Burn

It was a typical winter day in South Korea.  Cold and snowy. I lived in a shack of a house where we did not have indoor plumbing or running water.  My morning ritual consisted of pumping water from a well and then boiling it so I could have hot water to wash my face and get ready for the day.  After boiling the water, I had to move the water outside because there was no light in the area where I boiled the water [my stove was a pile of coals in a makeshift kitchen].  On this cold snowy morning, while carrying the hot water, I slipped on a piece of ice and spilled the hot water all over my right arm.

My terrified scream woke up my hungover father.  I remember him ripping off my red pajamas to watch the skin rip off with the pajamas.  Years later I realized that I wasn’t wearing red pajamas, it was red because of the blood.

Luckily I don’t remember the physical pain.  I remember my father pouring alcohol on the burn.  I remember the golf ball sized blisters forming on my arm weeks later.  I remember being in horrible pain and the helplessness I felt. My family was very poor so they did not take me to a doctor.  At least not immediately.

Some time later, I was in so much pain that I could not move.  My Grandmother carried me on her back to the hospital. I was 8 years old and my Grandmother was in her 60’s.  

About a year later, my father gave the consent to put me up for adoption, for a better life.