A Brother's Grief: Remembering a Lost Sibling in a Mining Tragedy

Dear Hyung,

It has been ten years today. Ten years since the mine took you from us. And yet, it feels as if nothing has changed—except that you are gone.

They still do not speak about it. Not in the papers, not in the streets, not even in whispers. It is as if the accident never happened. As if you, and the others, never existed. The mine is still there, the work continues, and the danger remains. And every day, more men go down into the earth, knowing they may never come back.

But I remember. I remember the day they brought you home, covered in dust, in silence. I remember how mother collapsed to the floor, her cries swallowed by the walls that refused to listen. I remember how father sat outside all night, staring at the sky, unable to say a word. And I remember you—my big brother, my protector, my guide—suddenly gone.

You always looked out for me. When we were children, you made sure I never fell behind. When we grew older, you carried the weight of responsibility, so I would have a chance at something better. And now, without you, there is only emptiness. A space that can never be filled.

I wonder, if you were still here, what would you say to me? Would you tell me to move on? Would you tell me to fight? Or would you sit beside me, in silence, knowing that some wounds never heal?

I miss you, hyung. I miss you every day.

Your brother,
Jong-su