Dreary.

It's the perfect word to describe my morning, my day, and my life. With perks, from time to time, but dreary overall.

Today's just like every other day. I roll out of bed at around 8:00am and try to see the positives to my situation. I mean, hey, I'm doing what I love. How much does it really matter that I'm broke? Things seem bleak, but I'm sure they'll get better, I reassure myself. Positives, think of the positives.

8:30am involves actually putting forth some effort in getting ready. Shower, get dressed, brush your teeth, eat breakfast. By then, it's somewhere around 9:15, and the day can really begin.

If it's a Tuesday, Thursday, or Sunday, I'll book it over to the library for work. If it's any other day of the week, I will stay at home writing lyrics in an attempt to ease my nerves. If one thing about my life is constant, it's that there's always nerves. Today is Friday.

I plop down at the kitchen table over my second bowl of Frosted Flakes, a notebook lying open on the dirty surface I'm eating off of and a pencil absently twirling between the fingers of my left hand. My dexterity with that hand is lacking, and not soon after the pencil begins to twirl, I accidentally fling it directly into the bowl of cereal, milk splashing onto the already dirty table and one or two actual flakes joining it. I sigh, fish my pencil from the bowl, and then quickly devour the remainder of the cereal. I put the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and pull a paper towel from the dispenser near the kitchen sink, wiping up the spill. Even with my effort to clean the spill, the table is still dirty. The kitchen is dirty. Hell, the whole house is dirty. I just don't have the motivation to clean it. No one who would ever judge me for the state of my residence comes around anyway, so why even bother cleaning it? I'm not ashamed to live in a dump. At least, not right now.

The dirty house is in pretty good condition for the small amount of money it cost me. There's a water stain on the ceiling below the upstairs bathroom and a few dents in the walls here and there, but the little one-bedroom flat is holding its own, all things considered. The real damage comes from me being too lazy to actually try and maintain it. The living room is where I spend about half of my time at home, the other half being spent in my bedroom, either sleeping or on the Internet. The room itself has walls painted the spectacular color of mauve, and the wooden floor is in places covered with small and dingy white throw rugs. A TV sits atop a wobbly side table, and a dark gray upholstered couch with a hole or two is across the room from it. The room's lighting comes from a couple cheap lamps, the ceiling fan, and two windows covered by dusty curtains. Hey, it's home.

I get settled on my usual segment of the couch and pore over the notebook, studying the lyrics I'd written the previous night at somewhere between two and three in the morning. In the back of my head, the nagging thought of the show tomorrow seems to torment me, reminding me that I'm not prepared for it. I try to push the thought away and instead focus entirely on the lyrics. I'd been attempting to create a rap focusing more on my struggle to seem valid, but it just seemed too personal to want to share with the audience that would be watching me tomorrow. I wanted the message out there, but I also found myself too scared to actually put it out there. I had the majority of a first verse finished as of last night, and I find myself continuing it despite the clash of opinions in my head.

I try to come up with a non-pretentious way of saying that I'm not recognized as much as I should be. I'd already written a bit about my personal situation, with a run-down house, few friends, not much money to spare, and having to work another job to keep myself going all being part of the first verse. I tend to work on the chorus last, so my focus now lies on the second verse. I jot down simple concepts that could unfold into lyrics if I set my mind to them. After a few mind-numbing minutes, a small, messy list in the margin of the notebook reads:

"Girls can't rap."

No one takes me seriously.

"Why aren't you in school?"

"You should be an Idol."

Finally, the creative juices get flowing. I begin the second verse by saying that after all the hard work I put in and all the compromises I have to make to even be doing what I love, people tell me that I should be doing something else. Whenever I perform, I get comments from those watching me, things like, "you're very good, but why aren't you in college?" Or others who don't even start with a compliment, saying "A woman this age should be in school trying to further herself." I write down a few memorable quotes as lyrics, toying with them so they rhyme. After the quotes, I add my own commentary, discussing that I don't want to be in college. I can make my own choices, and if I choose music, that's what I'm going to do with my life.

That thought expressed as lyrics creates about half a verse. The other half is going to focus on the first quote. "Girls can't rap." I tap my pencil on the notebook a few times as my head wraps around how to make the lyrics fit the beat. This part of the verse makes me angry as I write it. Of course girls can rap. Anyone can rap; anyone can do anything, to some degree at least. To exclude half the Earth's population from being able to do something is totally ludicrous. Saying girls can't rap is like saying that men can't be nurses just because the field is comprised of mostly women. It's stupid and it doesn't make any sense. If the roles were reversed, and people walked around saying "guys can't rap," it would probably make them angry, right? And yet no one sees that as how women in the rap industry are treated. The second verse ends up being a bit longer than the first because the second half gets me pretty fired up.

Now, I put my attention on the bridge, the most powerful part of any song. That's where I'm making my final point. The first line says, "If they like me, they'll say, 'you should be an idol.' 'You should be an idol?' 'You should be an idol?'" Those are the words that make me the sickest of all. I find myself balling a fist almost subconsciously just hearing the words in my head. I don't want to be an idol. If I'd wanted to, I would've auditioned already. I don't want to be constantly told what to do, to constantly have decisions about my life made for me like I'm a robot instead of a person. I don't want to debut in some flashy girl group and be made either so cute I'd want to vomit or nothing more than a sex object. I don't want to be an idol, I just want to make music. All I want is to make music and have my voice heard, and I shouldn't need to debut under some monster company for that to happen.

The chorus comes easy. At this point, I've got enough anger coursing through my veins to make the final piece of writing simple. It simply ties all of my ideas together to make the whole rap cohesive. I speak it to myself to make sure it makes sense, and at that point, I feel that cold lump in my stomach— The ever-so-familiar feeling of doubt. Do I want to perform this? Do I want to do it tomorrow? I feel like I'll need to be more prepared if I want to do the song tomorrow. I don't even have a track behind the lyrics yet.

That realization hits me like a head-on collision and I reach across the couch for my phone. Whether or not it's tomorrow, I will perform the song at some point, so I'll need to have a track for it. I call the most recently contacted person in my phone and pray that he picks up.

One ring, two, and then a click with Juyoung's connection.

"Rin? You okay?"

"Sorta. Are you busy? I need a track for a song done ASAP."

"I'm free. Be over in ten minutes and we'll get to work, okay?"

"Already heading out. You're a lifesaver, Juyoung."

"I know, Rin. See you soon."

I hurry to the door and throw on a pair of high-top converse to go with the jean shorts and white shirt I'm wearing, then get my bag, make sure my notebook's in it, and head out the door. I jump into the driver's seat of my used Kia Sorento and book it over to Juyoung's house to get working. Juyoung works as my producer, and he doubles as my best and only friend. I've been working with him since 2009, but we really only started getting close in 2012. He's been my best friend the four years that followed and remains one of the most – if not the most – important person in my life.

I arrive at Juyoung's house in record time and burst in the door without knocking. He probably doesn't care, he does it a lot to me. Juyoung's house is similar to mine— a small flat with a couple areas that need improvement. Unlike my house, however, Juyoung's is relatively clean and also full of producing equipment. When I enter, he's sitting on the couch watching TV, his back to me.

"Hey," he greets, turning the TV off and looking towards me. "Whatcha got?"

He stands and walks over to me, both of us heading into his bedroom where his production stuff is. Upon arrival, I hand him the notebook and he looks over it. He mouths a couple of the words as he plops down in the chair at his desk, and I sit on the corner of his bed, watching with mild nervousness as he reads my lyrics.

"This is bold," he says, handing the book back to me. "It'll be great."

I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders as I get Juyoung's approval. "I'm really conflicted about it. You're sure it's good?"

"It's great, Rin. It's personal, and that's what makes it great. You're speaking your mind. Do you want to perform it tomorrow?"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, I guess. I really don't know if I want to do it tomorrow or not; I might wait so I can practice it more."

"Well, whatever works, but we should probably get started on the backing now, especially if you're thinking of doing it tomorrow."

"Yeah, okay. Is there a track submission for this show, or can I just hand them a USB?"

"Submission. It closes at seven, so we've got time."

"Right. Let's get to work."

So, Juyoung and I start working at noon, and the track is finished by about five in the evening. The bulk of the work for me required listening to whatever Juyoung did, trying the lyrics over it, and adding occasional input. As the track came together, that icy ball of doubt again materialized in my stomach, and this time, it refused to leave.

By five, the track is done, so Juyoung and I name it The Plight and I spend the next hour practicing it. It's well done; the backing has the power behind it that I needed and the beat is exactly what I had been envisioning. Still, I find myself getting more and more uneasy at the thought of performing it tomorrow at the festival. It racks my brain each time I practice; each word I hear makes me more and more conflicted. By six, Juyoung finally tells it like it is.

"Alright, Rin. Are you doing this one tomorrow or not?"

"I don't know."

"Well, say you don't, what's your backup gonna be?"

"Calling," I respond. It's a song we'd finished about two months prior about leaving Busan to come pursue music in Seoul. "Which one do you think I should do?"

"It's not up to me, Rin. This is all you."

"I don't know, Juyoung. I'm really doubting myself here."

He gives me a stern look and finally speaks. "Ah Rin, no matter which song you do, you'll be fine. Here." He outstretches his hand and I see an 100 won coin in it. He hands it to me before he speaks.

"Plight is heads, Calling is tails." I nod slowly and close my eyes, flicking the coin off my thumb and letting it fall to the ground. I keep my eyes shut.

"Submit it first, then tell me after," I say.

"Gotcha," Juyoung replies. I hear some clicking and about a minute later he instructs me to open my eyes.

I pick the coin up from the ground.

It's tails.

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Hey!

Long time, no see, huh? I'm back!

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, because there are many more coming! I'm really excited about this book and I really hope you all like it as well.

As usual, votes and comments are always super appreciated! I'd love some feedback on the new book. And I'm using a new proofreading software while writing now, but if you see any typos, please point them out!

Thanks so much and keep it real,

Sam

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