Happy 30th birthday Jay Park. You’ve been through so much in your life and also achieved so much. I’m so proud of everything you’ve done and I can’t wait to see where life takes you next. I love you Jay, I hope you have the best birthday imaginable; you deserve it.
It’s been too long since I saw you. To be honest, I wanted to know you, I really did, and I miss you so much. I don’t like talking about you like you’re dead. It feels strange even now, and like something I’m being forced to accept.
I started a blog about you. It’s gotten fairly popular. I can’t help but to think, I wish I didn’t have this blog. I have all these followers because of you, I have people giving me messages, telling me they miss you too, and how they wish you weren’t dead, like I led them to some comfort and honestly I’m glad I can help them in the wake of your memory.
But that’s just it, Anton, the reason I have this blog is because you died. I wish you were still here, I wish it so much. It hurts every time I say or do something for you, and I need you back here.
I was just thinking, as I went for a walk in the snow, I’m so sorry you can’t see this anymore. I look outside as I’m riding in a car and music in my ears, and I think, “I am so goddamn happy to be alive.”
But then, I remember, what about those people that aren’t? You’re missing so much, every day, and I kept on living and seeing these things because I know if you aren’t here, someone else has to see them. You’re an intrepid, amazing, kind soul, and I am so sorry I couldn’t make it to your photo gallery.
Your photo gallery. It killed me, knowing I couldn’t make it. I’m so caught in the middle of school, keeping my grades up so maybe, just maybe I can make valedictorian so I can feel a bit better about myself and the way things are.
But that doesn’t matter. I feel as if I’m trying to talk myself up and I’m really not. I say “I miss you, I miss you” so much that it almost seems like it’s trying to form a moot point, a horse that’s long been beaten into the dust.
You’re a really amazing person. I think, if we were just trying to be basic, that’s what I’d say. You’re amazing. An amazing actor, photographer, person that I never got the privilege to meet, not really. What I had with you wasn’t enough to say I even remotely knew you.
I wish I could admit these things to anyone else. You know they won’t listen. I can barely listen myself. I’m trying to distance myself, you know, and it didn’t work. Actually, I’d be lying if I said I tried to distance myself completely.
So, we all decided to do this thing, giving you letters on your birthday, sending them out on helium balloons or posting them, or even just writing them, keeping them. I’m going to write a handwritten one too. It’ll probably be considerably shorter, but I’m sure you have enough letters on your plate, in your hands, right now.
It breaks my heart, what happened, and I wish more than anything that you were still here. God, I want to see another movie with the casting decision of Anton Yelchin for the lead role, the side role, any role at all.
I’ve loved so many things since you went away, like the sky and the snow, even though I’m horribly sick of it by now. Do you remember the way it looked when the sun hit it, or maybe snowflakes when the moonlight fell through the night air? It was like we were in a snowglobe.
I want to tell you so much about the world today. There are also things I don’t want to tell you, because a shit ton of bad things still happen and you don’t need to worry about those anymore. The sun comes out more and more each day, it seems, and the trees are starting to bud.
I wonder, what is it like for you now? Are you there, Anton? Ground control
I wish so much for you to be here with us today and now and here, so so very much. Happy birthday, and I hope the rest are happy too, even though they aren’t your birthday. I hope each day you had wasn’t harried or harsh on you, I hope you lived so many happy days with amazing people that love you so much.
I really do wonder what’s going on where you are. Is it pretty? Is it blank? Can you hear me? What can you see?
No, don’t answer that. I hope it’s so wonderful.
I wrote you a letter and buried it in the snow next to your grave. You know what I mean. I won’t bother to clarify. I hope you see it too.
I miss you so, so much, Anton, more than I can really explain.
On April 21st, 1967, the Hundred millionth GM vehicle rolled off the line at the plant in Janesville. Three days later, another car rolled off that same line. No one gave two craps about her, but they should’ve. Because this 1967 Chevrolet Impala would turn out to be the most important car…no, the most important object in pretty much the whole universe.