Popped

By Chinggay Labrador

K-Pop Fan Girl Essentials:

• Stack of Korean drama DVDs to chase heartbreak away
• Pick me up playlist of K-Pop songs to dance to in the shower
• Shots of soju in times of celebration (or depression!)
• Korean hangout (A must: yummy bibimbap)
• Office BFF who fervently believes she is destined for the lead singer of the hottest K-Hip-Hop band in Asia
• Ticket to watch the biggest K-Pop concert to ever hit Japan
• Fellow K-Pop fan girls who become your closest friends (since they're the only ones who understand your obsession)
• Tons of cute Korean keychains and stationery
• The hot boy you met in Korea who looks just like your K-Pop crush
• Your very own kilig happy ending to rival any K-drama

When Andie immerses herself in the crazy, colorful world of K-Pop, she never imagined it would change her life forever and lead her to finding the boy of her dreams.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chinggay Labrador
• Release date: Feb 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215421390

Book preview

PROLOGUE

This. This is what you need.

And with a thud, my best friend dropped a stack of DVDs in front of me. I could barely make out the titles, what with the steady stream of tears pouring down my face. I was breaking down in the middle of our favorite coffee shop, with a bunch of scrunched up tissue balls in my hand, probably red-faced and attracting more stares from random customers than I would ever care to admit.

And all Trixie had to show was a stack of DVDs? Apparently, my pain does not merit more sympathy.

Wh-wh-what do you mean? Uh oh. I could feel my throat tightening again. Must. Stop. Crying. Now.

Trixie pursed her lips and let out a sigh. You have to get out of this rut, she said, tying her almost waist-length hair into a bun. I couldn’t tell whether she felt sorry for me or wanted to smack me in the head. "You’ve known for a week. It’s over—you said it was over, he’s moved on, so now..."

She pushed the DVDs closer to my side of the table until they almost toppled over. "Just watch this na lang. Okay?" she said, trying to look all pragmatic and no-nonsense. There was a break in her voice though, and I could tell my best friend’s heart was breaking for me, too. Sniff. It only made me want to cry even more.

I must warn you, I am not a crazy person. This is not something I do on a regular basis—visit little cafés and make a fool of myself over tea lattes. I’d like to believe I’m a pretty steady twenty-five year old—the kind who never goes into credit card debt, the kind who can hold her alcohol, and well, the kind who can handle a breakup. But this one particular heartbreak hit me hard, and at the risk of embarrassing myself any further, I’m just not going to get into the nitty gritties.

Okay, well maybe just a few details, to help explain my catatonic fit and somehow justify this sanity crash. Short story: the ex, whom I’ve stayed friends with, has told me that he’s getting hitched at the end of the month. Halfway around the world in sunny San Diego. To his girlfriend of four years—the one who came right after me.

I was the one before The One.

Which I believe, in my heart of hearts, necessitates some form of intense, massive, Girl, Interrupted intervention. I needed rehab to keep myself from self-destructing. I’ve been an emotional wreck for the last seven days, failing to function at just about everything.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths, Andie.

I dumped the tissue shreds into my bag, forced my lips into a half-baked smile, and started going through the DVDs one by one. Except for the titles, boldly written in candy-colored type, nothing was in English.

The 1 st Shop of the Coffee Prince. Boys Over Flowers. My Girl. You’re Beautiful. Full House. Each meticulously plastic-wrapped box set was splashed with glossy photos of excessively preppy—slash—incomprehensibly fashionable Koreans all flashing the kawaii sign, teeth sparkling like their lives depended on it.

I narrowed my eyes at Trixie. "What... is this?"

She adjusted her plastic-rimmed glasses, pushing them up the bridge of her nose. She leaned in a little closer and whispered in an incredulously low voice. My secret shame.

Well, this was a distraction I wasn’t expecting. Trixie was the most straight-laced, neatest, most obsessive-compulsive person I’ve ever known. We were together all through grade school and high school—she topped the honor list each year. She danced ballet until graduation, not because she loved it that much, but because her mom always dreamed of having a prima ballerina daughter and Trixie was never one to say no. And you know what? She could’ve probably gotten into the Russian Ballet if she wanted to.

But instead, she opted to go for an honors management course in college and finish magna cum laude, breezing through every harrowing exam like a kid going through a paint-with-markers book. No sweat.

She was a music snob—only going for classical (blame it on the ballet) or indie hipster music that no one could ever sing along to. She stayed away from Michael Bay movies and blockbusters—preferring to order DVDs online, amassing a huge collection of foreign art films I could never, for the life of me, understand. In other words, Trixie was a class act—her life was not supposed to be tainted with secret shame... of any kind.

Except maybe for that one epic five-year relationship that ended quite tragically a year ago... because her boyfriend turned out to be gay. But then, she came out of even that seemingly unscathed. They’re all friends now—she, Michael (the ex) and Peter (his new boyfriend). Please don’t ask me how it happened... to this day, this whole arrangement has me baffled.

I’d always wondered how Trixie seemed to sail through life mostly unaffected and generally unflappable. I looked at the DVDs again and felt my brow furrowing. This was her secret? I was finding it hard to believe that the only magic fixer-uppers I’d ever really needed lay in a bunch of Korean shows. I mean... really?

Are you kidding?

Shut up and don’t judge me, she said, dismissively.

She was right. I had no business judging my best friend. After all, I had my own secret shame stash. Trixie had been witness to my undying devotion to Justin Timberlake from day one. It must have been painful for her—being the pop snob that she was, to hear me ramble on and on about how *NSYNC was going to change the world. Even more excruciating, I imagine, was how I would constantly write and rewrite my grand, sophomore year plan to pack my bags, leave high school, and fly off to LA so JT could finally meet me, fall in love with me, propose that we elope, and marry me in secret (so the fans, and Britney, would never find out and I could keep my privacy far away from the paparazzi). I was serious about this, I really was.

Ten years later, I don’t think I’m any better off. Here I am, just about ready to toss my meager excuse for a savings account out the window for an impromptu trip yet again (thanks, freelance magazine writer job, for not paying enough to send the very best). And all of this for what? For the off chance that I could maybe stop my ex’s wedding. Just so you know, it was I who broke things off with him. Because I couldn’t see myself living in the States. And now I feel like I’m just about ready to uproot my entire life for someone I used to go out with years ago—logic, clearly, is not my strong suit.

Ugh. So yes, diving blindly into a sea of Korean shows weirdly makes sense in my unhinged mind. What’s another sordid notch on my shamelust bedpost, right?

"I don’t know anything about Korea except that I like bibimbap and cute stationery," I told her, a sense of calm finally coming over me as non-heartbreak-related thoughts began to take over. My tear ducts were finally taking a well-deserved break. Could it be that the promise of an all-encompassing fix to my phantom misfortune was finally upon me?

It doesn’t matter, Trixie said and smiled. Hope springs eternal and love is universal.

I had to snicker. It’s like I don’t even know you, friend, I mocked her. Who talks like that? Them?

I pointed at the Korean prep school guys smiling up at me from one of the DVDs.

"Just. Please." She rolled her eyes and glared at me the way my yaya used to when I refused to finish the rice on my plate.

I pouted. But the possibility that something—anything—could save me from this cry-fiesta was enough to make me give in.

Okay. I shrugged my shoulders, dumped the DVDs into my tote, and stood up. Fine.

Please be careful with those, she seethed. I could see her toes curling over the outer edges of her flip-flops as I clumsily tried to rearrange the DVD boxes in my bag.

Psycho, I whispered, tauntingly.

Andie Bautista, welcome to the fantastic world, she said, grinning.

CHAPTER ONE

SECOND LIFE

I have not known a proper night of sleep in a month—and I’m usually a stickler for my eight hours. But I’ve begun to slip into this delightful Korean drama rabbit hole and have no intentions of leaving my newfound wonderland anytime soon. Trixie would be proud.

It takes me two, three days to speed through a sixteen-episode novella. And all through each show, I’m calling Trixie every couple of minutes to gush about: a. the agony of unrequited love, b. the unabashed spine-tingling joy of a montage set to K-Pop, c. the impossibility of finding a real life guy who’s just like *insert name of lead character*, and/or d. all of the above.

I get a rare, lucid moment between episodes where I get back to regular programming and manage to finagle some work. Never have I been happier about giving up my magazine job and going freelance. So I may have taken a fifty percent pay cut and I’m barely making ends meet with the meager paychecks I get from the odd racket each month… but the trade off is quite gratifying. Nowadays, it’s three hours of serious work hashing out one article after another (of which half the time is spent doing research over the Internet)—and after that, it’s fifteen solid hours of TV time.

My soul has been sold to the Korean persuasion.

I am so beyond "just liking bibimbap and cute stationery," it isn’t even funny. I don’t know what it is about these shows—they’re just as cliché-filled as your run of the mill soap, but they’ve got an unbelievable pull that sets you into a manic-obsessive spree. Maybe it’s the dragging out of unresolved kilig over hours and hours, maybe it’s the glossy treatment or the infectious music, or the convoluted plotlines that forever highlight the arrogant, ridiculously good-looking rich guy (with a heart of gold).

I’ve saved the last three episodes of Coffee Prince for today, to mark the occasion of the ex’s wedding. I haven’t completely forgotten, in case you were wondering. It’s been better—heartbreak’s been reduced to a smidge of what it used to be. But I’ll need something to get me through today. Just in case.

Trixie was coming over to re-watch Coffee Prince with me. She said she’d be bringing reinforcements, whatever that meant. I was thinking a bottle of soju (or two) would complete the pity party.

She’s been feeling a little down lately, too. She’d just quit her high-paying corporate cubicle farm job, blaming it for the lack of anything going on in her life. It isn’t like Trixie to go off the deep end and leave everything (or anything, for that matter) to fate. But I guess even the best of us needs the occasional jolt out of our comfort zones.

My parents have gotten used to me claiming the couch, littering the den with boxes of chocolate-covered pretzels, sweet potato chips, and other Korean mart finds. Don’t get me wrong, my mom and dad were worried at first—there’s no tolerance for excessive couch potato-dom at our house. I mean, if I could have astral projected myself out of there and seen me on that couch, zombie-faced one episode after another, even I would have been worried.

The big consolation for my parents (and myself) came when Trixie jumped the gun, left her job, and joined me in my bandwagon of sap. I think the parentals were just relieved that their only kid had half a mind to find some real world company. I once overheard my dad call Han Gyul, Eun Chan, and Han Sung (the lead characters from Coffee Prince) my imaginary friends. Which I guess they are/were.

Moving on.

I’d just come home with mandatory Korean takeout (our staple fare for drama-watching over dinner), and was preparing the BBQ chicken I’d bought when I got a text from Trixie. OMW, bringing Cesca. It was a Saturday night and this, apparently, was where the party was at.

Cesca, who I secretly call manic pixie dream girl, is Trixie’s futsal BFF. They’ve been playing together during weekends for a couple of years now, but apart from a few birthday parties, we’ve never really had a chance to hang out.

I’ve always found her likeable though. She’s low maintenance, quirky, cute, and witty, just like Kirsten Dunst or Kristen Bell (who she even kind of looks like). She left her job as a junior copywriter in an ad agency to try her hand at photography, which is pretty perfect, since she’s always lugging her camera around anyway (and I mean this in a totally non-annoying non-hypersensitive artist way). I wouldn’t have taken her for a Korean drama person, though—but she was definitely a welcome addition to our secret, freemasonry meetings.

I carefully laid out pickled radish cubes onto little plates on the living room table, set the deep-fried chicken onto a big platter, and loaded up a huge serving bowl with steaming hot rice. I had to busy myself with something, just to avoid hitting the play button.

EEEEEEE! Hurry! Want to watch NOW! I texted Trixie.

Over-eager was an understatement—I couldn’t wait to see how the story would pan out. The wait was driving me crazy. The two leads had just finally gotten together but there was a hint of her leaving him for another country, and if I understood the subtitle-less spoilers right, there was going to be an epic kiss very soon. *squeal*

I rearranged the dinner trays a few more times, made sure the speakers were working just right, and was about to sneak a peek at the behind-the-scenes special at the end of the DVD when finally, the girls came in with bags full of junk food. And soju!

As soon as Trixie and Cesca stepped into the living room, there was a five-second silence as we all looked at each other in communal anticipation. I pointed at the freeze-framed shot on the TV that read Episode 15 and as if on cue, we all started jumping up and down, shrieking and bound by an unspoken sisterhood of fandom, looking forward to the immense kilig we all knew was about to come.

Aaaaaaahhhhh... hahaha, Cesca shrieked, her voice dissolving into peals of laughter. Soon, Trixie and I were collapsed on the floor, half-laughing out of sheer excitement, half-laughing at ourselves in irony. I became inundated with flashbacks of my fifteen-year-old self madly singing along to Justin Timberlake on the karaoke channel. It was that kind of inexplicable high that had us giggling like schoolgirls.

Oh no, what just happened? I said, picking myself up, and pulling Trixie up to sit, suddenly self-aware.

The curse of the Coffee Prince, Cesca answered, as we all sat ourselves in front of a dinner tray each. You don’t know how relieved I am you guys are into this, too.

Okay wait, how did you two even find out about each other? I asked. Wow. This is exactly what I imagined group therapy would be like.

Futsal last week, Cesca said. Steven was complaining after training that we never go out anymore because he keeps having to bring me straight home so I can catch my shows. I told him, ‘Look, I am so not apologizing for my obsession!’

Steven was Cesca’s bass player boyfriend slash real estate sales dude, who I assume, has zero patience for his girlfriend’s Korea mania. I don’t blame him.

"Trixie overheard and asked me what I was obsessing about, so I told her I was watching Boys Over Flowers and Coffee Prince. I only got into it because I was so stressed out back at my old job, but even after I resigned, I just couldn’t stop watching anymore. So there, Trixie told me she just had to invite me to one of your ‘meetings,’ and I’m pretty game for anything, so..." she trailed off.

Ah, I’m just so happy we can share this, Trixie added. "It’s so much fun to release!"

YES! Because they’re so AWESOME! I said just a little too overzealously. I so wanted to poke fun at myself for my