I glance at the Barbie-pink guitar in the corner of my room. It was my dad’s gift to me for my twelfth birthday, which he bought in that dad-ish way of thinking all girls love hot pink (and I kinda do). Abba taught me a few basic chords, and unlike the viola, I learned the guitar immediately, as if it were a long-lost part of my body—I think maybe it’s because I’ve always thought of the guitar as a tool for singing. I watched YouTube tutorials on finger picking and learned how to play early Taylor Swift songs. Now my guitar is my prize possession, the first thing I’d grab in a fire.
I only ever play it in the privacy of my room, though. I sing tons of covers, plus a couple of my own original songs. I sometimes film myself, and I’ve even considered posting a couple videos to YouTube—me singing an acoustic version of “Here with Me” by Chvrches and Marshmello, and an in-my-feelings song I wrote called “Expectations vs. Reality”—but those videos are just files on my computer, sitting on my cluttered desktop among AP Lit papers and Bio lab write-ups.
“Hmm,” I say. “Maybe I’ll think about it.”
“Dude,” says Imani, opening a bunch of new tabs on my computer, “I think you’re seriously underestimating how amazing K-pop is. It’s not just one kind of thing. Let me be your girl group tour guide.”
Imani shows us music videos—or “MVs,” as they’re always called in K-pop—featuring all sorts of girl groups, like QueenGirl, Blackpink, Twice, Red Velvet, Everglow, and Itzy. I’ve watched tons of SLK MVs, but I haven’t paid much attention to the female groups. Not like this. The visuals and the choreography are all mind-blowing, and the girls are all out-of-control beautiful, but there are all kinds of genres and influences, including hip-hop and reggae and EDM.
As she shows us all these videos, Imani explains the difference between Girl Crush versus Cute Concepts in K-pop girl groups.
She also explains the rules of K-pop like she’s explaining the kingdoms of Game of Thrones. There are four main entertainment companies in K-pop: YG, JYP, SMTown, and S.A.Y., and they recruit all over the world—Korea mostly, but also Japan, China, Thailand, and the States, usually in Los Angeles. They’re looking for talented kids, for sure, but talented kids who play a particular role that every K-pop band needs.
“So it’s all a formula?” I ask.
“I mean, that’s not all of it,” says Imani, “but yeah, K-pop is kind of an idol factory. The companies hit up schools, auditions, malls, and, lately, YouTube and social media. If the kids they recruit aren’t super talented when they’re recruited, the companies will make sure they become super talented. There’s this whole hard-core ‘trainee’ system they have to go through before they debut, usually for years. The vast majority of trainees never debut after spending their whole childhoods training. It’s totally Hunger Games.”
Umma pokes her head in. When Ethan’s in my room, I’m not allowed to close the door, even though Umma knows there’s nothing to worry about. “Are you kids having fun?”
“Yes, Mrs. Park!” Imani and Ethan pipe up.
“Imani is just tutoring us in Advanced Placement K-pop,” cracks Ethan.
“I will be quizzing you both,” Imani jokes.
“How fun,” says Umma. I can see a smidge of disapproval in her face. “Imani, your sister is here to take you and Ethan home. I’ll pack some kimchi to take with you.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Park!”
After Imani and Ethan leave, I can’t stop watching more girl group MVs. I never knew how many types of girls you could be as a K-pop idol—a cutesy girl, a rebel, a fashion queen, or all three in one. Why have I never thought of it as a possibility for myself?
Well, that’s a dumb question. There are so many obvious reasons I could never dream of being a K-pop idol. For one, my Korean is horrible; I never had to go to Korean language school on Saturdays like the Korean kids I know from church. Secondly, I definitely can’t dance. Like, I can’t even pump my fist Jersey Shore–style to a basic beat—it’s that serious.
And of course, my parents would shut down any talk of being a singer before they even started. Umma’s drilled it into Tommy’s and my heads that there are only three, maybe four, respectable fields we can go into as adults: medicine, law, business, or academia—in that order. Being a singer is far down the list, probably between murderer and drug dealer.
I finally click out of YouTube and grab my guitar, making sure my door is closed. I hit record on my laptop cam.
I know this video will just clutter my desktop like all the others, never to be uploaded. I still like to record, though, because—this is weird and super dark—I think if I ever got hit by a school bus or something, I’d want to leave these videos behind so people would know: Candace could really sing. Candace had something to say all along.
I play the opening chords of “Expectations vs. Reality.” I sing softly:
Expectation:
I don’t do confrontation
I don’t get invitations
I live in my imagination
Reality:
You think you know me
But there’s a lot you don’t see
Wait till I become who I’m meant to be
Okay, I know the lyrics are corny, and my rhymes might not be tight like Hamilton, but I’m baring my soul here.
I’m not the girl who speaks up
But one day I’ll really blow up
One day you’ll hear this song
And know that you were wrong
Cuz your expectation’s not my reality
“Wow, how beautiful!”
I shriek and almost drop my guitar. Tommy’s head is poking into my room. He’s wiping away fake tears.
“Go away!” I scream, throwing MulKogi at him.
Tommy catches MulKogi easily. “No one understands Candace! Candace is so deep!”
I shove Tommy’s face out of my room and shout into the hall. “Umma! Abba! Tommy’s spying on me again!”
“So sorry, so sorry,” Tommy says in a Korean accent, bowing to me and cracking up. “I’ll be really sorry when you ‘blow up’ and your song is number one!”
I slam the door and apologize to MulKogi telepathically for throwing him. MulKogi responds telepathically, “Well, Tommy deserved it. He gets to be in chorale and you don’t?!”
Steaming, I text Imani.
I sit down at my computer and edit the video of my singing, cutting off the very end where Tommy so rudely interrupted. I click the mouse angrily, as if it were Tommy’s face, and open my YouTube account. For the first time ever, after all the thousands of videos I’ve viewed in my life, I upload my first video to my channel. There I am, CandeeGrrrl0303 (don’t judge me, I created this account in junior high), with a single video of me singing and playing a guitar.
Just because Umma is afraid of her own voice, based on some failure she had back in Korea before I was even born, doesn’t mean she can silence mine.
I click publish.
When I look at my phone again, Imani has already responded to my text.
Imani and Ethan have my arms locked in theirs to show their support—and to keep me from running. I’m their prisoner. Without them, I would have bounced the moment I saw the crowd. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of kids and full-on adults have shown up to audition.