Internally

“Mina.”

Mom snaps her fingers in my face and looks at me expectantly. She grabs the TV remote from where it lies nearby on the worktop and turns the TV to standby. I turn my gaze and meet her eyes.

“Are you just going to sit there today?” she says. Her expression shows half-despair and half-pity. “I thought you said you’d start classes soon.”

I swivel round on the bar stool I’m sat on and lean my elbows on the counter top as I chew my way through a slice of toast. “I’m still looking into it,” I say. That’s a lie. I haven’t even managed the simple task of typing it into the search engine.

“You’ll be very behind if you wait much longer,” Mom says. She starts shaking her head as she checks that she’s got her phone, wallet and keys before she leaves for work.

“I should be in college right now,” I mutter under my breath in English.

“If you’d rather go and live with your cheating father, that’s fine with me,” says Mom nonchalantly, but I can tell she’s bitter about it inside.

I give a heavy sigh and pull myself up from my slouched position at the breakfast bar. “Have we got any more bread, Mom?” I ask. I walk around our small kitchen space looking for more food I actually recognise.

“We’re in Korea. Eat rice,” Mom answers bluntly. She grabs some extra bank notes from the drawer and stuffs them into her wallet. “Mina, you need to find classes to sign up for. I’m not having you moping about here for the rest of your life.”

“I’m not moping!” I protest. That’s a lie too. All I’ve done since we arrived in Korea a week ago is lounge around lazily and stream my favourite American programmes online. “Besides,” I add, trying to validate my situation, “I don’t even know what I want to do.”

Mom stops for a moment and examines me carefully. After what seems like an age, she says, “You ask what I do at work, Mina. Come along and we might be able to find something for you to do.”

I stare at her and laugh. “Thanks, Mom, but... no thanks.” I grab the one apple that remains in the fruit bowl and bite into it with a crunch.

“I’m serious,” says Mom firmly. She eyes my button-up cat print pyjamas and narrows her eyes. “Get dressed quickly. We’re leaving in five.”

I gape at her desperately but she doesn’t change her mind. Even though she’s not tall, she’s still taller than me and those extra inches somehow give her the ultimate dominance. I relent and return to my room to get ready.

Everything I own is still packed away in a black suitcase in the corner. Due to the lack of time, I open it and pull out the clothes on the top: monochrome pinstripe shirt, blue jeans with ripped knees, classic Doc Martens. I only have a moment to check my reflection before I head out. It’s exactly the same as it always is. There’s the mostly-straight, shoulder-length hair that can only be described as ‘coffee-brown’ and the almond shaped eyes that are a lighter brown than almost anyone else in Korea. I scrape my hair into a messy knot and walk back into the kitchen.

“Come on,” says Mom, jingling her keys as if she’s actually going to drive. She isn’t. She left that behind when we left the US. “We’re going to be late if you take much longer,” she adds.

“Hey!” I object, but I move faster to pull on my bright yellow coat and head out the door. Mom locks up and we take the elevator down to the ground floor of our apartments.

“Where do you even work?” I ask curiously as I try to keep pace with her quick steps.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” says Mom mysteriously.

“But what do you do?” I press. “I mean, I know you worked for that design company back in the States but you’ve never told me what job you got here.”

“It’s still in design,” Mom, “But it’s a more specific job this time. More... costume based.”

I look at her and raise my eyebrows. I didn’t understand half of what she just said. It’s my bad Korean. She summarises in English and I nod.

We get into a cab and she directs the driver to an address I don’t recognise. The journey takes perhaps twenty minutes altogether, but the traffic is good today. We only hit one red light. The cab pulls up outside a huge multi-storey building with many windows and we get out. Mom pays the driver whilst I look up at the place. It’s just like your average US skyscraper. It must have at least ten floors but probably has more.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” says Mom as she stands beside me.

I suddenly find myself frowning. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to go in with you?” I ask.

“Of course,” says Mom breezily and, without another word, she takes off through the automatic doors into the building. I have no choice but to follow.

“Ah, Ji Yeon,” says a middle-aged man in the lobby. He looks like he’s just finished taking a phone call.

“Manager-hyung,” says Mom. We all bow in greeting. I’m still not getting used to that.

“And who’s this young lady?” says the manager man.

“This is my daughter,” says Mom, gesturing to me with one hand.

“A pleasure to meet you,” says the manager, taking my hand and shaking it with both of his.

“Would it be alright for her to observe my work today, hyung?” Mom asks politely.

“I don’t see why not,” says the manager, “As long as she doesn’t get in the way of things, of course.” He laughs, even though his last words weren’t at all funny.

“Thank you,” says Mom. “Come, Mina.” She bows to the manager again and leads me away.

“What is this place?” I wonder aloud as I follow her down a corridor and into an elevator.

“A music company,” says Mom simply. “My job is to design and create costumes for their stars to wear when performing.”

All of a sudden, my mom’s job sounds so cool. Making costumes for music stars and getting paid for it? That’s got to be a pretty rare job to find.

The elevator comes to a stop and we get out several floors higher. Mom walks briskly down yet another corridor, confident in finding her way even though she’s only worked here for a week. We enter a huge room the size of a hall and it’s filled with tables and fabrics and dress dummies.

“Wow,” I say.

Then, Mom smiles. “It’s an awesome job,” she agrees. “Anyway, I need to get to work. You can watch or wander – your choice.”

So as she sets up, I walk slowly around the hall, casting my eyes over various work stations where other people work quietly. I come to a dressmaker’s dummy that wears an impressive shirt. The shirt is navy-blue with military-style golden cords winding back and forth across it. By the looks of things, the people here stitch by hand. It must have taken an age to firmly stitch those cords on.

I get out my phone to take a few photos and snap some arty shots of the shirt. I usually record interesting things with my video camera but in my haste, I left it back at our apartment. So instead, I take photos, even though the image quality on my phone is far inferior to that of my camera.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” says a voice from behind me.

I jump and spin around in surprise. “Hello?” I say slowly, nodding my head to bow.

The woman just laughs and shakes her head, telling me no formality is necessary. “Your mom organised the making of that all the way from America, you know,” she says. She looks about thirty-something and her style is a mixture of odd items thrown together. She wears a silk scarf wrapped around her head like a headband.

“Really?” I ask in surprise.

She nods and smiles. “It looked great in the music video.” She pauses and eyes me up and down. “You look a little bored in here, you know,” she remarks. “Come with me. I’ll show you the other side to design here.”

I glance over at Mom for confirmation and she just nods and goes back to her work. So I turn back to the stranger who I like more and more by the minute.

“I’m Kyung Hee, by the way,” says the lady. She smiles again and leads the way out of the hall and into a dressing room.

“Welcome to my home,” says Kyung Hee with a laugh. “But seriously, I’m here so often I might as well live here,” she adds.

The suite has a wall lined with mirror after mirror and chairs all the way along, tucked under the table. There are bright lights above each mirror and endless products to use. There’s a couch on the other side of the room and a mini-bar.

“This, my dear, is where the magic happens,” says Kyung Hee proudly. “All the stars at Big Hit come in here and-” She cuts herself off as another door opens and someone else comes in.

“You wanted to see me, noona?” He’s tall, with studs in each ear and silvery ash-blond hair falling messily across his forehead. He’s pretty casual in an oversized white sweater, black sweatpants and hi-tops. And even though it’s early, he’s got that smile that tells you he’s tired but happy to be here.

“Ah, Jimin,” says Kyung Hee, patting the nearest makeup chair. “I was wondering if I could try out the makeup style for your comeback performance.”

“Of course,” says Jimin. His voice is smooth, only a little rough around the edges at this time in the morning. He sits in the makeup chair and spins it around so he’s facing the mirror. Kyung Hee starts finding various products she’s decided on using but I hesitate behind the makeup chair.

Jimin looks up at me in the mirror and smiles. “And what is the name of the pretty lady behind me?” he asks.

I feel my cheeks start to burn as he says that. I look at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are pink. It’s embarrassing. Kyung Hee answers for me when I don’t say anything. That’s also embarrassing.

“This is Ji Yeon’s daughter,” she says, returning with an armful of products and placing them down on the table.

“Mina,” I say, biting my lip. Usually I’m outspoken but today, in a new environment, I’m lost and suddenly it’s like the first day of high school all over again.

“Nice to meet you,” says Jimin with a nod. I nod in return and the room falls into silence again.

“Did the others come in today?” Kyung Hee asks, absently brushing Jimin’s hair out of his face.

“No, just me and Jin,” Jimin replies, “He wanted to practise the choreography again before our comeback performance. The others will probably come in later.”

“Ah,” says Kyung Hee with a nod. She looks over her products and suddenly lets out a noise of frustration. “I left that eyeshadow palette in my car,” she groans.

“I could go down and get it,” Jimin offers with a helpful smile.

“That’s okay, I’ll get it,” Kyung Hee answers, “I just don’t want to take up too much of your time.” She pauses for a moment and looks at me. “Mina, could you apply this foundation whilst I go down?”

I flounder but somehow end up saying, “Sure, no problem.”

“Thank you so much,” says Kyung Hee gratefully. She bows and heads out of the room.
For a split second after the door shuts, I freeze. But I take a breath and reach for the foundation Kyung Hee pointed out and grab a makeup brush to apply it with. I pick a large one and hesitantly start applying the makeup to his cheeks with gentle strokes. I grasp the brush tightly to stop my hands from quivering.

The colour matches his skin almost exactly but makes him look a little more awake, more vibrant somehow. He stays as still as a statue, and as silent as one. He closes his eyes peacefully and it almost seems like he’s asleep. But suddenly he starts laughing and I jump.
“What’s so funny?” I ask with a frown. He doesn’t answer though; he just keeps chuckling to himself.

“You stick your tongue out when you concentrate,” Jimin observes with another soft laugh.
I clamp my mouth firmly shut and brush the remaining foundation onto his fair skin. I don’t get much further before he starts talking again.

“Are you from Korea?” Jimin asks, “It’s just that your accent is a little strange.”

“I’m from America,” I answer, still trying to focus.

“Really?” he says in surprise. “So you speak English?”

I simply nod. I can feel him looking up at me so I add, “It’s better than my Korean.” That seems to satisfy his curiosity so he looks back at the mirror. I finish applying the foundation and start blending it.

Suddenly, Jimin bursts out with, “Good morning.” It surprises me because it’s in English, with an American accent, and with good pronunciation. “My name is Jimin,” he continues, “I am from Korea.”

I take one look at his serious expression and start laughing. “Well done,” I say, giving him a slow applause and bending over with laughter.

Jimin looks offended but he laughs too. “That’s what they teach us in school,” he says, returning to Korean.

“Very impressive,” I say as my laughter subsides. He doesn’t seem to understand, or sense my slight sarcasm so I let it slide.

“I’m back!” Kyung Hee announces as she comes in. She holds up an eyeshadow palette of dark colours in triumph. She then walks over to us to carefully judge my work.

“Is it okay?” I ask nervously.

“Very nice,” she says, nodding her head in appreciation, “Your blending is very smooth.”

I look at her blankly, unsure of the meaning of the last word.

“Uh... good,” she explains for want of a better word. “You can stay and watch me finish if you’d like.”

Kyung Hee gets to work with the rest of Jimin’s makeup, applying dark eyeshadow with a professional hand. I stand to one side and on a sudden burst of inspiration; I reach into my pocket for my phone and snap a few pictures quietly. The lighting in here is good, so I record a short video of Kyung Hee blending Jimin’s eyeshadow. I keep wishing I had my camera, but I didn’t think to bring it.

Finally, Kyung Hee steps back and puts her brushes down. She tilts her head slightly as she scrutinises her work. “What do you think?” she asks aloud to no one in particular.

“Amazing, as ever,” says Jimin as he peers at the makeup in the mirror.

“How long did you learn this for?” I ask from the corner near the door.

“About ten years,” says Kyung Hee casually with a wave of her hand. “If I’m honest, Mina, I think you could easily go into makeup.”

I raise my eyebrows at her in surprise. All I did was blend some foundation. Maybe she’s just being nice. “Thank you,” I say, smiling at her.

“Everything will be ready for next week,” says Kyung Hee, looking pleased with her work.

“I’m glad to hear it,” says Jimin. He stands up and shakes Kyung Hee’s hand with gratitude. Then he walks over to me and I feel incredibly short.

It’s not that he’s a giant – he’s not – but everyone makes me feel shorter than I already am. Kyung Hee seems to tower over me in her platform heels. Jimin is just taller.

“Thank you for your work,” he says politely. He bows and then straightens up to meet my eyes. His are brown and framed with Kyung Hee’s impressive makeup skills.

“You’re welcome,” I say, equally as polite as he is. I finish talking and he smiles.

“I’ve got to go, noona,” he says, turning back to Kyung Hee. “The other members will come in for another group practise later, if you wanted to see them.”

“Thanks for your help, Jimin,” says Kyung Hee. And I swear Jimin flashes me another smile before he heads out.

I spend the next few hours hanging around the main hall where Mom works, hovering over her shoulder and checking out the different outfits on the rails all around the room. Every piece is incredible and finished to perfection. Mom’s working on a jacket made from a silver-white, black-patterned silk, and it’s such a beautiful piece that I can’t help but watch her every move as she puts it together.

“Mina,” she snaps eventually. She shoots me a look over her shoulder and sighs.

“It’s such a cool jacket, Mom,” I say in my defence.

“But do you have to be so close?” Mom barely holds in the frustration in her voice.

“Sorry,” I mumble, but I can’t take my eyes away from the jacket.

Mom checks the time and turns back to me. “Go down to the canteen and get something to eat,” she says in English, pointing her finger to the door. She presses a bunch of bank notes into my hands and gives me a gentle push towards the exit.

“Yes,” I mutter and regretfully leave the design hall.

When I finally follow the right signs and find my way into the canteen, it is just about empty. Anyhow, I buy a recognisable dish and sit down at one of the tables by myself. The time ticks slowly by as I eat, and I think over the events of today. If I’m honest, Big Hit Entertainment seems like a pretty nice place to work. It’s no wonder Mom decided to bring us all the way to Korea for it.

“Hello,” says a friendly voice. I look up to see a tall Korean guy sitting down in front of me, wearing an oversized black hoodie. His hair is a dusky pink and he’s smiling.

“Hi,” I greet him, standing up slightly to bow. He does the same and we sit.

“The food here is good,” he remarks as he starts to eat. I notice that although he eats quickly, he really seems to appreciate the food.

“It is,” I agree. I’m not sure what to say to this stranger. His features remind me of Jimin’s, but their differences are striking.

“What’s your name?” he asks curiously. “I’m Jin.”

“I’m Mina,” I reply with a small nod. After a moment of hesitation, I ask, “Do you work here or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” says Jin. “Do you?”

“No, but my mom does,” I tell him. “She’s in design.”

“Ji Yeon?” Jin enquires. When I nod again, he says, “She’s really nice, and good at her job too.” He stops eating for a moment and swallows. “How come you’re here then?”

“My mom wanted to show me her job,” I explain.

“Ah, and do you like it here?” asks Jin.

“It’s really nice,” I answer honestly.

Jin quickly finishes his lunch and takes a long drink from his water bottle. “Well, I’ve got to run but it’s been nice talking to you, Mina,” he says.

“Bye!” I say as he leaves, raising a hand.

Big Hit Entertainment has given me a different view of coming to Korea. Maybe I will make new friends. Maybe study classes aren’t the only option. Maybe my future isn’t so dim after all.

Notes