we’re doing this again folks
we’re doing this again folks
on this day, exactly three years ago, 13 young boys debuted on MBC with their song ‘adore u’. the next year, they won for the first time on a music show with their song ‘pretty u’. then, they went on to create don’t wanna cry, which won best dance performance of 2017 at MAMA. and now, in 2018, they have released a new special sub-unit (booseoksoon), which debuted with the song ‘just do it’, they made a comeback with their new song ‘thanks’ and are currently promoting their japanese album ‘we made you’.
seventeen came into my life earlier this year, and i have been on an incredible journey with them. i remember re-watching their first win and crying a long with them. seventeen is a self-produced group (meaning that they not only write and produce their own music, but they also create their own choreography).
these boys have worked so hard, and they deserve so much.
so from the bottom of my heart i thank:
hansol vernon chwe and
for brightening up not only my day, but also my life.
In mainstream media, being self-deprecating was always a trait of the ‘good guy’ while being arrogant was the trait of the ‘bad guy’.
But I now think that’s not completely true. The good guy is actually trying to be humble, but their humbleness is taken to the extreme while the bad guy is actually being confident but that is also taken to the extreme.
I think these traits have been taken to the extreme to just solidify the ideal of Good vs Evil.
I think that what we as creative people should be doing is depicting characters that are equal parts good and bad because then we not only further ‘humanise’ characters, but we also begin to depict the truth.
I realise now why I’m so self-deprecating.
It’s because when I see the ‘good guy’ be self-deprecating, I assume it’s the right thing to do, but maybe what I should be looking at is the villain, because (when dialed down a little) the villain is usually portrayed as confident.
Then again, I don’t know because I’m currently sick with the flu so my head’s muddly.
I am afraid of many things.
As humans we are programmed with fear to keep us alive. Being alive was a good thing until life went sour.
Fear progressed from a basic instinct of survival to a much more complicated and confusing emotion. Long ago, our fears were “Don’t freeze to death and don’t pat the hungry looking bear.” Now they have manifested into a fear of not being accepted.
For me, writing in general has helped me cope with the fact that I’m not “normal”. My dreams are not like those of my friends. My attitude is not like those of the people my age.
People my age are very unkind. Every day, day in day out, I am picked apart by people I thought to be my friends. I am told that I am ugly. I am told that I am nothing but the punch line to a joke.
I am told that I am worthless.
And when you’re told something over and over again you begin to believe it. If you tell a baby that a pineapple is a pear everyday, they begin to believe it.
One thing these people tell me is that I am too sensitive. Well, now I realise I’m not too sensitive.
I am a human. I have my limits and my boundaries. And I know when you’re crossing them.
To those people, I ask one thing of your.
Please begin treating me like a human being.
I’m discontinuing Fandom Quote of Week.
Because I’m tired and every week I don’t do it I feel a bit more stress, so yeah.
Please understand that this is beyond laziness but really just the fact I don’t have enough time. But don’t worry too much, because I might bring it back as a daily full month challenge (like Youtube VEDIM, but more bloggish).
Thank you for listening (or technically reading) my blog post!
In no particular order:
Sleep is welcome.
Sleep is wanted and craved.
Sleep takes up too little time in my day.
Gravity keeps us grounded.
Which sometimes means it’s hard to fly.
I was sitting down on my bed while watching my favourite YouTube videos while eating crisps when I came to a realisation.
“Perfect moments are not usually something we notice. Perfect moments are moments that pass by unnoticed, yet feel so right. And perfect.”
That moment, of just having fun while watching YouTube and stuffing myself silly was a perfect moment.
Diary Entry #79
My name is Nobody. My name is the Weirdo.
My name is what people call me and because of them, I’m now gone.
It started with the simple things, the usual playground insults. ‘Ugly’, ‘Nerd’ and the rest but it escalated so far beyond that. ‘Ugly’ and ‘Nerd’ is what people call me when they have nothing better to say. When they have something to say they call me ‘Loser’, ‘Pitiful’, ‘Cringey’, ‘Desperate’. And to be honest some of them are just the ones they use to get started.
To some, these words, these names, help them thrive. Give them something to prove. It didn’t work that way to me. These names just added more weight to my already hunched back and eventually, my back broke.
Shattered into a million microscopic pieces.
You feel yourself break and crack into a million pieces. You scream and you scream and you scream until your voice goes hoarse and you realise that nobody’s going to help you or tell you that everything’s going to be OK. I found my tears when I realised that. Those tears never stopped streaming down my face and eventually when I looked into the mirror I never saw myself clearly. Those tears found me in the darkness, when they knew that I had no light to guide me.
It was so painful. So I did what I could and I ended my pain once and for all.
“Once the judge has called the court to session, the one and only eyewitness was called to the stand. She was fidgeting with the cuffs of her suit as she sat down with the grace of a confident pianist. Her eyes flitted across the room like an unsure butterfly.
“Do you swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you god?” said the clerk with an air of boredom around him, as if he’d done this a million times.
He probably has.
“I do,” said the eyewitness. She tried very hard to sound confident but the nervous jitter tinged the end of her line.
One of the lawyers, the prosecutor, stood from his desk and went up to the stand. He walked slowly and with purpose, seemingly asserting his legal prowess upon everyone in the room.
“Mrs. Amari, you entered the room of you daughter, Ms. Evyln Amari, at 11 PM. She was lying down on her bed with a single gunshot wound to the head. Is that correct?” he asked smoothly, a hint of empathy in his voice.
“Yes, that is correct,” replied Mrs. Amari. Her voice had a slight tremble, but the prosecutor dissmissed that and continued asking her questions.
“Mrs. Amari, why did you enter her room?” he asked.
“I heard some ruffling and mumbling upstairs, and was suspicious. I thought she was still seeing that boy of hers, so I quitely went upstairs, so that she wouldn’t hear me. Then I heard the gunshot and I began running. I banged her bedroom door open and I saw her. I saw my poor baby with blood bleeding out around her! AND THEN I SAW HIM!” screamed Mrs. Amari, tears streaming down her face, eyes black with fury. She had stood up and was making her way towards the young man who was accused of the murder of her child, “You killed my baby!” she scremed again.
The judge called the court to order, while the now very interested clerk escorted Mrs. Amari back to her seat.
Other witnesses, a few cops and, two forensic scientist were called up and they all confirmed Mrs. Amari recount of the night.
The judge ended the session in court and told everyone that court will resume the next morning at nine AM.
The air of the next morning was less tense than the morning before. The jury had their minds half made up already. The accused was called up to the stand. A bead of sweat rolled down his face and he wiped his hands before taking the oath. The clerk led him through the oath, decidedly more interested with the trial compared to yesterday.
The accused sat down once he had said “I do,” and the prosecuter was called to question the accused.
“Your name is Jack Robinson, correct?” the prosecuter asked.
“Yes,” said Mr. Robinson, still visibly nervous.
“On the night of 20th of September, 11 PM, you shot a .45 Glock Automatic Pistol into the back of Ms. Evelyn’s head, correct?” the prosecuter asked.
A slight nod came from Mr. Robinson.
“Once again Mr. Robinson, on the night of 20th of September, 11 PM, you shot a .45 Glock Automatic Pistol into the back of Ms. Evelyn’s head, is this or is this not correct?!” the prosecuter had a slight hint of frustation, though it was not discernable whether or not it was fake or genuine, in his voice.
“YES! I killed her!” yelled Mr. Robinson. “I KILLED HER! I SHOT A BULLET FROM MY FATHER’S GUN INTO THE ONLY PERSON THAT HAS EVER CARED ABOUT ME’S HEAD!”
Everything was decided. At this point the prosecuter was satisfied and sat back down. A person from the jury had raised his hand to signal that the jury were ready to begin discussing their verdict.
As the judge was about to nod a cop ran into the room with a laptop in hand.”
Diary Entry #85
JR was ready. He’s ready to go to jail to get away from his abusive family. I’m ready to die and get away from everything. He’s gotten his hands on a weapon. I felt a bit guilty. The guy genuinely believed that I loved him and I think he has started to truly love me. He’s told me everything and is willing to do anything for me to make me happy.
Even if it means killing me.
“Once the court had settled down the judge called the cop up to give the laptop (specifically a second-hand looking ACER) as evidence. The police didn’t find the laptop in their initial sweep of Ms. Amari’s room. They had only found it when they got a warrant to sweep Mr. Robinson’s room. After questioning, the homicide detectives found that Ms. Amari had given it to Mr. Robinson a few days prior to her death. They got into the laptop and found that this was a laptop Ms. Amari had bought for herself. The police found a series of emails sent between the victim and a Russian server referred to as Purple Dolphin. These emails detailed instructions from Purple Dolphin on self-destructing things and eventually how to plan her own murder. The emails sent from Ms. Amari’s account detailed her completion of such “tasks”.
It was sick.
When the defendant went up to Mr. Robinson and asked him if he knew what Ms. Amari was doing to herself. He said ‘yes’, but he never knew that the harm was systematic in any way. And it was evident he was telling truth because you could see his eyes clouded with a tears and a hint of anger.
The jury decided to go into their room for deliberation. The judge had called this session in court to an end and sent the jury to their deliberation room. The bayliff escorted Mr. Robinson out of court.
The jury have not left that room in a few hours but we will come back to you when they are done.”
Once I had finished my newscast I went home and took a shower. I put on my pajamas and logged onto my private laptop. I opened my email inbox and started writing my next update to Purple Dolphin.