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