프로그램 노트

Program Note

Humans have the capacity to forget their roots. But to make that capacity work in one's favor, one must first know where those roots lie. Humans have the power to cross boundaries. But before doing so, one must understand where those boundaries are drawn and by whom. To endure the omissions in one's life, one must first understand the commissions that shaped it. The problem with forced adoption and anonymous birth systems lies not in the fact that we can never truly be free of our roots and borders, but in the systematic denial of the right to know them. That very act of stripping away such rights, paradoxically, makes it all the more difficult for a person to ever be free from their roots and borders.

Population control policies and the current demographic crisis are not contradictions but rather the consistent outcome of the same logic. Saying “I won't have more children because I can't raise them well” and “I won't have any children because I can't raise them well” is essentially the same sentence, differing only by a single word. If we look at what this country has done to suppress births it deemed eugenically undesirable, it’s no exaggeration to say that its population would deserve to go extinct three times over and it still wouldn't be enough. Korea is in no position to tell its people to have more children. Yet, as we know all too well, shame is not a universal trait.

The patriarchal family registry system (Hojuje) and the preference for sons are emblematic of that national shamelessness. The protagonist of this film was sent overseas for adoption simply for being the fourth daughter, with only a formal agreement in place. Her birth family, who later regretted the decision deeply, had no idea that money had been exchanged with the adoption agency as part of the process. The policy of “raising boys, adopting out girls” reflects the era's gendered power structure in which only male family members could legally serve as the family head and hold guardianship and property rights. The injustice embedded in patriarchal and heteronormative family systems spared not even the film's seemingly harmonious, affectionate household full of daughters.

For queer individuals to grow closer to their families of origin, they often need time to distance themselves first. They need a time to separate from the burden of heteronormative expectations imposed by both their families and society. If the classic for love and family does not exist in that space, then one must look elsewhere. That comes before the question of whether, upon coming out, one’s family will welcome them with open arms or respond with violence and institutionalization. It is a life experience that one must go through as a queer person, regardless of how kind or well-meaning their birth or adoptive parents may have been. It’s no coincidence that many queer individuals begin to accept their identity more freely when their parents no longer exert influence over their lives.

The feeling of being “home” matters. After the death of her adoptive parents, the protagonist found that feeling of being home in a shelter, a Protestant community, and later in queer and Korean adoptee communities. The human heart severely divides places into those that feel like home and those that do not. Only upon roots not given by others but forged by oneself can a person truly and freely flourish. Fourteen years passed after the protagonist first met her birth family, and such things must have happened before they could reunite with new hearts. During that time, her birth family never changed their address or phone number—just in case. This film captures a rare and extraordinary moment in which a heart that remained unmoved for fourteen years and a heart that spent fourteen years searching for its place finally recognized each other. (KIM Daehyun)