The Truth About Reality

She only hears soft snoring in the dorm, and the occasional sneeze or cough somewhere in the background. It’s nearly five. The sun will rise soon, and everyone’s still asleep.

But she can’t sleep.

They say it takes seven minutes for an average human to fall asleep.

She takes the whole night, and she still can’t seem to drift away.

Then she’ll have the stylist blaming her for the dark circles and wrinkles accumulated over time. She’d have the thickest base applied on her face, but it all feels so plastic, like a plastic mask being put over her face.

It’s just to cover what’s imperfect, but it has no breathing holes.

It becomes suffocating after a while.

Their dorm overlooks the highway, and she’s quite thankful for the beautiful view of bright streaming lights. Even when it rains, she’s out here, standing on the balcony, holding her breath for one too many times.

But out here, it’s a breath of fresh air.

No one seems to appreciate the beautiful view like she does, but that’s maybe because she’s the only one awake.

Nothing seems real anymore. And everyone’s telling her that reality and fantasy are two separate things.

Would it be wrong for Jessica Jung to believe that fantasies exist in realities, in subtler forms?

~+~

It used to be easy to smile.

“A little brighter, please.”

She doesn’t know how brighter she can get, but she tries again. The photographer recognises the effort, but he doesn’t see the difference. He nods and snaps a picture anyway.

It’s like she has rain in her eyes. No, she’s not crying, but her eyes are raining on its own, on the inside.

Or maybe they resemble the rain.

That’s what he thinks, anyway. It’s rare, and the media loves it, but she used to be happier, when there wasn’t much rain in her eyes.

But he’s good at his job, and his job requires him to be professional, methodical. He’s just there to take photos and tell her when she’s doing a good job. She is, but expressions can’t be forced. He has seen too many of fake smiles to know when it’s real.

And so far, he hasn’t seen a real one yet.

He’s just waiting for it to appear, with hopes of capturing it. Instead, he only captures her rainy eyes.

“You’re doing a great job, TaeYeon.”

~+~

Tiffany doesn’t know where all these scandals come from, when it’s obviously clear that their company has disallowed dating. She scrolls the page down, and reads the comments.

They’re not perfect, but people tend to lose sight of what they are.

Because they’re human too.

When they’re on stage, dancing and singing, entertaining, they’re human too.

There hasn’t been a moment so far that Tiffany could call herself perfect, because life’s all about making mistakes, not to fake perfection.

Her fingers find their way to the creases at the corners of her eyes. She’s the eye-smiling angel, and she’s supposed to eye-smile everyone to love her. But when she’s not eye-smiling, these creases appear, and they don’t fade away.

She wants somebody to tell her what perfection is, and she wants to be pulled into an embrace and have someone to kiss her to sleep.

She just wants her Mom, and to understand the truth of this reality.

~+~

There’s another plate served before her, and everyone’s looking at her expectantly.

SooYoung’s full, very full. Her stomach doesn’t feel like expanding for any kind of food, but she has a reputation to live up to.

This is a reason why she dislikes going out to eat with someone else, no matter who that person is. Because they can’t really tell when she’s full, and when her stomach hurts from eating too much.

They push a plate before her and smile.

They’re saying, “Eat it.”

SooYoung can’t shake her head, or scour for another lame excuse, because she’s SooYoung.

But they don’t understand that only she knows when she’s full and when she’s not.

She’s not complaining, but she wishes for someone to understand even the dustiest corners of her mind, and the dirtiest truth that is left untouched.

Every individual is unique, but surely, there is someone to understand her. Someone who understands that the nod of her head now is more like a cry of help. And that someone will eat from her plate too, to help her finish what she can’t.

Until now, she’s still waiting.

~+~

They have to accept that dancing comes by feel. On days you feel good, you dance. Otherwise, you’re still and floppy.

They can’t blame you. Dance is an emotion for you.

But HyoYeon is thrown on stage, given instructions to follow a choreography, and is told to dance. She dances, but she doesn’t feel her arms and legs. She feels like a marionette, and someone is just pulling the strings for her. She moves along mindlessly, but now dancing doesn’t feel like dancing anymore.

It’s not dancing if she doesn’t enjoy it.

But a concert is a concert, and she has to dance whether she likes it or not. The show must go on, but HyoYeon’s not sure if she wants to be in it. She’s telling herself that she wants this, but she only wants to dance and sing.

Can’t she have one without the other?

“We’ll try that again, HyoYeon.”

She nods, and gets into position. She’s tired of having to dance and dance.

It’s that saying ‘hate the players, don’t hate the game’.

All she hears are lies now. She doesn’t really want to hear it.

“Good job, HyoYeon. That’s better.”

~+~

She misses her family.

But they’re so far away.

No, she has a family now. A new extension of her family, eight more girls who love her just as much as she loves them.

She’s not a person of affection; she doesn’t know how to show her feelings. She prefers to play pranks and joke around, because it’s the easier way out. It’s easier to hide what you really feel behind a laughing mask.

People won’t know she’s really sad.

Her laughter sounds the same that no one can tell the difference.

Some time ago, she has wished for someone who does.

Now, even she doesn’t know what her laughter sounds like when she’s upset. Wait, she’s not supposed to laugh when she’s upset. She’s supposed to cry.

But she’s strong, and strong people always hide their fragility. It’s like fragile glass in bubble wrap.

But even when it falls to the ground, it’s meant to break.

Fragile things are meant to break.

Sometimes it gets too heavy for her, so she tries to find more reasons to smile on that day. She plays more pranks— she always knows how— and she laughs more.

But her insides know that she’s just looking for an excuse to smile, and that doesn’t change anything.

She doesn’t know how long she’s going to be like this.

She’s praying, even when she doesn’t know what God to pray to. But she’s hoping for her prayers to be answered.

“It’s me, YoonA. God, you’re listening to me, right?”

~+~

She’s dancing on stage, and it’s probably on live television.

She’s one of Girls’ Generation’s best dancers, and it’s the way she moves her body, fluidly, that gives her that title.

She absently wonders what her mother thinks of this.

Is she shaking her head while watching her daughter dance to this catchy song?

Can she see her daughter’s flat stomach and toned arms?

Is she proud of her daughter?

The song fades away, and her turn is over. Her solo stage is over. It’s time to return to being part of the group, and it’s time to get out of these clothes.

But there’s not much to get out of, really.

She faintly notices this as she strips herself of the clothes and dresses accordingly. She doesn’t know how well it had turned out, but it seems to be progressing well. She’s backstage, clinging onto the curtains, barely listening to the next stage.

Her mind still rings.

She’s tempted to call up her mother and ask, but she figures that she doesn’t really want the answer.

She wants to be taken back to that stage of innocence again.

Maybe their debut days, when they’re all smiles and laughter and they’re not too bored of living life this way.

Usually, she’s one of the most understanding of the group. That’s why most of the members are closest to her, and they confide in her. But the more she listens to their plights, she realises how miserable their lives are.

It sounds so much like hers.

Her brother tells her to ‘find the horizon’.

She doesn’t know where that is, and she’s stopped looking.

She misses cold water on her skin and the sea hugging her. She misses water engulfing her as she swims. She’s wondering how the fishes look like in the Great Barrier Reef.

She looks at the television, at her solo stage and she feels sick, disgusted maybe, thinking, “Who’s that girl who dresses like a ?”

YuRi only hopes it’s not her.

~+~

“We wish to stay together for a long time,” TaeYeon answers the question.

The interview is going pleasantly, with a few nods of the head and some smiles here and there. Most of the members have had their turn at answering. She listens to the questions asked, and finds the answers herself in her head.

But it goes unsaid.

Until the interviewer finally turns to ask her a question.

“What do you think of staying in Girls’ Generation until all of you have reached an age of forty, maybe?”

Here, the smiles start to widen, and it hurts her cheeks.

“I think that’ll be great. We’ve been with each other for so long that I think we’d stick together forever.”

That’s the answer fans are hoping for, that’s the lie she has to tell.

They are meant to live for so much more; have they lost themselves?

Forty? She wonders where she’ll be at forty. Will she still be stopping by the practice room to try their new choreography out? Will she be performing on stage with her eight other members?

The future is uncertain, but she’s almost certain it’ll just go in one way.

 But they’re so young now, and they’re already weary. She’s requested to show some aegyo for the audience, which she does without hesitation.

Because it’s something everyone tells her to do.

She’s the best at it, they tell her. But is there really any form of pride in pulling faces and speaking in a constricted voice?

The others tell her that she’s two different people on and off screen. She tells them she knows, and she’s meant to be that way.

“What do you think, Sunny?”

~+~

She’s incredibly suffocated. The outfit is digging into her stomach, and claiming too many breaths from her that it’s difficult to sing properly. But she’s trying, alongside her members who are singing without much effort.

Nowadays, it’s taking extra effort to perform.

Taking an extra effort to smile.

She’s changed, they say.

She’s no longer trying to keep that smile on everyone’s face. That’s probably because she can’t keep trying to keep her own smile intact. She’s growing out of that shell, and now she feels , bare.

Her seniors tell her that it’s what all singers go through.

“It’s a phase. You’ll get used to it, eventually.”

She can’t imagine a day she’ll get used to it. But what scares her more is the fact that eventually, she’ll be like that.

Like a glass sculpture, transparent, see-through.

But she’s not meant to be studied that way.

Glass sculptures don’t have hearts, but she’s sure she has one. It’s just unresponsive, silent, no longer trying to fight to be free.

She guesses that’s what happens when people gets older; you just stop trying to struggle, to be free, because it’ll hurt less.

But the truth about reality is that it’s always going to hurt.

But it hurts less when they’re together, standing on the same stage, knowing fairly well that they’re sharing that pain, that burden.

And sometimes, she doesn’t feel the pain at all.

~+~

All of them are gathered on stage, it’s the end, the finale. Their fingers are linked, and they’re smiling. Through pain, through tears, they have learnt to smile for each other.

That’s all they’ll need.

On occasions like these, they can see themselves five years, ten years into the future.

They don’t know if they’ll be standing on the same stage, but they know their fingers will be linked, and they’ll be standing together.

It’s been five years, and they’re growing older, but they’re feeling the youngest they had in years.

“Happy Anniversary.”

If this is what it takes to smile through the pain, forever isn’t enough.

“지금은, 소녀시대! 앞으로도, 소녀시대! 영원히, 소녀시대!”

—ジュリエット