In Memory of My Brother (Young Jin)

I was saddened to hear that the only testimonies given at Young oppa's funeral were by people who never took the time to get to know him, i.e. Kim Hyo Nam, Mrs. Lee, and Peter Kim. I want to give you a taste of what my brother was all about. And I never want him to be forgotten...

My brother was someone not many knew. I, however, was lucky enough to spend a significant amount of time with him. He and I attended Groton School, a prep school in Massachusetts, for three years together. He was charismatic and loved by all the faculty. He was especially known for being a hard worker, who ceaselessly worked to attain all his goals. He was quiet and soft-spoken, but when he opened his mouth, only intelligent and bold opinions emerged from his lips. He excelled during his years at Groton, which, I believe, were probably the happiest and most successful five years of his life.

His room was always tidy; he was somewhat anal retentive. His books were treated like jewels. He would never throw down his book-bag on the floor after returning from a strenuous day of school; he would bend down and neatly place the bag standing straight up on the floor. He would open his books only wide enough to read them so as not to crease the edge. I could never tell which books he had read, because they were always in pristine condition.

He loved to read Dungeons and Dragons books, and I still have yet to meet someone who knows more nitty gritty facts about that fantasy world than he.

The minute he returned home from school everyday, he would walk to the cupboard, take a new bag of Doritos, and walk to his room to start his homework. He would be in there for hours with the door closed. It was always so quiet in there that I often thought he was sleeping. But when I would sneak a glance into his room, he was hard at work. He would only emerge from his room to go to the bathroom, and he allotted himself fifteen minutes to eat dinner. Other than that, the only other indication that he was out and about was the empty Dorito bag that was always neatly placed outside his door at the end of the day. He loved Doritos.

He always tried to make me a better person. He read the DP regularly, and honestly tried his best to live a selfless life. He was a simple person.

He never had a thing for material possessions. Whatever money he ever had was always spent on someone else, many times on me. He was always ready to listen to my dilemmas and ready to give me advice. He never asked for anything in return. I knew deep down in my heart that his interest in my petty life was genuine. I knew he loved me and cared for me.

He loved to play lacrosse, and he was determined to make the varsity team. I cannot remember a single day when he was not with lacrosse stick in hand. He would be outside for hours practicing his technique, slowly but surely becoming a master of the sport. That was his way. He did things to achieve perfection. There was this one brick on the chimney that he chose as his target, and he spent hours perfecting his aim. Soon enough he was hitting the brick with the ball from quite a distance. During his junior year, he made the varsity lacrosse team, a well-earned honor. But his friend and roommate, who had also tried out, failed to make the team. Thus, he resolved to give up his slot, and played JV for his junior year to keep his friend company. I don't think his roommate ever knew of his decision. But during his senior year, he again made the team, this time with his friend. He soon became the top scorer, and one of the most valuable players.

Not only was he amazing in lacrosse, he was also phenomenal in squash. He would spend many hours on end, perfecting his boast and his drop shot. He knew how much I loved the sport and so he often took time in his day to help me with my developing skills. He would always tell me that I had it in me to someday be on the varsity team, and I would just snicker at him. He believed in my abilities. He would coach me after practice and during vacations, which I am sure held him back in perfecting his own skills. I was no way near his level of squash playing yet. Nevertheless, he genuinely wanted me to succeed. He, of course, made the varsity squash team. What I am sure he did not know was that I made the varsity squash team the year after he graduated. And I was elected captain of that team for my senior year. I don't think I ever really got to thank him.

During his years at Groton, he actively participated in community service at a local children's community school. He loved children, and they, in turn, loved him. He would always tell me of his mini adventures and experiences with the children there. He helped out in the classrooms and chaperoned during recess. Many times, the children would cry when it came time for him to leave. The children loved him so much that the head of the community school wrote a letter of high praise to Groton about how great Phillip was. A couple years later, this very same woman would write a letter of recommendation for his college applications. He was adored in this small community, and he made a tremendous difference. He, however, was never one to brag of his accomplishments. I found this out through a faculty member.

He was loved at Groton, his home away from home. Years after he graduated, his teachers and friends would still inquire about Phillip whenever they bumped into me in the hall. I would always answer that he was doing great at Columbia University. The Groton community always had high hopes for Phillip; they all knew that he was brilliant, and that he was going somewhere in this world. I knew that too. He had the drive, energy, and motivation to be a great mover and shaker. He always had promise.

After he graduated from Groton, we lost touch with each other, for he was all the way down in New York City. I did not speak to him for nearly two years until I too was to attend college in New York. Time had elapsed and those two years had taken a toll on his life. He had unveiled the past of his then wife, Hwa Jung, the heartless beast who single-handedly ruined him. After they had been together for a year, and after she assumed she could not possibly be kicked out of the family because she was pregnant with his child, she confessed to him that she was not as pure as he had thought she was. She had had a sexual relationship with another man in Korea prior to my brother, and she still called that Korean bastard from time to time. Hwa Jung, Satan, had this guy in Korea wait for her, in case her marriage with Young oppa did not work out.

Young oppa was crushed. He had saved himself his whole life just to be married to a woman who was used goods. She was unpure, and she had tainted him. This Satan and her family had lied to everyone in order to become a part of the True Family. I still can't believe that she had the gall to walk down that isle in front of God. How could one do this with a straight face? Doesn't she have a conscience? That heartless Satan deserves to live the rest of her pathetic life in shame.

Young oppa had loved her. In his mind, his marriage was supposed to be perfect. He was always such a helpless romantic; he was so idealistic and optimistic. And this Satan had the gall to crush and destroy everything he had lived for. He brought her breakfast in bed every morning. He gave up his favorite cat Amber, which he had personally rescued from the streets of Uruguay, because she didn't like animals. She was cruel to him, but he loved her unconditionally. And all along, she was playing the role of her lifetime: a pure Korean wife straight from Korea, the pure country. What a social-climbing Satan.

The next time I caught up with Young oppa was after this whole fiasco had exploded. The Satan was shipped off to Korea. It was my summer vacation before I would start school in the fall. When I first saw him that summer, his countenance had changed. There was a sadness about him that was so unlike him. He greeted me with a warm hello, and once again I felt that closeness that I had missed for two years.

That summer, I did my best to try and cheer him up. I realized how lonely he was. Because his brothers were too macho to sympathize and care for him, he kept to himself for those two years. I went out of my way to spend time with him. I desperately wanted to cheer him up. I found out that he had done many things in those two years to fill his days. He had driven cross-country three times in that two-year span. He had acquired his scuba-diving license, and he had been sky-diving. He had seen almost all the Broadway musicals and operas in New York City. He had been doing all these activities alone.

That summer, he enrolled me in YMCA because he needed a squash partner. He was still amazing even after two years. And he kicked my butt in every match we played. He would get a kick out of seeing me run all around the court trying to return the ball, while he stood calmly at the T. One day, however, we were playing a match, and I actually got two points off him. I pranced around for a bit until he started snickering. I had failed to realize that he had switched to his left hand and had been kicking my butt left-handed. He always had such a sense of humor. That summer he took me and my sisters out to movies, restaurants, and plays. He was never stingy about anything. He constantly found excuses to buy us things. He bought me tickets to go see Miss Saigon, saying that it was my late birthday/graduation gift; my birthday was in February. He loved fine cuisine, and loved treating us all out to dinner. And yet, he never asked for anything in return. If we needed anything, he would get it for us. If we needed help or advice, he would be there.

We talked a lot that summer. He was always ready to dish out advice, and I learned quite a bit from him. He was so genuinely kind and loving; there were never any strings attached. Even after almost a year's separation with that slut, he still never put her down in front of me. He was not like that.

He never had anything bad to say about anyone, even about this evil woman who had stolen the one thing that he had been saving for 19 years. I know that he was filled with a lot of pain and anguish, but he never spoke of it, because he did not want me to be disillusioned or disheartened.

When he left for Vegas, he told me that his only regret would be that he would not be able to be there for me. He told me that he loved me, and that he would miss me. I asked him to take me with him, but he said that I needed to stay home and be successful. He always believed in me. We talked on the phone for a while after he left, but then his phone calls all of a sudden stopped coming. I was saddened because I thought that I had maybe done something wrong or offended him. Only later was I to find out that he did not want to talk to me, because he knew I would fly out there in a heartbeat if I thought that he was lonely or needed some help. He did not want me to go out to Vegas to be with him, because he knew that I would be giving up my college education and a chance at my future. He never thought of himself.

I wish the world could have known what a difference he made in my life as well as others. I want everyone to know what a great brother, friend, and mentor he was to me. He was always calm, composed, and extremely logical. He lived for the sake of others, and was truly selfless. He was kind and generous. I love him dearly, and he will always be my favorite brother.

Please feel free to email me your responses. Please forward this email to anyone you think would benefit from this letter.