Eight months had passed since Jimin had gone to Seoul.  I had become numb to his missing presence, and while he tried to reach out to me every day, our conversations had gone to once a day, to a week, sometimes few and far in between.  Like most things, I adjusted to it.  Trying to convince myself that Jimin’s missing presence had no impact on me, but it did.  In small doses.

I couldn’t help but feel jealous as he had met a lot of new friends and talked of debuting soon.  BTS was the group name, and people were dropping out like flies.  Breaking down under the pressure or realizing their dreams would not be as easy to achieve as they had originally wanted.  Jimin had made his way into the group as member number 7 and it appears he would be the last.

There had been a few phone calls every now and again where Jimin would express his will breaking.  Every day a new grind, he needed to learn the chorography faster, sing better, dance better, lose weight and keep his energy up.  All while still attending school.  He was overwhelmed.

“Nari, I’m not talented enough to be here.”  I could hear the crack in his voice as he spoke.  He sounded as though he was ready to cry.  He would go on about how he wasn’t the best singer, the best dancer, not the best rapper, not even the best looking.  He was Jimin and Jimin wasn’t enough.  At least in his eyes.

I think in all my years of knowing Jimin, I had never had him speak like this to me. His guard completely down, emotions flowing through his voice and his self-confidence non-existent.  This was not the Jimin that was good at making friends, taking care of people.  The one who had a strong will and never gave up.  He wasn’t giving himself any credit.  He’s always worked hard and believed with that, he would succeed.  I didn’t want him to lose hope, he was worth so much more than that.

“Jimin,” I hummed over the phone, “things will work out, they a