filled with civil service exam cram schools, in search of remnants of Unnie’s presence in this world. It is where Unnie, or essentially me, secluded herself to tirelessly prepare for the national exam to become an English teacher. Yun-young trailing behind the ethereal figure of Unnie as she walked up the high staircase of her academy was poignant, but it became even more so when Unnie cast a cheerful smile over her shoulder and motioned for Yun-young to follow. In that moment, my own vision blurred in sync with Yun-young’s, watching her steadily climb the set of strenuous stairs.

During the writing process, I contemplated whether my life’s path had led me to pen this book. It seemed to encapsulate the essence of my life experiences, the profound emotions and sentiments ingrained within me, which now found expression within the pages of this narrative. (The book incorporates elements of real-life events, adapted narratives, and fictional tales) Reflecting on it now, I’ve realized the significant impact of my time living in the States. Not only did it enable me to write this story in English, expanding its accessibility, but it also enriched the narrative with the depth of my experiences there. It’s remarkable how these memories have remained so vivid over time, becoming even more precious with each passing moment.

The sense of destiny surrounding the book intensified as I pondered over choosing its cover, and my father showed his messenger profile picture to me. Instantly, I recognized it as the perfect choice. To my amazement, the woman in the image bore a striking resemblance to either Unnie or myself, embodying the features described in the book: unique earrings, a single eyelid, and caramel long hair with highlights. What intrigued me even further was her attire: a polka-dotted dress identical to the one Yun-young had gifted Unnie in the narrative. Additionally, she carried a leopard print bag, a detail I had emphasized in the book as something Unnie would never wear due to her beliefs about the image it projected (details readers can find in the book). However, what truly astonished me was the color of her dress—yellow, symbolizing sympathy for tragedy, which added yet another layer of significance to the connection.

I hold a strong belief that the students who have passed away have been with me every step of the way throughout the writing process, and will continue to support me through every hurdle encountered on the journey towards publication. They are the voices that guided me, shouting “there!” as I flipped through books to find the right words. The dreams and incidents that unfolded during the writing of this book, which have seamlessly woven into its narrative, are attributed to the influence of these students. Indeed, they have been my silent collaborators, co-authoring the book alongside me to ensure their stories are not forgotten and are brought to light.

—

UNNIE

A national tragedy. A family and sister grieving the loss of their loved one. The ghosts of the past emerging.

Yun-young’s sister (Unnie, the Korean word for “older sister”), a secondary school teacher at a school in Ansan, is one of those who go missing during the sinking of the Sewol ferry in South Korea in 2014. Yun-young and her family wait for word—that Unnie has been rescued, first, and then, when that doesn’t happen, that her body has been found. As the days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months and still they wait for news, Yun-young’s sorrow feels poisoned. She can’t move on in her life without understanding Unnie’s life. Launching herself on a journey to discover who her sister was, Yun-young excavates more family memories than she bargained for.

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Tags: featured, women writers

Category: On Writing