To Célie

Dear Célie:

First of all, pardon me for this abrupt letter. Its been a long time since I felt the urge to write to you and seeing you last weekend somehow triggered it.

Anyway, please kindly read it.

Its been 3 years that Ive been living in France, no matter how it may seem, Im quite sure that Ive never fully understood its culture nor the way how relations between people work here. Speaking good French even makes it worse because people tend to think that youre one of them when you speak their language, thus youre supposed to behave just alike. And if you dont, youll probably end up making a lot of scene, which makes good material for a fine after-dinner laugh.

I believe that our meeting suits very well that category. But through all these years Ive been thinking over about the ridiculous behavior the first time I came to talk to you. I wonder what the reasons of its occurrence could be besides of course a great amount of alcohol. So, this is what I came up with:

The first time I saw you was actually long before I talked to you. I remember everything about that day. There were 3 student concerts in 3 different bars that night in this small northern French city. Its almost winter, the late-night wind was cold and refreshing.

Back then I just freshly arrived in France. Foreign country, different language, different people, totally different world. I was still in jet lag, confused, completely lost but I remember the thrilling excitement about this whole brand-new life that lied in front of me.

I went to Le Macadam, where there was one of the concerts. I lost my friends so I was standing alone in front of a high table, with a pint of white beer, waiting for my friend Akira who was about to sing on the stage.

And this is where you came in.

You walked in the bar with a blond girl who appeared to be your friend, you crossed through the crowd and coincidentally stood a few meters in front of me.

I found myself looking at you, through the heat of the crowd, the loud music, the noises of people talking. You wore a black strapless dress, standing there, calmly.

The band started to play music.

At some moment, your friend was talking to you about something and you turned your head.

You were wearing a vivid red lipstick, in a strong contrast with your face. A few strands of your dark hair gently fell to your back. There was a stream of warm, yellow light, casting on the snowy white skin of your shoulder, with a reflect of such tenderness that it felt like somebody turn down all the sounds.

That image is one of the most beautiful things that Ive ever seen in my life, like the girl with a pearl earring for Johannes Vermeer.

That moment for me, was the symbol that everything was possible, that there was a wonderful future lying beyond my way, full of unknown adventure, new excitement, hope and great things. It was the beginning of everything.

Were both familiar with the next episode of the story, so Im just going to skip that.

Years later, after a lot more of after-dinner-laugh-scene, Ive finally got back on my feet from all the cultural adaptation and Ive became a different person than that poor chap who got lost traveling half way around the world. Finally, other girls started to

Yet, that is not the purpose of this letter. Im writing this letter to you simply because I think that its a good story that worth being written down with actual paper and ink. Since you were, no matter how, a part of it, Id like to share it with you.

And most of all, I know how important and precious the appreciation or if I may, the admiration of others could mean to one.

Ill have you know Célie, that you once were, still are, and always will be something utterly beautiful and inspiring for someones life.

That is why I wrote this letter to you.

If times may come that you felt misunderstood, defeated or frustrated, if for any reason that youd be cold and lost in desperation, may these words encourage you, fill your heart with strength, confidence and hope. Because you deserve it.

With all my heart

Pepinot. R. JIN

17/Oct./2017

Paris