14. Letter to Wanduffle in 2035
fuck being employed. fuck having a regular job. fuck being in a relationship. fuck having a perfect 9-5 job and savings and a thriving social group like a tv sitcom and a girlfriend to text about your day every night and cuddle with. fuck feeling like your life is on the right track, like every day is exactly how it's supposed to be. fuck smiling. fuck apologizing. fuck listening. fuck agreeing. fuck considering. fuck hiding lust. yes, father, i have sinned. and gladly so. i'm living.
being funemployed is the best thing that's ever happened to me, even when it's the worst thing that ever happened to me. i'm not getting paid once this entire month, just completely living off savings and allowance. i'm off by second bottle of the ol' hagandahoose. one bottle of jinro is back and now a $7 sweet ass wine called white zinfandel, delivered to my doorstep at 1:35 AM by Weichih on Ubereats. being single at 23 and having never been in a serious relationship is the best thing that's ever happened to me, even when it's the worst thing that's ever happened to me. and honestly, no. it's not the worst thing that's ever happened to me. there are plenty of worse things that have happened to me, and also plenty of worse things that have happened in this world.
which is my point. funemployed? happy. sad. all. single? happy. sad. all. bed to myself? a computer and notebook to myself? a swimming lane to myself? a seat on the bus to myself? happy. sad. all.
so here's when it gets to the good part: the hero of our journey writes a letter to himself. a letter to WANDUFFLE, 10 years in the future.
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Dear WANDUFFLE,
How are you? How is the weather where you are? How does it feel to breathe through your nose? Does it still feel so good? Do you remember where I got that line?
Do you remember me?
I'm doing just fine. And no, that's not a hidden kind of message cloaking a kind of cry for help, like "oh, I'm just ok..." No. Seriously. I'm doing fine. The clock just turned to the midnight hour, I saw the calendar page flip to May 10 on my iMac 2011 dock, the one I got from Mike on Craigslist, the one we tested together in the Ingleside public library on a Wednesday evening or something.
I struggle with answering this question. You know, right? It's just such a complicated question. Where do I even begin? Where do I end?
Well, I can tell you where I am now. I'm well fed with 4 minute microwaved unagi on het-ban rice from Kukje Super in Daly City, the one we went to on our way to SFO before dropping Paul off, the one we went to the last night of the Monterey trip with Mom and Dad. That one. The one with all the tempting and delectable rice wines. I finished an episode of Bojack Horseman, the one where Bojack visits his mom, the heiress of the Sugarman Company, with his apparent daughter, Hollyhock. His mom has dementia and doesn't seem to remember Bojack in person, but remembers her son from the role he was born to play in front of her, the lead character of the TV sitcom 'Horsin' Around.' I had 2 gims and 2 shakes of sesame seeds on the rice tonight. I came back from a glorious swim that eased my mind. I realized this personal statement is actually going to take a lot of work to edit and get right, the way I want. The way that feels authentic and true. That feels me. I'm talking to this one girl Jessica on Hinge, a 21 year old aspiring journalist who I guess works a night shift on Friday nights. And I just got a text from a girl I used to message on Hinge, Brea, a 23 year old barista who went to UCSB and is into art. I printed out a landscape photo of Katsuragi Misato from the UCSF Kalmanovitz Library, the one postcard picture that she sends and signs with lipstick to Shinji. "I'm going to be late, wait for me, ok? Check this out!" I feel pretty happy about it. Eyecandy. A little gift to myself. (Here's a little idea I have: what is a good gift? A good gift is something that takes you where you need to be.) I'm going to another UNITAS Korean-American fellowship gathering tomorrow, which is a Saturday. I guess we're playing Amazing Grace, me on the violin. It's been on the back-burner of my mind. It feels like the clock is ticking right now before I send my recommenders and feedback providers my personal statement and activity list, and before I submit my application on May 28. I'm waiting for HR to get back to me for this new job I got as a counselor in the city. I'm actually really excited about that, and I just wish I could get started. I hooped with JY and this one Black guy with dreads, Liam, king of the court, again on Wednesday and we got Haytea in Yerba Buena Gardens after taking the T line. That was the first time I played and I finally felt like me. I hit my crossover and step back, then pump fake and mid range shot at the left corner of the paint. I drove and hit the right lay. I hit the right hand reverse lay up and the lefty lay. Three ball, cash. I'm back, baby. Oh, and what's playing in my ears? Djobi Djoba!
But that's enough of me. What does your life look like? I wonder how you'll even come across this letter. You probably won't until like 12 or 17 years later, just by chance while rummaging through old bookmarks and folders. I have no doubt you'll still be writing then. I have no doubt. The question is, what are you writing for now? Why do you write? Is it still fun? Do you feel alive?
My eyes widen as I write. Alive. Isn't that all we could ever ask to be? Alive? Lord knows we wish.
Is life wonderful? Wonderful? Did I need to remind you?
This is a once in a lifetime opportunity that I get to write to myself on a drunken and uppity Friday night like this, you know. You should be grateful. Ha! Dr. Lee, are you grateful? He's somewhere in there. Am I right? It's okay, you don't need to tell me.
23 year old Wanduffle. When you look in the mirror, tell me: do you have a mustache? A beard? A goatee? Do you have sideburns? Do you have that gap in your second to middle tooth to the left? Does your hair part in the middle? Do you grin to the right? Do you still have your calluses? Do you still wear sunscreen? Do you stretch? Do you wear a necklace? What watch do you wear? Do you wear sunglasses? What kind? Can I see? How long are your nails? I mean your fingers nails. No, I mean your toenails. I mean all of your nails! Is your chest still saggy and fat looking when you look down? Do you still have trouble finishing with a girl? Do you still have trouble finding where the little man is supposed to go and if you're in? Because that's a problem I always have. I hope it doesn't happen again the next time I get down with a girl (my prediction is with Brea, but that's just me on a Friday night in my room by myself at 12:25 AM). What are you reading right now? What are you listening to? Do you hoop? Do you swim? What's the last thing you played on the violin? What's the last thing you cooked? Did you say I love you to Mom? Because I didn't the last time I called her. Have you called her? How is she doing? How do you answer that question? How about Dad? When's the last time you saw Halmonis? How about Paul? How often do you guys talk? Can you breathe? Do you wake up each morning and automatically know what you're about to do? Or do you wake up and sigh because you realize it's another day you have to endure and survive through. It's a journey, huh? How far along would you say you are? What's your last porn search? Your last Google search? Who do you like? Do you talk to Quan? Zak? Jeremy? Dom? Nikki? James? Diane? Shawn? Peter? Olya? Jen? Kosti? Ellie? Kerry? Romi? JY? Yoobin? What wine are you drinking right now? Sul? Beer? Help me out here! Say something!
Okay, now I'm listening to 'It's Gonna Be Alright' by Silver.
Do you remember me? (How does it feel?)
I want to know you. I want to know you now. But I can't. I wish I could.
'With brighter tomorrow, ending in sorrow, it's gonna be alright.'
With love, WANDUFFLE May 10 2025