Two years ago, I was in the middle of what I have now come to learn was an untreated depressive episode, compounded by major life changes: new job, going back to school, my band breaking up. I was turning twenty-five, an age where I felt people are supposed to have at least some their life together and have something to show for it. Instead I was starting over. I was lost. I was scared. I wanted to give up.
A friend introduced me to KPop, figuring having something else to focus on would help. Instead, I fell down the rabbit hole that is Bangtan Sonyeondan, and fell “in love” with my bias, Kim Seokjin and his solo song, AWAKE. Listening to the lyrics–ones he’d written himself and pushed for, having been rejected 20 times–made me feel like someone had finally understood where I was: knowing I would never fly, but wanting to run a little bit longer.
That year, I would release the first original I would write in Jin’s honor. It was called “Golden,” and it promised that, though I knew Jin’s “legs might get tired” from “chasing down the sky,” the love he put in the world would be worth the exhaustion, because it would always come back to him. I truly believed that for him.
In hindsight, I guess, I also wanted to believe that promise for myself.
“Golden” started something of a tradition: every year, I would record something in view of a December 4, 12AM KST (December 3, 11PM Manila Time) release. It would be a song that was for Jin, but also for me–a recap of the year that was, of the things I was learning, of the person I was becoming as I kept running, just a little bit longer, the way Jin sang that he would.
This year, I find myself in a similar place as two years ago. I am facing major life changes: withdrawing from school, applying to a new course, my job growing in new ways, leaving the org I co-founded. I am turning twenty-seven. I still don’t think I have my life together. I still doubt I have anything to show for the years I’ve spent existing. I am still a little lost. I am still scared.
But I don’t want to give up anymore.
While I am, in many ways, the same girl as I was in 2017–lacking in many ways, making a lot of mistakes–one thing has changed over the years. I’ve slowly learned to let myself believe that I can be better. That I if I just keep running a little longer, when I look back, the distance will be like I flew from where I was to where I’ve ended up.
A few nights ago, me and my two “PD-nims,” Carl and Nik, had discussions on projects for 2020 and 2021. Nothing’s solid yet, but there’s something. I won’t pretend that I don’t still grapple with the negative feelings, the fears and frustrations, that haunted me two years ago. But I’m more hopeful now.
In 2017, I found a song someone wrote for himself, and it gave me hope. This song, written two years later, is a product of that hope, of that idea that if you can just run a little bit longer…things can get better. And they do.
To Kim Seokjin, who will never read this: thank you for your song, which felt like a hand to hold when I needed one.
And, to everyone else who has been a part of this journey so far: thank you for listening. Let’s keep running together, for just a little bit longer. ❤