Dark Side

• A chronicle of healing written by John Choi, a mental health professional who has watched over hurting children in Toronto for 20 years.
• A poignant portrait of our sons, lost somewhere between their parents’ dry cleaners and school.
• A story of true hope that begins only when we break our silence and face the Dark Side.

On a long, cold winter night in Toronto, a boy wanders the empty streets. On the outside, there seem to be no problems. He has excellent grades, good relationships with friends, and is a dutiful son who helps out at his parents’ dry cleaning business after school. He is Emerson Yeung, the epitome of the "perfect child" that our immigrant society so desperately desires. But inside, he is already shattered. Korean-Canadian author John Choi’s debut novel, Dark Side, begins its story right at this point. This novel transcends the boundaries of standard Young Adult fiction. It is an intimate report on 1.5 and second-generation immigrants who, forced to be "perfect" to survive in the unfamiliar land of Canada, begin to self-destruct under the crushing weight. Furthermore, it is an urgent distress signal sent to the parents who watch over them.

What gives this book a distinctly different depth from other coming-of-age novels is author John Choi’s unique background. Long before he was a novelist, he was a veteran child and youth mental health professional who worked in Toronto for over 20 years. Over the past two decades, he has met countless children from immigrant families in his counseling room. Closer than anyone, he has witnessed the tears of children burdened by the guilt of failing to meet their parents' expectations, the scars of racial discrimination, and a depression they could not confide to anyone. Dark Side is the result of pouring the stories of the countless "Emersons" he witnessed in his clinic into the vessel of literature. Therefore, the sentences in this novel read less like fiction and more like a painful testimony of reality. (Interestingly, he is also the younger brother of Ann Y. K. Choi, who wrote All Things Under the Moon. The fact that these siblings both studied creative writing at the University of Toronto and are recording the stories of the Korean community in their own ways is a proud detail demonstrating how much our community's cultural potential has grown.)

The life of the protagonist, Emerson, is an all-too-familiar scene to us. The smell of chemicals emanating from his parents' dry cleaners, the nagging demands that he "must go to a good university" and "must be perfect," and the verbal abuse and mistreatment from his father when those expectations turn into disappointment. Emerson gradually loses his light under the immense pressure to be a "trophy" for his parents. By day, he wears the mask of a model student, but by night, unable to bear that mask, he wanders the city. The author sharply captures the dual suffering experienced by the children of immigrant families: the lonely war of having to fight subtle discrimination as a "minority" in the outside world, while battling the Confucian pressure to be a "filial son" at home.

The story plunges into catastrophe when Emerson’s cell phone is stolen. The thief uses Emerson’s phone to send horrific, racially motivated threat messages to his teachers and the vice principal. Emerson is unfairly suspended and even subjected to a police investigation. Pushed to the edge, this incident becomes more than just bad luck; it acts as the catalyst that forces him to let go of the thread of life he was barely holding onto. The terror of disappointing his parents and the profound isolation of having nowhere to plead his innocence drive him toward the extreme choice of suicide. Through this process, the author chillingly and realistically describes how adolescent depression silently encroaches upon a child, and how a "responsible model student" can crumble in an instant.

However, John Choi does not let this story end in tragedy. As a mental health professional, he delivers his most important message to his readers: "It is okay to ask for help." At death's door, Emerson manages to find a helping hand and gains the courage to embrace life. The novel lays bare the excruciating pain Emerson experiences, but simultaneously, it presents a concrete path of hope to overcome that pain. It emphasizes how personal tragedies and family collapses can be prevented, and just how crucial it is to open a closed bedroom door and take hold of your child’s hand.

For Korean parents living in Canada, this book may be somewhat uncomfortable to read. They might discover reflections of themselves in Emerson’s parents. It is a painful thing to acknowledge that the pressure exerted in the name of love can actually become a weapon against one's child. But it is exactly at this point that the true value of this book shines. John Choi asks us: "Is your child truly happy, or are they just pretending to be?" Finding the courage to confront this question is the very beginning of healing.

Through this book, we can feel two immense sources of pride. First is the fact that we have an author like John Choi—someone who does not turn away from our pain but faces it head-on, sublimating it into art and striving to heal it. To a society that once believed becoming a doctor or a lawyer was the only definition of success, he has modeled a new kind of success: a "writer who saves lives through stories." Second is the courage of the parents who will read this book and make the effort to understand their children. It reminds us that our immigration history is not merely a struggle for economic survival, but a journey of embracing each other’s wounds and growing into better human beings.

Dark Side, as its title suggests, deals with the shadows, but its conclusion is by no means dark. Rather, it speaks of a starlight-like hope that can only be seen in the deepest darkness. For the other Emersons who might be crying in the corner of some dry cleaners in Etobicoke, and for the parents who feel entirely lost on how to help them, this book will serve as the warmest and most professional prescription. Our children are not parental trophies; they are complete universes in themselves. Through Emerson’s story, author John Choi whispers to us: listen to your child’s breathing rather than their report card. Tell them, It’s okay not to be perfect, just please stay alive. The moment we close this book, we will want to open their bedroom doors and hold our children in a silent embrace. For that alone, this book is a great legacy that will long endure in the Korean-Canadian community.