Minsoo figured out the format early. He’d get the official Korean military holiday card — two soldiers silhouetted against a patriotic sunset — and add his own speech bubbles in pen.
1995: left soldier says “I think my dick’s frozen.” Right soldier: “Mine fell off an hour ago.”
1996, he escalated: “Merry fucking Christmas, asshole.” / “Happy fucking new year, dick head.”
Inside, the card had a traditional watercolor illustration of a Korean pagoda in snow, and a printed wish for health and good fortune in the new year. Korean text and everything. Minsoo’s handwritten letter ran across the illustrated panels.
He was writing from a hospital. In 1995 he’d ended up at IL Dong Army Hospital with high fever and chronic indigestion after basic training at Nonsan, two months under a merciless sun, crawling through dirt with his rifle and practicing bayonet stabs. He was almost 30 pounds lighter when basic was over. “Two worst months of my life,” he wrote.
In 1996 he’d been promoted to Corporal, made squad leader, then got involved in a “major physical abuse incident at the base.” They sent him to a reconnaissance unit right on the front — “the worst time of my life” — during the North Korean submarine incident. When the letter came he was back at his base, shoveling snow and digging trenches, back blistered, waiting to report to his battalion commander.
“19 months done and 7 to go, so I know 1997 will be a better year than this one has been.”
The cards were perfect. He knew I’d get it.