#지금 만큼은 놓아 줄게

[inthediamondsky]

SHINee in the Good Place

What We Owe To Each Other:

This is for you, Jonghyun🌙✨

**TRIGGER WARNING**

note: I am not trying to tell any other shawols how to grieve. Trust me, I’ve gotten enough advice, both well-meaning and not, to know that it’s not helpful. I hope that all of you are able to grieve however you want, and that those you care about are there for you today. I wanted to write this because this very recently made blog has become my safe space to share my feelings about SHINee without the unsolicited input of a thousand twitteratti. Truth be told, I haven��t talked about this in three years. I don’t think I’ve ever really confronted my own grief. And I wanted to do that here. Yes, ITS LONG AND WORDY. I’m well aware that these posts aren’t exactly conducive to the short-attention-span era. My blog is nothing if not on-brand. But this one’s not really for everyone. This one’s for me.

Prologue: “It’s okay not to feel lucky sometimes.” - Jane Villanueva, Jane the Virgin

Nothing makes me more incensed than when people try to comfort me by saying, “think about how lucky you are.” Objectively, yes, in many ways and compared to many people, I am lucky. Certainly, I am lucky to exist, here, now, because how else would I have met the people that I am about to spend thousands of words writing about? But grief isn’t objective. It’s not supposed to make sense. Maybe the fact that it doesn’t make sense doesn’t make it any less real. Maybe that’s okay.

Chapter 1:

“Since nothing seems to make sense, when you find something or someone that does, it’s euphoria” - Janet, The Good Place

I know why I fell in love with SHINee. At least, I know how I found them. But what I’m not so sure about is why I stayed in love with them for over a decade. It’s a love that I can’t explain all that well. It’s not comparable to how I love my family or my friends or how I loved my significant others when we were in a relationship. It’s not all that similar to how I love my favorite sports teams, because those are entities more than individual people. Certainly, I admire SHINee. That’s a big part of it. I think they have accomplished a great many things. I have learned a lot from them. I enjoy their music and performances. But I can’t pretend that I love them because they are objectively the greatest; love, like grief, isn’t objective. All I can say is that loving them always made sense. Life rarely makes sense, and loving them did. So it was, as Janet says, euphoric.

I think the reason was that they always made sense TOGETHER. As a unit. As five. I always felt like they were born to perform together. Maybe that’s cheesy, but to me, it’s obvious. I don’t think that SHINee themselves would ever say that; they are a team strictly against self-mythologizing. Very practical and humble people, those five, and I love them for it. But even with their humility, their pride in their team sometimes leaks out around the edges. On the “SHINee’s Back” special, when Minho talked about remembering how SM announced their team one day: a sheet of paper titled “2007 Trainees to Prepare for Debut” with their names, 이진기 김종현 김기범 최민호 이태민, listed underneath. And on Minho’s episode of 청담-Key친, when Minho and Key talked about the fact that they remembered Lee Sooman’s voice telling them, “I’ve decided on your team name. Your name is SHINee,” like it was yesterday, that they couldn’t forget it if they tried. There’s a reverence in their voices when they talk about those moments. Like somehow, someway, it was meant to be.

I got to see the five of them on stage together once. SHINee World V. In Seoul. And I’ve never felt more strongly that musically, performance-wise, it all made so much sense. It was the one where Jinki hurt his ankle but insisted on coming back out to finish performing with the rest of them. It was heartbreaking in the moment, but it also made sense. It checked out with the fact that they are the ultimate professionals, who care so much and work so hard for the impeccable quality of their live performances. And it checked out because we all intuitively knew: SHINee is five. Like somehow, someway, it was meant to be. That was my dream. Maybe it’s unfair to project that on them, but it was. That the five of them, and my knowing the five of them and everyone else that I loved, it was all meant to be.

Chapter II:

“Time is cruel and indiscriminate and entirely uninterested in supporting our dreams.” - Joe Posnanski, on the career of Ken Griffey Jr.

Human beings live with the knowledge that we will die. As Eleanor says in The Good Place, that truth means that we’re all a little sad, all the time. But somehow, we’re also foolish enough to simultaneously believe that we always have more time. Especially, that we have more time with those that we love. But we don’t. It always runs out, a little too soon, when we’re not ready. We’re never ready. And it never makes sense.

I had moved to America by then. So it was the afternoon of the 17th when I found out. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Or so they say. I can speak to a couple of those: To this day, nothing makes me angrier than when YouTube recommends me videos from his funeral. Like I have a right to see it, or that those people had a right to film it. We don’t. None of us do. And sometimes I rewatch enough old variety shows and interviews and concert recordings that for a couple hours, even now, I think that he’s still here. I can still trick myself like that, even three years later. Oh, the magic of the internet: fueling anger and denial since its inception.

At my darkest, I allow myself to be depressed. Because it is all too cruel, too cold, too much. The fact that such a beautiful artist was taken from us too early. The fact that such a beautiful person was taken from us too early. The fact that this world was cruel enough that he decided to leave on his own.

I miss him. Of course I do. What I wouldn’t give to see him, here, happy, just one more time. Days like today, I pop in my SHINee World V DVD for the millionth time and cry, again. But I don’t like to grieve for myself. I don’t really feel like I deserve to. If I did, would I be grieving for him, or grieving for the idea of him? What he meant to me, or what it meant to have him mean something to me? I didn’t really know him. It’s okay for me to be sad. It’s okay for me to miss him. But is it okay for me to grieve? I ask myself this every day, because I think about him every day.

Undoubtedly, I am angry at the circumstances that led to his death, especially that my country, our country, still largely ignores mental health (dismissing it as fake or a sign of weakness) while promoting a workaholic, tough-it-out culture and thus suffers from one of the highest rates of suicide in the world. I love my country. That same workaholic culture has led us to excel at a great many things. But the mental health epidemic that has followed is one of our most glaring and tragic flaws, and one that we are still largely failing to address. I will never stop fighting for that to change. And I will never, never get over the fact that their last performances before he died, especially the final stops on their suddenly-ironically-named FIVE tour in Japan, were performed as four. How could life be so cruel? And preventably so. For that, I will never stop being angry.

But I do grieve, profoundly and truly, for those who loved him. Not as I do, for it would be terribly unfair to reduce him to that: an idea more than a person, an endless inspiration more than a living being with hopes and dreams and flaws and failings. No, I grieve for those who loved him in a close and real and visceral way. People who were close enough to not only watch him and listen to him to be happy, as I do, but were saddened by him and frustrated by him and annoyed by him too. That’s all a part of real love, as much as any of the happy bits. I grieve for them because, obviously, I have no idea what it is like to die. But I do know what it is like to lose somebody too soon to a death that is too cruel. Too sudden. Too nonsensical. Under those same preventable circumstances, in that same country.

There’s a story that many shawols know. A PD at some music show (I forget which one) posted it on their Instagram after Jonghyun’s death. Taemin was wrapping up his Day and Night promotions at the end of 2017, and the PD wrote that he would never forget the earnest look in Taemin’s eyes as he asked him to look after Jonghyun, since he was supposed to come back in early 2018. The earnest look in his eyes. Every time, that phrase: it feels like a punch in the gut. He asked so earnestly. How could it not have come true? I remember asking someone to look after my friend, to check up on her, a couple of days before she died. Earnestly. How could it not have come true?

“Irresolvable guilt,” they call it. Guilt that makes it impossible to let go. Guilt that never goes away. Guilt that is only amplified when everyone you see says that they’re sorry for you, when you can’t even forgive yourself. You’re still sorry for the words you didn’t say and the words you did, because there are never enough words afterwards to sum up how happy they made you or how much you loved them or how sorry you are for that one time you yelled at them about something that wasn’t their fault. There are never enough words, and they can’t hear you anyway, so you just cycle through the same ones again and again: 고맙다 미안하다 보고싶다 사랑한다 thank you I’m sorry I love you I miss you. There’s the guilt that you weren’t enough for them to tell you everything or that you were busy that night. Because what if you hadn’t been? Could you have saved them? And you feel guilty, more than anything, for the time you didn’t spend together. If only you had known that it was finite. The truth is, you did. But the problem is, humans always think that they have more time.

Chapter III:

- “Time means nothing. Jeremy Bearimy, baby. We’ll get through this, and then you and I can chill out in the dot of the “i” forever.” -“Right. We’ll be okay. We found each other before, hundreds of times. We can do it again.” - Eleanor and Chidi, The Good Place

2017 was shitty. I lost someone so present in my everyday life that every single thing I do, even now, reminds me of them. And so did SHINee. But I went through my loss and my grief privately. They weren’t given that opportunity. All the cameras, all the attention. It horrified me from the start. The way that a bunch of people who’d never cared about SHINee or Jonghyun when he was alive started to roll around in grief porn like pigs in mud. In the aftermath of a loss in my own life, to see it played out in the lives of more people that I cared about, and on a much bigger scale, was unbelievably triggering. I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t watch people ask them about their loss for the sole purpose of indulging their own curiosity. Like they’re supposed to have the words to explain why all of this happened? It disgusted me.

In a life where nothing ever made sense, especially after the death of my friend, SHINee always had. And then suddenly, it all turned upside down.

I couldn’t watch for two years after that. Not just all of the interviews. I never thought that I would ever not want to watch them perform, but I didn’t. I was scared to see the empty space where he used to be, to see four instead of five. It didn’t make sense. But more than anything, I couldn’t watch them grieve. It reminded me too much of myself.

So I, a shawol since 2009, missed their tenth anniversary. I missed TSOL and their enlistments. I missed Jinki’s Voice, Kibum’s Face, and Taemin’s Want promotions. It was only less a year ago, when all of the kpop world, other than my fellow shawols, had largely moved on, that I could come back to them. It had been two years since they lost their friend, and a couple more since I had lost my own. We’d been through a lot. It seemed like a good time to come back together.

In the meantime, I had watched The Good Place. I’ve been to a lot of therapy, but nothing came close to being as healing as watching that show. That moment, at the end of season three, when Eleanor has to let Chidi forget her and their love for each other, and she says that they’ve found each other hundreds of times, so they can do it again? I don’t believe in afterlife, but god, I’ve never wanted to believe more strongly. That there exists a place, a good place, where time means nothing and we can find the people that we love the most over and over and over again, no matter what. A place where everything makes sense. Where SHINee can be five, forever. Where I can be with the people I’ve lost, forever. I want that to be true.

Jonghyun, if it’s true, let me know? Friend, if it’s true, let me know? Is there such a good place? A place of warm winters and coming springs? Are you there?

When I came back to SHINee in 2020, it wasn’t the same. How could it be? It couldn’t be, and it shouldn’t be. But still, he was there. There is no doubt in my mind that he was there, with them, through everything that they did. I watched the interviews and the variety shows, but more than anything, the performances. Sometimes it looked like four and it hurt to see. But if I squinted, sometimes it looked like five, like it always was. It sounded like five, like it always was. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe time means nothing. Maybe all of this, all of it, wasn’t a pipe dream. Maybe it makes sense. Maybe they can find each other over and over and over again.

Maybe my friend and I can too.

Chapter IV:

“I proposed a rule, that Chidis shouldn’t be allowed to leave, because it would make Eleanors sad. And I could do this forever... and I’d still never find the justification for getting you to stay, because it’s a selfish rule. I owe it to you to let you go.” - Eleanor, The Good Place

I remember how shocked I was to hear Kibum say in one of their tenth anniversary interviews (my rough translation), “If we had it really hard, I could make up a grand story about how we scratched and clawed to get to our tenth anniversary. But we didn’t. We just kept going, and now we’re here.” I remember thinking, “Well if YOU didn’t have it hard, who did?”

Partly, it was their humility. You know, acknowledging big company bias and all that jazz. But mostly, I think, they wanted everyone to know that this was not a story of struggle and redemption. Jonghyun was more than a storytelling device. He was more than a challenge for them to get over. They didn’t think of him as a supporting character in their own stories: he was the main one in his own. As always, SHINee taught me something that I had been too scared to learn. Wise souls, those five, and I love them for it.

Following the death of my friend, I wallowed into my own sadness and depression for years. I let my other relationships fall apart under that burden. But eventually, especially now as I watch back all of the things that SHINee has said through the last three years, I realized that a lot of that grief was selfish. That I wasn’t grieving for my friend, but that I was feeling sorry for myself. That I had to go through this. That I had to shoulder this loss. What did I do to deserve this pain? At some point, my grief stopped being about her, and it became about me. It was never supposed to be about me. She was more than what she meant to me. She was the main character in her own story.

It’s no comfort to hear it from others, but I know: I am lucky that this was how it was meant to be. As Winnie the Pooh says, how lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?

I could wallow forever. She did, in the end, mean that much to me. I’m absolutely sure that they could wallow around forever too. Jonghyun meant that much to them, too. But I think we both came to the same realization, albeit under different timelines, that we owed them something. No matter how much it hurt, we owed it to them to let them go. Letting go isn’t the same thing as giving up on them or forgetting them. After all, they say that best friends are hard to find, harder to leave, and impossible to forget. Because we loved them that much. Even when we want forget, we can’t. Even when Chidi left Eleanor, their love never stopped existing. Like he said, when the wave returns to the ocean, it looks like it was never there. But the wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while. The water is still there. The water, our love for those we cherish the most, is always there. It was always meant to be.

So I thank The Good Place for comforting me and healing me when I was at my lowest. And I thank SHINee for inspiring me and allowing me to grow with them for over ten years, all through the tireless pandemonium that is life. You mean so much to me, more than I think I have succeeded in expressing here. And to Jonghyun, and my friend, what more is there to say? 고맙다. 미안하다. 보고싶다. 사랑한다. Thank you for everything. I’m sorry for everything. I miss you everyday. I love you, forever.

*standing on the road we walked together again, those five hands folded together, the tears, the memories... it’s all so clear, I don’t want to forget, I can never forget (Taemin’s lyrics from Our Page)