Eight months, 243 days, and 5,840 hours. That's how long it took for me to process that Océane was gone forever. I knew she was dead, but somewhere in my heart, an inexplicable hope remained. I wished that, like in the fantasy stories we read as children, she would wake from her eternal sleep and tell me everything was okay. That she would take me in her arms and comfort me. That she would tell me that these past few months were nothing but a horrific nightmare. I always thought I was the more rational one, the less emotional, until I received the news of her death from my hospital bed.
When I woke up, I immediately understood she wasn't coming back. My head understood, but my heart, somehow, couldn't digest it. The connection we shared, our identical faces, the objects she left behind, everything reminded me of her, and I couldn't let go. I felt, and still feel, this immense void in my chest, as if a part of my heart had been ripped out. I told myself she had just gone for a walk and would be back. That she was just busy on an adventure, meeting new people. I called her phone hundreds of times; I wrote her thousands of texts, telling myself she would eventually reply when she had some free time. I felt myself slowly but surely losing my mind, unable to do anything about it. I let myself waste away, with no will to stop. My parents, terrified of losing their last child, tried everything, but in vain.
Then one day, while I was wandering through the empty house like a ghost, beside myself, I came face to face with my own despondent reflection. In the living room that was once so warm, a morbid silence now lingered. The house was swallowed in a depressive atmosphere. Facing the glass of the cabinet my mother had inherited from hers, I suddenly had a realization. What is the point of letting oneself die without accomplishing anything? Would my sister's memory just become a joke? Just another news item? "Yet another talented young woman who died without achieving anything," they would say. If I continued to neglect myself, my sister's dream would vanish with her into the afterlife. But if I achieve it, in a way, it's as if she is doing it too. And so, just like before, we would work together to fulfill that dream of being a princess.
At that exact moment, as if to give me a sign that I was on the right path, the rain that had been rumbling since morning stopped. The mist faded, one drop at a time; the storm calmed, then, nothing. The clouds parted delicately to make way for a ray of sunlight. I don't know if I truly saw it or if grief made me hallucinate, but that day, in the reflection of that dusty mahogany cabinet, I saw my late sister smiling back at me. As if to encourage me, to validate that I was indeed heading in the right direction. It was possible to get there. Our story wasn't over yet; it was just the beginning of Volume 2.
Though I didn't have the same skills as Océane, I didn't lack the talent for learning. I had a solid enough foundation to create the most famous princess this generation had ever known. Above all else, I had the exact same face as my sister. That beautiful matte black skin, free of blemishes, which had earned us so many compliments. Long legs, a slender waist with moderate curves at the chest, buttocks, and hips. But most of all, that heart-shaped face, with perfectly filled straight eyebrows. A small, delicately flattened nose, full lips, and long, thick 4C hair. Not to mention those deep grey eyes that seemed to penetrate people's souls.
I had always focused on my sister's appearance because I admired her so much, never realizing, or rather, never caring about, the fact that we were essentially the same human being created in two identical copies. If I had wanted to, I could have followed her into competitions a long time ago. Océane had even suggested it to me on numerous occasions. I had refused because I found it more interesting to work behind the scenes to help realize the dream she cherished so much.
Unfortunately, there was only one person left on this earth to achieve that goal, and it was me. Fueled by an endless wave of motivation, I began to plan. What was the most optimal way to become an icon, a modern-day princess? I researched the national and international entertainment industry for a week. I came to one conclusion: to be a true princess without a royal bloodline and receive the adoration and love of millions, one had to become a pop star.
The fastest way to become a star these days is to participate in an ultra-popular international survival show. On one hand, it allows for a quick debut with massive visibility. On the other, it builds a loyal base of hardcore fans who will be the foundation of your popularity. The question was: what is the best program to accomplish my goal most effectively? I needed more extensive research. Furthermore, I had to learn all the skills that would make me a star. As the saying goes, "Rome wasn't built in a day." I had to train. With the help of my parents, who were overjoyed that I had a new goal and was no longer wasting away, I began taking the same classes my sister had taken since we were young.
Dance, etiquette, singing, composition, and musical instruments filled my days. I spent my time either in class with vocal or dance coaches, or practicing the piano and violin in the music studio my parents had set up for my sister. Once a week, my mother, a surgeon by profession, would take me out of the house for fresh air so I wouldn't become a hermit. My father, who had always been the stay-at-home parent because he was a remote programmer, always made time to check on me throughout the day, watching over me, supporting me, and ensuring I took breaks between training sessions. If it weren't for this incredible couple, I wouldn't have survived those two years of intensive training. I was sleep-deprived, but I was becoming happier and happier. I was rediscovering that exhausting vitality that had always characterized me.
At an incredible speed that shocked my coaches, I absorbed everything I could about dance and song. I already had a good foundation since my sister and I grew up with my father, who was a lover of Afro dances, especially South African styles. Somewhere along the way, I discovered an immense love for music, the origin of which I hadn't known. The more I danced, the better I felt, at peace. I remembered all those times I accompanied Océane and watched her with admiration from the sidelines. I remembered when we danced together at the end of every practice. The more I learned and improved, the more I felt this sense that I was syncing up with Océane. That I was closer to her, somehow.
This feeling never left me during those two years of intensive training. I felt it when I danced; I felt it when I sang. And even more so when I played an instrument. I had, and still have, this impression within me that my sister is with me, supporting me on my journey. I continued to train relentlessly until the day I came across an advertisement. JYP Entertainment, a Korean company worth millions of dollars, was organizing a survival show to create an international co-ed group. "Big company, check. Visibility, check. Chance to debut with a large international fan base, check. Good foundation for being a superstar, check. Bingo," I told myself upon seeing the ad. All that was left was to enter the competition and win. If it works, I'll be halfway to success. If it doesn't, it will at least give me exposure. Either way, I win.
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References:
_ JYP Entertainment: A multinational entertainment corporation founded by Park Jin Young in 1997.
_ The inspiration for this chapter is drawn from the song Home by NF, which you can listen to while reading if you wish.
Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day.