This is the story of Ryujin & Yeji from childhood, through Itzy, and into retirement. During that time, an intense and sometimes painful love blossoms, made difficult by the demands of fame and the search for meaning and purpose during Itzy and afte...
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Yeji said goodbye to her love almost 50 years later. She held Ryujin's hand as it happened, and as her pulse slowed, Yeji sobbed: "Please don't leave me alone, please, please! You gave me my life! It was always you!"
Ryujin's hand, thin from illness, went limp.
Afterward, Yeji left her friends and family in the house, and sat on the porch. The sun was setting over the Aegean. She found herself humming their old song, "Domino."
She was angry too. Unnies are supposed to pass away first.
First.
Yeji followed a few years later. At peace, and ready to hold Ryujin in her arms again. She was buried in the same coffin as Ryujin, on the hill on Naxos, overlooking the sea. They would be together for all time.
If you walk into the main gallery of the United Nations, there is a plaque honoring Yuna's work. She had flown hundreds of thousands of miles, and raised hundreds of millions of dollars for impoverished children worldwide. She had donated virtually every dollar she had. Itzy's baby had even been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. The diplomat who won that year said "All I did was stop two militia groups from killing each other. There are thousands, tens of thousands of children alive today because of Shin Yuna. She deserves this more than me, more than anyone."
Lia lived until she was 91. She was the last member to pass away, surrounded by her friends and family. She was a great-grandmother, and when her grandchildren smiled, their eyes seemed to disappear too.
Itzy was no more.
When news of Lia's passing was reported, tens of thousands of people around the world spilled onto the streets to hold hands and sing Itzy's music. Most of those people had not been alive when they first debuted. On the day of her funeral, Seoul closed its streets and almost a million people watched the funeral procession. It was a chance for everyone to say goodbye to her, and to all of Itzy.
The music they had all made so many years ago would live forever. It had made them immortal.
. . . . .
It was raining, but the summer temperature was perfect for being outside without a coat.
They're in Seoul to meet the rest of the girls. It doesn't happen as much as it used to, but they all keep in regular touch via phone or video. They're all in their late 30s now. Lia and Yuna are parents with five children. Chaeryeong and her husband are still in Seoul, running AIU, which is the top label in kpop. They have three children, each having four aunts. Under Chae's guidance, the label was the first in history to be run as a non-profit. Any surplus proceeds were donated to Yuna's organization.
Ryujin and Yeji spend most of their time at the house in Naxos. Every morning Ryujin runs, and then they sing and dance together. They travel from time to time, but prefer to stay at home and hike or take scooters around the island. Once in a great while, a reporter tracks them down and shows up at the door. "Are there any plans for a reunion?!?"
In return, they get a polite "No comment," a bottle of water, an apple, and instructions on how to get back to the ferry.
Maybe they're not the world-famous Itzy anymore. Some fans drifted away over the years, after they'd stopped recording and touring, but they were fine with that. There was always great music being made by younger artists and they didn't blame people for going to find it. After all, at one time they had been those eager young artists. Everything was a circle. But thousands of Midzys remained. Perhaps that was their greatest achievement of all, having fans that didn't feel like fans, but like friends and family. They got so much joy out of seeing that their fans had grown with them and now had families of their own. Around the world, there was a wave of children named Yeji, Ryujin, Yuna, Chaeryeong, and Yuna.
It rains a little harder, and they can see it splashing on the river. They're sharing an umbrella and holding hands as they walk along the river. After all the years, they no longer need to talk very much. Squeezing a hand, or a look in the eye, says a lot more, the same way music can speak better than words.
Ryujin and Yeji stare into each other's eyes. It still makes them smile like love-struck teenagers.
After all, they had been teenagers together, a lifetime ago. All five of them had been so impossibly young. How could they have survived without each other? There were so many laughs, tears, inside jokes, pain, heartbreak, and happiness that no one else beside them would ever know or understand. Together they had come so, so far. They had saved each other's lives, over and over, again and again, for one simple reason...
They loved one another.
It had been there, the whole time, out in the open, but no one had noticed.
Itzy had always been a love story.
They both laugh as Yeji chases Ryujin, who runs so fast that the umbrella snaps and flops wildly in the wind.
Ryujin stops and turns around. Yeji laughs and throws her arms around her.
"Ok, time to meet the girls," Ryujin says, rain dripping from her forehead.
"I can't wait, sweetheart."
Ryujin's eyes are shining.
Because they are together, walking in the rain. Holding hands.
Splashing in puddles.
. . . . .
Here are the "end credits," an epitaph for our Ryujin and Yeji characters. This song by Sigur Rós is called Hoppípolla - it is an Icelandic word that means "splashing in puddles," and it was the inspiration for this story. Thank you for reading!
