I often split my time between my mother and father, between America and Korea. My parents split when I was in middle school and because of this I was often ferried across the world to visit one or the other. When I finished high school in Korea, I wanted to try out university in America. However, for some reason, it was just not for me. And my mom, though upset, allowed me to go back to Korea to live with my dad. In some ways, I was happy and felt like I was returning home. I loved Seoul; it was my favourite place in the world.

            Yet, even a favourite place can have painful memories. Here in this city, I cultivated her first and so far only love. That did not mean I have been without a boyfriend since high school. On the contrary, I’ve had my own fair share, but there’s a difference in a relationship if you merely like someone. At least that’s how it is for me.

            Anyway, when I was sixteen I met a boy through my father’s work. It wasn’t a love at first sight sort of deal. We barely acknowledged each other when we did meet and only talked casually. But somehow, we fell in love. He was older and I was charmed by his soft voice and kind personality. At the time, he had not yet debuted, but soon did. This was not the cause of our break-up and we continued to date happily, very much in love. But things turned sour for his group and I couldn’t offer the support he needed. Why? I don’t know. I’m terribly at comforting or being helpful. I can make you laugh, but sometimes people just want to cry or rant and for me it’s too heavy. I wouldn’t say I’m unemotional or awkward, but it’s difficult for me to offer helpful, soothing words while sounding sincere. Even if I’ve been through it myself, I cannot form the words in my mouth to offer relief from the pain. And so, we broke up.

            Shortly thereafter I graduated from high school. We spent a good two years together and he was my first everything. The pain afterwards was terrible and I found my solace in music. Not by singing or dancing since I was not good at either, but through listening to the lyrics of heartache. Eventually it stopped hurting so much and the fights we had were a distant memory. I don’t know what he’s up to right now or where he is though I assume he’s in Seoul. Maybe he’s in another group, maybe he’s married, maybe he’s dead. I don’t know and I don’t care to. Everything’s in the past and Seoul is a big city.

            I had been home for a week when my father invited me to watch a filming of one of the weekly music shows. I think it was Music Core. This week would be special since the Wonder Girls were making their Korean comeback onstage, a place that had not been to since their “Nobody” days or at least that was what my father told me. I listened to the music and read the lyrics, but I barely paid attention to the members of each group or the group’s activities. Along with Wonder Girls, there were many other groups performing: Super Junior, 2PM, MBLAQ, F(x), 4minute, Davichi, 8eight, among others. These names were vaguely familiar to me, but if you asked me to name the members or a fan club name, you would be met with a blank look.

            But still, I was getting a chance to go backstage that many did not receive, so of course I told my father I would go. That day, I dressed as I always did in a pair of skinny jeans, Nikes and a grey T-shirt. This was my basic uniform though the shirt colour or design often changed. I pulled my hair half up and secured it with a white headband. I put on my small backpack that contained things I probably wouldn’t know; however, what if I got bored? I followed my father out to the car and he drove us to the studio.

            There were people waiting to get inside with signs and posters of the idols. They were all eyeing me enviously as we slipped inside the building. I followed my father dutifully back past the performance area to where all the dressing rooms were. As soon as we had arrived, a harried looking intern or assistant ran up and quickly began telling my father about a problem that he needed to solve. Without telling me where to go or what to do, he rushed off.

            I watched him leave, grabbing onto the straps of my backpack. This was not good. I heard a group of loud male voices approaching. I had no idea from which way as I was at a fork in a hallway with three options. They were friendly voices, laughing and joking, as they walked nearer to me. By now I knew they were coming from the same direction I had. I backed up against the wall as five males came into view. They were dressed in street wear with ball caps, though one was wearing a fedora and glasses. Two of them were quite tall for Korean men and the whole group had this athletic look to them, even if they were being goofy currently.

            As they walked past me, each looked at me for a moment and then continued. One or two of them smiled politely and one even winked before disappeared around the turn. I stared after them confused. Who were they? Shrugging, I crossed my arms across my chest, waiting for my father to return. Footsteps were running back from the way that the group of boys had come. I looked over and saw one of them sprinting towards me. He was of average height with wisps of black hair sticking out from his hat. His face was young-looking and his cheeks were very smooth. I dropped my gaze to my shoes, waiting for him to pass. Instead, he stopped in front on me. Bowing, he quickly said, “Ahnyong haseyo, Jang Wooyoung imnida. Producer Lim has instructed me to you to the sitting area nearby.” He smiled impishly at me. I hesitantly returned the bow.

            “Lim Eunhee imnida,” was all I offered in response. He, this Wooyoung character, nodded at me and gestured for me to follow him. He looked a little familiar to me, so I assumed he was in a group I listened to. But I feel as if he might be offended if I did that.

            Neither of us spoke for the thirty second walk to the “sitting area,” which was three seats outside one of the dressing rooms. He pointed to it and then left me. I offered no words in thanks and he offered no goodbye. And at this I felt relieved. I found small talk to be irritating and awkward.

            I sat down in the middle chair and sat my bag in the seat on my right, farthest from the door. Wooyoung had entered into this room and I could hear a chorus of male voices herald him back in. They were talking loudly once more and I heard one voice above the rest ask about me. Well, they did not say my name obviously, but asked what it was and other sort of nonsensical questions.

            Wooyoung answered dismissively with my name and that was the end of his input. Well, except I heard him add, “She’s outside.” At that, there was absolute silence. I chuckled as the silence was replaced with very un-sneaky whispering.

I pulled out my mp3 player and stuck in my earphones. I pressed play absently with my finger and the music began to play. I glanced down at the screen and tapped the screen once to get rid of the lyrics. Realization dawned on my slowly as I saw that this group of five was, in fact, one of the groups I listened to pretty often. 2PM. They were currently one person short and I had no idea why. How interesting, I thought, leaning my head back against the wall.

I closed my eyes and drifted off a little into my thoughts. I was shortly being poked into attention though. Unable to suppress a sneer, I turned my head to see one of the taller boys with half of his body hanging out the door. His long arm had managed to poke me effortlessly. I would have probably fallen.

He smiled brightly at me and for a second my heart ached. There was something familiar in it that stirred up too many repressed memories. I cleared my expression and waited for him to speak.

“We wanted to know if you wanted to hang out with us in here instead of waiting for your dad outside,” he explained.

“Oh…w-well, okay.” I shoved my mp3 back into my bag and stood up.

“Great!” He turned his head to shout to the others that I had accepted their offer. When I entered the room I was met with excited and once again loud greetings. They seemed to be a boisterous bunch of guys.

“These are the other members. You’ve met Wooyoung already. This is the maknae, Hwang Chansung.” The second tallest waved frantically at me. “Lee Junho, the second youngest.” He smiled at me, revealing a very cute side to him that I had not expected. He looked similar to someone, but I did not quite know who yet. “Nichkhun. I would tell you his last name, but I don’t know how to pronounce it.” This boy with dyed blonde hair shot him a look. “And I am beastly Ok Taecyeon, but you can call me oppa.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” I inquired archly. I knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth and they looked stricken that I had probably given him a “who is this moron and why is he allowed to speak around me?” sort of look. This look was given without me fully realizing it. I had no control over my face at times.

“Are you American?” Nichkhun asked a polite smile plastered on his face.

“Do I look American?” I returned this time coupled with an eye roll. I crossed my arms across my chest. I realized belatedly that I was sounding very off-putting. But I had a hard time dealing with stupid questions. Nichkhun’s face looked as if I had slapped him, he was so taken aback.

I cleared my throat and said, “I don’t really call people oppa. It’s not my thing. Mianhae.”

“Do you know who we are?” This time Junho asked a question. My face was devoid of emotion as I answered, “2PM.”

I could tell they were not very pleased with me or impressed. “I don’t really listen to Korean music a lot,” I told them. I was not about to go into detail though. It wasn’t their business.

The room lapsed into silence. Finally Chansung spoke up and bowed to me. “I apologize for my hyungs. Though they’d never admit it, they get upset when people don’t know who we are.”

“Oh, I listen to your music, but if I had come across you before I would never have known. I don’t pay attention to idols and their lives.”

“Why is that?” I let out a sigh and shrugged. I fully knew the reason why. Part was a fear of finding him successful and happy and the other was the fear of him not being there.

“Maknae means youngest, does it not?” I said to Chansung. He nodded. “You don’t look like the youngest.” He grinned at me, clearly pleased with my statement.

“That wasn’t a compliment. You’re going to be ed when you hit thirty and look like you’re fifty.”

“Ooooooohhhhhhh.”

“Wow.”

Wooyoung burst out laughing at Chansung’s dumbfounded face. He clapped his hands in delight. “I approve of you!”

I felt a smile grow on my face at his joy. Outside the room, I heard a different set of male voices with two voices louder than the rest. I turned my head to see five boys walk past; each dressed in a suit of sorts. While they passed this room, the other two quieted while a voice asked them what they wanted to eat for dinner.

That voice…

I walked to the door and peeked outside, watching them walk away. Who were they? And why did one of their voices sound like his.

“Why does she seem more interested in them?” Junho muttered to Nichkhun. Turning around I asked casually, “who were they?”

“MBLAQ,” Taecyeon replied. “They’re Rain’s new boy band.”