POV: Jade
We rocked!
Stop.
And as much as I want to punch him every time I look at his face, I admit that Tae-Hyun did a good job.
I scroll through the comments on the Project's Instagram page and under my profile, and I find enthusiastic comments.
Lots of haters, too, I admit, but that's understandable.
I'm trying to knock one of their local idols out of the competition, so they can hate me.
Very calmly.
I smile with amusement and continue reading the comments of our group's fans, who are very kind and supportive.
The community that revolves around K-pop is something you can't imagine in other parts of the world. If you become their idol, they carry you to success like the father of a bride.
Their love is all-encompassing, even if very intrusive.
But as long as I'm still 'miss nobody,' I enjoy it because it gives me an incredible boost.
I stop at a comment, a little green heart, with a unique nickname that makes a light bulb go off in my head: yoursunshine.
Min-ho.
I shake my head and laugh: what the hell am I thinking?
Naaaaaaaaaaaaa!
I sigh and lie down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Did he see my number? I wonder what he thought.
Did I make a lot of mistakes? I know I don't have his vocal timbre, and as good as I am at rapping, he has an amazing tone and a soft tone that I haven't learned to imitate yet.
I wish he were here, backstage, giving me courage.
I hug the pillow and hold it tight.
OMG, how I miss him!
I admit I acted like a seasoned woman when I left his room. I wanted him to think of me as a tough, courageous, very American, enterprising girl, without limits or constraints.
The truth is, I was incredibly embarrassed after asking him to stay with me, to "shine" for me.
It seemed a bit like a K-drama, let's face it, but in that moment, using a term like that embarrassed me less than asking him to make love.
Also because he doesn't love me; he hasn't even gotten to know me.
And saying "have sex" was an understatement.
For me. For him. For what I feel.
And it was damn hard to let him go.
I wanted to take his hand and run away from everything and everyone.
Being in his arms was like finding a nest to call home, feeling protected from the world and even from my own thoughts. I would have left everything for him...
But the truth is, I have to discover myself, I have to overcome the trauma of abandonment, but above all, I have to find a way to coordinate my body and my thoughts.
My brain never shuts down, I sleep little, I'm constantly on the move, and sometimes my mind is a sieve.
I don't have full-spectrum ADHD, as my father says, sighing every time the issue comes up. At first, they just thought I was restless, that the brutal separation I'd suffered had affected my behavior and my ability to process events.
Then the tremors in my legs began. Involuntary.
But they weren't muscle spasms, but rather, out of the blue, I start drumming with one leg. Then with two. Then my hands start.
In short, it's as if, to release the tension I feel inside, I need my body to move. And I don't stop, not even when I'm sleeping.
First they started stuffing me with tranquilizers, anxiolytics, and antidepressants, then they wanted to switch to mood stabilizers, but luckily Sherry gave me the right medicine: dance.
It's true, my body is subjected to significant muscular and skeletal tension, but with the help of a nutritionist and a trainer, I followed a balanced diet that provides me with protein and minerals to avoid weight loss.
I did it, I tamed my body, but now it's my mind's turn.
That damned feeling that brought me here. To prove that I can do it. I can have answers. I can know who I am.
Many wonder why I have a double name and nationality, but following the organizers' instructions, I avoided giving explanations.
Some reporter wrote a crazy article about my origins, missing the whole truth, but the fact remains that I hopped into the VIP area, like a freak show for the world to see.
Ari was right, they're weighing me down. And if I continue with the selection process, I'll finally know my face value.
Raw, amoral, like cattle for sale at the market, but real.
Asians don't indulge in sophistries or circumlocutions when it comes to money.
And if I want to claim I'm Korean, I have to conform to their standards.
I huff, letting go of the pillow and picking up my phone.
The news about tonight's lineup has arrived, and I frown.
We have to make three one-minute videos for the website and social media: an international song, a K-pop melody, and a song of my choice with my own choreography.
To be posted the day after tomorrow.
Shit!
I quickly throw on a tracksuit, put on my shoes, and, grabbing my phone, I rush out the door.
Looking for Ha-Eun.
And I find myself faced with many of my classmates, all with the same puzzled and indignant expression.
We'll give our all, I'm sure of it.