for a heartbreaking few moments, she thinks she hasn’t made it; the grievance of being listed last means hope stays forlorn until the very final second... but chorong’s worried gaze lands on her name, printed neatly beside a perfect number ‘3022′, and euphoria crashes down upon her. a delighted squeal escapes, high-pitched and loud before being muffled hastily by a palm clamped over her lips. she’s shaking, ecstatic, that she’s made it past the qualifier and mom-- mom should know first.
she tells the older version of herself the news once she’s back home, trembling from head to toe with the aftermath of shocked excitement, and chorong’s mother hugs her tightly-- whispering praises for her ‘sweet little turtle’ and embracing her with a grip as suffocatingly soothing as only a mother’s could be. there’s more rounds to go and plenty of decisions to make (including what the heck she’s going to wear! and what to do about missing classes-- ) but chorong lives in this moment for what it is: her mother’s cloying perfume in her nose, chorong’s dreams that suddenly feel so much more alive, and-- in a small tiny chest buried inside the dusty shelf of her heart-- a sad, wistful longing that her dad was here to hug her, too.
but chorong and her mom are a team, and she’s the one who accompanies chorong the second time the girl is required to show up for a secondary performance. going off alone the first time had been a matter of pride but now, chorong is glad more than ever to have a hand to hold as she climbs up the building’s steps. “are you really going to meet the company ceos?” lee seol asks excitedly, and chorong flashes a smile in her mother’s direction, mildly amused.
“i don’t know, mom, it could be a panel of strangers for all i know-- i don’t know who all works for this event,” she answers honestly. there’s over a dozen people waiting by the time chorong gets to the designated area and she feels the familiar nerves fluttering like butterflies in her tummy. the tambourine she bangs lightly against her thigh draws curious stares and chorong blushes, immediately ceasing the twinkling sound out of embarrassment. “i’ll be okay, right?”
“don’t let it get to you, honey,” her mother reassures her in a soft voice. chorong will be the last number to be called and that means a long wait time before she’s expected to go in front of the panel. plenty of time to let doubt peek its way through the cracks of chorong’s confidence. she’s seen some of these competitors before, some in the waiting room of the previous audition and others in the practice room performing their pieces as well as she. despite her mother’s comforting words, chorong would be foolish if she didn’t take this competition seriously. lee seol grips her daughter’s hand, as if guessing her thoughts, and squeezes it. “i’ll be waiting outside for you when you’re done. come find me.”
“number 3022,” a black-clad staff member calls and chorong jumps in her seat. “let’s go.”
the digits of the number, her number, echo in chorong’s head like a refrain. would this now be all she would be known as in this competition-- a four-digit number situated among others? a rare spark of defiance cried out for the contrary: chorong needed to make this panel appreciate her as a human being, as park chorong who wanted to join them in the industry ranks!
she wanders onto the floor with a held breath and exhales only once she’s reached the marked position in the middle. the panel chorong stares at possess faces unfamiliar to her, for the most part, and a tense smile wavers on the girl’s lips. “i’m park chorong, number 3022,” she introduces first, deliberately making sure her name is heard before the number.
anxiety washes over her in waves. she’s handed a microphone by a staff but the fingers curled around the handle are shaking as chorong brings the instrument to her lips. she’d foolishly thought that she’d been nervous at her audition before but this... it hadn’t even compared to the sinking feeling present now. chorong licks her lips absently, wondering if the panel weren’t already tired of hearing people sing and dance and rap before it was even her turn. the danger of being last is that nothing is new anymore-- not unless it’s absolutely sensational.
chorong couldn’t guarantee that, not when she knows she’s not a star yet. but her mom is outside depending on her, and how could chorong go back out there and confess that she’d messed it all up at the most important moment? how could she say she didn’t even force herself to try?
“i’ll be performing ‘stupid love’ for you today,” chorong manages to finally say. she glances down at her feet, eyes briefly closing while she inhales slowly. she lifts the tambourine at her side, her replacement for the cd of music she would have brought any other time, and lets the room lights shine on the metal discs until they glimmer. she adjusts the microphone on the stand in front of her, allowing her other hand to remain free so she can play without hindrance. with a flick of the wrist, she begins to set the beat with her tambourine, allowing herself and the panel to hear the flow before she starts on her first verse.
chorong’s head tilts up but her eyes remain closed as she forces herself to concentrate on enunciating the words. rap is a mess if it’s mumbled unconfidently, emotions needing to be delivered but mostly understood. for chorong, it’s easier to do this first than to sing, her tongue rolling off the syllables in a rhythm that’s challenged with every turn of the line.
Your attitude was different, making
my heart ache, you felt strange
The sky is black as if it will rain
Both of us are getting sick of the
repeating disappointment and arguments
You will probably break up with me
when her eyes are closed, it’s easier to pretend that companies like trc aren’t here watching her-- judging the way chorong doesn’t act like the stereotype that’s probably much easier to cast. she knows she’s unusual, and maybe not in a good way, but she loves this... can’t help that she’s chosen this skill to cherish above all others. when the first verse finishes, the girl’s eyelashes lift. she chooses the safest panel member to look at (the representative who’s definitely not aligned with trc) and hardens her tone deliberately.
here today it felt like my heart was on fire
and without knowing, I yelled
I pushed and banged and shuddered
Why are you looking at me with such
sad eyes? It’s always like this
I’m the bad one and you’re too nice
the tambourine playing stops and chorong takes a breath, air sucked through her nose for the moment she takes to soften her voice. rap isn’t the only skill she possesses and, if she’s going to be kicked out of this round, chorong wants it to be with the panel all well aware that the vocalist can perform more than a simple fast rhyme. the melody of this song is gentle, a deliberately contrast to the harshness of the rap verses entwined between, and chorong allows her voice to soar on it.
she’s not the best singer in the world, definitely not even in this competition, but chorong loves to sing and lets them hear her pure, uncomplicated tone as she sways to the sweetness of the lines. allowing her shoulders to relax, chorong feels some of the tension seeping out of her as she feels the path shortening to the end.
Even if your lips curse at me,
that’s not what I mean
Even if your heart throws me
away, that’s not what I mean
Why don’t you know
the meaning of my tears?
I’m not saying we should end it,
I’m asking you to hug me
one minute here could turn out to be a disappointment to the panel; they might even regret their decision to retain her for his round. but as the song comes to an end and chorong is left with several seconds left to thank them formally, all she can think about is that she’s done the best she could. playing the tambourine could be a hit or miss decision but it’s hers, uniquely most likely, and if she’s labeled ‘the tambourine girl’ from this point on-- well, it’s better than being forgotten.
she’s used to being invisible, but to become dismissed in another’s memory? like her father’s. that’s a pain entirely too cruel to fathom. chorong dips her head and upper body into a formal bow and repeats her name. “thank you for your time!” chorong says sincerely and follows the wave of the staff as they usher her away.
