Like a Fireball Burning Hot

After graduating from the Kyongsong Institute in 1942, I traveled
to Japan to continue my studies. I went because I felt that
I needed to have exact knowledge about Japan. On the train
to Busan, I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. I covered myself with
my coat and cried out loud. My nose ran and my face swelled up, I cried
so much. It grieved me to think that I was leaving my country behind as
it suffered under the yoke of colonial rule. I looked out the window as I
wept, and I could see that the hills and rivers were weeping even more
sorrowfully than I was. I saw with my own eyes the tears flowing from
the grass and trees. Upon seeing this vision, I said, “I promise to the
hills and streams of my homeland that I will return, carrying with me
the liberation of my homeland. So don’t cry, but wait for me.”
I boarded the Busan-to-Shimonoseki ferry at two o’clock in the
morning on April 1. There was a strong wind that night, but I could not
leave the deck. I stayed there watching as the lights of Busan became
more and more distant. I stayed on deck until morning. On arriving
in Tokyo, I entered Waseda Koutou Kougakko, a technical engineering
school affiliated with Waseda University. I studied in the electrical
engineering department. I chose electrical engineering because I felt I
could not establish a new religious philosophy without knowing modern
engineering.
The invisible world of mathematics has something in common with
religion. To do something great, a person needs to excel in powers of
reasoning. Perhaps because of my large head, I was good at mathematics
that others found difficult, and I enjoyed studying it. My head was so
large it was difficult for me to find hats that fit. I had to go to the factory
twice to have a hat tailor-made for me. The size of my head may also
have something to do with my ability to focus on something and finish
relatively quickly what might take others several years to complete.
During my studies in Japan, I peppered my teachers with questions,
just as I had in Korea. Once I began asking questions, I would continue
and continue. Some teachers would pretend not to see me and simply
ignore me when I asked, “What do you think about this?” If I had any
doubts about something, I couldn’t be satisfied until I had pursued the
matter all the way to the root. I wasn’t deliberately trying to embarrass
my teachers. I felt that, if I were going to study a subject, I should study
it completely.
On my desk in the boarding house, I always had three Bibles lying
open side by side. One was in Korean, one in Japanese, and one in
English. I would read the same passages in three languages again and
again. Each time I read a passage, I would underline verses and make
notes in the margins until the pages of my Bibles became stained with
black ink and difficult to read.
Soon after school began, I attended an event held by the Association
of Korean Students to welcome new students from our country. There
I sang a song from our homeland with great fervor, showing everyone
my love for my country. The Japanese police were in attendance, and
this was a time when Koreans were expected to assimilate themselves
into Japanese culture. Nonetheless, I sang the Korean song with pride.
Dong Moon Eom, who had entered the department of architectural
engineering that year, was deeply moved to hear me sing this song, and
we became lifelong friends.
During this time, Korean students who were enrolled in various
schools in the Tokyo area had formed an underground independence
movement. This was only natural, as our homeland was groaning in
agony under Japanese colonial rule.
The movement grew in response to what the Japanese called “the
Great East Asian War (1937–1945). As the war intensified, Tokyo began
conscripting Korean students as “student soldiers” and sending them
to the front. The work of the underground independence movement
was spurred on by such moves. We had extensive debates on what to do
about Hirohito, the Japanese emperor. I took on a major position in the
movement. It involved working in close relationship with the Republic
of Korea Provisional Government, located in Shanghai and headed by
Kim Gu. My responsibilities in this position could have required me to
give up my life. I did not hesitate, though, because I felt that, if I died, it
would have been for a righteous cause.
There was a police station beside Waseda University. The Japanese
police got wind of my work and kept a sharp eye on me. The police
always knew when I was about to return home to Korea during school
vacation and would follow me to the dock to make sure I left. I cannot
even remember the number of times I was taken into custody by
the police, beaten, tortured, and locked in a cell. Even under the worst
torture, however, I refused to give them the information they sought.
The more they beat me, the bolder I became. Once I had a fight on the
Yotsugawa Bridge with police who were chasing me. I ripped out a piece
of the bridge railing and used it as a weapon in the fight. In those days,
I was a ball of fire.