Why the incessantly monologging voice inside my head is in English despite me being a nineteen year old South Korean who has never learned English isn’t something answers are readily available for tonight backstage at the Blackpink show, where so far not only have I seen Park Shin-hye flash a peace sign across the room to Park Seo-joon, I’ve also seen G-Dragon in full military getup smoke an entire cigarette in one drag from a filter glittering so brightly I had to put on my Kun - 0004 01 Gentile Monster’s to witness it all the way to the end. My focus must remain solely on these and other backstage happenings seen casually from my vantage point standing next to the gift bag table to ensure I get to where I’m going tonight, questions of conscious tongues must be left waiting in line. Jung Ji-hoon, known internationally as Rain, thanks to his stunning breakthrough 2004 masterpiece—It’s Raining—walks by with Bae Su-ji (Bae Suzy) and two other Miss A members (Fei, Jia) as I carefully consider stealing yet another unclaimed gift bag from the table still full of them next to me even though less than thirty seconds have passed since—upon stuffing a third bag into my grey WOOYOUNGMI single breasted wool twill blazer—it was discovered that the only contents offered within are two books by an American author with three names (and too much time on his hands) alongside a glowing review for a Phil Collins album that’s been printed onto the label of a Snapple bottle, which is full of confetti. PSY is now standing nearby saying to T.O.P. that “that KBS report was bullshit, I smoked marijuana six times.” An intercom announces Blackpink's arrival backstage shortly.

Elation mode activated. 

I’m about to rub my hands together (to complete phase one of my plan) when suddenly, out of nowhere, Yoo Ah-in appears in front of me, pupils the size of golfballs, screaming: “Hellbound for drug town yeeeeaaaahhhhh!!!!!” Before grabbing a gift bag from my suit, dumping the contents onto the ground, picking up the Snapple bottle, pouring the confetti into his mouth, chewing on the paper strings, an expression so full of relief washing over his face as the seconds pass, slow motion sighing now taking place in ecstasy, and all I can do is stare on in horror as he slowly turns his gaze towards the heavens while confetti falls from his dry mouth. 

(Looking away, closing my eyes, gathering myself, mustering up confidence, rubbing my hands together, formulating a new phase)

“Uhhh…” I pause, noticing something strange on the covers of both books dumped out from the bag. 

One looks like a layer of frost has formed over it. 

The other appears to have bloodstains.

Mercifully, Lee Jong-suk along with his best friend Kim Woo-bin approach me and Yoo, glancing down at the books I can’t stop staring at, as well as up to whatever parallel universe he can’t, after this their thoughts begin corresponding in ways siamese twins at the wrist can only dream of.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” One asks looking at me, the other still at Yoo.

“Uhhh… I think he dropped… his books after… like, ummm… spilling his blood and cocaine on them?” 

Before this answer can be properly assessed, Ah-in, in a moment no doubt similar to the trance-breaking delight seen in patients mere seconds after a successful exorcism, gradually directs his saucer-eyed gaze back to reality, to the three of us standing there, and—in the coolest way possible—says:

“This is the best ketamine I’ve ever fucking had.” 

A finger is pointing to the confetti falling continuously from his mouth.

God decides to spare me from this scene by announcing over the intercom “LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, BLACKPINK IS BACKSTAGE” just as spotlights hit the back wall and out walks my only reason for living: the four goddesses I will guide through the valley of death and who at this moment force recognition of what a travesty not thinking of referring to my second phase (phase 2) as “Square Two” until now has been. The cheerleader outfit Rosé is wearing causes a rush of Class 5 proportions to course through my veins and less than five seconds passes before I’m forced to pretend to drop something in order to readjust myself and as I straighten back up after successful readjustment The Uzi taped to my inner thigh falls out of my pant leg causing me to once again have to pretend to drop nothing (this time adding coughing for cover) and bend back down in a panic to pick up what suddenly I realize is my “Blink Pump” (exactly what you think it is) and not an Uzi, quickly remembering I do not posses or own an Uzi or any other gun of any kind despite for days essaying in vain any feasible ways to circumvent this country’s strict gun laws (my English conscience must be American because he could not believe obtaining a gun requires any effort beyond walking into a Walmart) and also recalling once it had sunk into me that obtaining a gun was at best a phantasmal requisition somehow relating to the phrase ignis fatuus a finger gun pressing against my temple pulled my thumb’s trigger and blew into my brain a plan b that if I were telling someone the story of tribulations endured leading up to my shining backstage glory I would—after reenacting the finger gun thing to show my characters frustration at the roadblock strict working gun control had created for me—pause for dramatic affect before turning to make eye contact and delivering “So instead”, a line that can only be followed by jump cutting to a montage showcasing my characters crescendoing resolve using quick edits and close ups of unwavering focus expressed across my determined face as a series of diligently preformed tasks implied to be the steps of the plan b I had no choice but to conjure up are completed.

So instead, thanks to a smartly purchased warranty by my wonderful halmeoni, who has already received her replacement sowing machine without hassle, Youngyoo proving once again they are by far the most integral corporation in the sowing game, a sentiment echoed by BusinessKorea’s recent article concluding—after an exhaustive investigation—that sweatshops using mostly Youngyoo equipment for their operations report the lowest stress levels among employees (not to mention the “least frightening” work environment according to a veteran of low-wage-long-shift exploitation quoted on the cover page) a report and quote I can attest to, as their expert craftsmanship, along with my being prepared to knock unconscious a grandmother who might not realize it’s her grandson behind that Talchum stealing her sowing machine, caused this plan b to be carried out stress and guilt free. 

(Concealed inside small hidden pockets painstakingly sown into the seams of my blazer: pepper spray, pocket knife, mace, poppers, razor wire in a floss container, concussion grenades, pencils, roque mallet, cheese grater, detonator, videotapes needing returned, Dangpa donned in ancient blood)

I’ve been staring at Blackpink still posing for photos despite thousands already having been taken for an unknown amount of time when I realize I’m still holding the Blink Pump in my hand and after tossing this towards members of Astro and staring at Cha Eon-woo as he tries discerning its function by holding it up to his eye like a telescope some guy who can’t possibly be any celebrity from this scene (I know them all) wearing an INDOCHINO Hereford Cavalry Twill Grey Suit hands me a business card that simply says “Blink Security, Vice President”, no contact information or other context provided. 

The back of the card has a smudge on it.

An earpiece has somehow been placed into my ear and information is now being relayed that ocular pat-downs must be used to asses the threat level of all fans attempting to approach Blackpink. I'm being told If any of those fans are deemed below Blink level then evasive, possibly lethal action is to be swiftly undertaken in order to ensure these goddesses of endlessly projected fantasies are safely secured from deranged lunatics who might delay announcements regarding release dates of anticipated future projects. 

As I make my way over to Rosé, Lisa, Jisoo, Jennie, my wards of beauty, who soon will know of my sacrifices bestowed upon their alter, they begin moving towards me, singing in unison a song for my ears only, sensual Ddu-Du Ddu-Du’s filling the air, ecstacy mode (phase sideways 8) almost activated, enlightenment in nirvana almost achieved, when suddenly an arm reaching out from beyond grabs mine, turning me from my destiny, as a voice asks a question in one fell swoop, ending it all.

“Sir, why are you naked and holding a gift bag stolen from the backstage party of the Blackpink show?”