C H O P P Y | kwon minsik

t w e n t y ; minsik

        "MINSIK-A? YA, KWON MINSIK."

        The young rapper didn't bother to lift his head up from where it was leaning against the tinted windows of the Lincoln SUV. Saying that he was tired would be an understatement. First, their flight had been canceled for three hours in LAX, where him and the rest of the boys had to wait, dizzy with exhaustion and sleep deprivation from the back-to-back nights of performing at different venues in the States. Los Angeles had been the last part of the North America leg of their tour and they had gone all out, wishing nothing but giving their fans the experience they deserved to have at a K-hip-hop concert. However, they didn't think about the aftermath of jumping and running around for hours on a stage, surrounded by screaming females who were eager to hold onto their hands and take pictures, and the speakers blasting their music. The morning after, which also was when they were supposed to fly out, was a mess- getting up late, skipping breakfast, and losing track of their various luggage in an effort to not miss the plane. The twenty hour long flight had given them a significant amount of jet lag, whom of which's effects they felt after they checked into their hotel and just crashed. 

         If it had been up to Minsik, he would have skipped out on the whole MAMA shit. He didn't care much about award shows where people didn't know him and faked their interest in his music. Nah, fuck that kidz bop shit, he thought once again, cringing internally at the images of overdressed, overworked, underweight, and over caked-up idols, all sitting straight and poised in their pristine clothes flashing through his mind. God forbid they made eye contact or got too friendly with each other. What a mess it would make for the big wigs. A dating scandal? Better make them apologize for simply falling in love. Getting admitted to the hospital for falling because they work twelve hours a day and skip meals and suffer from mental illnesses? They must apologize for being human. Minsik rolled his eyes at the thought of reporters making fake articles out of edited photos of these seventeen, eighteent, sometimes twenty year old kids to get some attention from the public. He once again realized how blessed he was to be in a company that was so open-minded and forward-thinking; it was a place where he could freely express himself and his music and didn't have to shy away from talking about things that weren't exactly family friendly. But that was who he was: he liked his whiskey dry and with extra ice, he cursed when we wanted to and spoke loudly, he was rowdy and straightforward and wasn't shy by any means, and he knew that he was damn good in bed. Why the hell would he let some old man who hadn't performed on stage or written a song in years curb his appetite for success and his suppress his creativity, when he could be himself and be known by the public?

        All thoughts aside, Minsik knew how lucky he was to be a part of H1GHR music. If someone had asked him just a few years ago what he was gonna do with his life, he would have said washing dishes at a restaurant or delivering fried chicken. The thought of becoming a multi-million dollar artist, with more accolades and awards he could have known lining the shelves of his home's walls, going on shopping sprees to Balenciaga in Milan and Comme de Garçons in Tokyo, wouldn't have even crossed his mind. As a young and unknown rapper in this gamble, he knew he had to work harder than everyone else, sleep less and eat less, and stay hungry for success. As they passed underneath the looming glass towers of downtown Hong Kong, he thought about the times where he had to sleep in saunas and public baths to save money and sometimes decide between eating or paying the bus fare to get to his small crappy studio apartment in Busan. He survived on cup noodles and cheap triangle kimbap for most of his teenage years, working three jobs to pay for the sessions he booked in the local studio, and sometimes having to sit in subway station because he had missed paying the electricity bill and the heater wouldn't work in his apartment. Not only these, but he had to make everything himself: the packaging for his demos, posters that he painstakingly put on every wall, building, and lamppost he could find in Seoul, and convincing venue owners to let him perform. As he started to get a bit of recognition by joining Yelows Mob, he started sending out his demos to various record labels, waiting anxiously to hear from them. Most of them either rejected him for being so unknown or his style not fitting the label's image, while others flat out did not respond at all.