Brother had just lost his job. He, and the rest of the department at the enormous conglomerate, was let go without a thought. Without further instructions. Without care.
“It’s life,” Brother had said, “It happens.”
Yet I saw the pain, confusion, and frustration within him. He was back to the mundane process of job searching, desperately casting resumes like he was fishing in a murky reservoir.
Brother is an avid fisherman, loving the tedious but relaxing routine of throwing multiple lines of bait to increase his chances of a potential nibble. “Patience is key for these things little brother,” he would always say to me, “the more lines of bait we provide means we can hopefully get more bites.” He now had to take his own advice, and throw multiple hooks out into the rivers and beaches of the work world, baited with GPAs, recommendation letters, and a confident demeanor.
I was experiencing my own challenges around the same time Brother was let go; relationship issues, and just struggling to navigate my world. Maybe not the same as the pain of being let go from work, but still never welcomed. He coached me through my pain, something Brother is always willing to do. And I gave him the “plenty fish in the sea talk” about his job hunt. However, both our scars were fresh and needed healing.
Brother moved away from home almost a year ago, yet the distance has only brought us closer. I care deeply for Brother, almost as much as I care for food. We hadn’t spoken for a bit, so his call to hang out and grab some eats was a welcome surprise.
I could feel his eager smile through the phone.
“I think it’s time you try something new. You ever heard of Korean BBQ?”
This was a unique dining excursion I always heard Brother rave about, but never had the pleasure to experience.
We settled at a polished oak table, dominated by a colossal cast-iron pot. I realized now that part of the Korean BBQ adventure was cooking my own meal. Brother and I ordered two bottles of soju, a Korean alcoholic beverage made from rice grains, barley, and various ingredients. He explained this was a Korean-style alcoholic drink made from rice grains, barley, and other usual ingredients. It was colorless, and could easily be mistaken as water by some poor fellow. There were endless choices, with flavors like apple mango, peach, and even yogurt I joked with Brother, suggesting he be adventurous and choose the yogurt flavor (he’s lactose intolerant). He called me an asshole.
A slender man with a black medical mask and spotless white uniform welcomed us, and asked about our drink choices for the night. Brother got strawberry while I had peach. He returned only minutes later holding two bottles in his right hand, and pristine shot glasses in the other. My eyes did a double take when I noticed each bottle had a 12% alcohol label. A slight fact Brother forgot to mention.
“Yeah, these are heavy drinks man,” Brother laughed, pushing his strawberry bottle to the side to take home, “Let’s split your peach one.”
We knew moderation would be the key for our dining experience, especially since we ordered the all-you-can-eat menu option.
The buffet-style dinner let us run wild with a plethora of meats to choose from, all to our fat stomachs’ content. I was tempted to choose meats I recognized like cube steak and spicy chicken. Those were easy enough to picture, yet the variety was enticing. Brother and I spent a few minutes perusing the menu, but before we ordered he cracked open my peach drink, and poured the clear liquid into our shot glasses.
“To your last first day of school bro!” Brother raised his drink for a toast.
Senior year of college had just begun. What a ride it’s been so far.
There were pains over the journey, like choosing my major, recovering from a nasty breakup, figuring out my place as a man. Of course, at the end of the day I’ve made countless steps forward, while realizing this is an ongoing adventure. But not without help from so many people. Including Brother.
And in the last few years of my professional writing studies degree, I’ve enjoyed the entire process of finding myself. I don’t even have the damn diploma yet, but everything seemed to just come together. Whether it was striving to create work I was actually invested in, finding peace in my hobbies, or finding closure from the end of a romantic relationship, things simply worked.
I clinked his glass with my own.
“To you finding a job soon enough!”
We downed our drinks, and had a few moments of silence to relish our soju. It tasted sweet like peach juice, then the adult aftertaste reminded me why we split this powerful concoction. In that brief time, Brother’s toast took me from being elated to be with my sibling, to feeling pangs of anxiety. His words made it clear college would end soon. It was time for me to answer that inevitable question I’ve been avoiding.
What do I want to do with my life? Clock is ticking. I graduate in only a couple months.
It’s almost as if I was thinking out loud. Brother continued, “I think it’s appropriate to have a conversation like this after your last first day of school.”
I nodded, already feeling my heart nervously speed up over the repetitiveness of this exchange. But Brother didn’t interrogate me, as many others did when inquiring about what can I do with a degree in writing studies. He simply talked. About the future. His future.
“Even though I’ve been out of the house for almost a year, it’s been a great chance for future wifey and I to just get into this adulting thing. And while being jobless is a bump in the road, my plans remain the same.”
He and his girlfriend, high school sweethearts for nearly seven years, loved by each other’s family, are fully committed. He planned a trip to Hawaii in a few weeks, where he’d ask for her hand in marriage.
Even without a job, his vision did not change, nor did he falter from the things he set his mind to. But like myself, Brother had needed a little sibling shove.
He was visiting home one night, only weeks before the proposal. He’d emerged from a 2-hour phone call, meticulously handling all the details with a Hawaiian liaison. Details like ordering letters that spelled MARRY ME, scheduling a photoshoot on the beach, and counting the literal minutes for how long the commute from restaurant to beach would take (he didn’t want to miss the sunset background). The fact that Brother didn’t have the ring yet only added to his migraines. I saw it in his skeletal retinas. He wasn’t sleeping.
“I just want everything to be perfect for her, bro.” He said with a nervous twitch.
I sat him down at my kitchen table and politely lectured him that this was also his wedding proposal. I spoke to him as logically as I could, trying to mimic the calm tone he used for me whenever I had my own issues.
“Sweating and overthinking is only wasting your life away,” I told Brother. “You’re allowed to enjoy this day too ya know.”
Later on I proofread the email he wrote to his Hawaiian connection, fixing the meticulous grammar mistakes and clunky sentences he wrote amidst his delirium. Weeks passed and things worked. Brother told me how he gently placed his right knee on the perfectly cut green Maui grass, and displayed an oval shaped diamond ring to her. It was an obvious yes.
I was about to open my mouth and find some response to his statement about the future, when the first round of meat arrived at our table. Pork bulgogi. “Fire meat”, as the translation roughly went, consisted of thinly sliced beef with beautiful amounts of seasonings, and no doubt had plenty of marination before our waiter threw them on the iron pot. They were not only smothered with plenty of exotic flavors, but chopped celery and carrots. Soy sauce also flooded each piece of bulgogi.
Much like a home stove, there were dials next to us for controlling the aqua blue flames beneath the cast iron pot. Several waiters took charge of the dials, periodically adjusting the heat to ensure we wouldn’t burn our own meals. Other waiters paraded in with the rest of our seasoned meats and plopped them on the stove. They all wore pristine, white-buttoned up uniforms, making me wonder how they were able to keep their attire so clean while they diced the juicy goodness.
Brother and I played our own parts by pressing the meats down with our chopsticks, poking them around the blazing pot to burn out any red splotches. It was a collaborative and symbiotic effort between us the famished, and they the providers.
“I love the path I’ve carved for myself to get to this point. I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” I struggled to hear Brother as he ingested the bulgogi, “But here’s what you have over me Bro, you’re a free man!”
Stuffing more meat and rice into his mouth, Brother continued, “All jokes aside, once you’re done with school and your extracurricular stuff, you’re done!”
Brother continued to elaborate his thoughts about my position, effortlessly balancing big brother advice while feasting on a gluttonous meal. “You have the entire world at your fingertips. You’re free to go wherever you want bro. Especially with your writing skills.”
He pointed out with the schoolwork and writing internships under my belt, everything could just as easily be done from the comfort of my own home. Remote work had become the norm, it wasn’t disappearing anytime soon. He told me to use that to my advantage.
“So long as you have Wi-Fi, your laptop, and your foundation as a man, nothing can stop you.”
It was dumbfounding. It was crazy. It was liberating.
We were interrupted by one of the waiters, inquiring if we’d like any more meat. Brother and our shared a glance, both of us knowing damn well we’d already eaten enough.
“We’ll take some top blade steak,” I impulsively blurted out.
Brother smiled. “Atta boy. And some more white rice please.”
The waiter scribbled down his notes, and soon returned with more work for us to cook and consume.
So much for moderation being the key. Our entire meal consisted of 5 orders of pork bulgogi, 2 of spicy chicken, 2 cube steak, 1 top blade steak, and 1 sweet chorizo. All blended with delicious Korean spices and seasonings I struggled to pronounce.
Brother and I ate so much, with little regret. If not for the infinite bowls of white rice to balance out the oily greatness, we would not be able to continue feasting. We allowed ourselves to eat like royalty for an evening, for it was a special time together. All sealed together thanks to our collaborative efforts of cooking meats we could barely pronounce.
I was in the middle of chomping on the spicy chicken Brother and I split when he returned to our conversation. He reminded me so long as I have my morals as a man, like working hard and remaining true to myself, anything is as good as mine.
“Remote writing combined with traveling is terrifying and exciting man.” I said, while dabbing my greasy mouth with a napkin, “Where would I even go?
Brother picked up some rice using only his chopsticks, while I looked like the foolish little sibling trying to imitate his effortless demeanor. “That’s up to you. It’s up to you to push yourself out of your comfort zone, try new things, see other places this world has to offer besides our tiny little town.”
Middle school, high school, and college had all been a quick drive from my house. I’d taken the same routes home, had the same awkward interactions with high school classmates at supermarkets, and was in the same place my entire life. I couldn’t have asked for better upbringings and opportunities, but Brother was right. He started opening my eyes to what can be, what I can be.
I used my chopsticks to scrape the left over burnt bulgogi from the cast iron pot as I pondered my future.
Would I be a copywriter? Editor? Proposal writer?
“First take care of your obligations in school, and be sure to help around the house. But don’t forget to have fun with your senior year of college”, he said with the usual big brother smile.
I let his words sink in, knowing I now had officially one thing I was committed to after graduation. A 100% remote job. Or at least a job pushing me to see what I have not yet seen.
“Maybe I’ll go backpacking in Europe, or get an AIRBNB and finally live by myself, and just write!” I said with a little too much blissful sarcasm. Brother didn’t bat an eye of judgment.
“Screw it, man. Just go get that degree. It’ll be here before you know it.”
Brother walked me to my car, both of us bloated with no regrets.
He gave me a warm big brother hug, something we’ve been doing a lot more lately. I thanked him for a kickass dinner, and an even more amazing talk. I didn’t have my life figured out to the last detail, but I felt at ease knowing I was a little closer to it. I’ve come to terms with not losing sleep over the end goal, but rather putting more effort into the journey of getting there. I would now focus on graduating, building myself as a writer, a man, a decent person.
“Never lose the hunger to be better Brother. I know for a fact you’ll find a job you love soon enough,” I said.
“No doubt about it. It’ll all work out,” he delivered two brutal but comforting slaps on my back, “But remember, we are the ones who will make it work out.”
I saw Brother in my rear-view mirror, waving goodbye like a proud parent would after sending their child away for the first day of kindergarten. A perfect evening with him, combined with a meal that would make me hesitant to step on the weight scale next morning. But after it all, there’s still work to be done.
Brother returns to dipping his fishing poles into the world, waiting for the next big bite. I start my senior year of college with a rejuvenated plan for my future, and a lot less anxiety. We both rest easier, knowing we’ve lifted each other again. We were two young men on distinct but connected paths, driven by a shared hunger.
Hunger for purpose, and bulgogi.
