YOONMIN : Beautiful encounter

Part 6

I know when Crying in the club came out. Let's pretend it was in 2010.

2010

Jimin: The persuasion

My queen, Camila Cabello, always told me not to cry in the club.

I prayed to all gods that she won't find out as my tears soaked paper tissues in the club bathroom on the fifth floor, laying all around the small room. I didn't make a sound, I was just lying on the cold tiles of the stall, hoping nobody notices me.

My life was a mess.

Ever since my younger brother came out as gay I haven't seen my parents nor him. We all avoided each other for the sake of our sanity, but it was tearing me apart.

I couldn't show it though – as soon as I would show up in front of our house they would ask me on whose side I was.

I couldn't tell them that.

Why?

Because I would have to explain myself.

My parents weren't bad people, not even homophobes.

It's not like they didn't intend to support my brother after some time.

They always told us that love is love and people fall in love with people – no matter the gender. The best way to find your soulmate was to look into souls, not faces or ... at whatever your mate has in pants.

They taught us to respect people who have enough courage to come out because those were the ones who would sacrifice everything and anything for love. Straight people had it all from the beginning, on the other hand, homosexuals had to fight for it.

That proved something – I'm not sure what, but it did.

So in conclusion, my parents weren't mad at my brother. They were just shocked and confused. Even though all that pep talk they didn't expect either of us to actually turn gay.

I buried my face in my cold bony hands, now sobbing quietly.

My family wasn't the only thing that was falling apart. It felt like my homeroom dance teacher despised me too. I couldn't count all the times he hit me, pushed me on the floor till I couldn't stand anymore, all because I was sometimes too weak to master some of the choreographies. He would call me ugly, too chubby, even fat sometimes just to get under my skin.

And I listened to him.

What else was I supposed to do?

Dancing with bruises and sore ribs was getting hard.

So I starved myself as much as I could and it was way easier to do so now that I was living in the dorms.

I wanted to feel like I'm worth it.

I really did, but the feeling was constantly escaping my grip.

When it finally seemed like I caught it, my life pushed me down again, every time deeper in anxiety, self-pity and eating disorders. I knew all along that I was destroying the body that I worked so hard on, but I guess they wanted me like that.

I guess being thin and pale and bony suited me.

Every day that I forced myself to believe that, my dreams were slowly fading far away from me.

I didn't want that anymore.

I didn't want to dance, sing or move.

Some days I just wanted to die. Not like making a suicide, but plain ... laying on the floor quietly and waiting until I starve to death.