Chapter one - The weight of a dream
The airplane cabin was colder then i expacted. The air tasted faintly of metal and recycled breath, and the soft drone of the engines vibrated gently through the floor and up my legs. People around me unbuckled their seatbelts with the weary impacience of travelers who had done this too many times. My fingers trembled slightly as i wrapped them around the handle of my carry- on, trying to ignore the sudden, wild flutter inside my chest.
I'm here, I thought. Korea. I actually made it.
When I stepped out of the plane, warm light spilled across me through the windows of Incheon Airport. The marble floor gleamed, polished into soft reflections of passing travelers. Somewhere in the distance, a molody played gently from overhead speakers, bright, cheerful notes that contrasted with the tightness in my chest. I moved slowly, pulling my suitcase in uneven little jerks behind me. The wheels squeaked every few steps. The air smelled of roasted coffee drifting from a cafe to my left, mixed with the crisp scent of overpowered air conditioning. My heart thumped so hard it felt like someone knocking inside my ribs. I glanced at my reflection in the window: blue eyes a little too wide, round face flushed from nerves, shoulder- length light brown hair curled slightly from the long flight. My shirt clung awkwardly to my back, and at 1.60 meters and 100 kilograms, i felt the weight of every stare - even if no one was actually looking and my friends always told me that i am not fat. But i straightened my spine anyway. Dream were never meant to be light.
Outside, Seoul felt alive in a way i had only ever seen on screens. Cars glided through perfect lanes, shop signs stacked on top of each other like neon flowers, the sky was grey, as if the city created its own sunlight. The air carried the scent of rain that hadn't fallen yet. People rushed past. Students, business workers, families, tourists with chunky cameras. Their chatter blended into one constant hum, like the heartbeat of the city itself. I inhaled deeply, trying to imprint this moment into my bones. This was the biginning.
I didn't know the language well, not really. I had studied it for years, but real voices moved faster, danced differently, sounded sharper and softer all at once. Still, i whispered a small, clumsy phrase under my breath: "안녕하세요 한국" (Hello Korea) And the words felt like sunlight inside my mouth.
---
My dorm room near my university was small and smelled faintly of dust and lavender from old air freshener stuck into the wall. But i loved it instantly. Loved the narrow balcony barely big enough for one footstep. Loved the sound of scooters zooming past at night. Loved the way my textbooks stacked like little mountains on my desk. Fashion theory. Color science. Makeup artistry. Korean language textbooks with highlighted pages. Every night, my hands shook with exhaustion, but my heart glowed. For the first time, everything felt possible. Some nights, I stayed awake longer then I should have, leaning over my desk under the warm yellow lamp. I blended makeup on paper faces, sketched fabrics I didn't know how to sew yet, wrote my name in Hangul over and over until it looked right. Thoses moments smelled like printer ink and old wooden desk. They sounded like soft rain tapping agains my window. They felt like purpose.
But dreams, even the softest, prettiest ones, carry weight.
And mine grew heavier with each semester, with each competition I didn't win, with each professor who reminded us that the industry was brutal, that perfection wasn't an expactation, it was a requirement. Still I pushed, still I hoped. And eventually, after endless applications, trembling interviews, nights I cried into my pillow convinced I wasn't enough....I was offered a position.
JYP Entertainment
A name I had whispered in awe years ago now glowed on a digital contract in front of me. My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped my phone. I accepted the position directly.
---
The first day I approached the building, dawn had barely liftetd the sky. The glass tower shimmered, every window reflecting pale blue clouds. A light breeze brushed past me, carrying the fresh scent of early morning dew mixed with the faint sweetness of a nearby bakery. I wiped my palms nervously against my jeans. Through the sliding doors, the lobby stretched wide and modern, white walls, chrome accents, screens displaying artists and schedules. People moved with purpose, tapping phones, clipping ID badges, delivering wardrobe bags that rustled as they swung. My heart pounded so loudly it alsmost drowned out the low hum of conversations. I was greeted politly. Shown the makeup rooms. Shown the storage closets. Shown the hallways that felt like labyrinths carved frome white light. The air inside smelled of citrus cleaning spray, blow- dryers, and foundation, thick, powdery, familiar. My badge felt heavy around my neck. Staff moved quickly. They spoke quickly. They expected quickly. I tried to keep up.
I failed.
At first it was small things , a mislabeled drawer, a lip tint placed in the wrong tray, a brush handed too slowly. But in the world I had always admired from afar, small mistakes weren't small at all. They were neon signs blinking above my head. The female Idols assigned to me, fictional girls with sharp eyeliner and sharper tongues, did not hide their irritation. They smelled like flowers and hair spray. The heels clicked like accusations on the marble floor. Their eyes skimmed over me like I was a smudge on a mirror. They spoke in korean, assuming I couldn't catch the tone even if i missed a few words.
"Why is she so slow?"
"She doesn't belong here"
"She doesn't look like staff"
"She takes up too much space"
"Why hire someone like her"
Their laughter echoed in the makeup room, soft but piercing. I kept my head down. My hands shooked as I cleaned brushes. My throat tightened as I adjusted lights. My eyes burned as I packed their bags. I whispered apologies even when i wasn't sure what I had done wrong. By the end of the day, my shirt was damp with sweat from stress, and the scent of parfume clung to me like a warning. My feet ached. My chest ached more. As I left the building that evening, the sky was painted with streaks of orange and pink. The city lights were just beginning to wake. The air outside felt different, cooler, kinder. People laughter as they walked by. Someone strummed a guitar near the bus stop. But I felt hollow. I sat on the bus, forehead pressed to the window, watching Seoul blur into glowing smears of color. Each building flew past like a reminder of how small i was here, how easy it would be for the city to swallow me whole.
I wanted to cry, I wanted to go home, I wanted to keep fighting. All three at once. As the bus rumbled forward, a single thought pulsed quietly inside me: Is this really where I belong? I didn't know the anwer. Not yet. All i know was that my dream, bright, beautiful, fragile, had followed me across an ocean. And now...
Now it trembled inside me like a candle in the wind.
