Jonghyun

Stan culture is escapism.

It’s losing your shit whenever your fave drops a music video, making gif threads of all the moments they did something funny on stage, watching youtube compilations of their laugh, gossiping about which bandmate they have a crush on, stopping the world when they get a haircut, dragging anyone who speaks ill of them, boosting their new projects everywhere, all regardless of whatever else is going on in your life. Everything gets pushed aside when you decide to take the day off to just take in how happy they make you, whether this means looping their albums at home or lining up for hours to see them perform. For the past few months (or over the past year, really), I’ve been doing a lot less of this as I focus more on “real life” responsibilities. I can’t even remember the last time I binge watched a bunch of performance videos, which is quite a statement considering I spent the bulk of my teen years frequently doing just that. Even during this more detached period of my stan life, I know I can count on any sort of encounter with my faves bringing me great joy.

It’s easy to forget that the world of magical standom happiness is tied down in reality; a reality in which bubblegum bliss is only temporary, and all of us feel pain.

What if your favourite artists help you cope with your depression, but you can’t do anything about theirs? What does it mean to see someone who makes you happy suffering while you’re unable to reach out to them? For all our talk of helping friends and family who are struggling, we just can’t do anything substantial for the people who we haven’t met yet love so dearly. A couple of days ago, I felt like my face was about to fall off as freezing wind snapped at me while I made my way to my car. It feels so terribly hopeless to hear someone you love talk about how sad they are, but not be able to hug them and tell them you understand - the winds keep whipping both of you, but there’s no way for you to pull them into the warmth. Logging back into my stan twitter account today and seeing my timeline flooded with obituary posts was surreal. Posts of you smiling captioned with praise, love, sadness, memories. Endless grief instead of the usual inside joke memes and bubbly excitement.

Jonghyun.

Depression is a pool of sadness that resides inside me most of the time, instead of a healthy tide of happiness and sadness that waxes and wanes. It’s the acute awareness while I’m feeling joy that I’ll soon be sad again, that this interruption of melancholiness can’t last, that I’ve yet to face horrible obstacles later in life. It’s hard to look at the bright side when you’re surrounded by pitch black walls you built around yourself, like locking the door behind you as you enter an escape room. I’m sorry you couldn’t break out of those walls, that they collapsed in on you. Even when everyone screams that they believe in you, your own self loathing is the loudest voice in the room. Scale doesn’t matter - you could just be admired among your peers or globally adored, but there’s no calculation for how much affirmation will build self worth.

The kindest people are often the same ones who cannot be kind to themselves. Empathy is expended on other people, but internally it’s the coldest war with your own mind telling you you’ll never be enough in any way. You know what it’s like to feel like nothing, so you don’t want to let others feel that way around you.

I feel ridiculous for even trying to articulate the depth of my sadness. Not just because you’re gone, but because you suffered so much before you passed. I’m staring at the last word of the sentence before this one like it’s in another language. Nothing I’m writing right now has any significance, nor is it well articulated. I think I just need to write so I can stop thinking the same sad thoughts over and over again. I have an exam tomorrow, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m not the only one grieving right now, not just over you but grieving in general, but even when my own world stops life keeps moving on and I’m scared one day I won’t be able to just pick myself up and I’ll get left behind. Every time I get too sad, I can’t just focus on how I feel or I know I’ll make things worse for myself. Right now I really just want to put life on pause, but if I did I know I’d lose the remote and wallow in that icy state of misery forever. Maybe that’s why I don’t have the ability to stop time; I’d never want to face the future while thinking about the pain of the past. But like, fuck, I really wish I could somehow reach that past and bask in your light for just a little longer. If distant starlight is a reflection of what stars looked like millions of years ago, maybe I can find you in a past life just by looking out at the sky.

I’m sorry that people, including professionals, tried to talk down on how you felt. To minimize your pain, to tell you “everyone feels like that”, that it’s just the way you are and you need to fix yourself. I’m sorry living was so difficult for you, and I’m sorry that you felt pressured to carry on just for the sake of others instead of for yourself. I’m sorry you felt pressured to pinpoint why you’re hurting, because I know that it can be so frustrating to try articulating what even you don’t understand about yourself.

I know what it’s like to feel like a burden when you’re tired or need someone to talk to, but at the same time you want people to reach out to you. When you’re up alone in the middle of the night and the world is asleep as you toss and turn in your anxiety, and you wish someone could say anything to make the ache in your chest ease up a bit. Despite everything, you were so open about your struggles in hopes of helping others who needed to feel heard. You were vulnerable, but you trusted us and let us see your tears. You held your SHINee brothers so closely, you treated your mother and sister so gently, you let everyone around you know you loved and cared for them. You stood up for what you believed in despite the backlash you got from a conservative society and invasive onlookers. And despite the pessimism you expressed about relationships, you were a romantic who saw beauty in so many things and made poetry out of the air you breathed. You really were a hero for just letting us get to know your sparkling soul in any capacity.

For as long as I live, I’ll remember the light you painted into my life. I’m so lucky to have experienced your warm and radiant presence.

You did a good job. You worked hard.

I love you.