Ivan Ng, Period, 7 5/23/22

 Creativity & Fiction 

    “Hello, Junghoon here.” I say to myself while staring into the mirror. Every morning, for past two years, I’ve followed this routine. I wake up and address myself as if I was calling out to fans. Every day I work myself to the bone singing, dancing, and learning foreign languages in hopes of debuting. I remember my past dreams and ambitions, looking at this kind of life through rose-tinted glasses. So I carry on, clawing my way out of the life of a trainee. I danced until the skin of my feet tore off, sang until I couldn’t speak, and ate less every assessment period to be ranked high. 

    One day, my company placed me in an elimination-styled audition show where the last members remaining can choose which company groups to debut in. I saw this as the golden opportunity I’d been waiting for. I knew everyone else just like me was waiting for this chance so I became even stricter on myself. I went through boxes of bandages a day and sometimes ate only an apple to get me through the day. Often times I would wake up in a hospital. Apparently I was sent there by other trainees after collapsing in the studio. I hated the fact that my body couldn’t keep up with the effort I was putting out. Anxiety attacks accompanied by the fear of failure crept behind me every time I had to visit the hospital. I kept telling myself I had to be perfect in order to make it. Yet I started having fits of frustration while practicing well into the night. There just didn’t seem to be enough time. Sleep and food became objects of little concern with the show creeping around the corner.

    I began to spiral out of control. Somedays I spent the entire day locked in the dance studio. Countless hours were spent filling that room with sweat and tears. Devoid of human interaction, I was obsessed with working hard regardless of what it was doing to me. I started to cut unhealthy amounts of weight in a short period of time. I would puke out whatever little meals I had. Every family or friend was pushed away in my attempt to solely focus on practicing.

“Fifty seven kg” I whispered to myself while weighing myself the day before the show. I had lost four kg in preparation for the big performance. My clothes had to fit perfectly in order to attract the attention of the audience. I had to nail everything immaculately if I wanted  to achieve all my hopes and dreams. Sweat beading down my face I poured my heart and soul into that performance. Those three minutes felt like an eternity of pain. Every muscle in my body was screaming for help. By the end, my vision was blurry from the blinding lights and I fell when I thought I heard the announcer mention my name.

“He’s gonna crash!” That was the last thing I heard while slowly opening my eyes to a blurry ceiling rushing by. All my dreams were just about to come true and yet I paid the price for it. Days, weeks of accumulated exhaustion and starvation ended up killing me. That gold-framed picture I had of stardom never portrayed the hardship, depression, and self-inflicted harm that came along with it. So was it worth it?