#meme.interview

solstice – describe your ideal type

it’s the sort of question that comes up a lot. it’s the sort of question that becomes grating after a while. the sort of question you dart around with bland sorts of answers in tow. i want someone who is kind, i want someone who is funny. the sort of things that could fit literally anyone. that nobody could draw conclusions over. write up articles that proclaim that so and so was hinting about dating someone else. san’s always been painfully careful about staying away from that sort of thing. keeping his image clean. san’s not even sure what his genuine ideal type is. there’s too much there. complications and a mishmash of ideas, wants, desires. hot and cold, and san had really taken after his mother.

“truthfully, it isn’t something i think about very often.” it’s not, because san has too much else on his plate, and when he gravitates toward someone it’s generally not because they fit into a certain mold he’s decided he already likes. but this answer is repeated so often that it has more packaged with it. they market san as work-obsessed. they market him as uninterested in anything that deviates from it. it’s a little true, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t people he slots himself next to, falls into. but he doesn’t hint at that. just steamrolls on.

“i guess at the moment, just. someone nice. someone funny? who matches my personality. i think just someone who i feel comfortable around would be enough for me.” he decides, the same bland-as-ever answer nearly all idols give. he doubts the reporter was expecting anything different. he doesn’t talk about messy dark hair that spills into darker eyes. he doesn’t talk about strong hands, the beginnings of callouses at the joints of fingers. he doesn’t talk about poetic fanaticism, or the way heavy shoulders roll back against his palms whenever san decides to reach out, touch. he doesn’t talk about a raw talent that makes him chew his tongue bloody, or the growl of a sleep-thick voice, doesn’t talk about the smell of cherry cigarettes and fresh linen. he doesn’t, because then he’d have to go and admit it to himself. that he’s carving an ideal out of a boy. that he’s shaping him into something that might matter to him. and that would be terrifying.

moon – are there any other musicians that you enjoy lately, or who influence your own personal musicality?

he doesn’t mind questions like this. they give a glimpse past the veneer in a way that doesn’t feel intrusive. fans can download whatever artist’s name he drops and he doesn’t have to do mental gymnastics to fit himself into a box. generally, he would stick within the confines of his image. with olympus’ musicality.  would name artists he didn’t really actually like all too much, just because it fit in with the style they were pushing. yeah, i like justin timberlake. i like bruno mars. it didn’t matter that san didn’t have a single song from either of them on his phone. he could dance to both, so that was what mattered. pop-dance tracks that lent themselves well to san’s precise dancing style.

but lately, he’s been allowing himself to branch out. lately he’s been letting some of his own opinions leak free. he wants to be more than shoved into that constricting box. he wants to break free. do more. he wants to push at midas. heckle them just enough, in public settings like this, for some to catch on and realize he might not really be happy with the current setup. his current sound. “an artist i’ve really been loving lately is sia.” he admits honestly, has been listening to a lot of her albums on repeat in long van rides. “i think the composition of some of her tracks is really interesting, and i like how in some of her performances she uses the dance to really express the lyrics of her song. actually, i have a few of her music videos saved on my phone. that little girl is really talented.” san laughs, taps at his thigh where his phone is fit into his pocket.

nova – who is your greatest inspiration or strength?

this question always plays a game: two lies and a truth.

lie one: “i always find my greatest strength in my members. they’re always there for me. we’ve gone through so much together. i grew up with them. they’re like family, so of course we help each other overcome problems.” his group is all but foreign. he knows too much and too little about them all at once. but being with them isn’t pleasant. isn’t something he seeks out. they work, they clash, they separate. san hates it when they’re promoting, when they’re all busy enough that they have to dorm together again so that the manager doesn’t have to make sure everyone is getting everywhere on time. honestly? half the time san thinks his group drags him down. makes him even more miserable. but the fans would hate that. so he lies, always lies about this. 

lie two: “one of my biggest inspirations has been watching my members. i can tell that they go through a lot, but they still work so hard. maybe it’s because i debuted so young, but watching them always doing their best even when they got tired inspired me too. i think i learned part of that mindset from them” san thinks they don’t work hard enough. san thinks part of the reason that their sound lags behind, that midas doesn’t push them for more creatively is because of this. san wants to trade them in. exchange his fate for something else. wants to be transplanted into signal, or atlas, or even dynamo at this point. but he smiles when the interviewer calls him loyal.

a truth: “and then, my mom has always been there for me. i don’t know where i would be without her. she’s helped me get where i am today. she’s always there to support me. to make sure that i chase after my dreams. i don’t think i would be in olympus if it wasn’t for her. she’s the most important person in my life.” it’s nearly pathetic how painfully true that is. it’s nearly pathetic how saying it aches. feels like it burns it’s way up his throat. because it’s not all happiness, and it’s not all love. it’s brutal, and it’s warped. a violent love. a conditional love. a love that san had always been half-scared of. but it’s true. she is always there. and she is always pushing him toward more. he really wouldn’t have been in olympus if not for her.

spectrum – tell us about your personal style, what clothes do you like to wear?

san scrunches up his nose at this, and it has the interviewer laughing. she probably already knows. his outfit right now betrays his style. it’s been referred to before by fans, affectionately, as ‘boring emo.’ which, he figures, isn’t really off base. san likes dark colors. he likes blacks and grays, cut simple and often over-sized. he has enough of the over the top from stage outfits, schedules. when he’s off the clock he wants to blend in as best as he can. his hair sometimes makes that impossible, but he tries. it’s something of a joke among his fans. you can always tell when san is wearing sponsored clothes at the airport because it’s a shade other than something monotone, and he looks mildly uncomfortable in it, constantly plucking at fabric.

“whenever i’m not on stage or performing, i like to dress in things that are more casual. i don’t really like flashy colors, things like that.” he lifts his hand as he talks, waves it in the air as if to ward off the threat of something vibrant and neon. “i’ve never really been interested in fashion. i just like to wear things that are simple. if i like something, then i’ll just go and buy four more.” he admits, probably the truest thing he’s spoken this whole interview. 

parallax – where do you see yourself and/or your group in five years?

san hates this question. he hates this question because he knows what the answer is. he knows what the answer is and he dreads it. the pathetic thing is, there’s still time left to diverge from it. to make new decisions. he hasn’t even reached that crossroads. but he knows.

in two years, olympus’ contracts will be up. in a year and a half, midas will start broaching the topic of re-signing. and san will pick up that pen, and he’ll sign on that line. he might try. try to angle in for better working conditions, for more opportunities. but at the end of the day, he knows. he knows what he’ll do. and he hates himself for it. he hates olympus, and he hates his company. but what else is there for a person like him? and he’s built up a brand with midas. a boy without a group and who knows what his future would be? especially if he drifted off, attempted to get signed somewhere else. there’s no guarantee. so who cares if he’s happy?

really?

sunspot – what are some disappointing moments you’ve faced in your recent promotion cycle?

san pulls in a breath, but doesn’t let it out. instead he lets it fill his cheeks, until they’re puffed out. a habit he purposefully constructed to look cute. sometimes he catches himself doing it off camera. it’s obnoxious. but he does it now. maybe she’ll describe it in the article. there are too many to name, really. disappointments. but at least the nice thing about this, about what midas decided what was and wasn’t okay for him to keep about himself was his perfectionist behavior. that was okay. hard working was a plus. being perpetually disappointed and constantly striving toward more was fine. the demons behind those traits? those are hidden. but letting them be known was fine. it makes him look humble, makes him look like he’s never lost his rookie mindset. in reality, it makes him look insane. but they don’t know that.

so he admits the truth. “i think there were a lot of things that disappointed me. during ‘tell me’ promotions, and during ‘danger’, now.” san stops. he’s never been good at talking. the way they’d dealt with that was to decide that he was shy. and he’s been prompted over the years. can give halfway-to decent answers. but he’s never been eloquent. his thoughts are eclectic, choppy and worded awkwardly. but he tries to push past that. he’s been having to do it more and more lately, solo releases mean solo appearances on shows.

“i think those moments usually come from me knowing that i’m not doing as well as i could be. i come off a stage and i think ‘ah, i didn’t do that move right’ or ‘oh, that note was flat,’ and it…frustrates me. because i know i’m not showing my best self.” the interview nods, and placates him. words of how everyone makes mistakes, that nobody can be perfect. san’s always disliked that saying. maybe not, but shouldn’t he be striving for it? what else is there for him to do if not to keep pushing on toward the unattainable? a faraway, fleeting hope. if he breeches that peak maybe everything will fall into place. maybe he’ll enjoy his career, maybe his mother will decide to love him unconditionally. maybe he’ll stop hating his reflection, the feel of his body. maybe everything will make sense.

zenith – is there a genre or sound you’d like to put out with your group in the future?

there are still thoughts, ideas that make san’s bones vibrate in excitement. once upon a time, his solo debut had been among them. so had debuting in a group. so had olympus’ initial idea of a dance unit. the problem with all of those things is that they seem to end in disappointment. san half-wonders if it’s that way for everyone. if they’re all just lying to each other, pretending to be happy. pretending they’re fulfilling dreams, growing as people. you’d think he’d learn by now to stop wanting things. you’d think he’d learn by now to realize that these fragmented dreams won’t solve his problems. won’t suddenly make him realize that life is enjoyable. that life is worth all that pain, all that effort. you’d think he’d learn. but he never does. 

he wants, and he wants so achingly for things that just seep poison to palms when he finally gets his hands on them.

san sucks in a breathe. contemplates, briefly, on a generic canned response, or something truer. usually he might opt for the former. but he’s still angry, a crackle of fire hidden behind thin skin. so he decides to tumble out with the truth. to push a finger back toward midas. maybe one day they’ll listen. maybe one day they’ll let him do what he wants, really wants. “i’m actually. ah, i don’t know if i can say this, but i’m actually really interested in other dance styles. many of my fans don’t know this, but i’ve actually been really invested in modern and contemporary dance for a while now.” he stops, sips at the water perched to the right of his hand. tries to figure out how far he wants to push the limits that cage him. he’s feeling stubborn. he pushes further.

nebula – If you weren’t an idol, what would you be doing now?

san picks at the edge of his nail as the interviewer rolls into the next question. he’s gotten it before. you aren’t in the industry for eight years without getting it at least once. san’s answer changes every time, and it’s never the truth. he pretends like there might be an overwhelming amount of experiences he wants to try. lives to live. pretends like his reality is constantly shaping him. pretends in every possible fashion to obfuscate the truth. namely that san has no idea what he would’ve been doing. he can’t imagine his life going any differently, and he has no other hobbies to spare. his life is dance. his life is singing. his life is olympus. even when he was a child, everything had been pre-selective. san never dreamed about being a pilot, or a police officer. his mother constantly reminded him that he wanted to be famous. wanted to be a singer, or a model, or an actor. she always knew what he wanted, in that fake sort of way where she shoved it down his throat and made him swallow.

he still believes it, to an extent. or maybe he tries to believe it. wants there to be something that he loves. something he’s chasing after. wants to feel accomplished, or at least happy. at this point he’d take content. moderately alright, even. 

he clears his throat, drops his hands to his lap and smooths a wrinkle from his jeans. they’re a little loose. maybe he can beg his manager to jump out of the van after and buy him mcdonalds before he next schedule. “ah, this question is always hard. i just love being in olympus so much. dancing...it just feels right to me. it feels like that’s what i was built to do. so it’s just...hard to picture.” he sucks in air through his teeth, tips his head, narrows his eyes like he’s thinking hard.