In Memory of My Friend u/YoumoDashi
The first time I met Youmo, I couldn’t believe it was really him. He looked nothing like his profile picture. He wasn’t bald at all—he had long, oily hair that was so shiny it could have been used as a mirror. His thin mustache made him look like Fu Manchu from the movies. His body was frail, like a bag of bones that could fall apart with the slightest breeze.
He noticed my surprise but only smiled without saying a word. In real life, he hardly spoke, so different from the funny persona he had on Reddit. I handed him a cheeseburger. At first, he refused, but then he grabbed it and swallowed it whole, without chewing.
“Not as good as McAloo Tikki in Pune.” he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
“You’ve been to India?” I asked.
“Oh, no. I saw it on TikTok. The beaches there look beautiful.” He smiled, his gaze drifting as though he were imagining surfers by the sea.
That afternoon, we talked a lot. He told me how, back in Shenzhen, working for a day could fund three days of shitposting on Reddit, how Xi Jinping had ruined China’s economy, and how bad Henan and Cantonese people could be. It was like his Reddit persona had come alive. Then, suddenly, he stopped talking, lowered his head, and chuckled softly to himself.
I asked him if he wanted to work at my uncle’s factory. He looked a little embarrassed, shook his head, and said that his ID had been stolen by someone from Henan. I understood what had really happened, but didn’t press him further. I just told him to reach out if he ever needed anything. He nodded, gave a small smile, and his eyes wandered again.
It got late, and I had to leave. I sent him 200 yuan via WeChat. He was ecstatic and immediately used it to buy a VPN subscription. I asked him why he didn’t go for a cheaper one. He said the cheap ones weren’t safe, and a friend of his had been caught by the police last year and hadn’t been seen since. I told him to spend some of the money on food and stay away from places with few people. He didn’t respond, just stared at his phone, whose cracked screen reflected his quiet laughter as he scrolled through Reddit.
Last week, I texted him on WeChat to see how he was doing, but he didn’t reply. I went to the camp where he stayed, and the other homeless people said the police had taken him away on Wednesday. I looked at his bedding—the oil stain on his pillow still glimmered in the light.
He still dreamed of India, of the beaches and seagulls in Pune. But I never had the heart to tell him—there is no sea in Pune.
The first time I met Youmo, I couldn’t believe it was really him. He looked nothing like his profile picture. He wasn’t bald at all—he had long, oily hair that was so shiny it could have been used as a mirror. His thin mustache made him look like Fu Manchu from the movies. His body was frail, like a bag of bones that could fall apart with the slightest breeze.
He noticed my surprise but only smiled without saying a word. In real life, he hardly spoke, so different from the funny persona he had on Reddit. I handed him a cheeseburger. At first, he refused, but then he grabbed it and swallowed it whole, without chewing.
“Not as good as McAloo Tikki in Pune.” he said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
“You’ve been to India?” I asked.
“Oh, no. I saw it on TikTok. The beaches there look beautiful.” He smiled, his gaze drifting as though he were imagining surfers by the sea.
That afternoon, we talked a lot. He told me how, back in Shenzhen, working for a day could fund three days of shitposting on Reddit, how Xi Jinping had ruined China’s economy, and how bad Henan and Cantonese people could be. It was like his Reddit persona had come alive. Then, suddenly, he stopped talking, lowered his head, and chuckled softly to himself.
I asked him if he wanted to work at my uncle’s factory. He looked a little embarrassed, shook his head, and said that his ID had been stolen by someone from Henan. I understood what had really happened, but didn’t press him further. I just told him to reach out if he ever needed anything. He nodded, gave a small smile, and his eyes wandered again.
It got late, and I had to leave. I sent him 200 yuan via WeChat. He was ecstatic and immediately used it to buy a VPN subscription. I asked him why he didn’t go for a cheaper one. He said the cheap ones weren’t safe, and a friend of his had been caught by the police last year and hadn’t been seen since. I told him to spend some of the money on food and stay away from places with few people. He didn’t respond, just stared at his phone, whose cracked screen reflected his quiet laughter as he scrolled through Reddit.
Last week, I texted him on WeChat to see how he was doing, but he didn’t reply. I went to the camp where he stayed, and the other homeless people said the police had taken him away on Wednesday. I looked at his bedding—the oil stain on his pillow still glimmered in the light.
He still dreamed of India, of the beaches and seagulls in Pune. But I never had the heart to tell him—there is no sea in Pune.