Dear Boyoung,

I’ve finally found a place that can hold my weight here.

My first class just ended. Now, with my last student gone, I’m sitting down at last, completely drenched in sweat after teaching for two hours inside a classroom with no WiFi or A/C. My body feels heavy—my weight is grounding me.

Landing method 1. Placing your feet on the ground as if you’re leaning back in a plastic chair. This is New York City. This is the 10th floor. This is a classroom that barely fits twenty people. It’s hard to believe that I, a visitor here, am teaching English composition to American students. “I prefer writing over talking. Anyone else here like writing more?” That’s only half-true for me, but a little more than ten students raised their hands. Did the last student to leave class today raise their hand, too? They waited for everyone else to leave to speak with me. “I wanted to let you know that English isn’t my first language.” My eyes widened. “Really? I had no idea. But if I can teach here, don’t you think you can also keep up with the class?” The student responded with a smile—from embarrassment or relief?

Landing method 2. Loading two large immigration-grade suitcases into the trunk of a taxi. While casually lifting up the bags as if it were nothing, I realized something. This place was now a here that had never existed before.

Landing method 3. Meeting your gaze, Boyoung, as you stare right at me. I used to think it was best to avoid such intimidating eyes. But then I slipped up and wasn’t able to avoid them. I had no choice but to meet your eyes, Boyoung—unfamiliar yet warm. They offered me a spot on the ground to touch down.

The syllabus for my class is still up on the projector screen. When I close my eyes—wanting to clean up and go home—I think about all the letters we’ve exchanged this year. Boyoung, in an hour or two when the sun begins to set here, you’ll be headed out for your morning swim. I wish it were also morning for me and that I could just float on the water. I did a good job hiding the truth today. The truth is I have to write because I’m bad at talking, but I told my students I wrote more because I liked to write. And I did have an idea, but I said that I didn’t.

Boyoung, remember how in my first letter to you I said I enjoyed living here as a foreigner? You said you liked hearing that, which made me happy. Though I had lied a bit. If someone asked me today if I still enjoyed living as a foreigner, I’d give the same answer. After all, there’s now a spot on the ground to hold my body’s weight, just like when you made space for me back in my grad school days in South Korea.

I’ll be back soon after I stare off into space some more.

Until we meet again, I hope you keep on reading, writing, and loving. I’ll do the same.

‍

To Boyoung,

To Mango, the cat who always stays hydrated,

To Yuzu, the cat I’ve only met through sounds and traces,

To friends,

Yours,

Ju Ly