The Hague That Day

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The Hague Envoys

The Hague Envoys. Yi Sang-seol, Yi Jun, Yi Wi-jong. Names I memorized for exams. Hearing them until my ears bled, reciting them just to pass a test, any sense of inspiration faded, replaced only by a feeling of annoyance. ‘Ugh, why is there so much to memorize?’

To confess this, risking embarrassment, is first, a kind of atonement to the patriotic martyrs. And second, it’s because of the profound emotion I felt encountering the past anew, free from the confines of an exam.

While figuring out what to do in the Netherlands on a trip with no plans, I stumbled upon the Peace Museum. ‘The Hague Envoys. Right, I heard about them to death in history class. They’re famous enough, let’s go check it out.’ ‘There probably won’t be much to see, anyway.’

I headed there out of a sense of obligation, much like feeling the need to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre. Who the patriot Yi Jun was, why it had to be The Hague, what exactly happened there—all of that had been forgotten along with the exams.

A Museum Like a Home

I hopped on a train bound for Den Haag (The Hague). Before long, piercing through long, incomprehensible Dutch sentences, the name “Den Haag” struck my ears. Getting off the train, I hurried toward the red pin on Google Maps marking the “Yi Jun Peace Museum”. Having left late, I was told the museum was nearing closing time.

Opening the door and stepping inside, the scene from 120 years ago unfolded before my eyes. The wooden floor creaked, and the furniture sat exactly as it had been. Korean flags hung on the walls here and there. It was a warm space, feeling more like a regular home than a museum.

A kind-looking woman welcomed me with a bright face. She asked if I came alone and praised me for doing so. She said she bought this place and set it up herself. No one asked her to. Even without much support from the government or the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, this person opens the doors every single day. She explained their footsteps one by one, skillfully as if she had told the story hundreds of times, yet with a passion as fresh as the first time. It left me with a strange feeling.

There are many people who fought for independence. That in itself is something to be grateful for. But the fact that there are so many means that, to me—a person of the next generation—each individual had inevitably become a bit blurred.

But today, I encountered one person, Yi Jun. My feet stopped between every exhibit. The life he lived in agony. The philosophy he fiercely honed. The ordinary daily life he enjoyed, and the family he had. Not as one among many, but as a unique individual, he cried out for the independence of his homeland to the blue-eyed people on the other side of the globe. Not for himself, but solely for the generations to come. A human being who loved his country so much that, thwarted by Japanese interference in announcing at the planned International Peace Conference, it is said he died of utter frustration. This history could only be written by him, Yi Jun.

To Think You Came Here 120 Years Ago

The wooden floor I am standing on right now was stepped on by that very person 120 years ago. When read in a textbook, it was just a two-syllable name; on a test paper, it was merely their activity logs and sentences. But standing in the hallway where that two-syllable name once walked, the scent of old furniture brushed my nose. He must have opened this door. He must have looked out this window. What was he thinking here? Overwhelming questions came pouring through the space.

I knew of the Hague Envoys, yet at the same time, I knew nothing at all.

The Netherlands. A layover destination where a few days to meet an acquaintance was everything. But there, I felt the sheer magnitude of one person with my entire being.

(End of Ep.2)

Micro-Mission: What I Memorized vs. What I Felt 🏛️

Words in a book evaporate quickly.

But a space you’ve physically stood in embeds itself into your memory and stays.

No matter how much I memorized, I ended up forgetting,

but after feeling it, it still lingers warmly in my heart.

[Click to empathize 🕊️]

Editor’s Notice

The World Travel Series (The Trail) will now be published once a week, every Friday. We will return each week with even brighter stories.

Thank you for loving our stories.

We ask for your continued interest and feedback.

Sincerely,

Editor Jonathan