Mini Note #6: How much light must stars shine during their times of darkness?
Last night*, a bit after 11:30pm EST and after hours of rain delays, ATEEZ was rushing to finish their Towards the Light : Will to Power New York City stadium show at Citifield.
A lot went on that day, with the show beginning over two hours late to avoid thunder and lightning, and cancellation. Almost every one of us in the crowd of thousands were hungry, tired, and wet, and euphoric that we were seeing the long-awaited show. The pent up emotions of hours led to an immense outpouring of us all breaking the wall and cheering along with the members for the first two hours of the concert. And then, a different sort of emotional explosion occurred when Seonghwa shared his loss and suffering with the tens of thousands of people in the crowd.
But while the rest of the members kept it short and sweet to end the show before midnight, when it came to Seonghwa's turn, he used it to tell the crowd to value life, and commemorated the passing of his grandparents following the passing of his grandfather last month while ATEEZ was performing in California.
He later posted a longer version on his Instagram in Korean, condensed here based on this translation. The bolded words are what he shared with us at the concert (you can read a screenshotted version of just the concert message here):
"Today, I'm going to talk about something a little bit honestly. Less than a year has passed since my family went through a hard time. It's really hard to let go of someone you love. Actually, I'm not okay. I'm not. But when I think of my dad and mom's tears, I have to hold them back. I had to hide my feelings for a better performance. If I stay still, tears will well up, so I have to work, exercise, or do anything. When dawn came, I had to swallow my flowing tears and wander through the long emptiness. I was living alone in time that had stopped. I guess sadness settled in my heart because I missed the time to cry. I used to think that our time together was eternal. I believed in moments that would be remembered farther than eternity.
However, I learned through several goodbyes that life is not eternal. The reason I'm saying this is because we still have time, and because of that this life is so precious. So don't live a life of hating and jealousy toward each other, but cherish and love each other. Don't be stingy with the words "I love you." Even if that's me. Please promise me. I will let go of the sadness, I will cry when I need to cry, I will stand up again no matter what pain comes, I will cherish myself. I earnestly hope that you all can become someone's star. You can do it. You are already my stars.
It is so heartbreaking to say goodbye to my grandparents who made me who I am today, but the love I received from them will always remain in my heart and protect me forever.
It feels as if only now I am truly saying goodbye. I'm sorry it's so late. Now I will let time that has stopped flow by. I will also let the sadness go. Where my ATINYs are, where my ATEEZ members are, this is my home."
The eloquence of Seonghwa's pain broke something in me, and I spent the rest of the concert ugly crying even while waving my lightstick and singing along to the final numbers. As someone whose ATEEZ bias is Seonghwa, I was weeping in empathy him. But I was also weeping for me, for my loved ones, and for all of us who wake up every day and continue to exist despite the brevity and heartbreak of it all.
As I ugly cried for the next fifteen minutes through the finale stage of "Utopia," thoughts raced through my head about Seonghwa, ATEEZ, the crowd, myself, my family, and friends, and how we all spent our time on this planet. I don't know if I'll ever again experience this range of emotions altogether: elated from being able to join thousands of other people to see an amazing concert full of dynamic performances after a whirlwind, rain-delayed, 100F degree-feeling day, and devastated because of one man's words earnestness bringing to the surface dozens of emotions I avoid thinking about to get through my days.
On the train home, however, a different facet of this all hit me: how much do we ask of our K-pop stars to share with us? Seonghwa wanted to share what he did with us all, but his sorrow must be complex given that his grandfather passed during a tour, when he couldn't be with him. Although he was able to sit out soundcheck, he still performed that night.
Then today, (G)I-dle's Soyeon missed her grandmother's funeral because of their group's Seoul concert, and the same thoughts went through my head.
While many people must go to work amid personal tragedies, it is atypical that any of us are asked to entertain thousands and act as all is usual. How can we ask this of them when we ourselves would find it unfathomable?
The performance of K-pop idolhood, and entertainers, is an immense one; acting for audiences is literally their job, so perhaps it is too much to question whether idols have the right to mourn on their own terms. But is it? I don't think it's wrong to question what feels like an obvious wrong, even if the world around us is very bad at making space for mourning.
Of all people, I might be the biggest hypocrite right now: when my grandfather died, I had the biggest week of my life professionally. I was in the airport when I got the news, heading to SXSW. I spent my time at the airport trying to figure out if I left then to go home and get my passport then head back to the airport, would I get to Toronto by the time my grandfather was buried that afternoon, as Jewish tradition dictates that burials take place as soon as possible. I maybe could have made it, but after speaking with my mother and her saying my grandfather would want me to enjoy life not feel burdened by his passing, I ultimately I got on that plane to Texas. I cried the entire time listening to, of all things, a new release from Ed Sheeran: the song "Supermarket Flowers" from his new Divide album. It is, of course, a song about Sheeran's own grandmother's passing.
That weekend, I did some amazing interviews and saw great sets at SXSW, including one by a singer whose name I never heard, whose song I cannot find, who was singing about her own grandparents' passing. I felt haunted by my decision.
When I went back to New York after the weekend, I spent about 8 hours there, then got on a (delayed) flight to go to Toronto to be with my mother and her family to sit shiva* for my grandfather. I spent most of my time there sleeping after helping prepare for the next day's shiva reception, and ultimately went back to the airport in the morning, because I had an interview that couldn't be missed.
I have long wondered, assumed, that I picked wrong; I shouldn't have gone to work during my family's time of mourning. The fact that I had the choice, however, makes it all moot: I am one person, who was then freelancing, not an artist whose appearance, or lack of it, at a concert would make life hard for not only his group and the concert staff, but cause a disappointment for fans who, while understanding, would be sad.
There's no right answer. Life, and K-pop, are more complicated than a white or black solution to the depth of human emotion and day-to-life needs. In an ideal world, everyone could grieve when and how they need. The fact that Seonghwa and Soyeon both got up on stage and shared some of their suffering with the fans, their groups, and everyone who put on the show is far better than them holding it in and never sharing their grief. It's not enough. I'm not sure there will ever be a way to be enough when mourning, publicly or privately.
*I hit publish on this shortly after midnight but please note that this was written on August 4th originally. If there are any mistakes or typos, please let me know and I will fix them in the AM.
**Jewish people traditionally "sit shiva" ie spend seven days of mourning with friends and family gathering around the immediate family members of the deceased.
