April, 2012

It was around this time when we first met, I guess. Or at least, it was the first time I met you. Later on, you would tell me again and again how you had seen me before that day, on different occasions and chance meetings. I would laugh and listen. I liked listening to your voice, your stories.

I still do actually. Even though, I am beginning to forget how the tone of your voice sounds like.

That day was really busy, I remember. Backstage, people were rushing in and out, talking loudly through phones and yelling across the room. Vaguely, someone told me you were the newcomer. I didn’t really notice and I didn’t really care. It was, after all, my debut.

If anything, I was pretty sure I was annoyed at the fact that the managers decided to put someone inexperienced like you to do my makeup. I remember you told me how I gave you a cocky look of arrogance and refused to talk to you unless absolutely necessary.

It’s funny, now that I think about it.

In all honesty, you could have screwed me over, you know. And there I was, having some prince-like syndrome, being an . And so much has changed since then, hasn’t it?

In my memory, you were just there; white t-shirt and jeans, hair messed up in a bun - a simple silhouette. A stranger, even.

Yet, in a room of crowded people, it was this one stranger that gave me some kind of comfort. It was this stranger that seemed to know my innermost anxiety – an anxiety that I chose to hide from the outside world. I have yet to thank you for that day, actually. I haven’t thanked you for the nine words you gave me before I left to go on stage.

Thank you, Chaerin-ah, I want to say to you right now, even though these words have long been overdue.

Also, sorry. Sorry it took me so long.

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May, 2012

And so begins my climb to the top. It was a messy but glorious period for me. Days packed, schedules filled with barely a breather but I loved it. How long had I been waiting for an opportunity? I did it.

I craved every single moment of it. I craved the fans screaming, the spotlight, the recognition. Oh, it was so glamorous, Chaerin-ah. You were there to see it all, do you remember? I would burst out on stage with each passing day, filled with this crazy energy in me. I sang, I danced, I went completely wild. I was shouting my message out there, to the world. THIS IS ME, I AM KWON JIYONG. Do you think they heard me? Was I loud enough?

Backstage, people ask me, oh, are you tired? How are you coming along? Take it easy there, buddy. Just half-hearted off hand comments, really. But they didn’t get it. Perhaps they never will.

And you told me this, and I’d remember it as long as I live.

“Jiyong-ssi, you draw your energy from the stage, you know that?”

And that’s when I knew. I found someone who could understand me.

It was the first time I properly talked to you. The first time I learnt your name. Lee Chae Rin. And for some reason, the syllabus gelled perfectly in my head. I remembered thinking, she understands me.

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