Dear Boyoung,

Have you eaten yet?

I just had dinner. There was a lot of leftover pizza at a department event yesterday, so I packed some slices. I microwaved the pizza for too long and had to use chopsticks to pull apart and eat the droopy pieces—I got an earful from my roommate. “Who uses chopsticks to eat pizza?” I pretended not to hear and ate my pizza with gusto, but I won’t be caught eating pizza with chopsticks again. Why add more utensils to wash?

Boyoung, I think I enjoy living as a foreigner here in New York City. I’ve lived here for less than a year—and perhaps that’s why I feel this way—but I want to say it while I still can.

To live as a foreigner—hmmm. For starters, it’s to go by another name. I learned that Ju Ly (주리), a name that I thought was easy to say for my entire life, isn’t always so. At best, Julie (줄리). In the longer introductions you do for the first day of class, I even give a guide on how to pronounce my name. That it is somewhere between Julie (줄리) and Judy (주디). Seeing this written down, I realize it might not be the most accessible explanation. Even so, a few friends can find the sound of my Ly (리) and call it for me. I feel surprised when that happens. It almost feels like I’ve been found out.

It’s still lovely to live as Julie. I’ve pondered why, and it’s because I feel like what happens here won’t really change the life of the real Ju Ly who will one day return to South Korea. It’s like being logged in to an RPG for a long time. Rather than feeling like an equivalent to Ju Ly, Julie is more similar to chocomelon or noodlenostalgia. While I no longer use those aliases, I still remember the stories I loved under those names. The stories that could only happen in those spaces. I am looking for those stories that can only happen here in New York City. I’m determined to encounter Julie and their surroundings with love.

Boyoung, I’m taking a writing workshop offered outside of my department in the Biography and Memoir (BAM) program. I didn’t even know such a program existed until I arrived here. In South Korea, I often read essays by writers I liked, but there wasn’t really a reason to read biographies or memoirs. Don’t you think so, too, Boyoung? This genre reminds me of the “Great Lives” books my mom would bribe me to read for a dollar a piece when I was little, or those books by corporate CEOs on how they succeeded through grit and perseverance that used to litter bookstores when I was in high school.

For me, biographies are those types of stories. Still, most of the students in this workshop say they’re writing their own memoirs or autobiographical pieces. I was astonished to hear this. What kinds of stories are they trying to write? What do you think, Boyoung—would you ever want to write a memoir? I’m asking you, Boyoung, to answer as a writer. And I’ve gathered all these question marks because I miss you. And as your reader, Boyoung, I love to discuss writing with you.

Take your time writing back. And write a ton of other things, too.

Missing you lots, Boyoung!

Ju Ly