For as long as Jinju and Kyungsoo could remember, being an idol has always been their dream. To live a life where they did what they loved the most.
But for people like Jinju, being accepted was a rocky road. It meant turning her back on her family...
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I will burn all of the scars
Exchanged with your love
Do Kyungsoo - Baby Don't Cry
January 21 2013
Okay JinJu, nearly there, just hold it in for 10 more seconds.
I pushed the door open to the toilets, silently weeping for joy, seeing the sinks ahead. My feet began to desperately skid towards them, but it's as if the world decided then, that throwing up on someone was better than where I was heading to. A pair of shiny sneakers blocking my path were the only things I could see as I doubled over and threw up on them, as well as my carefully ironed clothes.
Shit.
I realised, as I regained my composure, that I was going to audition to audition to possibly full fill my life-long dream, smelling like egg noodles and covered in my own vomit. And that right then and there, I also realised, with their wide-eyed stares focusing on me, I was in the men's toilets.
Double shit.
I grimaced, embarrassed at my current situation. My head turned around once again to where the pair of now-not-so-shiny sneakers would be, mentally preparing myself for the rage likely plastered on his face. To my surprise I was only greeted with a door, opened wide, no sneakers in sight. Where the heck did he go?
A couple of coughs and awkward chuckles interrupted my reverie, and noticing the vomit-covered shirt on me, I had to ask.
"Does anyone have a spare shirt?"
-
After the attempt of asking strangers in the men's toilets for a spare shirt, I was left with nothing, but trying to wash the sick off my shirt and hopefully making it look, and smell presentable, which right now, deemed impossible. I groaned.
"That bad huh?" I turn around to see a girl around my age, trying to keep the grin off her face.
Yeah, I made it to the girls' toilets this time.
Through the parallel mirrors, I could tell she was sizing me up, checking to see if I was a threat to her or not. But as her head turned back down and continued to rinse her hands, it seemed to be the latter.
Meanwhile I continued with my observations. It was the height of Winter, yet only a thin strip of wool is wrapped around her neck; Bracelets adorned her wrists as if they were the only things keeping her warm, compared to the denim shorts showcasing her endless legs. She was dressed in a way that suited her, and only her, at this time of the season, seemingly as if she was a reminder of summer on the coldest day.
