Chapter 2
THE THUNDEROUS DRUMS OF THE OPENING CREDITS match the pounding of my heart as the screen lights up with the opening credits of Fated Destiny .
I’ve heard the theme song before, but I never realized how anxiety-provoking the epic orchestral song is until now.
The flute solo, which seemed beautiful before, now sounds shrill in my ears.
And the harp-like twangs of the gayageum make the hair rise from the back of my neck.
I watch painted portraits of my costars come to life and bleed into short clips of footage in time with the music. When my face appears, Mom and Dad clap enthusiastically, making me smile. Thankfully, they don’t seem like they find the opening unpleasant at all.
Probably just my nerves , I think.
Hopefully my parents’ energy will last for the entire episode.
Once the credits show all of the main cast members, the screen fades into a shot of Bryan and me staring lovingly at each other from across the lake at the Royal Palace.
I still remember how cold it was when we shot that moment, but I’m glad it turned out to be the perfect closer to the opening credits.
I write a quick tweet to my followers. Hope everyone enjoys the premiere!
As I’m typing, messages of congratulations from my classmates pop up on the top of my screen.
One of the perks of going to a performing arts high school where lots of kids are actors and singers working in the industry like me is that I can take a break from normal classes when I’m working on a show.
But the other really great perk is the community.
My classmates and I have this tradition where we all watch everyone’s shows and music videos the day they premiere and cheer each other on.
I hit send on my tweet and make a mental note to thank everyone at the end of the show.
Before I put my phone away, I scroll through the notifications and find myself looking for Minjee’s name. But of course, she’s not there. Why would she watch Fated Destiny and cheer me on when I landed the lead part in the show and she didn’t?
Park Minjee was the first friend I made when I moved to Seoul.
We’d always hang out after class, even though, onstage, we were fierce rivals, always vying for lead roles in school plays.
With how competitive we were with each other, everyone thought we were mortal enemies, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
We were best friends. That is, until I started Fated Destiny.
Mom laughs, bringing my attention back to our show’s premiere.
By then, we’re well past the exposition, which introduced Hyun, Bryan’s character, as just your regular high school student in Korea.
I have to give it to Bryan. For someone who didn’t start off as an actor, he is really good.
Whether he’s sitting bored in class, daydreaming about life after high school, or playing soccer with his friends, Bryan’s acting immerses me into Hyun’s everyday life.
One of my theater teachers back at school always said that a sure sign of a good actor is when you forget their character isn’t a real person at all.
I’m definitely experiencing that as I watch Bryan in the show.
Even though I know what he’s actually like, I find myself smiling and laughing along with my parents as Hyun jokes around with his friends or epically fails to correctly answer the teacher when he gets called on in class.
And then, I’m on-screen, at this point just a female classmate that Hyun has a crush on.
It’s always wild to see myself on TV. When you’re painstakingly filming every scene shot by shot, you only have a vague idea of how your part fits in with other people’s takes.
And it’s so easy to get caught up in that microscopic view when, in reality, you’re only one small part of a much bigger thing.
I used to hate watching myself on TV. I’d spot every little thing I’d done wrong.
A misplaced step, or a weird inflection of my voice.
I’d feel really self-conscious. But now, I actually kind of like it.
It’s nice to see how I fit into the overall show, and how I interact with the other actors.
And the more I see myself act, the more I know how to improve.
The episode runs like a typical slice-of-life show until a little over halfway through, when Hyun gets into a car accident.
In slow motion and from multiple angles in typical K-drama fashion, the crash plays out on-screen, accompanied by the thunderous music from the opening credits.
This time, instead of being nervous about our show, the music makes me anxious about Hyun, even though I know he’s going to be okay.
As he’s escorted to the hospital in the present day, the show goes back in time through different eras of Korean history as Hyun remembers his past lives.
Aside from the TV, our living room is entirely silent.
I sneak a glance at my parents to see how they’re reacting to the show.
They look pretty engrossed, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I worried that the flashbacks were too cheesy in the familiar way that all K-dramas are, but maybe I’m just jaded because I was one of the many actors getting in and out of clothes from different eras of Korean history to create that time-traveling effect.
The rapid montage of scenes stops in the Joseon Dynasty period, where we get our first full glimpse of me in my crown princess robes.
Immediately, my phone blows up again. People are tweeting to say how beautiful I look in my hanbok.
My parents cheer, too, and I’m glad. No one says I look awkward, and no one says I look out of place.
Suck it, imposter syndrome. I scroll through my notifications again.
The episode soon ends on a cliffhanger, a close-up shot of Hyun’s shocked eyes as he wakes up back in his hospital room. The credits roll, accompanied by a soulful theme song by IU, and that’s it. The premiere’s over.
I glance back at my parents and see that they’re still staring at the screen. When they notice my gaze on them, though, they immediately turn to look at me.
I wait for them to say something, but there’s nothing but silence.
“Well?” I say. Nervous anticipation floods my thoughts. My throat feels like it’s closing up as I wait for my parents to say something, anything .
Mom, of course, is the first to speak. Dad doesn’t even try to say anything, but he shares Mom’s concerned look.
“Congratulations on the premiere, honey! That was great!” she says. Her voice comes out so forced that I don’t have to be an actress to know she’s lying. “How do you feel?”
“Yes,” Dad says. “You did a very good job.”
I whip my attention back to Dad. Things must be really bad if he’s speaking up.
“Okay, guys, spill,” I reply. “Just tell me the truth already. What’s wrong?”
Mom and Dad exchange looks, and after a long moment, Mom sighs.
“So, it was great....” she says. “But... maybe I’m not understanding things clearly.”
“It was confusing,” Dad pipes in, earning a pointed look from Mom.
“Well, yes,” she continues. “That’s definitely a problem in and of itself.
But other than that... Sorry, but how is this show different from that other K-drama about reincarnation that did well last year?
And it also reminds me of Goblin from several years ago.
Do you think Fated Destiny will stand out against the other shows airing right now? ”
Mom watches more Korean dramas than anyone I know. The entire reason why I got into K-dramas in the first place is because of the many nights we spent watching them together. When it comes to Korean TV, I trust Mom’s judgment more than anyone’s.
Which is exactly why, instead of feeling offended by Mom’s words, I’m absolutely terrified.
If Mom caught so many similarities between Fated Destiny and other K-dramas, that means that other viewers probably had the same critiques.
I definitely noticed a few of the similarities when I first read the script, but I didn’t think they were that obvious.
But maybe the fact that this is my show made me blind to the glaring truth.
When I don’t answer her, Mom looks at Dad, who only shrugs. He doesn’t normally watch Korean dramas—or much TV at all, really—so it’s unsurprising that he’s at a loss for words.
I open up my phone. All over social media, people have varied reactions from Whoa, that was so cool! to WTF? This show is so bad! No one seems to be agreeing with anyone else, which is both a good and bad thing. Overall, the jury still seems to be out on whether or not the first episode was good.
“I guess it’s a bit similar to other shows....” I start. “But I think it’ll stand out. A lot of people seem to be excited about it! I’m reading through the social media responses right now.”
Mom still looks concerned, but she presses her lips together and gives me a slight nod. “All right, then,” she says. “Hopefully it does well in the ratings.”
I’m about to go to my room for the night when Mom adds, “Hana, are you keeping up with your classwork? I know things must be hectic right now with the show premiering and everything, but don’t forget to turn in your work to your teachers.”
“I didn’t get much done today because I was too nervous about the premiere, but I should still be on track,” I reply. Even though I don’t have to attend regular classes while I’m working on a show, I still have to self-study and turn in online assignments to my teachers.
“Good. Get some rest, Hana, you deserve it.”
My mom is one of those amazing moms that somehow does it all.
Not only does she work hard so we can afford my private performing arts high school’s expensive tuition, but she also keeps me on track with everything I do between shoots and classwork.
She and Dad are the reason why I would never slack off, no matter how much I sometimes want to.
When I’m lying in bed later that night, I listen to the sound of our upstairs neighbors walking around in their apartment.
When we first moved here from the States, I could hardly sleep at night after living in our quiet little home in Florida.
I was used to dull forest sounds like ribbiting frogs and chirping crickets, not sharp noises like yelling, stomping, and laughing.
But eventually, I got used to everything and pretty much accepted it as a normal part of life in a Korean apartment.
Tonight, though, I feel extra sensitive to the noises, and I can’t shake off a feeling of unease.
Our show’s reception online seemed generally good, but what if Mom’s fears are right?
What if our K-drama is just mediocre and will get buried with the rest of the shows coming out in the next few months?
A week ago, when I was still at home because a shoot got delayed, I overheard Mom talking to Dad about how exhausted she was.
“Everything is just so fast-paced here,” she’d said. “Things are so different from the way they were when we left in the nineties. It almost seems like a different country.”
“I get what you mean,” Dad replied. “I never thought I’d say this, but I miss living in America. My work-life balance was a lot better there.”
“Have you tried looking for jobs back in the US? If Hana’s new show doesn’t do well... No, it’ll do well. I won’t jinx it.”
“Hana will do great, I’m sure of it.”
Well, how about now? I want to ask my parents. But their expressions tonight said everything I need to know.
I want to prove to my parents that all their sacrifices were worth it. I want them to feel like being here in Korea is worthwhile and not just one big waste of time and money.
But how? How can I fix things?
Pressure builds inside my chest as I feel my anxiety threatening to wash over me.
I take a deep breath and slowly let it go.
Worrying about all of that now won’t make much of a difference , I remind myself as I pull my comforter over my head. Besides, tonight was only the first episode.
Korean dramas air two times a week, so the second episode of Fated Destiny comes out tomorrow. And we probably won’t get a good idea of the show’s performance until after at least the second episode airs.
Shaking all the doubts out of my head, I focus instead on the muffled noises of my neighbors’ TV upstairs. Slowly at first and then all at once, I fall asleep as my exhaustion takes over me.