When people talk about hell on Earth, they are usually referring to some war-torn country or famine-stricken continent or some other equally tragic situation. What most people don’t seem to realize is that hell comes in many different shapes and varieties, sometimes in the most unexpected locations. And the Hell I live in is right here in the SM trainee centre. It may just be the most dangerous kind because it is a Hell that looks a lot like Heaven. After all, we get to learn different skills for free, and even meet idols and stars. Isn’t that every teenager in the Republic of Korea dream of these days? I’ve always wondered what draws people to this life even though we are all painfully aware of the fact that there’s no guarantee we’ll ever debut, and that all the trainees are constantly trying to one-up each other and move up the rankings. Yet, we all came here mostly of our own volition, ready to make a name for ourselves. Of course I’ll debut, because I’m different from the rest. I’m special.

              I’ve tried to recall what drew me in in the first place, but I’ve been here so long I no longer remember beyond the generic reason I give when someone asks me why I joined SM - because they invited me and it seemed like the thing to do. What sane person would say no when someone from SM, only the biggest entertainment company in Korea, literally stops you on the street and offers you an audition? Certainly not me, at least. But it bothers me that I can’t remember exactly why I joined. Was it because of the allure of meeting top stars and celebrities? Was I so confident that I would debut? Did my friends talk me into it? I can’t remember.

             All I know is that I worked as hard as was physically possible and sometimes beyond that, to live up to the almost inhuman expectations that trainees are expected to meet. But I was never good enough, despite working myself to the brink of injury. And I drew no comfort in knowing that I’m not the only one in the very same position. Most, if not all, the trainees work just as hard, and most of them drop out or are kicked out one by one, steadily but surely. Should I draw comfort from the fact then, that I have been here for 6 years now, without being deemed good enough to debut but also not bad enough to be kicked out? Always mediocre, that’s me.

             There’s no denying that our future is a big question mark and the constant pressure to perform puts a strain on even the strongest person. Most of us are after all, still only children, some barely qualifying as adults… Most people can’t take the pressure and quit within the first few months, maybe sticking around for an year at most. I know that almost every trainee who’s been here longer than a few months has trouble sleeping, or eating, or some other stress-related problem. It’s a topic that is almost never addressed publicly but I’ve seen enough by now to know that a very dark shadow lurks just beneath the shiny exterior. I’ve seen other trainees in the washroom throwing up what little they’ve just eaten or wrapping fresh bandages onto beautifully symmetrical cuts. What I find the most chilling is that it is such a commonplace sight that it isn’t even commented on by the other trainees.

             We’ve seen it so often now that it doesn’t even register in our minds anymore as something that needs to be addressed. We see it, yes, but we don’t see it. Repeated exposure has made us numb to it, and I for one am thankful for that small mercy. We don’t have the time to be dealing with other’s issues when we all have ghosts of our own waiting to drag us down to the depths of darkness. If that’s what keeps their ghosts at bay, then it is not my place to intrude into their personal life. But I’m determined that I will not succumb to it. I will get through this murky whirlpool, I will make it to the shore. Even if I have to close my eyes to the suffering of others to reach my goal, I will reach it. And once I do, things will be different.

              I may just be trading in one hell for another, but at least it will be a change of scenery. If I give in now, if I give up, I will not have anything left. Not even the ghosts, and I’d rather be buried alive than lose everything I’ve worked so hard for. Not after everything I’ve lost to get here. Not after everyone I’ve turned my back on. They are now the ghosts that haunt me every waking and sleeping moment, and they are living nightmares that spur me on everyday to surpass my limits, to push myself till I break, ‘because if you left us for this, at least do it right,’ they say. Don’t you dare turn back now, I can hear them screaming and howling.

             And so it continues, this hell on Earth. The only positive thing I have left is the hope that someday, I will have worked hard enough, given enough of myself, shed enough blood, tears and sweat at the altar that I will be deemed worthy enough to stand up there with others who shine brighter than the stars in the night sky, as if they have never been through this hell I live in every day. But I know, I know they have lived through it and survived to tell the tale. I know they have ghosts of their own because I have seen. Seen them and many others in the restrooms, and in the dorms, even the hallways when they get desperate, giving into the ghosts from time to time, leaving trails behind, sometimes of shattered bottles, rolled-up joints, syringes, sometimes of blood.

              Is it something to be proud of then, that I have never given in in the same way? Because giving in would mean respite, a brief, transient moment of peace after the act before the ghosts creep up again, stronger than ever. Because I don’t deserve peace, not even for a moment, not after what I turned my back on. So instead I torture myself every night with images of my estranged love, which morph into nightmares as I slip into restless sleep, images of my unborn child haunting me until I wake the next morning. And so I continue to swim desperately while the heavy burden of memories past drags me down by the ankles, until the day I reach the shore where I know not if more horrors await me, or perhaps salvation at long last.

              Sometimes, in very short-lived moments of positivity, when I dare to hope, I imagine myself at the pinnacle, with friends by my side and forgiveness in my heart. Forgiveness, not only for the lover who killed my child without even informing of its existence but also for myself for being so absorbed in myself as to not even notice the pain and suffering she surely must have gone through to reach that decision. I’ve seen others who were once in this Hell with me shine as if they have no ghosts dragging them down, and I wonder if I can do the same one day… I know I can’t be the Sun, spreading light wherever it goes and shining so bright it eliminates all darkness from its surroundings. But maybe I can be a star, a tiny flickering light, like a diamond in the night sky.

I want to shine after all... even if it is only made possible because I’m surrounded on all sides by eternal darkness that threatens to engulf me at any moment.