Kpop Fantasy, Mpop Reality

"Koyuki, nice voice but no soul. An idol? I've seen amateurs do better at karaoke nights," the stern lady in the plaid and cap spat out. This scene, ripped from a documentary I saw four years back, has seared its way into my memory. It showcased a young Japanese hopeful trying to crack into Kpop, forever reshaping my understanding of the business.

In my younger years, Kpop was my religion. I worshipped at the altar of GOT7 in secondary school and pledged my loyalty to Blackpink upon their arrival. I drowned in K-dramas, bled money on merchandise. When I hear today's kids claiming Blackpink expertise, chatting up Playing With Fire or Ddu-ddu Ddu-du, I hold back a laugh. They don't know those hits were scaling charts when they were still grappling with multiplication.

As a singer-songwriter from primary school days, my musical leanings always veered more towards K-indie, favouring artists like Baek Ji-Young and K Will. Kpop idols? They were my Olympus, a divine standard for fantastical amusement. My voice, while no match for So Hyang or Ailee, could give the run-of-the-mill Kpop idols a good chase. But my looks, with acne scars and a bit of extra weight, fell far short of that Olympus. How I dreamed of a day without care for appearances, of dressing up without concern, looking flawless.

That dream was shattered by the documentary.

A raw look at the gruelling life of aspiring Kpop idols – the relentless training, insane weight goals, immaculate image mandates. The brutal criticism, not just of talent, but of physical appearance to the extent of driving many to cosmetic surgery. As I internalised this harsh reality, my adoration for Kpop started to wane.

Over time, my enduring captivation for Korean culture remained, excluding Kpop. Daily, my preferences leaned towards seasoned K-indie legends like Seung-Yeon and Suran, whose music became the backbone of my creative pursuits. Following that, I launched and regularly maintained my TikTok channel. My disillusionment with the Kpop world made me appreciate my roots in Malaysia, where musicians weren't shackled by stringent idol standards.

Or so I thought.

Now, with my ring light aglow and my phone on standby, I'm all set to release a new TikTok video - an unfiltered tale of an experience that transformed my outlook on my native music industry and remoulded my grasp of Kpop. As I press record, I dive into the narrative that made me question the supposed ‘benignity’ of our own industry...

THE BEGINNING

Just two days since I dropped my rendition of Seung-yon's Replay on TikTok, the views were already soaring at an impressive 8.1k. But let's face it, making a name for myself as a singer on TikTok was no walk in the park. From the moment I joined, I noticed a throng of Malaysian crooners with fan bases stretching far and wide - Brunei, Singapore, Indonesia, you name it.

These singers had insane talent, effortlessly belting out Mariah, Celine, Whitney like it was nothing. I'll admit, it was a bit intimidating. But amidst the nerves, I knew I had my own unique flair to bring to this TikTok tapestry. With Malaysian youngsters devouring Kpop, I figured my angle would be serenading Korean tunes.

And boy, did my plan strike a chord!

Within six months, I amassed 100k TikTok followers! I had reached the point where I knew thousands would flock to my new videos within days. The best part? Looks didn't matter. My fans cared more about my music than my figure or flawless skin. Sometimes, I didn't even bother with makeup or fancy clothes when recording. My fans loved me just as I was.

But as grateful as I was for my progress, I felt it was time to kick it up a notch. The other day, while flipping through channels, I stumbled upon an ad for the 'VIRAL SENSATIONS' competition. The prize? A whopping RM1 million and a record deal with JJ Records, the heavyweight label behind stars like Siti Nurzaliha and Norziah Latif. The rules were straightforward. Open to individuals aged 20 to 30 with at least 100k TikTok or YouTube followers. I ticked all the boxes. All I had to do was shoot a video for the first round of auditions.

With meticulous attention to detail, I positioned my phone on a tripod, ensuring the ring light was just right. I settled onto my stool, cradling my guitar in my lap. I reached out, tapped the record button, and took a deep, soothing breath. Then, I unleashed my vocals as if my life depended on it. I'd been here countless times before. There was no room for self-doubt. I had to radiate confidence, show the judges how badly I wanted this. Above all, I needed to prove to my mum that it was worth it. She had reservations about me competing, knowing I was already making money from my uploaded videos. But it was crucial for her to understand my burning desire. Simply put, I aimed to be a superstar on par with Siti Nurzaliha.

***

"And there you have it, that was the start of my journey in the competition," I confess to the camera. "I won't delve too deep into the week by week events during my time on 'VIRAL SENSATIONS'. Many of you have already followed along and for those who haven't, you can catch up on YouTube. What I really want to discuss are the experiences and emotions that I wrestled with during the six weeks I spent there. Yes, you guessed it, right up to the week I was shown the exit door."

I hit the pause button, taking a few beats to steady my breathing. Reflecting on my experiences with the competition still stirs up a whirlwind of emotions. 

Why wouldn't I be upset when I've been bottling this up for half a year? Why wouldn't I be distressed when, for all this time, people have made up stories about me, slammed me, objectified me, even questioned my faith? It's not like I didn't want to stand up for myself, but my hands were tied by a contract.

The show we were part of had a gag order in place. We couldn't say a word about what happened because it wasn't broadcast live. What people saw was recorded three months back. So, we had to zip our lips until the whole show finished airing.

But this journey's been tough. Once the show finished, I received so much flak online that I chose to go radio silent on my TikTok – no posts, no videos, no music, nothing. At one point, I was so low, I even thought about ending it all. Thankfully, with a lot of support from my real friends, I've made up my mind to speak up. I'm more prepared than ever. 

Sharing this story is something I need to do. For my own peace of mind, for the betterment of my mental health, and to show people the real me, the real emotions that surged beneath the surface. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I hold back the threatening tears that glisten in my eyes.

I press record once more, and with a renewed strength, I continue…

WEEK 1

"Right, everyone. This is your place to shine on Saturday," Abang Zul dictated, a waiflike figure whose clothes hung loose on his frame. He was warm-hearted, yet his words always bore a sharpness, a professional tone to them. 

I glanced around, my heart alive with a mixture of awe and nerves. The stage was breath-taking, a colossal, pulsing canvas of shifting colours displayed on the backdrop, enhancing each performer's act. The dazzling lights, so blindingly bright, had me wondering if they could leave a sunburn-like mark. Every time one of those shimmering rays spun my way, I was squinting against their luminance.

Three sleek silver tables, hinting of luxury, were arrayed. From a single glance, I recognized them as the domain of the judges. Each table was equipped with a slim, flexible microphone and an unfamiliar device that I later discovered was for scoring purposes, to be displayed on the massive screen behind the stage.

We contestants began to mingle, our mutual TikTok subscriptions already a starting point for conversation. Among this talented throng, two captivated me. Ajul, with his chameleon-like voice capable of owning any song, and Lovita, hailing from Sabah, who brandished her potent, intimidating vocals with such ease, it left you in awe. I found myself drawn to these two for their stunning off-screen appearances, their flawless complexions and trim figures leaving me momentarily self-conscious.

"Sharmila Abdul!" Abang Zul summoned. "Your turn."

Rising, I approached the stage. This preliminary rehearsal served as our introduction to the stage's aura before the impending Saturday performance.

Ascending the stage felt like being swept away into a euphoric dream. The idea of captivating an audience, connecting with them, and expressing my emotions through song, was just beyond exhilarating. For a moment, the searing spotlights, my jetlag from the morning flight to Kuala Lumpur, the university exam I’d skipped for this competition, and even my recent termination from my clerical job all seemed inconsequential. Even the bittersweet guilt of missing my best friend's wedding ceremony was momentarily forgotten.

"Hello, testing 1, 2 3," my words echoed into the microphone, the state-of-the-art sound system of Dewan Kayangan amplifying my voice, making it sound extraordinary. I felt a surge of anticipation – I was ready to give it my all.

***

"Okay, so you guys know my first performance was a hit, right? We got the go-ahead to pick any song we wanted for our debut. That's why I went with Seung-Yon's Replay. I kicked off my TikTok journey by singing that song. So, it was like a little thank-you note to all my fans. With 1.5 million views and counting, it continues to be my most-watched video to this day. I sang my heart out, didn't mind Joey and Nana's puzzled faces. Even Ayu's sourpuss couldn't kill my vibe."

Joey and Nana were our usual judges, and Ayu was our guest judge for the week. Every week they swapped out the guest judge, and Ayu, she's got a reputation. Let's just say she's not the sweetest. She throws around words like 'stupid', 'disastrous', not minding the damage she might cause to young artists already grappling with their self-esteem. She claims it's tough love. As if!

"I overlooked the competition guidelines. Turns out, that 'freedom' to pick our songs? Not as free as I thought. We had to go local, pick a Malay song.” I took a sip of my Americano, recollecting the judge's reactions. “Nana was the most understanding, just sad she couldn't give me points since I broke the rule. Joey and Ayu though? Don't get me started.”

Joey accused me of belittling Malaysian music and putting Korean music on a pedestal. And Ayu? She called me a fool, then said she did it because she cared about me and wanted me to get the feel of the industry. On my first week, seriously?

“But hey, I stayed strong. Kept my head up, walked off the stage. You might have seen me smiling, but look closely, you'd see tears. The crowd booing didn't help. Yes, yes, I know... later I found out they were booing the judges, not me. But in that moment, I felt like everyone was against me."

I take a pause again to recompose myself, ensuring that my message is heard without sounding bitter. When I'm ready, I hit record again to continue…

WEEK 2

"Next week's song is," Halib, the TV show's host announced, "Kalimah Rindu!"

The strains of the tune filled the hall, and I felt my heart jump into my throat. The glare of the spotlight and the roar of the crowd seemed to blend into a dizzying blur. I thought I might pass out right then and there.

"You okay?" Hana, Halib's co-host asked, a touch of concern softening her immaculate, overly powdered face. Her false lashes looked like spiders clinging onto her eyelids.

"Never better," I replied, pasting on a smile.

'Kalimah Rindu' was a classic Malay tune, a genre that might as well have been my kryptonite. Yes, I'm Malay, but I'd never dipped my toes into this kind of music. Singing such songs needed finesse, mastering those distinctive melodic twists and turns. 

But despite my panic, I was determined to give it my all.

The ensuing days were a blur of relentless practice sessions. Meals were skipped, and sleep became a distant memory. But I wasn't alone in my struggle. The other contestants in our shared apartment were just as dedicated. Zarin even ended up in tears when her fiancé threatened to leave her because she'd been too busy to respond to his calls and texts. What an absolute jerk!

Amidst the pandemonium of the week, a spa trip surprisingly made its way into our schedule on Thursday, courtesy of the production team. But it was hardly an act of generosity. It was a publicity stunt aimed at hiking up the show's ratings. We had to disembark from the bus half a kilometre from the spa just to get some good footage of us walking towards it. We had to paste smiles on our faces and chat like we were having a blast. If anyone let the façade slip, they were chided by the camera crew. Watching the footage later, I couldn't help but laugh. On screen, it looked like we were basking in luxurious relaxation, when in reality, our treatments were over before we even settled in.

Back at the apartment, I finally found time to check my phone after the marathon practice sessions. I wanted to see how my family was doing and check in with my followers. Their encouraging words always managed to soothe my performance jitters. This week, more than ever, I was eager to draw on their support. My impending performance of Kalimah Rindu was giving me sleepless nights.

But instead of finding comfort, I was met with a blow that left my heart in shards. I wished I hadn't looked at all...

***

"'Can you believe that face joined the competition?' 'She's so fat, and she's got the nerve to wear that dress? Just look at her belly!' 'That girl seriously needs a skincare routine, her acne scars are unbearable!' 'Does she really consider herself Muslim? She's exposing her awrat!' Folks, these are just a few snippets of what I've found under my performance video on Youtube. Not gonna lie, there are some nice comments too. But, the nasty ones... they're like beacons in the darkness," I confess to my camera.

Taking a moment, I sip my drink, before diving back in, "If I were to say those comments merely offended me, I'd be seriously underselling it. They shattered me. They made my stomach turn. They made me want to yell until I couldn't any longer. What did I ever do to deserve such hate?”

Suddenly, I'm reminded of Koyuki, the girl from the K-pop documentary. "People talk about K-pop training as if it's some sort of battlefield. But who needs that when you have a competition like 'VIRAL SENSATIONS' right here at home? Leaving my family, giving up a university chance, getting fired, missing my best friend's wedding, facing harsh criticism from judges, singing a song so foreign it cost me sleepless nights... And now this? Now, I'm a target for cyberbullies."

This time, I let the tears come freely. I don't care about keeping a poker face; I want them to see my raw emotions. I don't bother pausing the video as I cover my face with my hands, surrendering to the sobs that wrack my body. Let my subscribers see it all. To hell with it.

Suddenly, I feel a gentle touch on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. I rub away the tears blurring my vision, and find my mother standing there, her eyes welling up too. I hadn't realised she'd been there, listening to everything. She hands me her phone with a tender smile. "You probably haven’t seen this."

Her screen shows 'SHARMILA' S FANCLUB', a video.. A girl in front of the camera saying, “Sharmila, you've truly touched my life. Your strength against those critiques, your grace in the face of unkindness. I've had my own battles, hospitalised for bulimia. But seeing you hold your head high, even thanking that obnoxious Joey on live TV after he demanded you lose weight, and maintaining your grace even in elimination... inspiring."

Then more faces, more stories. Girls, boys, all looking up to me. All with their own struggles with weight, skin issues, bullying. I was their beacon of hope. I joined the contest to be a star; turns out, I already am to them.

Emotions surge, and I pull my mother into a hug. A smile breaks through my tears. I feel a pulse of life within me, a sense of purpose. 

I end the recording on my phone. I no longer feel the need to recount my melancholic tale. 

Picking up my guitar, I turn to my mum, "Excuse me, Mum, but I feel a song coming on."

She laughs, her eyes twinkling. "Absolutely, go ahead." She exits my room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

In that moment, I understand that there are people out there who draw strength from me. I need to stand tall for them. I push away the hurt from the cruel comments. I think of all the Kpop stars who've borne the brunt of criticism, all in the public eye. Then I think beyond Kpop, to the likes of Kelly Clarkson, Lady Gaga, Mariah Carey. All have faced fat-shaming and yet remained unbowed. Taylor Swift has weathered accusations about her relationships. 

I press record, fingers brushing the strings of my guitar. I pour my soul into my own rendition of 2NE1’s I am the Best, every lyric ringing with a newfound truth.