“What am I doing wrong?” Sixteen-year-old Zelo asks his reflection. People always say, you can’t love others if you don’t love yourself. Which was strange, because others can love you if you don’t love yourself. It really is a mental block that you create.

Why would any sane person mentally block themself from being able to do something. Does this mean Zelo’s not sane? No, he knows he’s not sane. He’s come to terms with it without really coming to terms with it. It’s weird that your soul, mind, and body can become three different beings but still appear as one.

Zelo’s body is tired. He knows he should work out, but just thinking about it makes his eyes droop with pre-exhaustion. He’s young, but he doesn’t feel like he has as much energy as the older men in his group suggest he should have.
He even sees other kids his age that just seem to be so alive.

When did he become like this? When did he die?

He wonders which part of him died first; his soul, mind, or body?

His body isn’t in perfect condition; it’s often strained with how hard he pushes himself. He feels like he needs to keep up with his band mates, though. He’s the youngest, the underdog. People say he’s amazing and talented but they don’t know how long ago those comments stopped mattering.

Dishing out compliments didn’t boost up his self-esteem like it used to. It made him feel like some sort of dog, being praised for performing a dumb trick. He always met the comments with an awkward smile, anyway, because anything otherwise would be rude.

And he was taught to be polite as he could in any situation. However, he’d begun to feel like more of a pushover than anything. Do this dance; rap like this, Zelo.

He was self-taught, because he believes that’s the only way to become successful. Accepting help wasn’t a bad thing, but he figured if he couldn’t build and work on his career on his own free will, he wouldn’t continue it under any other circumstances.

But now he snapped at his instructors often, sometimes aloud and other times he kept his remarks within his mind. His mind would keep them hidden from others, so they wouldn’t realize how hateful of a child he was.

Why couldn’t he just swim the normal flow of reality, like other kids?

He laughed at his reflection then, knowing he’d despise that lifestyle more than anything. He wished he could remember when his mind adapted this judgmental hipster mindset.

Giddily, he pulled out his phone and played Admit It! By Say Anything, playing it loudly, not caring if anyone was bothered by his loud foreign lyrics.

He sang along, “Prototypical non-conformist, you are a vacuous solider of the thrift store Gestapo.” Such big words, such nice lyrics.

He liked American music, despite being Korean. He liked its rhythm, it’s tones, and it’s feelings. He wanted to use the excuse that it held a ‘deeper’ meaning than the Korean music he was used to, but that wasn’t necessarily true either. The artist could be swearing constantly, or just rambling on about drunken nights out on the town with some fine ladies. He liked the sound of it.

He wasn’t the only one. He’d met many people who also shared his love for American culture, which always made the idea seem less wrong in his head. But something always nagged him, some small voice he’d manipulated to put himself down for liking something so foreign.
You’re Korean, listen to Korean music.

No, he’d listen to whatever he wanted to listen to. He’d poorly hum along with the strange lyrics; he’d look up the translations later to figure out what he was singing about.
He wanted to move to America, just to see what it was like. Was that so wrong?  He liked their faces, their different body types and open ualities. Everyone tires of their own culture at some point. He felt like a priest that occasionally desired to share a drink with the devil. The idea was innocent enough by itself, because you can loathe the devil and his sinful ways all you want, but he’s not going away. Since when did indulging yourself make you a bad person? Different from any other human?

“I want to go to America.” He spoke to the stranger on the other side of the reflective glass. The stranger mouthed the same thing back, and Zelo smiled.
“I guess I’m not alone, then.”
“I suppose not.”
“I wonder if they would accept me.”
“Only one way to find out.”
He groaned, chickening out of the conversation as he always did. He’d always speak of moving away, to this new world that was hopefully everything he imagined.

Instead he studied his face. His eyes so tired. The manager got on his case occasionally for not getting enough sleep.

No one else mentioned it though. Maybe they were used to it. Maybe they didn’t care.

He swore as his eyes welled up with tears again. No, he wiped them away with is sleeve, in a deep breath. He’d always been a crybaby, he was just born a sensitive child, which was ironic, considering how the things he loved to do required so much critique.

His throat constricted as he swallowed back his sobs. He knew if he kept them down, they’d resurface eventually. He’d isolate himself, away from his band mates, to just stand in the middle of his room, bawling. He’d scream as quietly as he could, maybe punch a few pillows.

He was aware that this wasn’t really helping him, but it was a release he counted on to stay stable at times.

Sighing, he put a hand on his head, feeling a headache coming on.

He’d been getting lots of them as of late. Lack of sleep, overworking, overall stress. These were to blame. There was always something to blame.

He wished life were easier. Instead of continuing his studies at home, he wanted to quit. He wanted to focus on making himself better, as a person and a performer. They were two different people of course.

Soul controls the mind. Mind controls the body. Body controls the performer. He was a puppet of his own creation, sadly. Or perhaps he’d been premade this way.

His manager wanted Zelo to attend some sort of college classes after graduating his high school home-studies. Because more classes about academically related things were obviously going to help him rap faster. Act better. Perform at his best.

He was so tired of classes, of homework. He wanted to just tour with his group again, traveling, seeing other people scream for his mere presence. There was no higher feeling than being at the top of your element, being recognized and loved.

He understood he should feel lucky for having the chance to achieve his dreams at such a young age, but he didn’t.

Zelo was a selfish child, he always accused himself of it anyway. He wanted time alone, but for others to desire to spend time with him. He wanted to feel like he was a big deal, but couldn’t stop hating himself for such smarmy thoughts.

The teen felt that he seemed to impress everyone but himself. And he was the person he wished to inspire the most.

“You want to inspire yourself?” The voice in the back of his mind mocked, “How foolish.”
“Go away,” He hissed aloud, tearing out his ear buds and letting them drop to the wooden floor with a clack. In his mind, the floor shattered underneath him, leaving a gaping hole. He hoped the manager wouldn’t notice.

“Where should we go, Junhong? America? Will that solve all of our problems?” He turned to see his double mouthing these words in the mirror, looking sinister.
“Yeah, America.”
“You think they’ll accept some sort of fan like you? You’re basing America off of it’s musicians and television shows. The real world is a lot harder.”
“No, we went there for K-Con last year; Americans are not so different from us. They’re accepting. They’d accept me.”
“You don’t even accept yourself, why would anyone else?” The mirror questioned, and Zelo pressed his forehead against his reflection in defeat.

“You’re right. I’ll always want to escape, but it’s no use. I belong in my own solitary confinement.”

“At least you’ll have me.”
“Yeah, you never seem to leave, do you?” Zelo swallowed back a sob. There would always be this side of him—the side that would put him down and hurt him further. He’d always hate this side of himself, the side that refused to believe in his own capabilities. Deep down, he knew he could do everything he set his mind to.

“Yet here you still are, getting nothing done.” The voice hissed cruelly, nearly pushing Zelo over the edge. “Are you angry? What are you going to do?”
“End this,” The boy answered in a low tone, pulling his torso back and lifting his head up high. He pulled back his hand and slung it forward, crashing into the mirror, killing the ugly side of himself.

The pieces of the broken mirror fell to the ground, clanging and making all sorts of discomforting noises. None of them bothered Zelo.

“Zelo-ah? Are you in here?” Bang called, opening the door and gasping. He jogged towards his band mate and held his injured hand. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Zelo leaned on his hyung, smiling wickedly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just punched the mirror because I was angry.”
“Aishh, what are we going to do with you?” Bang teased, placing a kiss on the younger’s forehead. “I think you may need to wash this off first, huh? Come on, let’s go clean you up.” The elder knelt down on one knee, motioning for Zelo to climb on.

The teen pressed himself happily against his hyung’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck and squeezing his legs around his small waist.

“Hyung, you’re so good to me.” He cooed, pecking Bang’s cheek.

“Damn right,” Yong Guk chuckled, standing up with Zelo on his back and walking towards the nearest bathroom. “I know I’ve been busy lately—don’t think I haven’t noticed your pouting— but I’ll make it a goal to properly take care of our baby maknae better from now on, okay?”
“Okay,” Zelo beamed, “Oh and hyung? The next time we get a longer break, do you think we could visit America and check out some of the international colleges?”
“You’re going to apply?”
“Maybe, I was thinking about it.”
“Ah, our baby’s growing up!” Bang ruffled his hair as he kept the other under Zelo’s leg to hold him up.

“Nah, just getting started on my life, hyung.” Zelo had a lot of decisions to make for his future, but he didn’t care. He knew he’d stress, he knew he’d be extremely busy, but the only person who was stopping him was himself.

And he didn’t really want to be like that anymore.