To: Roy Han
The next korean zombie (especially in the mornings).
Roy grew up in his father’s Muay Thai gym, where he was surrounded by fighters—kids who have nowhere to go, adults who beat bags instead of people, and his younger brother Ryan. His dad taught him to be strong, and his mom taught him to be kind.
His uncle runs a deli in New York City, and Roy promised me that someday he’d take us there for lunch. His aunt sends him Korean food every month; past midnight, you can consistently find him in the kitchen, boiling frozen wontons or adding rice cakes to his instant Kimchi udon.
The second time I met Roy, I invited him to spring break. He called his mom, dapped me up, then booked his flight to San Juan.
He’s the kind of guy who asks what’s the move after too many drinks in Itaewon, and the guy who carefully builds gingerbread houses at OAASIS date night. He’s the sorest (and loudest) winner I know, and he won’t shut up when he starts yapping.
But he listens when his friends are going through it and is someone I’ll always appreciate for being in my corner.
Also, I didn’t forget; congrats on the job.
The Job ™️