My own BTS
1554 Words
Chapter One
There are some people you meet and forget.
There are some people you meet and remember.
And then there are people you haven't even met yet...
but somehow, your life is already moving toward them.
That was how it began.
Not on a stage.
Not beneath thousands of purple lights.
Not with screaming fans or cameras flashing.
Not with seven boys standing together and calling themselves BTS.
It began much earlier.
Before anyone knew their names.
Before they knew one another.
Before Han Seo-yeon knew that seven boys would one day become the most unexpected part of her life.
It began with seven children.
Seven mothers.
Seven different homes.
And seven separate stories that had no idea they were heading toward the same page.
The hospital room was quiet.
Outside the window, the morning sky was still pale, and the streets below were slowly waking up.
Inside the room, a young mother lay exhausted beneath a white blanket.
She had been awake for hours.
Then, suddenly, the sound came.
A baby's cry.
Sharp.
Tiny.
Alive.
The nurse smiled.
“Congratulations.”
The woman began crying.
Not because she was sad.
Because she couldn't believe that the little person she had been carrying for months was finally in her arms.
The nurse placed the baby against her chest.
She looked down.
A tiny face.
Tiny fingers.
Tiny lips.
The baby cried again.
The mother laughed through her tears.
“Namjoon.”
She gently touched his cheek.
“My little Namjoon.”
The baby opened his eyes for a brief moment.
She smiled.
“You're going to grow up and become a wonderful man.”
She couldn't possibly have known how true those words would become.
At that moment, Kim Namjoon was not a future leader.
He wasn't a musician.
He wasn't a celebrity.
He wasn't someone millions of people would eventually look up to.
He was simply a little boy in his mother's arms.
And that was enough.
Years passed.
Namjoon grew.
And as he grew, his mother began to notice something unusual.
He asked questions.
Constantly.
“Why is the sky blue?”
“Why does the moon follow us?”
“Why do some people have so much money and other people don't?”
“Why do people fight?”
“Why do people lie?”
Sometimes his mother didn't know how to answer him.
One evening, she found him sitting on the floor beside a window.
He was holding a book.
He wasn't reading it anymore.
He was staring outside.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
Namjoon looked at her.
“Everything.”
She laughed.
“Everything?”
He nodded seriously.
“Yes.”
“You're still a child.”
“I know.”
“Then stop thinking so much.”
Namjoon smiled.
“I don't think I can.”
His mother shook her head affectionately.
She didn't know it then, but the boy sitting beside that window would one day spend much of his life searching for answers.
And sometimes, he would find those answers in music.
In another part of Korea, another baby had arrived.
His cry was loud enough to make his mother laugh.
“Oh, you're hungry already?”
She held him closer.
The baby stopped crying for approximately three seconds.
Then he started again.
His mother laughed.
“All right. I understand.”
She looked at his tiny face.
“Seokjin.”
Kim Seokjin.
Her son.
Her beautiful little boy.
She kissed his forehead.
“You're going to eat me out of house and home.”
Years later, she would remember that sentence and laugh.
Because she had been right.
Seokjin loved food.
But food wasn't the only thing he loved.
He loved making people laugh.
When another child cried at school, Seokjin would make a ridiculous face until the child stopped.
When his mother looked tired, he would tell her a silly story.
Sometimes his jokes were terrible.
Sometimes they made absolutely no sense.
But somehow...
people laughed.
That became one of the things Seokjin was best at.
Making people feel lighter.
He didn't know it yet.
One day, there would be people around the world who needed exactly that.
Yoongi's childhood was different.
He was quieter.
Not unhappy.
Just observant.
He watched.
He listened.
He remembered.
While other children ran around outside, Yoongi could sit for a long time listening to music.
His mother noticed.
“You like that song?”
He nodded.
“What do you like about it?”
He thought for a moment.
“The feeling.”
She smiled.
“You're too young to understand feelings in music.”
Yoongi looked at her.
“I understand.”
She laughed softly.
“Okay.”
He didn't argue.
He simply returned to listening.
As he grew older, he began writing.
Words appeared on pieces of paper.
Then melodies.
Then more words.
Sometimes he would stay awake late into the night.
His mother would open his bedroom door.
“Yoongi.”
Silence.
“Are you sleeping?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I'm working.”
“It's late.”
“I know.”
“You have school tomorrow.”
“I know.”
She sighed.
“You need sleep.”
He looked at the paper in front of him.
“One more line.”
“One line?”
“Yes.”
“That is what you said an hour ago.”
Yoongi smiled faintly.
His mother closed the door.
She didn't understand everything he was doing.
But she understood one thing.
Her son had found something he couldn't let go of.
The Boy Who Couldn't Stop Dancing
Hoseok was different again.
Music didn't make him sit still.
It made him move.
Whenever music played, his feet moved before he even realized it.
His mother would sometimes watch him from the doorway.
“Hoseok.”
He would stop.
“Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing.”
She smiled.
“I can see that.”
He would grin.
Then continue.
As he grew older, dancing became more serious.
It wasn't simply something he did for fun.
It became the place where he felt most like himself.
If he was nervous, he danced.
If he was angry, he danced.
If he was excited, he danced.
If he didn't know how to express what he felt...
he danced.
His mother watched him one day and said:
“You look happiest when you're dancing.”
Hoseok smiled.
“Then I'll keep dancing.”
He had no idea where that promise would take him.
Jimin noticed things.
He noticed when his mother was tired.
He noticed when a classmate ate lunch alone.
He noticed when someone smiled but their eyes didn't.
One afternoon, he came home from school unusually quiet.
His mother looked at him.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
She knew immediately that something had happened.
“Jimin.”
He looked down.
“There was a boy at school.”
“What about him?”
“He was sitting alone.”
“Did you talk to him?”
Jimin nodded.
“What did you say?”
“I asked him if he wanted to eat with me.”
His mother smiled.
“And?”
“He said yes.”
She hugged him.
“That's my good boy.”
Jimin smiled against her shoulder.
Years later, he would become known for the warmth he gave people.
But perhaps that warmth had always been there.
Perhaps it had been there since the beginning.
The Boy With the Strange Imagination
Taehyung was the kind of child adults didn't always understand.
He could stare at something ordinary and turn it into an adventure.
A cardboard box became a spaceship.
A broom became a horse.
A blanket became a castle.
His imagination seemed endless.
One afternoon, someone asked him:
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Taehyung thought seriously.
“Everything.”
The adults laughed.
But Taehyung didn't.
He genuinely meant it.
He wanted to experience things.
He wanted to see places.
He wanted to create.
He wanted to understand the world.
He wanted life to feel bigger than the room he was standing in.
And somewhere deep inside him was a strange certainty.
He was meant to do something.
He just didn't know what.
Yet.
Then came Jungkook.
The youngest of the seven.
He watched people carefully.
He admired those who were good at things.
If someone could sing, he wanted to sing.
If someone could dance, he wanted to dance.
If someone could do something he couldn't do, he wanted to learn.
He was competitive.
Curious.
Determined.
And sometimes stubborn.
Very stubborn.
His mother would call him.
“Jungkook!”
“Yes?”
“Come here.”
“Why?”
“Because I called you.”
He would slowly walk toward her.
“What?”
She would stare at him.
“Why do you always ask why?”
He shrugged.
“Because I want to know.”
She laughed.
“Go and play.”
He ran away.
She watched him disappear.
She smiled.
He was still so young.
But even then, there was something about him.
A hunger.
A desire to become better.
A desire to prove to himself that he could.
To be continued.......
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