Letters for Evelyn

words by Jasmine Wang & Wendy Gao

The 2023-2024 {in}Visible Editorial Board at Asian Student Union’s Annual Semiformal in October 2023. Pictured from left to right: Evelyn Pak, Jasmine Wang, Wendy Gao, and Mariam Seshan.

Prologue

There are few instances when my faith and trust in words genuinely fail, but I have always doubted my ability to use them to encapsulate the breathing, laughing, crying, living-ness of someone I love, admire, and care deeply for. I usually fail when confronted with this task. But more often, I don’t even attempt to try and simply hope that my dramatic all-caps text messages will sufficiently convey the enduring bounds of my love, gratitude, and adoration. I feel similarly about trying to write this tribute. I fear my pen will never be sharp enough to adequately honor the wit, intelligence, humor, compassion, loyalty, and warmth of my dear friend, Evelyn Pak. If commemorating her with justice is an asymptotic feat, I will spend all my days trying to get closer and closer. May this letter be evidence of my trying. :”)

—

To my sweet friend Evelyn,

There are many reasons why writing this letter is bittersweet, but particularly because you have been with us on this adventure since the beginning. Since Memory, {in}Visible has had the honor and privilege of being shaped by your presence, your love, and your words. That issue meant so much to me for a million reasons, not least because the first piece you ever wrote for {in}Visible, “sweetness,” felt like companionship and the squeeze of a hand amid gray winter days of cold grief and tears.

Since that first issue more than a year ago, I have on many occasions read your prose and poetry and felt a tad like I’m reading something I’m not supposed to be reading because everything you pour yourself into feels too good for this world – like the world is too ugly and cruel and dark to receive something so beautiful and delicate and soft and full of light. I always feel privy to a little secret after I’ve read your words, and I think about the wonderful, serendipitous stroke of fate that has led you to share your work with me, {in}Visible, and the rest of the world, despite none of us deserving it. Sigh. It thus makes me incredibly sad to imagine {in}Visible without you, but part of every journey is the end, right? Please know that you have indelibly shaped {in}Visible Magazine. This project has been a labor of your love and care, and you will forever remain embedded in the DNA of this publication. In you, we could not have had a better first Managing Editor of Copy. In you, I could not have a more loving friend.

I know now that the world will never be perfect enough to receive you or the pearls you string together with sentences and stanzas. I do, however, believe and know that your existence and the sheer beauty and power of your words, bathed in all your softness and light, are slowly, relentlessly, inevitably fighting and paving the way for a better one that can someday hope to deserve you. This is the legacy you leave at {in}Visible Magazine.

With love always,

Wendy

—

Epilogue

I often say to people that I hope to know them in my next life, and with you, it sometimes feels like I got to know you twice in the same lifetime. I feel so incredibly, unfathomably lucky that I met you in high school but got to know you more in college. Both of us grew so much in that chasmous gorge between senior year of high school and college that it sometimes feels like I met you in a former life. Maybe I did. You and your words have always felt familiar – like the warmth of an evening summer breeze, the nostalgia of a song from childhood, the comfort of pulling into the driveway after a trip away from home. You have always been a kindred spirit, and I hope we always stay close. In every metaphorical sense, in distance, in spirit, in our love of words. To know you is to love you, and I’ve never considered myself a particularly lucky person, but I feel utterly blessed to know and love you. I pray I’m lucky enough to encounter you a third time in my life after this one.

Dear our lovely Evelyn,

I remember the first time I read your writing—your words felt so alive. I remember my eyes seizing its succulent flesh, desperate for more. I remember how your writing wrapped around me in a warm embrace. I remember reaching the end and finally releasing a swift sigh, realizing that I had been holding my breath in anticipation the whole time. I remember thinking, “oh…Evelyn. How lucky am I to be reading this right now?” 

But even more, I remember thinking that this is the reason why Wendy and I gave birth to {in}Visible—to celebrate creative BIPOC, queer, and marginalized peoples and their work. Prolific writers like you, Evelyn, deserve your work to be shouted off the highest peaks and plastered across the largest buildings, and I am so proud and grateful that baby {in}Visible was one of the first platforms to display and witness your greatness. 

I know one day, you and your lyricism will be a household name. Your words will be whispered in the crevices of children’s ears and quipped in collegiate literary discussions. When we’re there in the future (that is surely not too long from now), I know I will reminisce on “our college days” when I worked arm-in-arm with you on our editorial board. I’ll boast about your shining wit, dedicated ambition, mesmerizing poeticism, and of course, how I knew you before you were famous. 

Thank you for all of the love and artistry that you have poured into {in}Visible, it surely would not be the same without you. Thank you for paving the way for so many other writers and for all of the behind-the-scenes editorial work—it is tremendously appreciated work that often goes unsung. Thank you most of all for being you and for being such a joy to work alongside. I am beyond grateful to have had you from {in}Visible’s start, and I’m not quite sure yet how we’ll go on without you. 

Even if you don’t go on to be in the spotlight, I know that wherever you go, the people you meet will be lucky to have you in their lives. As the waves wash out and you set sail for new shores, I wave you a soft farewell paired with a welcome smile. Thank you for helping us build this home we call {in}Visible, please know the door is always creaked open, awaiting your return.

With all my love,

Jasmine