So what should I say to you Unnie? Should I start saying how happy and thankful I am for knowing you and be your friend, and to be able to say "Happy Birthday" to you for the first time since we started our friendship? It is something really special for me. I hope you enjoy this little tinny story. I chose "One Thousand and One Nights" because the silly me wanted to write something "arabic-like" you know? *for you + arabic + birthday* It was a good idea... LOL. But the same silly me gave up cause she knows nothing about those things... so it turned out into something quite too different? (*scratches her head*). Aaaaaaaanyway, the intention is what counts right? RIGHT? ^.^ I think I ended writing something that relates with me and you in a way... =)

I wish you the best things and feelings my dear. This is one little gift as I can't hide myself in the cabine of a plane and fly right to where you are and give you the hugs and kisses I would love to. =) But I send them to you via our imagination. One day! One day I'll appear in front of you and you'll ask to the universe what did you do to deserve my stalkish modes! You'll see!

Until then, sincerely, your dork panda. 

P.d. Recommended soundtrack: Can't Help Falling in Love - Elvis Presley. 

O n e  T h o u s a n d  a n d  O n e  L e t t e r s

“I might be returning to Korea this summer”

You know how some famous writers love to write and deepen about the fact life is never the same for anyone. They affirm it all depends on what side of the story, of the world or the war you are living in. It all depends on who your family and how your education was. The poorer and the richer never were the same, they said, not because one was greater or more human than the other but because the core of their principles and perspectives were fundamentally distinct, as same as their priorities.

I never recalled on those aspects though. I was like any other student in the 1965, full of revolutionary thoughts no one could even quite understand, displeased by my government because it was fun to, a fanatic of psychedelic rock and The Rolling Stones and one of those irresponsible students who spent lecture’s time painting distorted faces over the wood desks of my beautiful girl classmates to gain their angry stares or, if I was lucky enough, sometimes even the thing between their legs. That was I, a 20 years old university student living the time of his life, or more exactly, wasting his entire life.

I had never expected those written words I received the summer of the '65 to change my life so drastically, to deepen inside my rooted core and make me face reality with all its harshness and beautifulness too.

He said his name was Lee Seunghyun, he said he was part of the 2nd Marine Brigade of the Republic of Korea Army sent to the Vietnam War by instruction of the Major General Park Chung Hee and he said I was the only one he could write to, the only one he knew apart from his own peers in his battalion. He wrote about things I had never expected to read from someone even younger than me. He showed me a side of life I was deeply unaware of, the cruel one.

“I know you probably must be annoyed by this. But they told us that writing to someone could keep us living and I am expecting to live on. I know no one to write to except from you, as the war before this one killed my parents; but my father was a good friend of your father and he showed me once a photo of you. I thought, maybe, the fact we are almost the same age could make this exchange easier. I don’t want to force you, but it would be nice to feel that someone out there from this jungle painted with blood is actually aware of my existence and listening to me. I am scared. I had never came to the war field or to the front before. Here, some of the most veteran soldiers seem crazy, as if they had lost any hope or brightness, they seem drained of everything… if you could only see their eyes, it scares you more than the thought of dying reached by an enemy grenade. Only those times when one of the American soldiers sits over one of the benches and starts singing and playing with his metal harmonica one of Bob Dylan’s songs that not even one of us Korean soldiers can understand is when time goes easier, he sings with such feelings it gives you goose bumps and some of us even cry for things we never had had… those things like freedom or joy… we cry as if we actually missed them. Time here is hard… but I still have the feeling of wanting to survive.

Please answer me, tell me those things you see, tell me how Korea looks now, how children grow, how birds fly in the morning. Whatever you want to tell me, I’ll be glad to read it… just answer and tell me something apart form this war.”

I thought, “Well, it’s only a letter,” and so I wrote back. I supposed, in my own egocentrism, the exchange would end up sooner or later. Now that I think about it, I was sometimes even thinking, “He is going to be killed soon.” Isn’t that one despicable thought? I was seriously twisted back then, but something pushed me to write back and tell him, few, but some things about my life, about my side of life. I told him my name and that my dad had bought me last month a new Pontiac GTO and I used to drive to Busan every weekend with my friends while listening to Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones. I told him about Youngbae and his fascination for the Psychedelic Rock of Shin Joong Hyun and the crush I had with his new girlfriend and her long black hair. I told him I was “pretending” to study “History of Art” in the Seoul National University. Well I even asked him how he knew about my address and how Vietnam was apart from destruction and war. Suddenly my “short-letter-attempt” turned into a long three sheets letter where I spurted out my life and all those things I usually kept hidden in the deepness of my core. “He doesn’t know me, he wouldn’t even recognize me, no danger,” that was what I thought.

“I’m glad you answered. I could not believe it when the General called my name and gave me your letter. I’m really thankful.

It seems like a fun life you have there. I have no time now to listen to new music, so I don’t know which song that one is that you are referring to nor the group. Is The Rolling Stones a new group? I guess I can ask one of the American soldiers to play it for me. They are always listening to weird music. Last time, three of them were listening to this one nice song from Elvis Presley, that one called “Stuck on you” whilst dancing with some of the British nurses, that was before they were killed in last night’s attack to the fort. No one seems to be permanent here; all of us seem like soon to vanish images or specters. If I come back, I would like to enroll myself in a University and maybe study Literature. Before I enlisted, I used to read Roy Bradbury’s stories while in high school and dream about becoming a famous writer. Have you read The Martian Chronicles? I like fantasy stories… seems like the appropriate choice for someone so attached to reality in his real life, don’t you think? I went to Busan once, maybe during the '57? It was one year before I enlisted. I still remember the harbor, all painted with American sailors and captains with their white suits. It was a time where that wherever you looked at you always saw blond haired beings and foreign faces. How does Busan look like now?

You asked me which song is my favorite right now… I don’t remember much but I listened to one while I was travelling to Vietnam on March, The Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel? I can’t hide it; I’m a romantic human being. I like soft songs and romantic themes… please don’t laugh. And, you can’t call me a queer, for I’m the one at the Vietnam War and not you! That turns you queerer than me!

I was wondering why are you studying History of Art? Are you planning to be an artist? Which type of artist? One of the soldiers in my battalion used to study the same thing as you; he is a fanciful human being I must say. He compares the Vietnam Jungle with Joseph’s Conrad description of the jungle in his book “Heart of Darkness” and starts acting as if he was losing sanity as same as Marlow. You should see him. Vietnam is a place filled with strange fear, as if fear was not supposed to be there but still forces his way inside. Vietnamnese people receive us kindly, they are as any other humans, just wanting to survive and live as peacefully as possible. Some see us as saviors and other as enemies but the sense is the same. You know? They only want to live and we are there, either promising them life or taking it away from them.

I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here. Supposedly deployments last between 10 to 12 months, so I guess I’ll be back to Korea next year if I achieve to survive, obviously. But I have found soldiers that have been here in Vietnam for even three years so I am starting to guess what is established and done differs substantially here. You take care and I will, too. Thank you for answering.

Lee Seunghyun.”

And that’s how it all started. Every weekend the postman came with one letter for me. Then it became two, then three and soon I received more like five letters every weekend… and I started sending the same amount. We talked about everything… from the manifestations in Korea, the Kim Sisters, the make up of those British nurses, my complete misunderstanding of politics, my sister’s wedding in the winter of '65. He spoke about the places he visited, about the deaths and the people he saw. Every weekend was torturing for me, I wasn’t sure if that weekend was going to be the last one I received a letter. I grew scared about his safety, about his health, about his sanity… and I didn’t even know his face.

On March of the '66, the day came when I received nothing from him. His last letter said he was going to another location, one where the Russian army had achieved to overtake. He told me he felt scared but not as scared as the first time he arrived to Vietnam. He asked “Pray for me” and then moved to congratulate me for my passing grades in my History of Art courses and for my recent girlfriend.

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