Chapter 1
I REACH OUT AND CARESS THE FACE OF THE BOY I’m supposed to love.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you, too,” he replies, his voice all quiet and tender. “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time.”
On TV, Bryan Yoon is usually so goofy and cute, but now, when he’s absolutely serious, his gentle eyes have a magnetic pull to them that’s hard to resist. This kind of star power is probably the reason why millions of girls all over the world have posters of Bryan and the other members of NOVA, one of the top K-pop boy bands in the world right now. And why even ahjummas like my mom and her friends are members of their fan café.
I know why I’m supposed to have feelings for him, but in the end, what really gets my heart racing is the thought of Korean fried chicken.
Yummy and crispy and fried to a golden brown, I think while staring into my costar’s eyes. Just the right amount of greasy, perfect with some pickled white radish and a can of Diet Coke.
Don’t get me wrong, Bryan is really cute. But do I like him as much as I love my favorite food in the entire universe? No. Will I ever like him as much? Probably not. I’ve actually never felt that intense kind of emotion for any human being—but I imagine this is what true love is like. And I must have been convincing, too, because from his chair behind the camera, Director Cha shouts, “Cut! That was fantastic. That’s a wrap for today.”
As soon as the director’s turned away, Bryan’s doting smile becomes a lopsided smirk.
“That was pretty good, newbie,” he says, running his hand through his swept-back hair. “Been practicing?”
One of his assistants hands him a box of water, and he chugs it while waiting for my reply.
“I still don’t get why you insist on calling me newbie,” I say. “I’ve been in this industry for four years, while this is your first year as an actor.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, but I’ve been in the entertainment industry in general for much longer than you . . . and this is your first year breaking out big, isn’t it?”
“Fair,” I concede. Sometimes I forget that even though his professional name is English, Bryan comes from an entirely different world than me. While I only moved to Korea a few
years ago, he spent all his life here in Seoul, training with prep academies and music companies since he was in elementary school.
Bryan reaches out and ruffles my hair like I’m a little kid and he isn’t just one year older than me. “Just don’t lose your nerve after the premiere tonight. Good luck, Hana!”
I push him away and he laughs, giving me a peace sign on the way to his manager’s van. Usually I’d reply with something snarky, but today I don’t even have the mental capacity to do so. I’m far too anxious about tonight.
Most Korean dramas, unlike American TV shows, follow a live-shoot system. Even though today’s the premiere, we’ve only shot the first four episodes so far, and we’ll continue to shoot the rest of the show as new episodes air every week on Fridays and Saturdays. Live shooting can be overwhelming and stressful since it keeps production schedules tight enough to film and edit each of the remaining episodes within a week or two. But it’s also cool since we can adjust things based on viewers’ reactions and make last minute changes, if needed. For better or worse, tonight we’ll know exactly what audiences all over the world think of our show. And I’ll learn what millions of people think of my acting.
The biggest challenge will be finding the right balance between keeping true to my character and adjusting my performance according to feedback. I heard a lot of actors in movies or American TV shows never read reviews or watch themselves on the screen. But when people are reacting to a show as we’re making it, it’s hard to ignore their responses. And it’s probably not a good idea to overlook them, either.
On the bus ride home, I search for news articles released today about our show.
Breaking News: Highly Anticipated Fantasy K-Drama Fated Destiny Set to Premiere Today at 9 p.m. KST!
Bryan Yoon Dishes on His New Show Fated Destiny on the Eve of Its Premiere
Why Fated Destiny Starring Bryan Yoon Is THE Biggest K-Drama of 2022
From the way the press is writing about it, you’d think Fated Destiny was a one-man show. But I’m glad it’s at least on everyone’s radar. Even now on the bus, I overhear conversations about our show.
“I’m so excited to watch Bryan’s new series!” says a middle schooler who’s sitting a few seats behind me. “I’m for sure going to watch it after I’m done with cram school.”
“I’m just going to watch it on my phone. The tutors don’t care about what we do as long as we finish our work anyway.”
“Really? Mine are super mean and take our phones away.”
“Oh, huh. I always assumed they don’t care, but maybe I’m just too sneaky for them to notice!”
They laugh, and I’m still smiling to myself when the first girl says, “Wait, speaking of Fated Destiny, did you see the girl Bryan’s costarring with? What’s her name again, Jang Hana? Jin Mina? How did a complete nobody like her land that role?”
I bite my lip to stop myself from correcting her. It’s Jin Hana!
The other girl shrugs. “I think I recognize her from Superstar League. Didn’t she play the foreign exchange student from America? She was pretty good.”
“She better be to star with our Bryan.”
“To be honest, I hope she sucks. Celebrities end up dating their costars all the time. We can’t lose Bryan to someone like her!”
Resisting an urge to sigh, I navigate to one of my playlists on Spotify, which is a collection of kick-ass girl power anthems from my favorite K-pop singers. I tap on a song by Skye Shin, who just debuted this year but is already topping the charts. Skye’s Korean American like me, so I relate to a lot of her songs.
As I listen to her strong, confident voice, I feel my shoulders loosening up.
I’m not naive enough to think that people will be watching the show for me. I know that most of the world will watch our K-drama out of morbid curiosity, since it’s the show that’s supposedly so good that Bryan turned his back on music at the peak of his music career for. But I’m determined not to get outshined by him. Not when I have so much riding on this show.
Just as I get off at my bus stop, I get a call from Sophia, my manager.
“How are you holding up?” she asks me in English.
After a whole day of speaking Korean, hearing English is admittedly comforting. I may look like I was born and raised here in Korea, but I’m from Florida. I grew up splashing around in the warm turquoise waters of the Atlantic Ocean, not looking across the Han River like I am now.
Since I’ve always spoken Korean with my parents, I’m fluent, but I’m still more at ease with English. Meanwhile, Sophia was born in Korea but hopped back and forth between here and the US throughout her life, so she’s perfectly good at both Korean and English in a way I can only aspire to be.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Okay, that’s a lie. I’m terrified, but I’m trying to chill. I just overheard a bunch of middle schoolers trash-talking me.”
“Nerves are understandable. But try to enjoy tonight as much as you can. You earned this big debut. And remember, good or bad, buzz is buzz. Tonight’s premiere is going to be huge!”
I let out a quick sigh. “You’re right. As always. Hopefully no one makes fun of my Korean.”
“They’re not going to. You practiced so much! And honestly, your Korean wasn’t even that bad in the first place. Why are you worrying about it now?”
While I lived in a not-so-diverse part of the American South, I spent countless nights cuddled up on the couch with my mom watching every Korean drama I could get my hands
on. K-dramas were my way of feeling like I belonged somewhere when I lived in a place where no one but my parents looked like me.
But when I was scouted by an entertainment company in middle school and actually moved to Seoul four years ago, it didn’t take long for me to realize I’m only as Korean as a sweet potato stuffed crust pizza. Yeah, sure, sweet potato stuffed crust pizzas are a staple of Korean Pizza Huts. But they’re still pizzas. Which means they’re not very Korean at all.
I may not feel Korean enough, but tonight everything depends on convincing people I belong here. My parents gave up the life they had in the States to move back across the world with me. And everyone involved with the show worked so hard to get us to this point. As the co-lead, my performance affects the ratings and consequently their jobs.
Tonight everyone will be watching.
“Hana?” Sophia says, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I sigh again. “Sorry, I’ll try to relax.”
“Excellent idea. Eat yummy food, put on a facial mask, anything that’ll help you feel better. Talk to you after the premiere?”
“Yup. Thanks, Sophia.”
By the time we hang up, I’ve arrived at home. It’s 8:45 p.m., fifteen minutes before the show’s premiere.
The moment I open the door, Mom and Dad hug me. Mom’s holding a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, my favorite snack, while Dad’s got a pair of chopsticks in one hand.
I almost burst into happy tears then and there. As much as I love eating Cheetos, I hate getting the red dust on my fingers. So I eat them with chopsticks. My parents know me so well.
“We’re so excited to watch the show!” says Mom.
Not much for words, Dad doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t have to. His proud smile says enough. He’s a strong and silent Asian patriarch type, so a smile from him is the equivalent of glowing praise from someone else.
My parents work long hours, so I know how hard it must have been for them to make time for this. My stomach aches from how thankful I am. My life isn’t perfect, but one thing I definitely lucked out on are my parents.
I plop down into my usual space on the couch, right in between Mom and Dad. We rarely have time to watch TV together anymore, but when we do, I cherish every second of it.
Too nervous to stay still, I bounce my leg up and down as I snack on my Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, plucking each one out of the bag with my chopsticks and popping it into my mouth.
Mom, like she always does, notices immediately and says in a firm but gentle voice, “Hana, you know bouncing your leg like that is bad luck! You’re shaking your good fortune away.”
I grew up with my parents telling me not to do seemingly random things like shaking my leg or leaving the fan on before I sleep at night. Back in Florida, I thought it was just my parents who had these oddly specific superstitions. But when we moved here, I heard
ahjummas at a seolleongtang restaurant gossiping about fan death and realized those beliefs are part of what made my parents Korean in ways that I’m not.
I half pay attention to the commercials before the premiere, alternating between looking at my phone and the TV. When I first moved to Korea, the ads fascinated me since they’re all visually stunning. But they also disturbed me a little bit since everyone looks unnaturally bright and happy, like they live in some alternative utopian society. And everything is so “perfect,” too, with grandparents sitting at tables with two parents and two children—a boy and a girl, of course.
Sure, my own family is pretty heteronormative and nuclear, but that doesn’t mean I for sure want a family like that in the future. I’m bi, and I don’t know who I’ll end up with yet. And I’m nowhere close to even thinking about kids. I wish Korean media had more flexibility for other lifestyles.
When the last ad fades into black at exactly nine p.m., I sit up straight, with one hand in Mom’s and the other in Dad’s.
“It’s going to be great,” Mom says. “Appa and I are so proud of you.”
Dad squeezes my hand, and I squeeze his back. His hands are a little sweatier than normal, but I smile and hold on tight.
Four months and counting of rehearsals and shooting days. Endless days and nights of filming. All the blood, sweat, and tears that the other members of the cast and crew, my parents, and I have put into this show so far. Everything has come down to this. I let out one last slow breath and watch the show unfold.
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