In my thirty years of living, there have only been ten that truly mattered. Many a time I’ve been told that every part of my life has been important and will be important – from the day I was brought into the world to the day where I will be taken out of it – but I ask the same question every time. Why? 

The first fifteen years of my life were spent studying, dreaming of what could be if I had ever gathered the courage to run after the seemingly unrealistic ideals of my future. I had done nothing of note, nothing of importance, and yet I’m supposed to say those years mattered to me? When I was immature, spending so much time outside of home to be with friends I longer speak with, and struggling to find myself in the midst of panic-stricken moments of stress over my exams? 

No, I refuse to remember those years as my life. Looking back on it, it seems as though I had only been observant of myself from outside of my body – watching the irrelevant days of someone wearing my face pass by with disdain. My true life began in the fall of 2005, when I was paired with eleven other trainees to fulfill our dreams of entertaining the public of the world. 

From then on were the ten years I have considered the most significant of the thirty I have been alive and breathing. 

Facing adversity, breakthroughs in popularity, the pain of injuries left untreated due to busy schedules, the joy of awards being gifted to us as a memoriam of our hard work, and every other emotion that can possibly be felt and sharing those experiences with a group of people you would have never expected to meet, remembering those ten years is… almost surreal. 

Ten years of blood, sweat, and tears shed on the wooden floor of the practice room where the scuffs of your shoes lingered from stepping too hard when you danced as if your life depended on it, when there seemed to be no other option than to give up and leave such a difficult life behind. 

Ten years of sharing an infinite amount of hope and excitement when the one person that had stuck beside you, loving you when you couldn’t do so, on the path to what seemed like childish dreams, and not wanting to let go of their hand when the circumstances turn against you, begging them to stay with you, even if they’re tired of repeating that you should just accept it. 

Ten years of seeing who could have been trivial work colleagues – people you saw every day and pretended to get along with for the sake of your career, image, and the cameras – become a second family that you have never expected but you never wanted to lose. Ten years of having that family give you a pat on the back when you’re down, wiping your tears away when you cry, laughing with you even if your jokes are mediocre, and sharing the most important moments of your life with enthusiasm and love. 

Ten years seems to be looked at as a milestone, a time where you have finally made it past the dreadful halfway mark of five and survived the first three of unsteadiness. I would have never expected us to come this far. My inherent pessimism played a part in my belief but not enough to where I doubted our bond, or our passion for entertaining even those who seem to hate us for every minuscule thing we have ever done. 

It was just unheard of. 

A typical idol group’s average lifespan is five years. Five short years of struggling to be taken seriously, almost begging your fans to buy your album so you could get even ten percent of the profit, forcing yourself to act like the image the company had given you based on stereotypes of your appearance or talent – only for it to end so quickly because it just wasn’t enough. 

Five years and it’s all over. You’ve disbanded, moved on, found other activities to be a part of.

To survive ten years, even if our original line-up and friendships are no longer the way they had been when we were barely out of our teens, is a feat on it’s own. There’s only been two groups that have survived this long: Super Junior and Shinhwa. We’re considered legends. 

There are many things I wish I could have done differently in those ten years. I could have been friendlier to the fans that had waited day and night to catch a glimpse of me when I left the theatre after grueling hours of acting. I could have been as talkative as some of the other members – like Hyukjae or Kyuhyun, who seemed to be even more loved by the public every time they opened their mouths – and expanded my variety prowess beyond the occasional martial arts and unique tricks I had stayed up so many nights to learn.

I could have done so many things right, fixed so many times I had said or done the wrong thing, but that would only open the chance for more mistakes later on. Despite it all, I’m happy. I’m finally happy. 

I’ve had time to reflect in the last year and some months, even more so now that I’ve enlisted, away from the curious ears of those who shouldn’t hear and the nosy eyes of those who shouldn’t see. Lessons I should have learned years ago, ones that I might have been taught in the time I refuse to acknowledge as part of my life, have finally instilled themselves in my mind, teaching me things I should have known. 

Being selfish every once in a while isn’t a bad thing, I want everyone to know that. Dedicating your life to the happiness of others to the point where you are deprived of love for yourself is not a healthy way to lead it, nor does it bring you any satisfaction in the long run, where you need it the most. One’s own happiness should come first though it may seem like others need you more than you need yourself, and I fear that I learned this lesson too late. 

There is a saying that you should advance and never retrograde, that there is a threat of losing yourself in memories rather than moving forward, but there is some good in looking back on the years you barely had a chance to digest, no? Is it so bad to look back? You remind yourself of memories that might as well have been long forgotten, of the times when you were happiest, or when it seemed as though the entire world had turned against you and there was no other place to go. 

I want to start from the beginning, from the moment I began my new life as a trainee and set foot inside the practice room for the first time, to the unfinished end where I begin to write about my woes of no longer being as physically fit as I used to be. It’s going to be a year and a half of working for my country, which I am glad to be a part of, and I would like to have something to keep my mind busy in the days where I have time to myself and my thoughts. 

It might even be good material for a memoir someday, when Super Junior will be names remembered as legends – the group that had helped encourage the wave of Korean music to reach the ears of millions of foreigners. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?