Stardom: Born to be Idol

Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Yohan Lee

I woke up with a jolt as my stepfather slapped paper bills on my face. "You're so dumb, murmuring words and crying while asleep," he said, laughing like a maniac. "Here's the bill for electricity. Pay it before the due date, fatty," he sneered as he walked out and slammed the door.

I felt a surge of pain in my chest. I sat on my bed, rubbing my eyes and trying to shake off the remnants of my dream. It felt so real, so vivid. In my dream, I was living my dream as an idol, loved and adored by millions of fans. I was the happiest girl in the world, with beautiful long curly hair, a pretty face, a slim body like a model, and fair skin. I had a loving family, supportive friends, and a handsome boyfriend who cherished me. I sang and danced on stage, feeling the warmth and joy of the crowd. I smiled and waved at the cameras, feeling the admiration and respect of the world.

But then I woke up to this nightmare where I am the opposite, a big fat person, ugly and someone that won't be able to achieve her dreams. Why is it unfair? Why do some people get to be born pretty, while others have to struggle with their weight and appearance? Why do some people get to eat whatever they want, while others have to starve themselves and still see no results? Why do some people get to be confident and happy, while others have to suffer from low self-esteem and depression? I hated this life. I hated myself.

I grabbed the paper bills and crumpled them in my hand. I threw them on the floor and kicked them away. I buried my face in my pillow and screamed. I wished I could go back to my dream. I wished I could make it come true. I wished I could be someone else.

But I knew it was impossible. I knew I was trapped in this hell. I knew I had no escape.

I tossed and turned on my bed, unable to find any comfort or peace. My eyes fell on my mother's picture on the side table, and I felt a pang of guilt. She looked at me with a gentle smile, as if she was trying to tell me something. Something I needed to hear.

She raised me to be a brave woman, ready to face any challenge in life. She told me every day that I was beautiful and worthy, that I had so much to offer to the world. She loved me unconditionally, and I loved her back.

But now, her daughter is losing her will to live. Her daughter is drowning in self-pity and insecurity, over something she cannot change. Her daughter is craving for the approval and attention of others, based on their shallow standards of beauty. Her daughter is letting her mind defeat her, instead of fighting back.

I'm sorry, mom. I'm sorry for being so weak and pathetic. I'm sorry for disappointing you. I know you want me to be happy and confident, to live my life to the fullest. And I want that too. I want to make you proud, mom. I really do.

But right now, I'm hurting. I'm broken. I need you, mom. I need your hug, your kiss, your voice. I need your warmth, your wisdom, your guidance. I miss you so much, mom. It's been seven years, but the pain is still fresh. The wound is still open.

I reached for her picture on the desk, and clutched it to my chest. I buried my face in it, and let the tears flow. I sobbed and sobbed, until I had no more tears left. I whispered to her, hoping she could hear me.

"I love you, mom. I love you so much."

I rubbed my eyes, trying to erase the traces of my tears. But it was no use. My eyes were still red and swollen, and the concealer I applied did nothing to hide the dark circles under them. I looked like a mess. A pathetic mess.

I loved that dream, yet hated it. It was a cruel reminder of what I could have been. It was a glimpse of a happier time, a time where I achieved my lifelong dream of becoming an idol. It was a beautiful dream, but it hurt so much. It made me relive all the memories that I had buried deep in my heart.