Mother and Child’s Survival Diary on a Deserted Island

My father was a piece of trash. I realized this when I was ten years old, at my biological mother’s funeral. “Say hello. Changjae, this is your new mother.” My father, the guy who never showed up until my mother died. My father brought this woman, his new mother, to my mother’s funeral. She was a woman less than half my father’s age, and he was over forty at the time. “May she rest in peace.” My new mother, dressed in loose mourning clothes, greeted me stiffly. My father was a piece of trash. I realized this when I was ten years old, at my biological mother’s funeral. “Say hello. Changjae, this is your new mother.” My father, the guy who never showed up until my mother died. My father brought this woman, his new mother, to my mother’s funeral. She was a woman less than half my father’s age, and he was over forty at the time. “May she rest in peace.” My new mother, dressed in loose mourning clothes, greeted me stiffly.