Paper Cups and Confetti Dreams

“I can still feel it rushing through me.”

“Do you need the bathroom?”

“No, I need my next fix.”

“What was so spectacular about it?”

“Everything.”

“I don’t get it.”

I was sitting, floored by the concert, in a sea of clutter on the sticky floor. Cups were tossed underfoot with trampled confetti, and we were the only ones still there. The place was eerily quiet after utter chaos that could only be compared to Beatlemania, and I was a front row fan. My heart was racing like I’d had an unnatural high, but it wasn’t that; it was the thrill of the gig. And it was over. I’d put all my dreams into it for the last year. I knew it was coming and I couldn’t wait, yet I had willed it away because I couldn’t cope with it being over. And there I sat on the floor, clutching my crumpled, unsigned poster, still waiting for a scrawl. I knew I was unlikely to get it, but I still couldn’t give up hope. I just wished I’d come with someone more enthusiastic than Becki. She wasn’t a fan of my music at all. She had endured it for my sake, but only, she’d said, because it was for one night. I’d have to return the favour some time, or she’d never let it go. I was trembling from my long-contained anticipation that had been released in a two-hour burst and left me frail on the floor.

Why did the music inspire such devotion in its fans? Everyone that didn’t love it was perplexed by its draw. They thought it was all “samey,” or so I’d been told. But to me, it was life-altering. Something is life-altering to everyone, but most people won’t understand why the thing you’ve chosen is life-altering to you. Becki looked bored sitting there on the floor. She had hung around for a long time for someone that had never wanted to be there to begin with, and the bar had closed long ago. It was just us and the litter. It was strange that no one seemed to have noticed we were there. There was no quick clean-up as expected. The place was like an evacuated disaster zone. There was a deserted kind of beauty in it that made it hard to leave. Becki didn’t agree. She was on her feet and impatiently tapping one of them. It echoed in the empty concert hall. I knew we were leaving then.

We turned and walked away from the stage, until it became nothing but a distant step. And then, I heard a voice over the speakers. It was in Korean, and I didn’t know what was being said, but it didn’t matter. I knew it was my favourite band. That was all I had to know. I raced back to the stage.

“See, patience does pay off,” I shouted to Becki.

She rolled her eyes at me, but she followed me, with a secret smile.

I couldn’t speak any Korean, despite adoring K-Pop. My favourite singers couldn’t speak any English either. We were lost in that place where words aren’t enough. We could speak without being understood, but it still felt like we weren’t missing anything. They smiled at me and nodded appreciatively. I got them to sign everything I had with me. They welcomed me onto the stage, like I was one of them. Looking at the waste in the huge room made me realise what the audience looked like from their perspective. I pretended each empty cup was a person, watching the stage. I didn’t know how they had the bravery to do what they did. They were able to be themselves, unapologetically, whether people liked them or not. And it had paid off, because they owned that stage and that crowd. But I was the only straggler. The only one that waited it out, an hour after the show, hoping that I might catch a brief glimpse of them. Waiting in the dust of that concert was worth it after all. You can think you’re there for the main event when the lights and noise are at their most heightened, but it’s often the quiet aftermath that brings the biggest surprise of all.

I said goodbye to my favourite band, knowing nothing could top that moment. But still, I will go on to try to find something that will. That’s what life is all about. Becki did a good job of pretending to be happy to be there, and I’ll return the favour when she wants to see her favourite death metal band. As we walked away, they sang us a verse of one of my favourite songs, and I swooned hearing it. People are always describing K-Pop fans as if they’re delusional devotees. Maybe we are. I most definitely am, and I’m not afraid to admit it. On the way out of that gig, I was buzzing more than any other time in my life. Becki was probably buzzing with irritation by then, but at least we were both on the same page energy-wise.

We left the concert hall, and I didn’t feel the need to longingly turn back for a last look at it. That only happens whenever things feel unfinished. Becki looked at me brightly and she gave me a nudge. “K-Poop isn’t so bad after all,” she laughed. “At least they have time for their fans.”

“I’m sure your favourite band does too.”

“Yeah, they just might show it by throwing stuff at us instead, or by spitting into the crowd.”

“I’m sure if you got them alone, you’d have a good conversation.”

“Is that your way of agreeing to wait to meet mine the next time round?”

“Yeah, of course – I’ll be as long suffering as you are,” I laughed. “I know I might have to suffer a bit more than you did, but still – “

“You’re cheeky – do you know that? What I went through tonight for you. I have a confession to make though.

“What?”

“I don’t hate K-Pop anymore.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop calling it K-Poop?”