Following my cousin’s advice, I married a Korean man to change my life. On our wedding day, I wore so much gold that it covered my neck and arms, and everyone said I was lucky. But at our wedding night, when I lifted the sheet and saw what was underneath, I jumped up and ran away—and that single moment changed my life forever.
I grew up as the youngest of four sisters in a small village, used to living day to day. My family had little, but my cousin’s life after marrying a Korean man had always fascinated me. She returned from Seoul with a mansion, a car, and her arms full of gold. She walked into the village like a queen, everyone marveling at her success, and I couldn’t help but dream that this could be me.
“Marry a Korean,” she said one evening over coffee. “Your life will be different. I’ll introduce you to a good match. You’ll see.”
I hesitated. I had heard countless stories of arranged marriages, cultural barriers, and misunderstandings. But seeing her life—the wealth, the respect, the freedom—ignited something in me. I wanted to escape poverty. I wanted to rise above the life I’d always known.
