Dear Sir David Attenborough,

You do not know me, but I know you. Your voice has traveled farther than any bird, deeper than any ocean. I have listened in secret, in quiet corners where no one asks what I am watching. You speak of a world so vast, so full of wonder, that it feels almost impossible to reach.

But today, I have a story for you.

There is a creature few have seen. A dolphin, but not quite. An orca, but smaller. Sleek as moonlight on water, with eyes that hold secrets older than we can imagine. I have known him since he was small enough to fit between my arms. I raised him, fed him, taught him, loved him. And for years, he loved me back—from behind thick glass, beneath artificial lights, inside walls that were never meant to hold the ocean.

Last night, we changed that. With the help of friends, we set him free. We led him to the sea, past the barriers that were built to keep him, past the hands that claimed to own him. And for the first time, I saw him in his true world. He turned back to me once, just once, as if to say goodbye. Then he was gone.

People say we should accept our cages. That we should be grateful for them. But I have seen what happens when something built for freedom is locked away. It shrinks, it fades, it forgets how to dream. I have spent my life in a land where even the waves have rules, but for him, at least, I could break one.

Tell me, Sir—do you know of his kind? Have you seen others like him, in waters far from here? Does he have a family waiting somewhere beyond the horizon?

I hope he does. I hope I will, too, one day.

With quiet admiration,
Ji-a

Dear Mother,

I wish I could tell you everything in person, sitting across from you at the kitchen table like we used to. I wish I could look you in the eyes and know, truly know, how you would feel after reading these words. But I can’t. Not yet. Maybe never.

Mother, I have met someone. His name is Min-ho. He is kind, strong, and when he smiles, it feels like the sun breaking through the coldest winter. He is my friend, my love, my everything.

We have to be careful. You know why. Here, love like ours does not exist—not officially, not openly, not safely. But still, it is real. More real than the uniforms we wear, more real than the words we recite every morning. We walk side by side like brothers, like comrades, like nothing more than we are allowed to be. But in the quiet moments, when no one is watching, his hand finds mine, and for a few seconds, the world belongs to us.

I wish I could tell you everything. I wish I could tell everyone. But for now, we whisper our love like a secret code, hidden between the spaces in our sentences, folded into the creases of our letters.

I just wanted you to know: I am happy. I have found someone who sees me. Someone who loves me. Someone I love back.

One day, maybe, I will not have to write this in secret.

Your son,
Joon-hyuk

My dearest Soo-jin,

I still don’t know how to write this. I have started and stopped a hundred times. Maybe you will never read it. Maybe you don’t care to. But I have to try.

The children ask for you every day. Ji-ho still waits by the door in the evenings, thinking you will walk through it. Haneul sleeps with your scarf wrapped around her small hands. They do not understand why their mother is gone. I do not know how to explain it. How can I tell them that the warmth they once knew is now a ghost? That the lullabies you used to sing are nothing but echoes in an empty room?

The house is quieter without you. But not in the peaceful way it once was, when you would hum while cooking, or when we would sit together after the children had fallen asleep, whispering about the future. Now, the silence feels heavier, like something pressing on my chest. Even the wind outside sounds like it is searching for something that is missing.

I know what he has promised you. I know what he gives you—things I never could. But you know as well as I do how this story ends. You are nothing more than a passing indulgence to him. One day, he will let go, and you will be left with nothing. Nothing except what you have thrown away. Do you think he will hold your hands when they are wrinkled? Do you think he will watch over you when you are sick? Do you think he will remember how you like your tea, or the way you squeeze your eyes shut when you laugh too hard?

But it is not too late. Not for Ji-ho, not for Haneul, not for us. There are a thousand reasons to come home—but if you need just one, let it be this: love does not disappear just because someone leaves.

Come back to us. Come back to the only place you were ever truly seen, truly loved, truly needed.

Jin-su

Dear Mother,

Do you see me? Right there, in the center. It’s official now—I am part of history.

This photograph will be displayed in schools, in training halls, maybe even in the Great Leader’s library. Three daughters of Korea, ready to reach beyond the sky. And I am one of them. I hope you are proud. I hope father is, too.

The mission is going well. The preparations, the training, the discipline—all as precise as the rockets behind us. Every morning, we stand at attention. Every night, we recite the words of our leaders. And in between? We dream. Of orbit. Of walking among the stars. Of proving to the world that we, too, belong beyond the Earth.

I wonder if you have kept the newspaper clipping. The one where they first announced my name. It still doesn’t feel real. But when I look at this picture, I know that it is.

Soon, I will look down at our homeland from the sky. I will see the mountains, the rivers, the city where we grew up. And maybe, if I look hard enough, I will even see you.

With love,
Your daughter, Eun-ha

Dear Hye-jin,

Today was a perfect summer day—the kind that makes you forget about everything else and just sit, breathe, and let time slow down.

I spent the afternoon in the park with Sun-hee and Ok-rye, our usual bench under the old chestnut tree. We knitted, we laughed, we talked about nothing and everything. The sun was warm, the air smelled like fresh grass, and for once, the young ones weren’t rushing us away like we were in their way.

I finished a little sweater for Ji-min today—soft blue, just like the sky was. Sun-hee is making mittens (even though it’s summer—some habits never change), and Ok-rye, as always, is working on something far too ambitious. A whole blanket, she says. For her grandson’s wedding. The boy is nine.

We watched the children chase each other between the trees, their laughter mixing with the rustling leaves. Somewhere in the distance, an old man was playing an accordion, slow and sweet, like a memory.

Days like this remind me of when we were young. When we had all the time in the world to sit, talk, and knit by the river. Do you remember? Maybe one day, we’ll do it again.

With love,
Your sister, Jung-hee

Dear Mr. Kim,

I regret to inform you that I won’t be able to participate in sports class today. Or tomorrow. Or possibly ever again. My legs are on fire. Not literally (thankfully), but if pain had a national ranking, I’d be on the podium right now.

Why? Well, I broke the world record for rope skipping. That’s right. No one on Earth has ever jumped faster than me. I was so in the zone that I managed ten full jumps before the Great Leader could even say, "Nuke the South."

The crowd went wild. My legs, however, filed for immediate retirement. I suspect they are currently plotting revenge.

So please, be kind to me in the next lesson. Maybe let me sit this one out? Or at least replace our warm-up run with something more relaxing… like meditation. Or sleeping.

Your student (and North Korea’s undisputed jump rope queen),
Soo-mi

Dear Mirko,

I watched your video—very impressive, really. But I must correct you: Lazarus is NOT North Korea’s most successful hacker group. That honor belongs to us.

While our state-sponsored colleagues boast about their high-tech exploits, we—the true elite of digital resistance—have just hacked Lazarus using nothing but old Atari and Amiga computers. (16-bit is more than enough when you know which floppy disk to insert.)

Now, here we sit, surrounded by cryptographic riches, facing the ultimate question: How do you convert $1.4 billion in Ethereum into real money… without raising suspicion? Spoiler: It’s not that easy.

1:10 exchange rate? No chance. Nobody wants to take even a fraction of it.

Why? Because for years, Nigerian businessmen have been trying to transfer the fortune of a wealthy uncle to his rightful heirs.

And the best part? The guys from Nigeria aren’t even scammers. They’re legit—but no one believes them.

Our original plan was to distribute the funds to the North Korean people—after all, in socialism, everything belongs to everyone. But without a way to cash out, we have only one option left: Maybe we should just turn this into a Goldfinger movie? We certainly have the budget.

If you have any bright ideas on how to offload these coins, let us know. And if you happen to know a bank willing to accept "digitally acquired people's capital," we’d appreciate a discreet introduction.

With revolutionary regards,
The 16-Bit Revenge

Dear Hui-So,

They say patience makes the whiskey. Twelve years ago, I sealed my first barrel here, deep beneath my house, hidden in the old sewer tunnels. Back then, I was just a man with a dream and a suspicious amount of copper piping. Now? I like to think of myself as Pyongyang’s most experienced (and least legal) distiller.

The process? Simple. A little grain, a little fire, a lot of prayer. The trick is getting the balance right—too weak, and you disappoint your ancestors. Too strong, and you meet them. But after two decades of practice, I’ve found my rhythm. The scent of slow-aging whiskey fills this tunnel like a promise.

Of course, there’s always the Leader’s Share. In other places, they call it the Angel’s Share—the portion of whiskey that evaporates during aging. Here, we know better. Nothing truly vanishes in this country without permission. We assume the Great Leader himself is enjoying our missing whiskey somewhere beyond the clouds (or at least beyond customs).

But the rest? That belongs to us, the silent connoisseurs of Pyongyang’s finest illegal spirits. When the next barrel is ready, a few trusted friends will gather, sipping history in flickering candlelight, listening to the distant echoes of a city that will never taste what we have.

To good spirits—both the ones in our glasses and the ones watching from above. (Yes, we mean you, Glorious One. Enjoy the vapor.)

Your underground distiller,
Joon-ho

Dear Kenny Dope,

You don’t know me (yet), but my name is Ji-ho, and I might be the only House & Garage head in all of Pyongyang. My bedroom looks like an electronic jungle—hand-built synthesizers stacked on every surface, cables twisting like vines, and a drum machine I built from salvaged parts. The power cuts out sometimes, but when it’s on, my room becomes a club that only I know exists.

I first heard your beats through a bootleg cassette someone smuggled in. That swing, that groove, that deep, raw energy—it changed everything. Since then, I’ve been chasing that sound, building, experimenting, tweaking knobs in the dark.

I just finished a project—Korean House, built from scratch. The kick is heavy, the bassline rolls, and the swing? You’d be proud. I can’t play it anywhere here, but maybe, just maybe, I can get it out into the world.

I’m leaving a link, hidden between the lines. If you find it, you’ll hear Pyongyang’s first House record.

Thank you for the inspiration. One day, I’ll play this live. Maybe not here. But somewhere.

Keep it raw,
Ji-ho

Dear Hyung,

It has been ten years today. Ten years since the mine took you from us. And yet, it feels as if nothing has changed—except that you are gone.

They still do not speak about it. Not in the papers, not in the streets, not even in whispers. It is as if the accident never happened. As if you, and the others, never existed. The mine is still there, the work continues, and the danger remains. And every day, more men go down into the earth, knowing they may never come back.

But I remember. I remember the day they brought you home, covered in dust, in silence. I remember how mother collapsed to the floor, her cries swallowed by the walls that refused to listen. I remember how father sat outside all night, staring at the sky, unable to say a word. And I remember you—my big brother, my protector, my guide—suddenly gone.

You always looked out for me. When we were children, you made sure I never fell behind. When we grew older, you carried the weight of responsibility, so I would have a chance at something better. And now, without you, there is only emptiness. A space that can never be filled.

I wonder, if you were still here, what would you say to me? Would you tell me to move on? Would you tell me to fight? Or would you sit beside me, in silence, knowing that some wounds never heal?

I miss you, hyung. I miss you every day.

Your brother,
Jong-su

To the Honorable Ministry of Agriculture,

I write to you today with mud up to my knees, a broken tractor, and two very proud water buffalos.

As you know, our village was fortunate enough to receive one of the new modern tractors. A fine machine, no doubt—painted bright red, with an engine that roars like a beast. But today, like every other week, it sank like a stone into the deep rice paddy mud, refusing to move an inch. And so, like every other week, we turned to our most reliable farmhands—our water buffalos.

With great strength and no complaints, they pulled the mighty machine from its muddy grave. As I stood there, covered in dirt and watching the tractor wobble back onto solid ground, I had a thought: perhaps we were already using the best technology all along?

Now, I have also recently heard of a strange thing called global warming. I do not know exactly what it is, nor do I claim to understand what is happening beyond our rice fields, but if it means what I think it means—that the world is getting too hot—perhaps we should reconsider our methods? Machines burn fuel. Buffalos eat grass. Machines break. Buffalos do not. Machines sink. Buffalos, I can confirm, do not.

So, honorable members of the ministry, I humbly ask: should we not embrace tradition in the name of progress? If nothing else, it would save me from having to wash this tractor yet again.

With great respect and a very sore back,
Park Jin-ho
Farmer, South Hamgyong Province

Dear Hoi-Su,

I have spent my life bent over leather and thread, shaping soles that have carried men and women through the streets of Pyongyang and beyond. Thousands of shoes, thousands of steps taken. And yet, each pair I have made has been crafted with the same care, the same devotion, whether they were meant for a farmer or a minister.

Some shoes have walked across the grand halls of the Party, polished to perfection, gliding over marble floors. Others have trudged through muddy fields, carrying the weight of labor and the scent of the earth. Some have danced at weddings, light and joyful, while others have borne the sorrow of silent farewells.

I have laced the boots of young soldiers, their eyes filled with ambition. I have repaired the shoes of grandmothers, their leather worn thin from a lifetime of steps. And through all these years, my hands have worked with the same respect, the same patience, because in the end, we all stand on the same ground. It is not the shoes that define the person, but the journey they take.

Now, after decades of work, I feel the weight of time in my hands. My fingers, once nimble and steady, are slower now. My eyes, once sharp enough to stitch in candlelight, tire more quickly. The rows of shoes I once mended in a single night now take me twice as long. But the love remains. The craft remains. The pride in what I have built, in the soles I have shaped, remains.

As I stitch another sole today, I wonder whose path it will follow. Will these shoes carry a child to his first day of school? A farmer to the fields before sunrise? A mother to the market, searching for the best rice? I do not know. But I do know that no matter where they go, they were made with love.

Perhaps this will be my last pair. Or perhaps I will make a few more, just to feel the leather in my hands a little longer. Because when you have spent a lifetime building something, it is hard to let go.

With hands that have never stopped working, but soon must rest,
Choi Seong-min

Dear Sun-hee,

The market was bustling today—voices calling out, the smell of fresh produce in the air, and the chatter of happy customers. But do you know what the best part was? My kimchi booth was the most crowded of them all! People lined up, smiling as they waited for a taste of our family’s recipe. I saw familiar faces, new faces, even a few curious children peeking over the counter. And oh, how they loved it! Some even asked if I had another dish to serve alongside it.

That’s why I’m writing to you, my dear sister—what should I add to the menu? You’ve always had a way with flavors. Maybe a warm dish to complement the cool spice of kimchi? Something simple but full of heart, just like our mother used to make.

Until you write me back, I’ll keep serving our kimchi with a proud heart. And speaking of which, here is our perfect kimchi recipe—just in case you’ve been slacking on making your own!

Perfect Homemade Kimchi

Ingredients:

• 1 large napa cabbage, chopped

• ¼ cup coarse sea salt

• 2 cups water

• 4 cloves garlic, minced

• 1 thumb-sized piece of ginger, grated

• 2 tablespoons gochugaru (Korean red pepper flakes)

• 2 tablespoons fish sauce

• 1 teaspoon sugar

• 4 green onions, sliced

• 1 small carrot, julienned

• 1 small daikon radish, julienned

Instructions:

1. Dissolve salt in water and soak the cabbage for 2 hours. Drain and rinse well.

2. In a bowl, mix garlic, ginger, gochugaru, fish sauce, and sugar into a paste.

3. Add green onions, carrot, and daikon to the paste and mix well.

4. Massage the paste into the cabbage until well coated.

5. Pack tightly into a jar, pressing down to remove air pockets.

6. Let ferment at room temperature for 2-3 days, then refrigerate.

Enjoy it with love—just like I serve it here at the market! Now, hurry and write me back with your dish idea!

With a full heart and a spicy kitchen,
Ji-young

Dear Hye-jin,

Today was one of the proudest days of my life! The city was alive with excitement, flags waving, music playing, and a sea of people gathered to celebrate our great nation’s first space mission. And right at the heart of it—my boys, my little cosmonauts, marching in their space suits!

Joon-ho and Min-su were selected to represent the astronauts in today’s parade, walking through the streets of Pyongyang with their tiny helmets held high. Can you imagine? Their faces beamed with excitement, and I could see the pride in their steps. The crowd cheered for them, and for a moment, they were truly heroes of the stars.

Of course, as soon as we got home, their first request was for food—they claimed even “future astronauts need snacks” after a long day of waving and smiling. I think they were more excited about the parade sweets than the space program itself, but who could blame them?

I wish you had been here to see it. The whole city felt electric, alive with hope for the future. Maybe one day, my boys will truly fly among the stars. And if they do, I’ll make sure they send a real postcard—from space!

With love and excitement,
Ji-young

Dear Gene Simmons (@genesimmons),

You don’t know me (yet), but my name is Tae-jin, and I am Pyongyang’s biggest KISS fan. Actually, I might be the only KISS fan here—but what I lack in numbers, I make up for in volume. (My neighbor has filed three complaints about my air guitar solos. Worth it.)

Today, I took my devotion to the next level. Deep beneath the streets of Pyongyang, in a secret tattoo studio lit only by a single flickering bulb, I made history: I got the first KISS tattoo in North Korea. The ink is fresh, the pain was real, and now, every time I look in the mirror, Gene Simmons stares right back at me—his tongue permanently out, just like the gods of rock intended.

I wanted you to know: even in the most unexpected places, the spirit of rock lives on. If KISS ever plays a secret underground concert in Pyongyang, you already have a roadie, a translator, and an illegal tattoo tour guide—all in one.

Forever loud,
Tae-jin

** Listen to the audio - my latest Pyongyang underground hit: Girls from Pyongyang **

Dear Hung-sp,

We had another match today—Red Star Alley vs. The Three Brothers. It ended in a draw, mostly because Min-su kept calling offside, even when the ball was in the neighbor’s cabbage patch.

We finally finished our "team photo" on the wall. Ji-hoon’s Messi looks more like a dancing scarecrow, and my Ronaldo somehow ended up with three knees, but they are with us now. Watching. Playing. Dreaming, just like we do.

One day, we’ll see a real match. In a real stadium. Maybe even be on the wall ourselves. But for now, we have each other, a half-flat ball, and the greatest team in Pyongyang.

Write soon—tell us if they still play under floodlights where you are.

Yours,
Dae-jun

Dear Brother,

I think last Saturday’s wind was working for the Ministry of Communications. I could barely hear a word you said between the static and the screeching—though I did catch something about mother’s pickled radish recipe. (Or was it her pickled radish revenge? Hard to tell.)

Either way, let’s switch lines next week. The one near the grain silo should be quieter—fewer loose cables and no nesting crows. Same time, same climb.

I hope your boots have better grip than mine. I nearly became a state-sanctioned meteor last week.

Write back if you get this. But keep it vague. The postman’s eyes are sharper than the crows’.

Your brother in balance,
Sung-ho

Dear Mr. Torvalds,

I write to you from the depths of Pyongyang’s Super Computing Center, where our nation’s finest machines hum tirelessly in pursuit of progress. You may not have heard much about our graphics hardware—it is not exactly famous—but I assure you, it exists. And I, with boundless optimism and limited resources, have written drivers for it.

They are... functional. Mostly.

I am aware that the likelihood of them making it into the next Linux kernel is approximately equal to me being granted a tourist visa to Finland. But hope is a beautiful thing, and I believe in the spirit of open-source collaboration! Surely, there must be a place for the proud yet obscure creators of North Korean display adapters.

I have attached the driver code (compressed as .tar.gz, naturally). I cannot guarantee stability, but I can guarantee that it tries very hard. If, by some miracle, you find it in your heart to include it—or at least acknowledge its existence—it would mean the world to me. If not, I shall still continue my work, knowing that somewhere, in the vast halls of Linux development, my plea has been read.

With the greatest respect and a glimmer of hope,

Kim Tae-sung
Senior Operator, Pyongyang Super Computing Center

Dear Myung-ho,

I am sitting here, writing this letter with trembling hands, knowing that in just a few days, I will step inside that rocket and leave the Earth behind. The sky that has always felt endless to us will become something I pass through, and the stars—those tiny, faraway lights—will become my new home, if only for a while.

I should be excited. I am excited. But, Myung-ho, I am also afraid.

We both know what it took to build this mission. The long nights, the calculations, the endless adjustments, the failures we had to keep quiet. We know the things that almost went wrong, the parts we had to fix at the last moment. And yet, we press forward. Because that is who we are—we build, we push beyond, we do what others have only dreamed of.

But now, as I stare at the stars through my small window, I feel their vastness swallowing me whole. I wonder, what does it mean to leave the place where we were born? To drift into the unknown, knowing there is no way back if something fails? What if I never see your face again? The thought tightens around my chest like a cold fist, and I find myself wiping away tears I didn’t expect to fall.

And yet, Myung-ho, there is something deeper than my fear. It is us. It is the love we have shared from the moment we first met among the blueprints and fuel lines, our hands covered in grease, dreaming together of reaching the stars. It is the way your voice steadies me when my hands shake, the way you always remind me that we were meant to do this.

I carry that love with me into the darkness of space. It will be my anchor, my guiding star when the Earth becomes just a small blue dot beneath me. No matter what happens, know that you are with me. Always.

If I return, I want to sit with you beneath the night sky, hand in hand, and finally breathe without the weight of duty pressing on my chest. And if I don’t—know that I left this world thinking only of you, of us, and of the dream we built together.

With all my love,Eun-ha

Dear Tae-hyun,

We learned about rockets today in school! REAL ones! Like the ones that fly all the way into space! The teacher drew this huge picture on the board with arrows and numbers and something about "air" and "thrust" and I think "dynamics"? I dunno, it was a lot of words.

The other kids nodded like they understood, but I think they were just pretending. Because honestly? I had no idea what was going on. I was just sitting there thinking, I can’t even tie my shoes properly, and now I’m supposed to know how to build a rocket?

But I DID draw my own rocket! Mine had bird wings so it could go faster. The teacher didn’t like it, but I think it’s genius. Maybe one day, I’ll build a real one, and he’ll see that I was right!

Wanna meet this weekend? I’ll tell you everything I think I learned (which is not much), and we can try to make our own rocket! How hard can it be?

Your future rocket scientist friend,
Joon-ho

Dear Ji-ho,

Today was a rare and wonderful day in Pyongyang—it snowed enough for sledding! You know how unusual that is here, so when the hills were finally covered in white, we grabbed whatever we could—sleds, old boards, even a piece of cardboard—and ran outside.

The kids had the time of their lives! They raced down the little hill, laughing so hard I thought they’d roll off their sleds. Every time they reached the bottom, they ran back up, eager for another ride. And, honestly? We parents had just as much fun watching them as they did sliding.

For a few hours, there were no worries—just pure joy, cold noses, and rosy cheeks. It felt like one of those perfect days that you wish could last forever. I wish you had been here to see it! Maybe next time, we’ll have enough snow again, and you can join us. Bring your best sled—or at least a sturdy piece of wood!

Sending warm hugs from a cold and happy Pyongyang,

Your sister, Min-ji
Your sister

Dear Esteemed Ministry of Defense,

We, your loyal and dedicated soldiers, humbly request urgent logistical support. Not for ammunition, not for rations, but for something far more critical to the well-being of our unit: toilet paper.

Now, we understand that true warriors must adapt to their environment. We tried. But, unfortunately, nature in these mountains is particularly hostile to certain… delicate operations. There are only needle trees, which, as you may imagine, do not offer the comfort one hopes for in such situations. As for the grass—let’s just say it has all the charm of a razor factory.

Our morale is strong. Our dedication is unwavering. But our backsides? They are under siege.

We therefore submit this official plea for mercy. A small supply drop, a humanitarian airdrop, even a single dignity-saving roll—anything would be appreciated. We promise to fight harder, march further, and never take soft paper for granted again.

With deepest respect (and slight desperation),

Your most loyal, but increasingly uncomfortable, soldiers,
Private Tae-won & Private Ji-ho

Dear Kyung-ho,

Well, I suppose congratulations are in order. Your team from Hamhung somehow managed to steal the championship from Pyongyang. I mean, sure, they played well, and yes, that last goal was impressive, but let’s be honest—it was pure luck. Or maybe the referee just really likes seafood and wanted to keep you guys happy.

The stadium was packed, the atmosphere was electric, and for a brief moment, I thought we had it. But then, that goal in extra time—absolutely heartbreaking. I’m still recovering. Meanwhile, I imagine you’re somewhere celebrating like you just won the World Cup.

Enjoy your moment. Next season, we’re coming back stronger, and you better believe Pyongyang won’t let this happen again. Until then, raise a glass for me—just don’t get too used to winning!

Your bitter but (almost) happy friend,
Jin-su

Dear Uncle Boris,

I finally experienced my first drive-in movie theater! Well… almost. Instead of cars, we have bicycles. That’s right—rows of bikes neatly parked beside our chairs, as if our glorious movie experience depended on good pedal alignment.

Tonight’s movie was a North Korean version of Gone with the Wind. The original is banned, obviously, but I think we got the plot right—except, in this one, the brave heroine stays behind to work in agriculture instead of running off to chase some rich capitalist. Also, there was a lot of dramatic speeches about self-reliance. I think the original had more kissing? Hard to say.

Now, let’s talk about the real challenge—watching a three-hour movie outside in winter! Halfway through, my toes lost feeling. By the final act, I was using my bike as a makeshift blanket. Some guy near me even tried pedaling in place to stay warm—innovative, but his chair fell over.

All in all, it was a great night! Cold, slightly uncomfortable, historically reimagined, but great. If I ever visit you, will you take me to a real drive-in? One with cars, heaters, and less bicycles?

Your freezing but dedicated nephew,Joon-ho

Dear Local Department of Snowman Administration,

I am writing to report a most impressive achievement in the field of temporary winter sculpture. Yesterday, after many hours of dedicated effort, my friend and I built what might be the most majestic snowman this city has ever seen. Tall, grand, and—dare I say—leaderly in presence. A true masterpiece of frozen engineering.

Now, I understand that regulations on snowmen might be a little loose, but I figured it best to notify you in case our creation causes any… confusion. You see, the likeness is striking. The posture, the noble expression, the way the scarf wraps so naturally around its strong, sculpted form—purely coincidental, of course! But I do worry that we may have unintentionally created a new point of national admiration.

Please advise: Are there formal snowman size restrictions? Should we register this work with the appropriate winter authorities? And, most importantly, do you think we qualify for any awards in the field of patriotic seasonal artistry?

Awaiting your wise counsel,
A humble citizen and enthusiastic sculptor

Dear George,

You will not believe what we caught today! A great white shark! Yes, you read that right. We went out early this morning, hoping for a good haul, and somehow, this beast found its way into our net. It took both of us what felt like a lifetime to pull it onto the boat, but we did it. You should have seen us—two fishermen versus a shark, an absolute battle of legends!

Now, of course, we have no idea what to do with it. Selling it might be tricky, and neither of us have ever cooked shark before. Do you have any tips? Or do we just tell people it was a heroic sea monster fight and hang its jaws on the wall as a trophy?

How’s the fishing down in South Africa? I bet you catch things like this all the time, but for us, this is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of day. If you were here, I’m sure you’d know exactly what to do!

Write back soon. And if you have any good shark recipes, send them my way.

Your friend,
Jong-su

Dear Best Friend,

Today, I became a bride! Well… not really. But for a few hours, I got to feel like one.

You see, in Pyongyang, not everyone can afford a real wedding. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have wedding photos! A friend of mine works at a studio, and she let me borrow a dress for the afternoon. I posed in a beautiful park, smiling like I was about to marry the love of my life—except, of course, there was no groom, just a photographer telling me to look “happily in love.”

It was funny and a little strange, but I have to admit, the photos look incredible! Maybe one day, I’ll have a real wedding with an actual husband, a real ring, and maybe even a cake. Until then, these pictures will have to do.

Do you have wedding photos in your country if there’s no wedding? Or is this just our little tradition?

Sending love from Pyongyang,
Mi-ran

Dear Aunt Sun-hee,

Tonight’s dinner was special—candlelit, intimate, and completely unplanned. The power went out again, so we ate in the dark, laughing about how our home now has “romantic ambiance.”

I must say, there’s a certain thrill to eating mystery stew when you can’t see what’s in your bowl. Was that potato? Was it fish? No one knows. But we chewed bravely, trusting our taste buds to decode the puzzle. Even father, who normally grumbles about these blackouts, joined in the laughter when mother accidentally salted her tea instead of her rice.

After dinner, we sat together and told stories, the way people must have done in ancient times. My little brother suggested we play a game called "Guess When the Lights Will Come Back." Spoiler: we all lost.

One day, dear Aunt, we will have a dinner where we can see our food. Until then, we will continue to dine by candlelight and pretend it’s by choice.

Love,
Soo-jin

Dear @rowohltverlag,

Greetings from Pyongyang! I am a librarian here, and I must ask—do books really exist that are not about agriculture, leadership, or coal production? I have heard rumors of something called "fiction" and even "mystery novels." Are these real? Do people actually read stories about other places and lives?

Our shelves are filled with the same books, year after year. Titles like Glorious Harvest Strategies and The Supreme Guide to Cement Production are in high demand (not by choice, I assure you). I once found a book about birds, and for a brief moment, I thought I had discovered a novel. But alas, it was just a guide on how to spot birds that are productive for the ecosystem. Not quite the gripping storytelling I had hoped for.

If books about faraway lands and people who aren’t engineers or coal miners truly exist, and if by some miracle you can send me one, I would be forever grateful. I promise to treasure it like a rare diamond and only share it in hushed whispers behind the bookshelves.

Curiously yours,
Ji-hye

Dear Hanna,

We spent the most wonderful day at the sea today! The sun was shining, the waves were gentle, and the kids had the time of their lives running in and out of the water. My sister and I packed a big picnic, and we all sat on a blanket, laughing, eating, and enjoying the fresh sea breeze.

It reminded me of the times we used to spend by the water when we were kids. I wish you could have been here with us. Maybe one day, we can plan a visit and do this together again!

Sending you sunshine and salty air,
Mi-yeon

Dear Lucas,

You won’t believe what I saw today! A real hip-hop breakdancer, right here in Pyongyang! He was in front of a huge crowd, spinning, flipping, and moving like I’ve never seen before. And his clothes—so cool! I didn’t even know we had anyone like this here.

Everyone was cheering, and I felt like I was watching something straight out of a music video. I wonder if breakdancing is this big in Brazil? Do you see people dancing like this all the time?

Maybe one day I’ll learn a few moves myself. For now, I’ll just stick to watching and trying not to trip over my own feet.

Write back soon—I miss hearing about your adventures!

Your friend,
Jinho

Dear National Ministry of Beverages,

I recently came across something that has left me both amazed and deeply confused—a can of Coca-Cola with North Korean writing on it. Now, I must ask: Have we started collaborating with the enemy? Is this a bold new strategy to show the world our economic strength, or did someone just get a little too creative in the beverage department?

I always believed we were self-sufficient, but seeing this can has made me question everything. Does this mean there’s a secret soda diplomacy happening that we common citizens don’t know about? Or has someone in the ministry developed a taste for capitalist fizz?

I would love an official response, purely for my peace of mind (and to know whether I should stock up before they disappear mysteriously). Looking forward to your answer!

Sincerely,
A very thirsty and very curious citizen

Dear Marvel Studios,

Greetings from Pyongyang! My name is Kang-dae, and I am writing to you on behalf of the greatest superhero squad North Korea has ever seen (and probably the only one). We are a team of eight heroes, dressed in true North Korean fashion, ready to protect our country from all kinds of villains—including malfunctioning train schedules and bad karaoke singers.

I wanted to ask—have you ever considered expanding the Marvel Universe to North Korea? We have everything a great superhero movie needs: towering monuments for dramatic fight scenes, an audience hungry for action, and, of course, me—an excellent choice for the squad leader role. I’m willing to do my own stunts, and I already have a heroic pose perfected!

Our team may not have superpowers (yet), but we have spirit, matching outfits, and the ability to strike dramatic poses at any moment. If you’re interested, we’re ready to bring North Korean heroism to the big screen. Let me know where to send my audition tape!

With heroic regards,
Kang-dae

Dear Anna Wintour,

Greetings from Pyongyang! My name is Mi-kyung, and I am a fashion designer—but a secret one. My passion is transforming North Korean uniforms into something stylish, using new fabrics and modern cuts. In a place where fashion is often uniform, I try to bring creativity and beauty to the clothes we wear every day.

I am writing to you because I admire your vision, and I have a dream—to bring my creations to the world. But I don’t know where to start. How does one introduce a fashion line when their runway is hidden? How do I connect with people who might appreciate this kind of reinvention?

I would be honored if you could share any advice. And who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll see a reimagined North Korean uniform on the cover of Vogue.

With admiration,
Mi-kyung

Dear Ministry of Transportation,

I am writing to you from yet another overcrowded train station in Pyongyang, where the sun is shining, and thousands of us are standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting for a train that may or may not arrive on time (if at all). I have lost count of how many times I’ve been late to work because of this chaos, and I can’t even remember what it feels like to get home without waiting for hours.

Every morning, I wake up full of hope. Maybe today will be the day! Maybe the train will run on time, and I’ll actually have space to breathe. But then I arrive at the station, and reality hits: a sea of frustrated people, all of us squeezed into a space that seems to shrink by the minute, as the train remains nowhere in sight.

I understand that things take time, that resources are limited, and that we must be patient. But tell me, how is it that every single day is the same? Have the train schedules become a piece of fiction? Should I start bringing a camping chair to the station? Or maybe apply for a job closer to home, where the only delay is waiting for my morning tea to cool?

I ask you, dear officials, with the utmost respect: Is there a plan to fix this? Or should I start developing superhuman patience?

Sincerely,
A very late and very frustrated citizen

Dear Mom,

Today was such a perfect day! The sun was shining, and my little one and I spent the morning gardening together on our tiny balcony. It’s not much space, but we’ve made it our own little green paradise, filled with flowers and vegetables. She was so excited to help, carefully planting seeds and watering them like a true gardener.

Watching her smile as she patted the soil and checked on our little plants made my heart so full. It reminded me of when I was a child, helping you in your big garden back home. I finally understand the joy you felt, seeing something grow from your own hands.

I hope you are doing well and that your garden is full of life this season. I miss you, and I can’t wait to visit soon so my little one can learn from the best gardener I know—you!

With love,
Yoon-ah

Dear Hye-jin,

Well, it happened again! The van broke down on the way to the live event. Smoke, weird noises, the whole dramatic scene. But don’t worry—we were fully prepared. Not with tools, of course, but with beer!

My boss and I are currently standing beside our poor, overheated van, bottles in hand, waiting for the engine to decide if it wants to cooperate. We figured, if we’re going to be stranded on the side of the road, we might as well make the best of it. Honestly, we have so much fun working together that even this feels like part of the adventure.

The event will have to wait, and I guess so will the audience. But hey, every job needs a little excitement, right? Hope you’re doing well—next time, I’ll save you a beer for roadside emergencies!

Love,
Ji-soo

Dear Min-seok,

I think I’ve found the best-kept secret in the city. Just around the corner from my place, hidden between two dull buildings, there’s a tiny bar with barely enough room for more than a few guests. I stumbled upon it by accident, and I swear, it’s like stepping into another world.

The bartender—an older guy with a knowing smile—poured me a drink and, after some small talk, revealed their best feature: secretly imported liquor from the South. That’s right, Min-seok, I had a taste of something that never should have made it across the border! It was smooth, rich, and tasted like rebellion in a glass.

I wish you were here to share a drink with me, but for now, I’ll raise a glass in your honor. If you ever find yourself in this part of town, let me know—I’ll take you to this little hidden paradise. But keep this between us, alright? Some secrets are best kept over a quiet drink.

Cheers,
Joon-ho

Dear Mom,

We’re on the train, and I have to tell you about Grandpa! He brought his guitar, and now he’s playing and singing for everyone. It’s like a little concert on wheels! People are clapping, smiling, and even singing along. I’ve never seen so many happy faces in one place.

Grandpa is the best. I feel so lucky to be on vacation with him. He always knows how to make people laugh and enjoy the moment. Watching him play makes me so proud—he’s not just my grandpa, he’s a rock star!

I can’t wait to tell you all about our trip when we get back. I hope you’re doing well. Give Dad a hug for me!

Love,
Soo-mi

Here is his song

"Golden Fields of Home"

Oh, the golden fields so wide,
Stretching far on every side.
Under sun and sky so bright,
Rice grows strong from morning light.

Work together, hearts so true,
Hands in soil, the sky so blue.
Through the seasons, near and far,
Rice will shine like golden stars.

Raindrops dance on leaves so green,
Flowing streams keep paddies clean.
With each harvest, joy we share,
For our land beyond compare.

Work together, hearts so true,
Hands in soil, the sky so blue.
Through the seasons, near and far,
Rice will shine like golden stars.

With our strength and love so deep,
For our land, the crops we keep.
From these fields our future grows,
Like the wind, our spirit flows.

Dear Ji-ho,

You won’t believe it—I finally got them! My very own pair of North Korea’s first real sneakers, designed and produced right here. Look at the photo—aren’t they amazing? They feel so different from the old shoes I’ve been wearing. Light, comfortable, and they even have that new shoe smell. I’ve never been prouder of something on my feet!

Everyone has been talking about these sneakers. They’re supposed to be a big step forward for our country, and honestly, they feel like it. When I walk, I feel faster, like I could run all the way to your city in them (but let’s be honest, I’ll take the bus instead).

Have you seen anyone wearing them in your town yet? I bet they’ll be everywhere soon! Maybe one day we’ll even have sneakers like the ones we see in magazines. Until then, I’m just happy to have these.

Write back soon!

Your friend,
Tae-jun

Dear @stevenspeilbergofficial,

Greetings from Pyongyang! My name is Kang-ho, and I am a North Korean film director with an ambitious dream: to create a North Korean version of Jurassic Park. As luck would have it, we have the perfect setting—a dinosaur theme park! The attached pictures will show you our magnificent, slightly… let’s say "retro" dinos and the bustling crowds enjoying the experience. Sure, some of the attractions are a bit, um, weathered, but I believe it adds to the charm.

I wanted to seek your advice on this project. First, what do you think we would need to bring these prehistoric creatures to life on screen? I’m guessing it’s more than papier-mâché and enthusiastic extras (although we have plenty of both). Second, would it be alright if we, let’s say, "borrowed" a few scenes from your original masterpiece? I promise we’d make it uniquely North Korean—imagine a T-Rex stomping through rice paddies or velociraptors chasing down a runaway tractor. It’s cinematic gold, don’t you think?

I’d be honored to hear your thoughts and guidance. Who knows? Maybe one day you could visit and see our version for yourself. Until then, I’ll keep dreaming big (and trying to keep the dinos from looking too much like oversized lizards). Thank you for your time and inspiration!

Warm regards,
Kang-ho

Dear Western World,

Greetings from my humble atelier in Pyongyang. My name is Hwan, and I am a painter. As I write this, I am putting the finishing touches on a portrait of our great leader. You can see me in the attached photo, wearing my favorite hat (yes, it has a crown—one must always paint in style) and accompanied by a lovely white pigeon who often visits me. It’s quite the scene, isn’t it?

As I paint, I find myself pondering your world of elections and term limits. It must be such a novel experience, to have the chance to choose your leaders and, more importantly, to know they won’t hold their positions forever. Here, of course, our leaders are "elected" for a lifetime, a concept that makes elections feel more like ceremonies than choices. I must admit, the idea of a real vote, where outcomes aren’t predetermined, is fascinating.

While I paint this portrait, I think about the freedom you have to express yourselves, to critique your leaders, and to see change when you demand it. Treasure that. It’s a gift as rare and beautiful as the pigeon perched here beside me.

Perhaps one day, I’ll paint a portrait of a leader chosen by the people—what an inspiring subject that would be. Until then, I’ll keep adding my brushstrokes and dreaming of a world where art and freedom flourish side by side.

Yours in creativity and contemplation,
Hwan

Greetings from Pyongyang! I hope this postcard finds you well. I wanted to share a little story from my latest project—a magnificent indoor swimming hall that looks like something out of a modernist dream. At least, it does at first glance.

The pool was just filled, but only two-thirds of the way, because, as luck would have it, the water pipes couldn’t handle the pressure. It’s a classic case of North Korean building charm: gleaming exteriors hiding technology that might as well belong in a museum. We joke that our "state-of-the-art" buildings are more "art" than "state."

How are things in Great Britain? Do your projects at Norman Foster’s bureau face such amusing challenges, or is it all smooth sailing with your high-tech tools and expertise? I’d love to hear about your experiences—it might even make me feel better about our daily struggles with outdated materials and ever-creative workarounds.

Take care, and I hope to hear from you soon. Perhaps one day, we can share a laugh over these stories in person.

Best regards,
Ji-hoon

Dear Sister,

Hello from the city! I hope this letter finds you well. I have some exciting news to share—our neighborhood now has a laundromat! It’s such a relief because, as you know, we don’t have a washing machine at home. Now, I can bring all the clothes here and get them cleaned so much faster.

The laundromat is always bustling with people. Everyone is chatting, laughing, and sharing stories while the machines do their work. It’s almost like a little community gathering spot! I feel so lucky to have this convenience, especially after all those years of washing everything by hand.

How are things in the countryside? Do you have a place like this nearby, or are you still washing clothes the old-fashioned way? I miss you and hope we can see each other soon. Write back and let me know how you are doing.

With love,
Hye-sook

Dear Claudine,

Bonjour from Pyongyang! Today is such a beautiful day—the sun is shining, the sky is clear, and the streets are filled with color and joy. We are celebrating the New Year with a parade, and it feels like the whole city has come alive.

I am so proud because my little girl is part of the parade! She’s carrying a colorful flag and smiling so brightly. It’s moments like these that make my heart feel so full. My husband and I are standing here together, watching her with so much pride and happiness. It’s truly a perfect day.

I wish you could see this celebration—it’s filled with laughter, music, and the energy of all the children. Do you have similar parades in France? I would love to hear about how you celebrate the New Year there. Write back soon and tell me all about it!

Wishing you a wonderful start to the year,
Mi-ran 🎉🌞😊

Dear Etsy Team // @etsy ,

Hello from Pyongyang! My name is Mi-sook, and I am writing to you with a big smile on my face. You see, I’ve recently started sewing teddy bears, and they are a hit in my little corner of the world. My latest creation is a bear with a red star on its belly—super cute, if I may say so myself! I’m so proud of the result, and I think these bears could bring joy to people far beyond North Korea.

I’ve heard that Etsy is the perfect place for handmade treasures, so I’d love to know how I can list my bears in your shop. Are there any special steps I need to follow to set up an account? Also, since I’m based in North Korea, I’m curious about how shipping works. Is it possible to send my bears to happy customers around the world? If there are any tips or challenges I should know about, I’d appreciate your advice.

Thank you so much for creating a platform where artists and crafters like me can share our work. I’m excited to hear from you and hopefully introduce my teddy bears to the Etsy community soon.

With warm regards and a heart full of stitches,
Mi-sook 🧸✂️😊

Dear @tinadippe ,

Greetings from my little corner of North Korea! I wanted to share this photo I took of the mountains and forests surrounding my home village. Isn't it beautiful? The green forest, the rice fields and the little village nestled in the valley - this is where I grew up and I couldn't be more proud of my heritage.

As a landscape photographer, I feel so lucky to live in a place where nature is so breathtaking. Every time I look out over these mountains I find something new to appreciate. The way the sunlight hits the rice fields in the morning, or the way the mist clings to the peaks after a rainstorm - it's like a new painting every day.

I'd love to hear about the landscapes in Germany. What's your favourite place to photograph? Do you have a place that feels like home to you, like these mountains do to me? I'd love to exchange photos and see the beauty of your world too.

Write back soon - I can't wait to hear about your adventures!

Warm regards,
Eun-hee

Dear @_hynja_ ,

Greetings from Pyongyang! My name is Joon-ho, and I’m writing to you as a fellow car enthusiast. I heard about your Audi A4 with the 6-cylinder engine, and I couldn’t resist reaching out. That car sounds like a dream to me—meanwhile, I’m over here trying to make a Lada look like an Audi. Trust me, it’s as crazy as it sounds.

So, here’s the deal: I got my hands on this ancient Russian Lada, and I’m modifying it to resemble an Audi 80 from the 70s. It’s, uh, let’s say "a work in progress." The bodywork still screams "Lada" if you squint too hard, and the engine sounds like it’s coughing up a lung every time I start it. But you know what? It makes me happy. My friends and I have spent hours repainting it and adding little details to give it that iconic Audi vibe—though it’s probably a crime to even mention your A4 in the same breath.

I’d love to hear about your A4! Are you making any mods, or does it just purr along effortlessly like the refined machine it is? I bet it’s a dream to drive compared to my glorified lawnmower on wheels. Still, maybe one day we could park them side by side—your A4 looking sleek and polished, and my Lada… well, doing its best.

Write back if you can! I’d love to hear your stories and get some tips from a real Audi enthusiast.

Best wishes,
Joon-ho

Dear Uncle Ji-ho,

Greetings from the southern edge of the country! I hope this letter finds you well up near the Chinese border. You won’t believe what I stumbled upon during my patrol the other day—it’s the Samsung North Korea headquarters! Yes, you read that right. And before you imagine some grand, shiny building full of gadgets, let me set the scene: it’s a tiny, rotted booth with a hand-painted "Samsung" sign nailed on top. I think even the booth looked embarrassed to be there.

There I was, standing in full uniform, staring at this booth, wondering if the universe was playing a joke on me. Could this really be where all our cutting-edge technology is coming from? Is this where our glorious leaders get their new smartphones? I half-expected someone to step out and offer me a Galaxy S from 2011.

The funniest part? I could swear there was a goat tied up behind the booth. Perhaps it’s their "head of security." I didn’t dare ask.

Anyway, I thought of you immediately. If you ever get tired of the quiet up north, maybe you could apply here for a job. I’m sure they’re hiring "top talent." Just don’t forget to bring your own hammer and nails—the booth might need some structural reinforcement.

Take care, and let me know if you’ve found anything as ridiculous on your side of the country. I miss our chats over rice wine.

Your nephew,
Min-soo

Dear @vfb,

Greetings from Pyongyang! My name is Tae-hyun, and I’m writing to let you know something very important: I am probably the only proud VfB fan in all of North Korea. That’s right—one lone red-and-white scarf-waving supporter holding it down here in Pyongyang. You’d be amazed at the looks I get when I wear my VfB cap (with "VfB" embroidered proudly) around town.

Now, here’s the thing: I know of three other Bundesliga fans here, but they all support Bayern Munich. Can you imagine my suffering? They won’t stop talking about trophies, and I swear, they celebrate every win as if they personally kicked the goals. Don’t even get me started on the "Mia san Mia" chants—I hear them in my nightmares! I try to keep the peace, but honestly, our conversations usually end with us arguing over which team is truly "number one." (Hint: it’s not Bayern.)

I just wanted you to know that even here, halfway across the world, VfB has a loyal fan. I follow every match I can, and every win feels like a victory for me too. If you ever decide to send some VfB merch to North Korea, I’ll make sure to wave the flag high and loud—maybe even convert one of those Bayern fans (but I’m not holding my breath).

Keep up the amazing work, and best of luck for the rest of the season. You’ve got at least one fan here cheering with all his heart.

With pride and red-and-white stripes,
Tae-hyun

Dear @eddysummersphotography,

Greetings from Pyongyang! My name is Ji-eun, and I’ve got a story so bizarre, it’s practically begging for a beer to go with it (I hear that’s your morning drink of champions?).

Here’s the thing: I’m a bride, and not just your everyday, bouquet-tossing, cake-cutting type. No, I’m probably the first bride in history to photograph her own wedding! The attached picture proves it—there I am, in full bridal glory, wielding my trusty 6x6 medium format camera (think Hasselblad 500c, but with a bit more wear and tear). It’s been a loyal companion, but let’s be honest, I could use something a bit more modern that doesn’t weigh as much as a small child.

Now, this is where you, the mighty Fuji expert, come in. A friend, who swears by Facebook like it’s the North Star, told me about your wizardry with cameras. She even shared your contact info (don’t worry, no spies involved—yet). I need your sage advice: which older Fuji digital compact camera could help me level up my wedding photography game? Something reliable, with colors that pop, and maybe a little less "vintage weightlifting."

Anyway, if you ever find yourself in Pyongyang (hey, stranger things have happened), the beers are on me. Thanks in advance for your help—I owe you big time.

Cheers (with a frothy glass raised),
Ji-eun

Dear Hye-sun,

Hello, sister! I wanted to share this photo of Mother cooking fried rice at her street food booth. Isn’t it amazing? She still makes the best meals for workers coming home from long shifts. They love her fried rice—it’s cheap, filling, and so delicious! It’s incredible how much happiness she brings with just a wok and an open flame.

I wish you could taste it again. Here’s her recipe, so you can try it in Japan:

Mother’s North Korean Fried Rice

Ingredients:

2 cups cooked rice (preferably cold)

2 tablespoons soybean oil

1 small onion, diced

1 carrot, finely chopped

A handful of chives or spring onions, chopped

2 eggs, beaten

2 tablespoons soy sauce

A pinch of salt

A handful of dried kelp flakes (special ingredient from North Korea)

Instructions:

Heat the soybean oil in a wok over high heat. Add the onion and carrot, stir-frying until soft.

Push the vegetables to one side and pour the beaten eggs into the other. Scramble them lightly until just cooked.

Add the cooked rice, breaking up any clumps with your spatula. Mix everything together.

Stir in the soy sauce and salt. Toss until the rice is evenly coated and heated through.

Sprinkle the chives or spring onions and dried kelp flakes on top. Stir for another minute.

Serve hot and enjoy!

I wish you were here to share it with us. Mother misses you so much, and so do I. Please write back soon—I’d love to hear how you’re doing in Japan.

With love,
Yoon-hee

Dear Eun-mi,

Hi from Pyongyang! Today was so much fun—I have to tell you about it. A bunch of us kids were given brushes and cans of pink paint, and we got to paint an old tank! Can you imagine? Everyone was laughing and splashing paint everywhere, and by the time we were done, the tank was completely pink. The soldiers nearby couldn’t stop laughing when they saw it—they said it was the funniest thing they’d seen all week!

I wish you were here to help. We could have painted flowers or stars together. What are you doing these days in Chongjin? Write me back soon—I miss you!

Your cousin,
Hana

Dear Miss @krystyna_pyszko,

My name is Hye-jin, and I was just elected Miss North Korea! I am so proud to write to you, the most beautiful Miss World. Our competition was incredibly tough, but I gave it my all and won. This is a dream come true for me, and I admire everything you represent as a role model.

I hope someday I can meet you in person and learn from your elegance and kindness. Winning this title fills me with pride and responsibility. I want to bring honor to my country and show the world the beauty of North Korea. If you have any advice for a young woman like me, I would be so grateful.

With admiration,
Hye-jin

Dear @rob.distudio,

Greetings from Pyongyang! The team and I are doing our best, but the equipment here is ancient. Remember those beers we had in Sydney, talking about all the fancy gear you get to use? I can’t help but feel a little envious!

If there’s any chance you could help us out with even the smallest spare parts or advice, it would mean so much. Working under these embargoes isn’t easy, but we make do. It would be great to catch up again someday—maybe over another round of beers, like the good old days.

Take care, my friend.
Best, Sung-ho

Dear Myung-ho,

I already miss you so much. Here is a photo from when we were playing chess. I can’t stop thinking about the way you smiled when you made that last move—even though you knew I would win!

Now that you’ve left for the mine, the house feels so quiet. Six months feels like forever, but I will count the days until I see you again. I love you more than words can say, and I’ll be waiting for you, always.

Stay safe and take care of yourself.
Yours forever,
Eun-ji

Dear Ji-hoon,

You’ll never guess what we accomplished today! I’ve attached a photo I took secretly in the lab. Don’t show anyone, okay? This is the rocket motor we’ve been working on, and we finally made a huge step forward. It’s going to be the heart of our moon rocket someday. Can you believe it? A rocket to the moon—from here, from us!

Everyone here is so excited, but I wish you were working with me. Your ideas would make it even better. How is your lab in the north? Have you made progress, too? Let me know—it’s always inspiring to hear from you.

Stay safe, my friend.
Yours,
Jung-min

Dear National Olympic Committee of North Korea,

Greetings from Pyongyang! My name is Soo-jin, and I have the honor of writing on behalf of our amazing North Korean Figure Skating Team. Attached is a photo of us in front of one of Pyongyang’s most magnificent monuments—don’t we look like a group ready to conquer the ice (and maybe have a little too much fun while doing it)?

We are officially applying for the chance to represent our country at the next Winter Olympic Games. Our team may be small, but what we lack in numbers, we make up for in spirit, determination, and impeccable taste in synchronized skating outfits. We’ve been working tirelessly to perfect our routines, and we promise to bring grace, grit, and a little bit of Pyongyang flair to the global stage.

We understand that competition will be tough, but we’re ready to give it our all—triple axels, creative spins, and maybe a few moments where we manage not to fall on our faces (it’s a work in progress). Plus, who can resist the charm of a team that knows how to laugh together as much as we skate together?

Thank you for considering our application. We hope to make you proud and show the world the talent that North Korea has to offer.

With warm regards and blades sharpened,
Soo-jin

Dear Isabel,

Hello from Pyongyang! Today was the last day of summer, and it was so warm. Look at this photo—we spent the whole afternoon jumping off the bridge into the river. It felt like flying! Everyone was laughing and splashing, trying to soak up every last bit of fun before school starts again tomorrow.

Do you swim in rivers like this where you live? I wish you could come here someday. We’d jump together and race to the shore. What’s your favorite thing to do in summer? Write me back soon—I can’t wait to hear all about it!

Your friend,
Soo-jin

Dear Dong-hyun,

Brother, I hope this card reaches you. Here is a photo of me with my soldier friends. Don’t we look happy? I wanted to send this to show you that not everything here is dull. We joke and smile, even in these uniforms. The soldier in the middle is me—do you see how big my smile is?

I miss you every day. I wish I could cross the border and see you again, but I know it is impossible. Please know that no matter what, I think of you as my family, my brother. One day, maybe we can sit and laugh together like we did when we were kids.

Stay strong and happy.
Your brother, Kim

Dear @sivenup,

You would have loved it! Last night, I went to a secret underground club. It was dark and so hot, with the air buzzing from the music. There was this amazing all-girl punk band playing—they were so loud and full of energy! They all wore red hotpants, matching tops, and these leather hats with "VV" on them. Everyone in the crowd was dancing like crazy, even though we have to keep these concerts hidden.

Punk music feels like freedom, don’t you think? I wish you could come here and see for yourself. What’s your favorite band right now? Write me back soon—I want to hear about concerts in Germany!

Yours,
Minji

Dear Lucas,

You won’t believe what I saw today! Look at this photo—a kid here in Pyongyang was skateboarding with a board he made himself! He even jumped with it, right in the street. It was so cool! 

I wish you could see this place. The colors are so different, and everything feels like an adventure. Do kids skate like this in Brazil? I’d love to see your tricks if you’ve learned any.

Write back soon!
Your friend,
Jinho