“I want to show the people that tell me I won’t make it or I can’t be able to succeed. I think when I’m able to prove myself, all the stress I have will fly away.” 

-Yongguk

My sister is a subject I generally don’t talk about. Not in interviews, not in public, not in private...

Its not that I don’t love and care about her, actually its the opposite.  My sister is my closest living family member, closer than my own identical twin. She is the foundation of so much of me.  

The subject of my beloved older sister is sensitive because of the history it brings with it.  

Born into a family with a strict military background, the Bang siblings were raised to be disciplined, responsible and obedient. But my sister was different.

As far back as I can remember she was unique, so much so that she was outcast from the neighborhood children; leaving her free to play with me (despite our six year ).  

I followed her like a shadow for all of my adolescence.  I remember watching in awe as she crushed berries from the bush behind our house, mixing them with rice flour she stole from the cabinets, to created our very own paint.  Together we would rip through the neighborhood using our dark purple mixture to paint the sidewalk and the walls, and sometimes even our own skin.

Sometimes we would go to the library and tear through dozens of history books on subjects as varied as the Olympics and glass-blowing, to automotives and the French Revolution.  During the summer of my eighth birthday we spent hours in the library devouring pictures of African and Native American cave paintings.  It inspired us to mimic them in the alleys behind our home.  Using our homemade berry paint we brushing war paint across our cheeks and imagined we were primitive warriors leaving messages for scholars and aliens of the future.

When she had grown into a teen we were given a wider radius to travel.  Every weekend we would take my father’s small cordless radio and bring it to inspire our creations.  Once we discovered we could make a bit of money collecting bottles and cans on our journeys, we started to buy real supplies and spend hours creating to the sounds of Western music we picked up on the local college station.

The first time I ever heard rap music, real Western rap music and not the filtered regurgitated version Korea was importing, I was in the middle of drawing an alley cat. Even coming from that tiny old radio the bass reverberated in my chest and the sketch before me was quickly forgotten. I was utterly enthralled.

If it weren’t for my sister and that radio, I would be working towards a military career by now, following in the footsteps of my father, uncle and grandfather.

If it weren’t for my sister and her need to see everything beyond the boring suburban community we hailed from, I would be suffocating in a world without art or music.

She opened the doors for me, introducing me to rock and rap music that would never have made it past censors and into my life. She painted my young mind in colors I would not have seen beyond my sheltered gray reality. She pushed me towards ideas, cultures and beauty outside anything I had been taught.

If it weren’t for my sister, I wouldn’t be sitting backstage in New York, waiting for my cue to perform in front of a sold out concert hall, standing next to the man I loved.

I owe her everything.

So I shouldn’t have cringed when I read her kaokao message, demanding I visit her at her tattoo parlor when I returned from tour.  She had heard from my brother that I would have a few free days in Seoul before we started to prepare for our next comeback, and she expected my dutiful presence on at least one of those days.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her (I'd bought her gifts in every American city we visited) or that I didn’t have enough time to see her.  I had seen all of my family members in the last year but my sister (in all her rebellious glory) was estranged, half by choice and half by force, making the whole situation a lot stickier.  

About seven years ago, around the time I got serious about rapping and the underground scene my father decided he could not tolerate a daughter dripping in tattoos, speckled with piercings and living with her boyfriend half the week.  He gave her an ultimatum and she chose freedom.

When she moved out, leaving behind a mountain of art supplies and CDs for me to cherish, I silently rooted her on, assuming everything would boil over.  As years went by and the silence between her and my parents became darker, it was harder to imagine this tear ever mending. Soon after she left she gave up her family name Bang Yoon-ah for the exotic moniker Natasha, she got a license in Japan as an official tattoo artist and never turned back.

Selfishly part of me is thankful for her leaving, because in the months that followed her escape from our stifling home I began to question everything. And my desire to see and know more had started to change my perception of everything around me.

What was family? Why was it wrong for my sister to paint or pierce her skin? What was right and what was truly wrong? I had been programmed by my father and by the media for so long but what did they know about the world beyond this peninsula?

I was never as bold as my sister.... scared of my parents overbearing ways I studied hard.  I kept up my grades (top of my class even) and did everything on the surface that a good boy should, but behind that my mind morphed and I joined an underground movement.  

Hongdae and the underground scene is not like anything I grew up knowing and during that time my sister was my biggest supporter.  She watched silently as I became a man and I grew as a musician.  Natasha never questioned my choices, instead she listened as I discussed my future and my dreams.  

I’ve been called a sell out by too many people to count but my sister was never among them... she never questioned why I changed course and joined TS Entertainment. People, including my brother suggested I became an idol for the money (laughable considering I made less money than a desk clerk last year), but my sister knew my heart without having to explain.

And that was my second biggest concern in seeing her.  While I knew I would have to sit through a passive aggressive phone call from my mother when she heard I visited Natasha, my biggest fear was my sister knowing at first sight the contents of my heart, which was becoming increasingly occupied by Kim Himchan. She had never judged me before but would that still be true now?

“What are you thinking about, Sweetie?” Himchan whispered in my ear as the opening act finished his last set.  

He was trying out different pet names for me. Honey, Sweetie, Darling, Gukkie, Baby. I didn’t hate it like I thought I would.

“My sister,” I answered honestly. He cocked his head to the side to examine me. It wasn’t particularly hot in the waiting room but he was sweating already and part of me wanted to grab him, to pull his sweaty body to mine and inhale his rich earthy scent.  The more I had of him the more I wanted him, a puzzle I didn't quite understand.

“Do you miss her? We can see her in a two weeks,” he suggested squeezing my hand tightly.  We.  We can see her in two weeks.

The thought of Himchan under my sister’s wise gaze made my stomach twist painfully.

Part of my wanted her to know the most important person in my life, like a kid at show-and-tell I wanted her to see all the things about him that I loved.  The other part of me was terrified of what she would be able to decipher from just my body language. I knew she was opened minded.  She had a gay worker in her shop and gay clients, but having gay friends is different than accepting your little brother’s unexpected gay relationship.

And even if she didn’t have a problem with it I knew she would ask why or how this all happened, a question I still had no answer for.

I still loved women, my eyes still strayed to the increasingly short skirts and low cut shirts worn by idols as we made rounds to music shows but if I were given a choice (and I had been many times) my heart above all, still led me to him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This second short story "In Which I Worry About Natasha" will be cut into two parts. I'm bit nervous about this story to be honest because Yongguk's POV is a lot more serious than Jongup or Himchan or Youngjae's. He's the serious type, lol and his chapters are coming out extremely long.

I think all my stories are kinda coming from a different place... with my Himhan story Himchan knew what he wanted and why, so the story was more about him accepting his desires and experiencing real love for the first time. With my Jongup story it was about a silent observer deciding (a bit hesitantly) to pursue a girl he couldn't deny anymore, and growing more confident. My Youngjae story is about a very confused boy trying to make sense of a very important moment of his life. And this story I hope will be about a man who is struggling with his identity and purpose in life, and accepting the good with the bad.

Feedback is much appreciated.