For the past few years, each year has been my grandmother’s ninetieth birthday. It’s not that she’s been fibbing, trying to stave off the reality of the passing years. Her age was destroyed by war. It’s something she would like to have, but she will never get it back. She can’t be held responsible for the loss. Those meant to keep it – parents, nation, government – failed her.

Halmoni (as we call her, “grandma” in Korean) grew up during the Great Depression, in Kaesong, a small city that is now near the border of North and South Korea. As a schoolgirl, she lived through Japanese occupation; as a teenager, the Korean War. She survived, but the others – parents, nation, government – did not. 

And so, the record of her birth was lost.