#and THEN he chooses not to give jinx up not even to achieve an independent zaun

[pulchrasilva]

Nobody fucking talk to me i just finished rewatching arcane and it was DEVASTATING I need to KILL

[rkpcy]

███▒░  ►  ❝ IF I DIE TOMORROW  ❞ ( 0:45 - 2:45; translation here; edits to lyrics under cut)

“park chanyeol.”

he prides himself on his flexibility, on his ability to take curve balls with stride, in being able to adapt to any situation, any surprise.

this surprise, however, has him doing a double-take, a true representation of the white guy blinking meme. he almost wants to laugh, but refrains, thinks he should be crying, but remains still, mouth open, expression the perfect intersection of elated, surprised, amused.

of course, he knew he’d never win a competition called a “triple threat challenge” based on singing, rapping, and dancing, so he’d really had no expectations when it came to the contest, had merely considered it a chance to put himself out there, to at least have his name on the radar, but to actually hear his name come directly from tiger jk’s mouth---it’s more than he could have ever hoped for form his twenty seconds of flailing about on stage.

he doesn’t even remember how he gets home that evening; all he knows is that he has a lot of work to do. they’d asked of him to show off a skill he felt was his strongest, and he knew immediately that meant he had to rap---that's the easy part. the hardest part is deciding the best method in which to do that. for hours, he scrolls through his music library, scouring rows and rows of music titles and artists and hearing their corresponding beats in his head. but nothing seems to fit, nothing seems appropriate enough for an opportunity such as this.

it takes him several more hours and bags upon bags of fruit snacks for him to realize that the best way to showcase his rapping is to do it in his own style, in a beat he can ride better than any wave, in a pocket stitched by his own hands. the only way to showcase his best skill is to showcase it in a song that was tailor made to broadcast the intricacies of lyricism and flow: a self-composition.

this realization, however, only leads to more open roads with his external hard drive of more than a dozen unfinished songs and a million more yet to have started. usually, he’s grateful for his multi-track mind, but in this moment, it only feels like a hindrance, a nuisance. a billion ideas float through his mind like ghosts, unable to be grasped like smoke.

like smoke.

i lean my head 45 degrees my memories rising like a cigarette’s smoke when i turn up my recollections like the sound i can see the theater even with my eyes closed

in an instant, it all clicks like the pen that’s suddenly in his hand, chicken scratch being scribbled on the nearest piece of paper. it’s a song he’s struggled with for years, lyrics ever changing, tweaking, rearranging. hours and days and weeks and months and years of having hit dead end after dead end, the path suddenly clears, red sea parting so he can escape the inexplicable chains that have held him from finishing the song.

it’s time.

the day has finally arrived. the day he’d been both dreading and anticipating, checking and checking again on his calendar, a date unsaid to any of his friends simply for the sake of not jinxing it. he’d spent day and night writing and  re-writing lyrics, arranging and re-arranging the track, practicing and practicing and practicing, over and over again, and for once in his life, he’d even taken a week off from both of his jobs in order to prepare for this moment. his moment.

he wishes right about now that he’d at least told jennie or minseok about his callback so that he’d have gone in with encouraging words and sage advice from old man mickey, but at least it’s comforting to know that they believed in him, a fact he’s sure of 100%.

it feels like a lifetime before he’s called in, and a lifetime longer for his simple set up: a man and a microphone, standing dead center. he introduces himself in an identical manner as before, hoping that repetition ingrains the memory of him into their minds, so that even if he fails this audition, they’ll still remember him.

“i’m park chanyeol.”

his song in it’s purest form is four minutes and eighteen seconds, including a lengthy intro. unfortunately, he won’t be able to debut his song in the form it’s meant to be, but even if he has to cute its run time in half, chanyeol is confident in the parts of it he’s choosing to showcase.

it starts immediately, a melodic formation of lyric and track, beginning midway through the intro verse, painting a picture, a mental representation of the painting in his mind, of a personal viewing of his past, a personal history very few know the truth about, and even fewer know even exists. he launches into his story with no regrets.

the language that i first learned after being born covered with my mother's blood and english that i learned easily after falling on foreign lands

he starts at the beginning, of growing up in a foreign country, of having to learn both korean and english, of growing up in a foreign land. there were hardships abound, hardships that did not begin with him, but rather continued from the hardships his own mother faced. it’s a simple two lines, half a bar, but there’s so much more hidden behind just the lyrics. it’s in the way he delivers them, in the way nostalgia grips at his vocal cords, distorting them just enough to bring him back to his childhood, of all the memories, good and bad.

it’s a strange feeling, making himself vulnerable to more than just his closest friends and baring himself for total strangers, but in a strange twist of events, it doesn’t make him feel anxious or embarrassed or weak. it feels cathartic, real, raw. this is who he is: park chanyeol.

the hatred I had for my father and my respect for my new father an expression, life's like an orange-colored tunnel

with all that’s encompassed in just the first two lines, the second half of the bar carries him into his later childhood, and his early teens. it speaks of the emptiness of a missing father figure, of never knowing who he was, or why he left, or why chanyeol wasn’t good enough to make him stay. there’s a discernible difference in his tone that gives away the fact that the pains he raps about still remain today, and the love he feels for a man who passed away seven years ago still has an impact, still remains on earth in the way chanyeol can carry on despite the feelings of inadequacy weighing heavily upon his shoulders.

there’s complexity in the simplicity of it all, an expression.

if i die tomorrow

the chorus is a repetition of an open-ended sentence, unfinished, unknown. as an atheist, chanyeol doesn’t believe in an afterlife, hardly believes that anything happens after death at all. but the fact of the matter is that no one truly knows what lies beyond life, what’s hidden beyond the eternal sleep. it’s this great unknown that echoes in the repetition, over and over and over again.

if he dies tomorrow, then what?

whether what’s after death is an afterlife or nothingness, would he be satisfied with what he’d accomplished? he still has so much more to achieve, and where he stands now, pouring his heart out, is just the beginning. this song, too, is just the beginning, a little piece of himself he’d leave behind, if he were to die tomorrow.

i lean my head 45 degrees my memories rising like a cigarette’s smoke when i turn up my recollections like the sound i can see the theater even with my eyes closed

he starts it up again, the second film in the theater of his past, sets it up the way it had set up when he’d first decided to finish and perform this song, it’s the distinct sound of a reel rolling, the gentle scratch of sound. he once again takes them on a journey of his life, of the decisions he’s made that have led him up to this point, to the here and now.

take some harmful chemicals from the bottle aiming them at others like a gun a young kid’s path gone astray, but out of nowhere i found hip-hop suddenly, i wasn't afraid at all cuz i didn't give a fuck about others' opinions cuz life is like, a tunnel: i walk alone

this part of his life has always been difficult to talk about. chanyeol has never been one for regret, has never found any use for the emotion when there was so much that needed to be done. regret only holds him back, keeps him tied to the actions and events of his past, and keeps him from moving forward. but just because he hates the feeling doesn’t mean he’s immune to it. regret from this moment clings to him like clothing on a rainy day, keeps the memory chained to him forever so that he’ll never forget.

but it’s not all bad; it’s bittersweet, because if it hadn’t been for that moment, then he wouldn’t be standing where he is now. if it weren’t for the fear of being held overnight in a jail cell, if it weren’t for the disappointment in himself for letting his mother down, if it weren’t for his mother encouraging him to join inner city arts to keep him off the streets, then he wouldn’t have found himself in music, and he wouldn’t be chasing his dream.

chanyeol still doesn’t know if there’s a god or gods or any type of ethereal being, but if there were one, then he’d say it were all part of his or her or their great plans for him.

music changed him; music gave him a purpose, gave him his independence and personality, gave his entire life shape. and music is the reason he can finally reveal himself as he is, past mistakes and all.

if i die tomorrow

if he dies tomorrow, his music still remains.

at this point, his time is up, all 120 seconds used to bare his story, bare his soul, and yet, it feels unfinished, and it is. there’s still more to be heard, more to be seen, and he leaves it like this, a cliffhanger, meant to be continued, meant to be pursued. his mindset is the same as it had been at his audition, that by leaving part of himself shrouded in the smallest bit of mystery, he creates intrigue, and it’s with this intrigue he hopes he makes his mark.

he bows as deep as he can and walks out of the room, back straight, walking tall as if a giant weight has been lifted off of his chest. he doesn’t know what his performance will bring, doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but even if the next day brings death, he is satisfied, because this completed song will take the empty space that his physical body will leave behind, a melody of his greatest passion and a tale of the life he’s lead.