Somewhere Inside Part 11

"You're right," he responded. "Our countries are still at war, so we can't just release you. But your government will do something eventually. There's no use in keeping you here forever."

"What about Roxana Saberi?" I said, referring to the Iranian-American journalist who had received an eight-year sentence. "She got eight years in prison. And for what, allegedly drinking some wine? Our case is much more serious than that."

"Roxana was released from prison," he said.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Her release had not been reported on the North Korean news. Was it really true?

"What?" I asked eagerly. "What happened?"

He explained that President Obama had made an overture to the Iranian government and that Roxana was released on appeal after about two weeks. "She's home now," he said.

I struggled to contain the smile forming on my lips, but it was no use. I was grinning from cheek to cheek.

"Really?" I said. "That's amazing. That's the best news I've heard in a while."

I could see a slight smile on Mr. Yee's face, but then he went right back to his resigned expression.

"Time to go inside now," he said.

After that, days went by with no information.

The phrases "Stay strong," "We'll see you soon," and "Everyone is doing all they can" seemed like standard signatures on every letter. Just days before the trial, I received a letter from Lisa dated May 19, 2009, in which she described various candlelight vigils that would take place in different cities across the United States on the day of the trial.

Hi Baby Girl,I believe I wrote to you about this guy Brendan Creamer on Facebook who has taken up your cause and has organized vigils all over the country to show support for you and Euna...It's pretty amazing...It has been inspiring to see how much support you have around the country and the world.

From the letters, I had already read about some vigils that had taken place in different cities, including one at my high school in Sacramento and one organized by a college friend in Los Angeles. It was strange to think that so many people were lending their support. While I'd never been more isolated in my life, thinking about all of the prayers for Euna and me made me feel a little less scared.

IN THE DAYS LEADING UP to the trial, Mr. Yee asked if I wanted to have a defense attorney appointed to my case. I accepted, mainly because I was curious to see what the attorney could do at such a late date, after I'd already been interrogated for two months and had issued a sixty-five-page written confession. to the trial, Mr. Yee asked if I wanted to have a defense attorney appointed to my case. I accepted, mainly because I was curious to see what the attorney could do at such a late date, after I'd already been interrogated for two months and had issued a sixty-five-page written confession.

It didn't take me long to figure out that the attorney was really just an extension of the prosecution. His main questions had to do with my treatment in captivity. "Have any of your human rights been violated here?" he asked. "Have you been tortured?" He never asked anything about the actual case. I could tell from his questions that I shouldn't open up to him. Instead, I just let the process take its course.

After I met with the attorney, Mr. Yee asked me what I thought of the man.

"He's fine," I said dispa.s.sionately. "Although it seemed odd that he spent only fifteen minutes talking with me and never once mentioned the actual case or my charges."

Two days later the attorney returned and spent an hour asking me questions about the investigation. He wrote down notes and feigned interest in what I was telling him. His visit this second time was a reaction to my comment to Mr. Yee. It was clearly important to the North Koreans that their legal process appear as legitimate and genuine as possible.

As the trial date neared, Mr. Baek reminded me, in an excited, upbeat tone, "You are the first U.S. citizen to be tried in a North Korean court. You are making history!"

"Thanks," I responded. "But I'd rather not be making history this way."

I asked Mr. Baek if he would be translating for me at the trial. He said he hadn't been told that he would, and he believed his a.s.signment was supposed to end before the trial. This sent me into a panic. I hadn't imagined anyone other than Mr. Baek at the proceedings. I desperately wanted him there, not only because I trusted that he would interpret everything accurately and efficiently, but also because his presence put me at ease. With him by my side, I wouldn't feel so alone.

I asked Mr. Yee about this and told him it was absolutely necessary that I be comfortable with whoever was translating, that the slightest misinterpretation might skew the case and make the trial seem flawed.

"I understand," Mr. Yee responded immediately. "I will explain your situation to the appropriate people."

Finally I was told that my request had been granted. Relieved, I said to Mr. Baek, "Looks like you'll be making history with me."

Although I dreaded the trial, I was happy that I would finally get to see Euna after being separated for two and a half months. But I was also told that Amba.s.sador Foyer would not be allowed to witness the proceedings, nor would Mr. Yee.

LISA.

BRENDAN C CREAMER, WHO SET UP the Facebook page Free Laura and Euna, arranged ten vigils in different cities across the United States to coincide with the June 4 start of Laura and Euna's trial. In addition to our many friends, throngs of people whom we'd never met organized in their respective communities to offer their support. Across the country were Meghan in Portland, Lisa in Montgomery, Rose in Chicago, Paula in Phoenix, Danielle in New York, and Clothilde in Paris, among so many others. There would be a fair amount of press in attendance, so we asked Brendan to tell the organizers that the tone of the vigils had to be respectful; this was imperative. Iain, my parents, and I decided to attend the gathering in Los Angeles, along with Michael Saldate. We wanted to be wherever people were out supporting the girls. the Facebook page Free Laura and Euna, arranged ten vigils in different cities across the United States to coincide with the June 4 start of Laura and Euna's trial. In addition to our many friends, throngs of people whom we'd never met organized in their respective communities to offer their support. Across the country were Meghan in Portland, Lisa in Montgomery, Rose in Chicago, Paula in Phoenix, Danielle in New York, and Clothilde in Paris, among so many others. There would be a fair amount of press in attendance, so we asked Brendan to tell the organizers that the tone of the vigils had to be respectful; this was imperative. Iain, my parents, and I decided to attend the gathering in Los Angeles, along with Michael Saldate. We wanted to be wherever people were out supporting the girls.

I had started my journalism career with Anderson Cooper in the early 1990s at Channel One News. Now Anderson had a CNN prime-time show called 360 360 that was simulcast live around the world. It even aired, coincidentally, at the top of the morning in Pyongyang, and although the average North Korean citizen is not able to access CNN, we hoped the officials there would see it. I asked Anderson's producers if the show would broadcast from the vigil in Los Angeles, where our families would be in attendance. that was simulcast live around the world. It even aired, coincidentally, at the top of the morning in Pyongyang, and although the average North Korean citizen is not able to access CNN, we hoped the officials there would see it. I asked Anderson's producers if the show would broadcast from the vigil in Los Angeles, where our families would be in attendance.

It was 7:00 P.M P.M. Pacific standard time in L.A. on the night of June 3 and 12:00 P.M P.M. in Pyongyang on June 4. With hundreds of people standing behind us solemnly holding candles, Iain, Michael, and I made our respectful plea for leniency. From his anchor desk in New York, Anderson stated that "as we speak," the trial of Laura and Euna had likely begun.

"We believe that CNN is seen in North Korea," Anderson reported. "Lisa, is there anything you'd like to say to the North Korean government if they are watching?"

My insides were trembling. This was my chance to appeal to the humanity of my sister's captors. I took a deep breath and recited the scrupulously crafted script once again. "We can say with absolute certainty that when Laura and Euna left U.S. soil they never intended to cross the border into North Korea. If at any point they committed a transgression, then we profusely apologize on their behalf. We know they are terribly sorry. We beg the government of North Korea to show mercy and allow the girls to return home to their families that miss them desperately." I concluded by saying, "And perhaps this can be an opportunity for our two countries to engage in more direct diplomacy."

We couldn't know if the North Korean leaders.h.i.+p would hear our plea, but if they did, we had to make sure we hit the right tone. I didn't want them to see these vigils as protests, or rallies-we didn't want to make angry demands. Our greatest hope was for Laura and Euna's trial to conclude with their captors deciding to let them go.

LAURA.

ON THE DAY OF THE TRIAL, I nervously paced back and forth in my room, my palms soaked with sweat. I filled my pockets with tissues that had been sent to me by my family, and I even packed extra for Euna. I changed into a new short-sleeved, b.u.t.ton-down blouse that had been given to me for the proceedings. It was pink with thin white stripes. I also wore brown slacks and sneakers that had been provided. My eyes were bloodshot because I had been up all night antic.i.p.ating every question they could ask me and rehearsing conciliatory statements I could give in return. I knew there wasn't going to be any presumption of innocence. In the eyes of the North Korean government, I was already deemed guilty of trying to bring down the regime. My strategy therefore was to agree with them and be as respectful and apologetic as possible. By telling them what they wanted to hear, I was hoping they might show leniency. I nervously paced back and forth in my room, my palms soaked with sweat. I filled my pockets with tissues that had been sent to me by my family, and I even packed extra for Euna. I changed into a new short-sleeved, b.u.t.ton-down blouse that had been given to me for the proceedings. It was pink with thin white stripes. I also wore brown slacks and sneakers that had been provided. My eyes were bloodshot because I had been up all night antic.i.p.ating every question they could ask me and rehearsing conciliatory statements I could give in return. I knew there wasn't going to be any presumption of innocence. In the eyes of the North Korean government, I was already deemed guilty of trying to bring down the regime. My strategy therefore was to agree with them and be as respectful and apologetic as possible. By telling them what they wanted to hear, I was hoping they might show leniency.

The dog let out a series of loud barks as a vehicle pulled up into the compound. I watched as two female soldiers dressed in green fitted army uniforms entered the room and sternly instructed me in Korean to look down to the ground. My heart began to palpitate when one of them pulled out a pair of handcuffs. As she wrapped the cold metal cuffs around my wrists, I thought back to the day of our capture along the frozen river when Euna and I were handcuffed and transported to jail. Now I was again being enveloped by that same feeling of entering the dark unknown. I felt I was edging closer to a deep abyss. As they led me out of the room, I s.h.i.+fted my gaze to my guards.

Over the past two months, we had developed a mutual respect for one another and even a sort of kins.h.i.+p. Confined in a room together for twenty-four hours every day, we became used to one another's habits and personalities. One of them always sang at the top of her lungs anytime she was in the bathroom, and the other had a tendency to burp loudly. I came to care about them, and I believe they felt the same way about me. As I left the room in handcuffs, Kyung-Hee looked at me sympathetically, while Min-Jin turned away and closed her eyes. It sounded as if she might have been crying.

I was transported a few miles away in a small van. One soldier sat beside me on the middle seat, and one was in the back. Once again I was ordered to close my eyes and hold my head down. I meditated for the duration of the ride. We arrived at an office building, and I was taken up to the second floor into a large room. The area contained long rows of chairs situated before a stage. Three men sat at a table on the stage. On the floor below were two tables, one for the prosecutor and one for the defense attorney. Along with these key figures there were two videographers, a photographer, my interpreter, the soldiers, and a couple of authorities milling about in the back of the room. The room wasn't like a traditional courtroom; it looked more like a performance s.p.a.ce that had been set up for the purpose of putting us on trial.

As I was led to the front of the room, I caught sight of Euna's small frame. It was incredible to see her, and to know she was alive. Her head was hanging low in a defeated posture. Her hair had grown out and was now long enough to be tied back. We were wearing identical outfits. I was instructed to sit next to her and to continue looking downward. I couldn't tell if Euna even realized it was me sitting beside her. I scooted close enough so that my thigh touched hers. I wanted to grab her hand and hold it, to look her in the eyes, but I was too nervous to do anything but sit there in silence.

Euna was instructed to approach the podium in front of us, where she was asked some basic questions in Korean. Then it was my turn. Aided by Mr. Baek, the judge confirmed my name, profession, and the charges against me-illegally entering the country and committing "hostile acts" against the Korean nation. After acknowledging and accepting his statements, I was led out of the room. Euna was to be tried first, and I would follow.

After a couple of hours, I was escorted back inside. I was disheartened when I saw that Euna was no longer there, but at least I had gotten a quick look at her.

I approached the podium, and the prosecutor, a towering figure with wavy hair and a perpetual snarl, began grilling me.

"Do you know who Agnes Smedley is?" he began.

"No, sir," I replied, wondering where his questioning was headed.

"You don't know who Agnes Smedley is?" he asked again with a smirk. "She's an American."

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know who she is."

"It doesn't surprise me that you are unfamiliar with Agnes Smedley, because Agnes Smedley was a highly respected journalist. She wrote about the Chinese civil war in the 1930s. She exposed the truth, and the Chinese even built a statue to honor her. I'm not surprised that you don't know who Agnes Smedley is, because she represents what a good journalist should be like." He went on about the heroic deeds of Smedley and her positive portrayal of the Chinese Communist revolution. "You call yourself a journalist, but you do not know how to do your job like Agnes Smedley."

I could see that the prosecutor was relis.h.i.+ng this opportunity to humiliate me, and I suppose he wanted to throw me off guard. But it didn't bother me. I wasn't prepared to put up a fight. Throughout my interrogation, I had refined the art of obsequiousness. I knew that showing respect to those in authority was of the utmost importance.

"You're right, sir," I responded courteously. "I am not a good journalist, and I am very sorry for my actions."

The prosecutor continued to ask questions that had already been posed to me during the investigation, including the purpose of my story and what motivated me to work on the doc.u.mentary. As rehea.r.s.ed with Mr. Yee, I took a deep breath and told them I wanted to help the people of North Korea, even if it meant bringing down the North Korean regime, which I believed was oppressing its people. It was hard to believe that my work on a doc.u.mentary about human rights abuses had taken me to North Korea's highest court, where I was confessing to having tried to topple the government.

During the investigation, Mr. Yee had gone to great lengths to denounce defectors as criminals with bad intentions. He had explained that these "sc.u.m of the earth," as he called them, were creating lies about the DPRK in order to make money and hurt the regime. To prepare me for the trial, Mr. Yee wanted to make sure I understood and believed that the defectors were unscrupulous.

"I understand," I replied dishonestly, "the defectors we interviewed were lying. They were criminals in the first place in North Korea, which is why they might be put in prison if they are caught."

"Precisely!" he shouted.

I felt I was being indoctrinated into the North Korean belief system, being fed the propaganda that the government disseminates across the nation in an attempt to maintain a unified society. I told him what he wanted to hear-and kept telling him until he was satisfied.

During the trial, I repeated these denouncements of North Korean defectors. Every time I did, I thought about Ji-Yong, the twenty-something girl who had escaped from her country only to be lured into the Internet s.e.x industry. I'll never forget the look in her eyes as she told me about fleeing a life of horror and devastation. These defectors were people I had hoped to s.h.i.+ne a light on for their bravery and courage, and now I had to malign them verbally. Each time I said something bad about them, I felt sick.

When they asked how I felt about Pastor Chun Ki-Won, the missionary who had aided us on our project, I castigated him by saying he was using the defectors to raise money for his own gain. As painful as it was, I knew I had to condemn Chun and the entire defector network in order to prove to the court that I understood my wrongdoings and the implications of my actions.

Even though Mr. Yee had prepped me for the prosecutor's questioning, it was torturous to be in the room with the stern-faced judge peering down at me, knowing that my fate would be decided in a matter of days. All of this put me on edge. From my dealings and interactions with North Koreans for the past few months, I had personally seen how regimented they are. They seem to conduct themselves publicly in a very formal, almost robotic way. I wanted to maintain my composure in the courtroom, so as not to interrupt the disciplined mood, but I couldn't help breaking down. I tried to hold back my tears, but it was no use. When I lifted my hands to wipe my cheeks, my fingers knocked into the microphone in front of me, causing the speakers to screech. I s.h.i.+fted from one foot to the other in agitation and was ordered by one of the soldiers to stand still. I could barely speak. The bellicose prosecutor seemed to derive great pleasure out of making me squirm. Meanwhile, my defense attorney sat silent.

Mr. Baek was normally calm and confident, but today he was noticeably nervous. This was, as he had explained on so many occasions, a historic moment, and he didn't want to make any mistakes in his interpretation. He scribbled down notes feverishly. His voice cracked at times, and large beads of sweat dripped from his face onto his notebook. I looked at him with deep appreciation. He'd never done anything like this before, and I wondered what the consequences might be for him if he made a blunder.

After two hours, the prosecutor, smug and haughty, concluded his first day of questioning. I exhaled in relief, grateful to be released from his verbal blows. I never thought I would look forward to going back to the compound, but the growls of the guard dog, which usually gave me s.h.i.+vers, now sounded comforting because the trial was over-at least until the next day.

The proceedings would last two more days for a total of about eight hours. On the final day, a large screen was set up to show the video evidence they had obtained from our belongings. The first part shown was footage from Euna's video camera on the brisk morning of March 17 when we were filming on the frozen river. It was eerie to look at the images, which showed life before we were apprehended. I looked like a timid cat as I walked along the ice following our guide to a place and a moment that would change our lives.

For a brief instant, I found myself looking at the images as a reporter, and I was able to admire the scenes Euna had captured. This could have been a really eye-opening doc.u.mentary, This could have been a really eye-opening doc.u.mentary, I thought. As I watched the footage, I imagined the risks so many thousands of people are taking to escape the desperate conditions in their homeland. I was disappointed that I wasn't able to bring that story to light. I thought. As I watched the footage, I imagined the risks so many thousands of people are taking to escape the desperate conditions in their homeland. I was disappointed that I wasn't able to bring that story to light.

"Did you cross the river onto DPRK soil?" the prosecutor asked forcefully.

"Yes, sir. It was only a few steps, but I did trespa.s.s, and I am very regretful for my actions."

Then it was the defense attorney's turn to question me. He began with an odd inquiry: "What did your parents say to you before your trip?" I answered that my mom and dad told me to be careful, as they did before I left on any a.s.signment. His questioning perplexed me. I didn't see how the conversation with my parents had anything to do with my case. He followed up with other irrelevant questions. I looked at him in disbelief. I had to keep myself from bursting out laughing at his absurd line of inquiry-this was my attorney, the man who was supposed to be standing up for me! Finally, as if to fulfill his role as my defense lawyer, he asked if I was sorry for my crimes.

As the trial drew to a close, the prosecutor and defense attorney each had an opportunity to give their closing statements. Rather than talking about my specific situation, the prosecutor began by speaking about U.S. imperialism and the U.S. government's constant meddling in North Korean affairs. My actions, he explained, were an extension of the U.S. government's policies toward the DPRK, which should be viewed as a threat to the North Korean regime. He argued for the strictest sentencing of fifteen years.

Though I had been expecting the worst, I held on to a sliver of hope that the trial might result in a full release. The words "fifteen years" echoed inside my head. All of the mental exercises I had done to help prepare me for this moment didn't do me any good. I was petrified. I remembered my shock at hearing about Roxana Saberi's eight-year sentence in Iran. My legs wobbled, and I grasped the podium for support.

The defense attorney began his closing statement by chastising me for crossing the Tumen River. He said that if I had applied for a visa, I would have been allowed into his country legally. The only thing of value he did was acknowledge that I seemed genuinely sorry for my actions and argue that I should be given a more lenient sentence.

I was then told to be seated while the judge and his a.s.sociates left the room to discuss the sentencing. I tried to remain calm as I waited for the judge to return with his verdict. I closed my eyes and visualized the candlelight from the vigils taking place back home. I conjured Amba.s.sador Foyer's words, "A number isn't always what it seems." He had also said that the trial was part of a process toward our eventual release.

After a mere five minutes of deliberation, the judge returned and took his seat on the stage. I was told to stand up and walk to the center of the room, where he could face me head-on. My heart was thumping fiercely. The judge began reading from some sheets of paper. In a thunderous voice, he explained that I was being given a combined sentence of fifteen years in a labor camp. He then went on to say that the sentence was being reduced to twelve years, which included two for trespa.s.sing and ten for "hostile acts." He never mentioned when we'd be transferred to the camp.

I felt my world closing in on me fast and furiously. Everything around me started spinning.

"There will be no forgiveness and no appeal!" the judge exclaimed.

I fought hard to hold back a flood of tears. It wasn't the sentence's harshness that shocked me. I had predicted all along that they might give me a long prison term to send a message to the outside world. It was the phrases "no forgiveness" and "no appeal" that tore into me. Did this mean they were closing the case, even if the U.S. government offered some sort of gesture?

I was led out of the room while Euna completed her last portion of the trial. After about an hour, I was brought back in front of the judge with Euna. The judge went through various formalities such as restating our crimes and the twelve-year sentence. We were instructed to sign and fingerprint doc.u.ments verifying our acceptance of the outcome. I knew that the end of the procedure was upon us, and it wouldn't be long before Euna and I would be separated. Fearing I might not get a chance to see her again, I embraced her tightly. We were both sobbing hysterically. I envisioned Euna's little daughter, Hana, who would be without a mother. I thought of my own parents who would soon find out the news about their own daughter. The soldiers split us up and escorted us out of the room separately.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

the window is closing LISA.

LAURA AND E EUNA'S TRIAL DATE, Thursday, June 4, came and went with no news out of North Korea. We didn't even know if the proceedings had begun or not. For more than two and a half months we had been antic.i.p.ating the trial date, and now it felt almost anticlimactic because we had no information. Still, I was a complete wreck with worry and could hardly get my mind on anything else. On Sunday, I was scheduled to deliver a commencement address at National University in San Diego that had been scheduled for more than a year. In some ways, it was good to have something to do. I didn't say anything about my sister's situation while onstage, even though I knew people wanted to know the latest. A couple of news crews showed up to see if they could get a comment, but I simply told them I had nothing to say. Thursday, June 4, came and went with no news out of North Korea. We didn't even know if the proceedings had begun or not. For more than two and a half months we had been antic.i.p.ating the trial date, and now it felt almost anticlimactic because we had no information. Still, I was a complete wreck with worry and could hardly get my mind on anything else. On Sunday, I was scheduled to deliver a commencement address at National University in San Diego that had been scheduled for more than a year. In some ways, it was good to have something to do. I didn't say anything about my sister's situation while onstage, even though I knew people wanted to know the latest. A couple of news crews showed up to see if they could get a comment, but I simply told them I had nothing to say.

That night, some friends insisted that Paul and I go with them to a movie as a way of getting my mind off what was happening. They chose The Hangover, The Hangover, thinking it would provide the highest level of distraction. Only twenty minutes into the filmic drunkfest, the red light on my BlackBerry started flas.h.i.+ng. Someone I know at ABC News was sending me an urgent e-mail. thinking it would provide the highest level of distraction. Only twenty minutes into the filmic drunkfest, the red light on my BlackBerry started flas.h.i.+ng. Someone I know at ABC News was sending me an urgent e-mail.

The subject: American journalists sentenced to twelve years hard labor in North Korea. I immediately forwarded the e-mail to Iain before I was overtaken by a sense of panic.

I suppose I was naive, but somehow I believed that our apologies and pa.s.sionate appeals for mercy would convince Laura's captors to pardon her and Euna and release them after the trial. But a labor prison? I showed the message to Paul, and we got up immediately and left the theater.

I called Al Gore right away and told him the news; he was at his home in Tennessee.

"d.a.m.n them," he said. He seemed to be as shocked as I was.

The phone call with Gore was brief; there was an eerie silence as we tried to figure out what to do next. We agreed to call each other as soon as either of us got any more information, and then we hung up.

I called Kurt Tong on his cell phone, and he was just hearing the news. In an hour it was everywhere.

Iain, Paul, and I headed to my mom's house. By the time we all arrived, it was nearly 11:00 P.M P.M. Kurt set up a midnight conference call with our family, Michael Saldate, Linda McFadyen, and a number of other State Department people. It was 3:00 A.M A.M. in Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C.

My mom was in hysterics and crying loudly into the phone. With his always carefully worded State-Department-speak, Kurt led the call.

"Look, we are all surprised by the severity of the sentence," he said, "but we don't want anyone to panic. We believe that this will give us an opening to communicate in real terms-which is a good thing. The North Koreans are trying to show that they have a legitimate legal process and have reached completion in the trial of the women."

"How do you know?" my mom pressed. "What if they send her to a labor camp, what will we do?"

"We hope that does not happen," Kurt replied. "Hopefully dialogue will now begin."

Kurt's urging us not to overreact didn't work. We were all devastated, especially my mom. We hoped Kurt was right, that the verdict was a sign that talks could happen soon between the United States and North Korea.

In the days after the sentence was announced, the news was filled with stories of what my sister might be forced to endure in one of North Korea's brutal gulag-style prisons; no American had ever been sent to one. I went online and found a disturbing report about North Korea's labor prisons ent.i.tled "The Hidden Gulag: Exposing North Korea's Prison Camps," compiled by David Hawk for the U.S. Committee for Human Rights in North Korea. It provided details of life inside labor camps across North Korea, where an estimated two hundred thousand people are alleged to be living: The most salient feature of day-to-day prison-labor camp life is the combination of below-subsistence food rations and extremely hard labor. Prisoners are provided only enough food to be kept perpetually on the verge of starvation. And prisoners are compelled by their hunger to eat, if they can get away with it, the food of the labor-camp farm animals, plants, gra.s.ses, bark, rats, snakes-anything remotely edible.

Now my sister, who just a couple of months before had told me that she and Iain were working on starting a family, had been sentenced to serve twelve years in one of these camps. I wondered what her captors had told her. I was gravely concerned about her mental state; I could feel my baby sister's fear and anguish from a world away.

LAURA.

I SPIRALED INTO A DEEP SPIRALED INTO A DEEP depression. I refused my meals and rarely moved from a chair in a dark corner of the room. I envisioned spending twelve long years in a North Korean labor camp. I worried about Iain not having a partner in his life. I tried to imagine women I knew who might make a suitable match for him. It crushed me to think of him being with someone else, but I didn't want him to be alone. I wanted the best for him. I thought of my father's weak heart and feared I might not ever see my parents again. depression. I refused my meals and rarely moved from a chair in a dark corner of the room. I envisioned spending twelve long years in a North Korean labor camp. I worried about Iain not having a partner in his life. I tried to imagine women I knew who might make a suitable match for him. It crushed me to think of him being with someone else, but I didn't want him to be alone. I wanted the best for him. I thought of my father's weak heart and feared I might not ever see my parents again. At least I'll have Lisa when I get out At least I'll have Lisa when I get out, I thought. I imagined myself, weathered and gray by the time I was released, moving into Lisa's house and helping her take care of her children. That would make me happy, I smiled to myself. While I tried to sketch out my life of imprisonment, thinking of how I might endure the long dark days of isolation, I also contemplated suicide. I will try to get through at least two years I will try to get through at least two years, I thought.

Min-Jin approached me with a tray of food. "You need to eat," she said.

"I can't," I responded, tears falling from my cheeks. "I'm not hungry."