It had been a little over a year since debut and the cameras, photoshoots, filming, music shows, reporters, vocal lessons, dance practice, and recording sessions were still very difficult for her to believe or get used to.

She’d trained and signed under an well established entertainment company that lacked nothing except idol groups. She’d been asked to audition for them while on vacation with her aunt. Fearing that it was some sort of scam, she’d refused, but her aunt, always the one to risk all or nothing, convinced her to at least show up.

Back then, the table lined with stoic-looking judges had been beyond surprised and pleased at the sound of her voice. She was able to see it in their eyes though, the disbelief that such a marvelous voice belonged to a girl like herself. Despite the odds stacked against them, the high possibility that the public would reject her for being a foreigner, the company offered her a trainee contract.

After much debate, she’d finally agreed. Her aunt had been thrilled, calling it the greatest adventure of her life. She’d tried to reason with her, but she could be so impossible. In the end, she’d signed, not because she wanted to become an idol, but because her aunt had already quit her job back home and put the house on sale.

“Korea!” she had said while hopping around the hotel room. “How exciting! I always knew I would leave Mexico, but I never imagined I’d be living in Seoul, South Korea!”

She’d been flabbergasted. Her aunt’s eccentric behavior made her nervous. So many things made her nervous since she’d lost her parents that she wondered why she had not died of a heart attack yet.

At the age of thirteen, her parents had passed away in a car accident and she’d moved from America to Mexico with her aunt. Her mother had moved to the United States at a much younger age than that and with the difficulty of knowing not one word in English. Her father had been born in America but had lived his entire infancy in a small Mexican town by the border. She’d learned Spanish well, she loved it more than English, in fact; she also ended up knowing more about her Mexican heritage than the second- and third-generation Mexican-Americans she went to school with.

When the time came to move from one country to the other, she wasn’t entirely defenseless, but she wasn’t ready either. She knew her heritage, knew her parents’ stories. She’d never set foot on Mexican soil, but there had been times when she’d felt a longing for the motherland she’d been born away from, a longing rooted deeply in her heart.

The grief of having lost her parents, the anxiety of moving away from her childhood home, would have been too much to bear had she not somehow convinced herself that her parents would have wanted this for her, that they would have encouraged her to experience life in their homeland. Even while being grief stricken, she had functioned, somehow.

The move to Seoul, on the other hand, had nearly incapacitated her. At the age of fifteen, nearly sixteen, she knew not a single word in Korean aside from what her Spanish-to-Korean and English-to-Korean dictionaries had provided her with. Time and time again she’d attempted to reason with her aunt that she was being silly, irrational, immature even. To leave everything behind because some unknown company had painted a pretty picture of success as an idol was outrageous!

But her aunt had been too caught up in the glamour to think much of it.

“You love to sing, sweetie! You can make it big! They say they’ll teach you all you need to know, that they’ll get rid of your two left feet and doll you up all nice and pretty!”

She’d felt as if she were a product the company was looking into buying. Her voice was what they desired, but the package that it came in wasn’t too pleasing. The woman that would be her interpreter for the first few months had informed her that once she signed, her life would change forever.

She’d looked at the paper staring up at her, the black ink swirling around. They’d provided her with a copy written in English, a small consideration. She’d read it once, twice, three times on her own, not fully understanding its contents and knowing that she never really would.

She never really found out why she did it, but she signed. And her aunt signed. And the CEO signed. And everyone that needed to do so signed.

The very next day, she was put on a strict diet and exercise routine, coupled with vocal lessons and an intensive course on Korean. She felt frustrated for not understanding what people around her said, so, because she hated feeling stupid, she asked her interpreter not to aid her unless it was absolutely necessary. By sheer will, she learned basic Korean in a month. With practice, she spoke it fluently in two more.

Impressed, the CEO, Choi Min Soo, kept an eye on her. Everyone kept their eyes on her. More trainees came in. Some would make it, others would leave, and even more were cut. She had been the first girl to begin training with the company and knew everyone that came or went after her arrival. It was from other trainees that she learned the culture.

Knowing that she needed to assimilate, those in charge would allow the trainees to venture out every once in a while as long as she were with them. She’d learned about the markets, the fashion, and the food. She loved the food most, but wasn’t allowed to eat much of it. It was no secret that she was a company favorite, but among trainees, she was just a regular girl that wanted to experience their culture in a healthy way, to learn, a foreign girl with weight problems that loved to sing.

On her third year as a trainee, the first male group of the company debuted. L6 debuted in the summer and swept the music charts. They made a name for themselves, paving the road she was sure she’d end up walking on.

That same year, the company created her own group, CELESTIAL. Out of the five, she was the eldest, shortest, and heaviest. Her skin wasn’t white; it glimmered a shade of milky mocha, the same way her mother’s had. Her hair fell down her back in thick, luscious black waves. She was nothing like the pretty girls that became her teammates.

Chae Young was slender, with creamy skin and straight black hair. Rena had beautiful, long legs and chocolate hair that brushed her collarbones. Dae was the tallest member, the most model-like, with feline eyes; she liked to keep her hair short and wild. The youngest, Ha Neul, had a doll-like appearance that made you want to stare at her forever. Her lips were delicate, pink, her eyes glimmered with mischievous shyness. She’d changed her dark hair for a blonde look that added an angelic aura to her small face. Ha Neul was the prettiest, and the reason why the group’s name ended up being CELESTIAL.

The day they were gathered and told the news, the CEO also provided each and every one of them with a stage name and position.

Chae Young became Chae, Rena changed to ReNA, Dae to DAEE, and Ha Neul to Ienna. They all knew DAEE would be the rapper and main dancer; she loved hip hop, that strange genre that she knew she’d never understand. ReNA and Chae made up the lead and sub vocals. Ienna had the honor of becoming the main vocal.

She remembered sitting in that conference room, feeling as the walls closed in around her. After four years, after having given up everything she’d known for the unknown, after leaving her mother’s homeland for a country on the opposite end of the world, she couldn’t believe that she was about to be cut.

CEO Choi and director had spoken cheerfully to the girls, to her friends, but they had not given her a stage name yet or a position. She’d thought that, seeing as singing was her only talent she’d be given the position of main vocal… maybe it was because Korean was not her first language.

“We’ve talked a lot about this,” CEO Choi said suddenly. She’d looked up and found that everyone was staring at her.

The CEO’s eyes traveled around the room, meeting the eyes of every single one of her friends. She loved all of them, had grown extremely close while living in the dorms during the past year. She would miss them once she left.

“We all have talked about this,” CEO Choi’s continuing speech made her tense. “The girls have come together wonderfully, all four of them. Ienna has had the least training time, but her vocal work is outstanding. I hear that you helped her along with breathing exercises and practices.”

She’d smiled at Ienna, taking her pretty hand in hers. “She has a heavenly voice, just like her name. All she needed was some encouragement. She’ll do great as the main vocal.”

Ienna had beamed at her, sitting a little straighter. The mischief in her eyes had glowed brighter.

CEO Choi had nodded. “Yes, she’s doing well, but she’s not at the level that can sustain the group on her own. Which is why we decided that we would have two main vocals.”

She’d looked at him blankly for a few minutes, long enough for him to smile and repeat himself in Spanish. Hearing her mother tongue emerge from her boss’ lips had shocked her into awareness.

“T-two main vocals?” And, when had he learned Spanish?

He’d nodded. “From now on, you’re Eun Mi, CELESTIAL’s main vocal and,” he paused, smiling proudly, “leader.”

“L-leader?!”

Eun Mi’s bandmates had cheered, clapping and shouting congratulations, obviously having had something to do with the decision to make her the leader. Eun Mi sat there, bewildered.

The next months had been excruciating. There had been a million things to do and Eun Mi could not remember them all. Before she knew it, the first stage had come and gone, so had the second, third, and fourth.

CELESTIAL had climbed up the popularity ladder quickly, just as their label mates L6. The company managed both groups well, produced great music, and knew how to schedule the members’ time properly.

She’d given interviews, performed before hundreds, thousands of people at festivals, and found CELESTIAL being invited to variety shows often. DAEE’s awkward self always made audiences laugh, Chae and ReNA were really funny, Ienna charmed them all with her aegyo and beauty. And she…well, Eun Mi didn’t know exactly what it was that she did that made the public like her, but, according to those around her, she was quite popular as well.

She’d lived through all of this. She’d experienced the life of an artist, an idol. But she couldn’t remember it well. Everything blurred together.

Where had the past seven years of her life gone? Why was it that she couldn’t hold on to the memories? Why…why had she decided to become an object of scrutiny?

Eun Mi worried. She worried that she’d never get used to the attention, the praise and the criticism. She worried for DAEE who had lately lost focus and messed up during practice. She worried for Ienna; she was so young, could she withstand the pressure? Chae and ReNA were good girls, but Eun Mi worried that the pressure would also become too much for them.

Eun Mi worried for so many things. The comebacks, the recordings, the lessons. She worried for the future that was not visible and past that was blurred.

Eun Mi worried so much about everything and was afraid. It made her so very nervous, but she could not show it. As the leader, she could not show it. Not now. Not ever.