My dear family,
This is your son and brother, Baekhyun. Like the letters from Uncle Jackson said, the voyage really is worth it. I am only 23, yet, I have made it. The 14 day voyage was quite gruesome; the odoriferous stench of bile, feces, and urine wafted around the stingy lower deck of the wooden ship. The interior of my mouth stung with salt spray from the seawater. Despite that, however, since I was traveling alone, I gained a heartier ration than some others, who had to share their barley meals with their kin. Of course, since the space was so limited, resources were also deficient. Without a blanket, I was just about to curl up in a corner to keep warm, when a man around my age approached me and offered me his blanket. I politely declined his offer, and he nodded once before walking away. I sighed and gazed onto the upper deck, recited the prayer we usually read in Busan, and let sleep wash over me. I awoke in the morning with, a bright ray of sunlight and a blanket draped over my body. 
Although the voyage was rash and my hope was dwindling, the ship finally reached the Beacon of Hope. I was quick to rush to the cargo storage, but the sailor explained to me that they had forgotten my luggage back in Busan. Enraged, I stomped halfway through customs, but an officer snapped me out of my daze and held out his palm. Documents Declaration. So this was the renowned Seoul, “where people got looked at”. I apologized to the officer that my luggage had been left behind along with my papers, but he would not hear it. At that moment, ironically, the same copper icon that had filled me with hope became a beacon of my own despair. But before I could step away, a figure came up behind me and handed a stack of papers to the officer. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed it was the same man who had approached me the night before. Without my consent, he explained in detail to the guard that I was his brother, who was suffering from a memory disorder and that he would keep a closer watch over me in the tenements. The officer, although skeptical, examined the documents, sneering at me every few seconds. Aggressively, he tossed the papers back to the man, jerking his head to order us through. Stunned by what had just happened, my body was frozen until the mysterious man resorted to grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward another booth in silence. I was about to ask him what had prompted him to come to my aid, when another officer came and ordered him to remove his shirt. He acquiesced and hefted his shirt so that the officer could check for any signs of defects or illnesses. I stood there in trepidation; if this man was sent back, who would I have to defend me, a weak youngling? So the moment the officer gave a pat on his shoulder, I released the shaky breath I had been holding. 
When we walked far enough away from the masses, I raised the question: "Why did you help me? And whose doc