We'll always be alive to move us: A Hope on the Stage Final diary

More than anything, I prepared for the weather. 

On the day of the very last concert of the Hope on the Stage Tour, I set out for Goyang at half past four in the afternoon, wanting to get there just before it started. It took me about a couple dozen stops and an hour on the subway along with two minutes at a crosswalk to get there. The weather forecast said there was a high probability of rain, so I’d packed a couple of disposable raincoats. I hadn’t tried them before, but I was surprised that they weighed like nothing but offered full coverage (and were very cost-efficient) and they instantly became a travel must-have for me. 

But it was nearing 7 p.m. and the sun was still high up. The girls in the seats around me and I got our umbrellas out and shared them to protect ourselves not from a downpour, but from the glare—the kind of community that really makes my heart feel full on days like this. 

This time around, I wanted to give out my own gifts, and I called on a hobby I hadn’t practiced in maybe a decade: shrink plastic. I had so many ring backs and other trinket supplies lying around, so I decided to make rings adorned with the butterfly confetti that falls during “On the Street.” I spent days testing for the right size, painstakingly cutting them out of thick plastic sheets, baking, and gluing them onto the rings. I also got an idea to create a charm bracelet to commemorate the tour, and it was so fun to bring it to life. 

I distributed them to the people in the seats around me, and some of them wore the rings right away. I was also excited that everyone with a ticket was given a towel with this really cool design as well as the cutest photocard of Hoseok posing with his little chipmunk doll counterpart, which I immediately slid into a toploader for safekeeping. (Always bring multiple sleeves and toploaders to events like this because you just never know!)

First show. Last show. A few others in between. Watching him rise to the stage as it pounded like a heart around him for the last time in a while, I thought about how the first time felt like holding my breath in anticipation of what would happen next, and now it felt like an exhale. I knew every pulse, every beat. Every rise, every fall. I clapped before he even asked. 

I knew it all by heart. 

I’d brought an Aquapix to the first concert and tried to take a few shots, but it had been loaded with a Himalaya 200 so you can barely make out anything in them. This time around, I made sure to bring ISO 800 film, and it worked wonderfully against the setting sun and the glittering dark. I’ll never get tired of how the sprawling gradient blue of the skies turns out on what’s essentially a toy camera.

After the concert, the stage design went viral again when people observed that the boxes spell out “j-hope” during “STOP,” which was always fun for me to see. 

At first I thought, “How could you not have noticed through the entire tour?” But then I realized that not everyone had gotten to attend and it’s not one of the common moments people would post online. It made me wonder if any of the other details I’d grown to look for and adore with every stop had flown under the radar, and I hope I always remember them when I rewatch the streams and look back.

Through it all I tried to be as present as I could. Even today I feel like I’d get so wrapped up in the moment when he would freestyle to “On the Street,” like it was something I could never quite fathom even when I was seeing it with my own eyes. Like I kept trying to get a grasp on it, convinced that if I just looked hard enough it would become part of me, but it was the kind of thing that only ever left an impression. Precious and fleeting and ephemeral and it was best that way. Not unlike the butterflies that elegantly drifted around him as he moved. 

“Remember the time in KSPO Dome?” he asked, like I could ever forget. “When I asked you to memorize the lyrics to ‘i wonder’?” You mean when I harmonized with you from my seat and I had an inkling of what heaven could be like? 

“When was that? Four months? Three months ago? I’m so happy that I was able to hear your voices. It’s beautiful to the very end, so sweet to the very end. How can I ever forget you guys? I’ve heard your voices while I performed all over the world, and it’s something I cannot express with words. It’s sweetness itself.” 

So we sang with him one more time. 

Then—and not to ruin this moment with, um, something decidedly not pure and sweet—I braced myself. 

I’d loved the previous outfit and thought he couldn’t have been more attractive. When it was time for “Killin’ It Girl”—released just the day before, so this was the second performance ever—somehow I just knew he would emerge from that wall of dancers… more creatively dressed than usual. Like his re-emergence in October and this whole entire era had been leading up to this. And yet there was no way to be ready about any of it when you’ve been here as long as I have. 

Questions raced through my mind as the entire stadium erupted into the screams of almost 30,000 individuals: Where did his shirt go? Are we being serious right now? How is this happening? Is this what our lives are going to be like from now on? Am I really here bearing firsthand witness to history?   

And the question that has plagued me for all time since: What has he done and why has he done this? To us? To me? 

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a horrifying realization dawned on me: this is literally the longest segment of the show, with over a dozen songs, and he would be (half-)dressed like this the entire. Fucking. Time. Did he not care that I was barely clinging to my sanity. 

I was so right to prioritize the very last date. I love every choice that led me here. Including pouring out my every feeling about pretty much the whole tour set list when I wrote about the Seoul concerts, because now I can just focus on being rendered at a loss for words.

An immediate thought I had was that I wished I could tell my mom, and I still so desperately do.

Looking like a whole Interpol album cover.

The final official stop of the tour had been Osaka. On the second day his voice had turned careful, pensive.

“One last thing,” he said. “I worked hard, almost to the point of breaking down, knowing that this moment would never come back. Really, every performance.” He smiled, but then he was crying.  “I really came here with all my might. Even though I was feeling unwell, I did my best, and because this performance is very meaningful and important to me, I have worked hard to get to this point.”

“I thought I wouldn’t cry,” he went on, “once I turned 30. I thought I wouldn’t cry anymore after I finished the military. As I’ve said before, the moment the performance begins, I make a vow. I really took on this with a great sense of responsibility, and every performance was a tour I took on with a vow and resolve, so I was overwhelmed with emotion.” 

And in true Aquarius fashion, he finished with, “Sorry for the long story.”

And of course, in Goyang, he was tearful once more as he launched into the ending ment that would close out not just that night, but the tour and the season that had passed as it went on. It was strange to hear it all without the full context right then, unable to access translations, only going off of the handful of words I could understand and his gestures. But being right there, crying along with him, was the only thing that mattered. 

“Everything I did today, things that were a routine to me, was the very last time today,” he began. “The soundcheck, hair, makeup, stage, sunglasses, everything was the very last time. I always used to clench my teeth and push through every stage, but today I had to perform each one with the thought of letting it go, for the last time. So it made me emotional and tear up all the way here.” 

As j-hope, he continued, “I will perform for you, I’ll dance, rap, and sing for you until the last moment my body allows me to. In these past four months, thanks to you I realized how much I need to value and take care of myself. I bow my head to you once again in gratitude. Thank you so much!”

This part I definitely understood, and it still makes my heart pinch thinking about it months later: “I was happy!” he was saying, his voice climbing to an exhilarated shout. “I was so happy! I’ll come back when I get the chance again!”

We all began cheering, “Saranghae!” Over and over. So he returned it, and we gave it to him right back, just like he deserved. 

I couldn’t help but be hyper-aware of my own firsts and lasts of the tour as he spoke. Three months passed between Seoul and Goyang, and I know I’ll be able to think back on all of it as such an unprecedented, inimitable, happy time in my life. Traveling, spending time with friends I hold so dear, meeting new people, and five nights that feel like everything I needed in the moment, everything I’ve ever wanted, and everything I’ve ever loved and lived for. Finding out that I can do this on my own, but I didn’t have to go through it alone. 

It drained me, it caused me genuine distress, it made me feel more alive than I had in a while, it healed me. 

It had me flying to Singapore for a weekend all over again with nothing but a backpack and a ticket, blinking my eyes against a stadium ceiling that looked straight out of Stranger Things (no longer such a cool reference to make, but I wanted to point it out anyway). 

I stayed at NuVe Urbane in Lavender again, this time in a room with not just a window, but a balcony. I wish I’d had more time and energy to explore the surrounding neighborhood and take pictures, but I really only had time to fly in Friday night, go to the concert on Saturday, then fly out Sunday morning. 

I did go on a 7-Eleven run, where the old man at the register nodded knowingly at the honey lemon Fisherman’s Friend I was buying and declared with approval, “Yes, that’s new, isn’t it?” As a proponent of the lozenge brand with flu or without, I definitely found it to be one of my best interactions of the year. 

I went with Alissa, and I couldn’t believe it was their first concert ever. And what a concert to start with! With floor tickets, it was the best view I had out of the whole tour, and we gradually got closer to the stage as the night progressed. I was especially insistent on getting a good vantage point for “Mona Lisa.” 

(It hadn’t been released yet during Seoul, so I just want to add here that the day it came out, I got a 5-digit raise at work following a year of major growth and progress, according to the higher ups. “Independent check, got her own check”? So true.) 

The butterflies were falling over my head for once during “On the Street.” They came in three colors and two shapes, and with lighter material and a higher volume, while the effect wasn’t as artful or gentle, it felt to me like another kind of magic and I loved watching them come down and getting to collect more of them than I knew what to do with.

 

For the segment where they flashed some signs onscreen, they actually showed one adorned with rainbows that said Gays ♡ j-hope, and I was excited knowing he would be able to see it from backstage. 

I cried for the first time all tour (while the concert was still ongoing, that is) in Singapore. After “Neuron” ended, Alissa and I just looked at each other, tears ready to be blinked into running down our cheeks. 

A silly thought, but Hoseok is such an Aquarius in the way he admitted that he deliberately avoided moments that would induce crying on his solo tour. But the fact that he managed to make this song, as the finale, feel extra poignant and emotional anyway? That’s pure Pisces mercury at work. 

We had dinner at a Korean rice bowl place where I ordered a decadent salmon with teriyaki sauce and a creamy mentaiko topping. We’d met up in the afternoon around the stadium, but we left for a couple of hours to go to a cafe. It rained really hard while we were there, but I was once again struck by how seamless life felt in this city that is an island that is a city. How convenient it was, how connected everything is. You could while away time in good company before a concert, head back with less than an hour to spare, and be right back with minimal walking and no rush.

Alissa saw me off at the station, where I got on the last train just before it set off. It was two stops from Lavender and the walk back was almost like being carried on a cloud to the hotel despite my aching legs. I bought a paper cup of freshly squeezed cold orange juice from the machine outside. It was nice. 

In the morning I went on the balcony for a bit, and before long, it was time for me to leave. 

In Manila, there was no other person I could’ve experienced this with but Amrie. 

I still can’t believe he gave us a hometown show. The name of this city I adore on his tour poster, on the shirts and keepsakes, on the Louis Vuitton suitcase that opens up to reveal his boombox. The streets that have been part of me my whole life and for as long as I’ll live becoming a part of his own history in the most special way. 

Amrie and I stood in front of the MOA Globe for hours, the crowds thinning around us until we were the only two people left, the words and emotions—and, eventually, tears—pouring out of us like they would never stop. Mostly about what we’d just gone through that night, but also about the last several years of watching him lay down every brick that’s made up this long, difficult, but inevitable and painstakingly earned path. Getting to overcome along with him, and getting to do it together.

My first true impression of Hoseok was marked with the thought: So that’s who he is. I’d spent months reading his name from Amrie’s Twitter username, and watching the “IDOL” music video for the first time and witnessing him deliver his first verse, I felt like I finally got it. Literally bouncing into frame, almost like he could transcend the screen, sounding unlike nobody I’d ever heard before. And it says so much about him that I still feel that way whenever I listen to that song.

“I didn’t think I still loved him like that,” Amrie said, just after we both decided we didn’t care that we were full on crying in public. “But he just proved to me that I probably always will.” 

An aspect of the tour that I’ve loved getting to see was Hoseok’s resolve to experience and enjoy the local cuisine of every city he visited. He really embraced his inner Anthony Bourdain and expressed the importance of not just eating well but eating as an act of joy and indulgence. It was evident in his variety show appearances, his social posts, his livestreams. I also realized in those months that I barely knew how far his sweet tooth really went. 

In Manila, he fell in love with halo-halo and savored his dinner from Manam: crispy pata, garlic rice, crispy sisig (his favorite, he says), and sinigang na baboy sa sampaloc—which people ordered as a set so often that it became an unofficial “j-hope Meal” for a time.

On a show, talking about his enlistment period and why he stayed at the camp where he trained, he shared, 

“I was eating meals after training and the food there was just so delicious. They served things like mala tteokbokki, and I thought, ‘I have to stay here.’ Then I started thinking, ‘What do I have to do to stay here?’ and I realized I needed to become a teaching assistant. So I studied and studied for a month, and if you pass the evaluation, you become a TA. I had to study six subjects within a set time. I thought, ‘If I had studied English like this, I would’ve [excelled].” 

Drive-thru burgers, home-cooked steak, his signature Hope Toast with eggs and bacon and strawberry jam, his ultimate comfort food bibimmyeon. It’s made me so happy getting to see him enjoy his life full and nourished. As he said on Chef & My Fridge, “I began to want to eat something delicious if I’m going to eat something.”

Even his gifts for fans during his “Killin’ It Girl” promotions have been so wonderful and hearty: tomato-shaped bagels with cream cheese and pesto, acorn cookies, frozen yogurt with chocolate shells and fruit toppings.  

And I know I’ve been talking about him revealing his abs like it’s a psychological torture experiment designed for my personal torment, but I swear from an art appreciation perspective and as someone who cares about his well-being, it has allowed me to map out how his body really ripples and moves when he’s performing, and seeing all these facets of it I never considered keeps reminding me of this excerpt from a fic Amrie and I have loved: 

He goes in for a hug, and she accepts it though she doesn’t really want to. But, for such a skinny guy, there’s a surprising amount of him, and for someone so sharp, he’s gentle with her.

And it goes hand in hand with this philosophy he’s been putting into action with food. This body, there truly is a surprising amount of him, strong and soft in equal measure. I love how healthy it is and how its topography is traced by his life of dance. 

 It’s so nice to me how the memory spreads from each city are so different. People have been showcasing their own memory boxes for Hope on the Stage that they can display, but I’m pretty content with my choice of storing them all in an opaque black box so they’re protected from light damage. I also enjoy the process of laying them out on my scanner and seeing the results. 

The Manila spread includes some super cute Hobi x Snoopy pins, two of my favorite dolls that I brought along in the ita bag I’d gotten just for the occasion, a sticker designed to look like jeepney signages, freebies such as a bracelet from the girl next to me, a squirrel mask that had been part of a fan project, a Hope World tamagotchi earring from Aya whom I met for the first time that night, and a peso bill confetti from the “Hope World” performance. It means so, so much to me that I actually caught one all the way from lower box! I watched it wide-eyed as it flew through the air and scrambled to catch it just as it landed in my seat. Amrie caught one just a few minutes later, and we screamed together as we clutched them to our chests and hugged. 

The Singapore spread includes an MRT pass, my plane ticket, a receipt from our dinner, an adorable glittered NFC-powered mini CD with an even tinier random photocard, a Snoopy “Mona Lisa” art print, and the butterfly confetti I’d collected. I love the effect of the other mementos peeking through their sheer material. So pretty. 

Finally, for the Goyang spread, I put together stuff from the concert, LEEGOC’s exhibit, and of course, And What?

The week after the final concerts, he posted a letter that made me cry harder than I ever did when I was actually there. “Looks like I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about it all,” he began. He wrote about having a deep sense of resonance from the last several months, of being immersed in and accomplishing his work with great love, affection, and care. Of coming to believe in himself and becoming more strong and secure and unshakeable. 

“I really learnt a lot, felt a lot, and I think that the attitude I’ve gained is going to make me consider and approach my next steps with even more care… Since I set out on my solo journey in 2022, I’ve experienced being sick, and tried healing myself, and felt a great sense of accomplishment, and developed confidence.”

 A translator used the words “tremendous fulfillment” to describe what he had felt, which was what did it for me. 

Some excerpts from another translation that helped me understand how beautiful the feelings he was trying to express were: 

“I can’t seem to get over the lingering feelings,” highlighting his use of “여운” which the translator says indicates “a feeling or image that remains even after the experience is over.” 

“I must have considered it all precious as I did it, right? I tried not to miss out on any part of it. I acted with painstaking consideration… Since 2022, I’ve been working as a solo artist, tried running into things to see if it hurts, and then tried healing myself, and I felt a huge sense of accomplishment.” 

When the lights came down after “Neuron” I just had this feeling, this strong sense that it wasn’t over yet. 

All tour long I’d been a little sad that “Safety Zone,” which some days I would call my favorite out of all j-hope tracks, had been left out of the set list. I hadn’t even sat back down yet, hadn’t even made a decision about what I was going to do now that it was all over just like that, before the lights flashed back on and the intro that made my chest ache in the best way from the first time I heard it was suddenly washing over the stadium. It sounded so much more poignant and whole with the live band, and with his raw, emotional delivery. Just him, just his mic, just the stage. And just us, the sea of people who loved him. 

The name of the tour transforming into Hope on the Safety Zone behind him, letting us all know where he had found solace. 

I feel heavy typing this, like I’m about to cry. I couldn’t imagine a better way to close out this whole chapter than with this song, and I feel so lucky I was there. I never wanted it to end, so of course it was over much too soon. 

The girl next to me was called Jessica. I can’t remember if she was originally from Hong Kong and now she lived in Australia or the other way around, but she had a wonderfully friendly Aussie accent and all the same, it meant that she had traveled far to be here, just like me. She’d given me one of those charming clip-on koalas that I recently remembered from childhood and wondered where they’d gone. 

And when “Safety Zone” ended, she pulled out a packet of scented tissues with Mang on the packaging and handed one to me, no questions asked. Because of course we both had tears streaming down our faces. It’s still probably buried in my bag somewhere.

 

I’d bought a ticket to a shuttle that would let me off at Hapjeong Station, just two stops from Sinchon. It was a fifteen-minute walk from the stadium to the parking lot where the buses were and it was an extra expense that wasn’t all that cheap, but I think I chose well. The subway would’ve been a crowded nightmare, and on the bus I could sit and lean my head against the window watching the certainty of the night sky against the whirling scenery. Thinking about my favorite line from the song still lingering in my head: The world changes fast, and at every moment, a different feeling of loneliness hits me.

And I may have been lonely. But I found that I don’t mind. 

The trains were dangerously close to ending their run for the day when I got off in Hapjeong and rushed to the platform. Just like the night I arrived, the streets in Sinchon were hardly empty when I exited the station. My dinner was microwave carbonara from 7-Eleven—the noodles perfectly al dente, the sauce the kind of bland I found comforting, buttery and soupy and just what I needed while sitting cross-legged in front of the TV. 

Just like the Seoul stop, I’d once again gone within the space of an hour from seeing j-hope live to watching him on cable television. Yet another layer that’s made the experience so much fuller, so much more fun than I ever thought possible. Perfect timing, perfect planning down to the tiniest detail. 

When I got home, the first thing I did was finally draw the other eye on the Daruma doll I’d used to make a wish: to take the most I can get out of this tour, to experience it to the fullest. I’ve used a total of two Daruma dolls in my life, and in my experience, they’re quite powerful, hopeful little things. 

Back in Seoul I’d set off for the airport at 4 a.m. Everything was dark and still. The weather was moody, pouring over the bridges and bodies of water we crossed as we drove. It’s so silly and a little melodramatic, but it was a sweet and soothing thought, the idea that we were in the same city while it was raining.

Just for a little while longer, anyway.

I held onto this thought, this feeling, as the plane took off and my life went on.

I've got a new kind of lonesome, a new kind of longing: A Seoul diary

It was 10 p.m. by the time I got to my hotel in Seoul. In the three months since I was last here, winter had given way to spring, but I had missed it entirely and walked right into the beginnings of what was already a moody summer. 

I had chosen to stay in Sinchon, at a boutique hotel opened just last year called Mayven. The hotel was on a steep slope of road: uphill when you’re coming, downhill when you’re going. It was close to midnight, but when I left my room after checking in and getting settled, the neighborhood still bustled with laughter and neon lights, the crowds young and resolute. I thought I could get used to it. 

Back at the hotel I had a burger for dinner. (Lunch on the plane was lemon garlic butter fish with fried rice.) And over the next few days I would come to swear by the Mayven. They had a collaboration with photographer Koo Sung-soo, which I had thought would be a little gallery like at the Orosie Hotel, but his work adorned the elevators, the hallways, even the rooms. There was also a welcome gift on my bed consisting of a set of prints and postcards.

The room I’d gotten was more of a suite, and the TV was in front of not the bed but a lounge area with traditional floor seating, including soft mats all over, floor cushions, and a little table. As someone who has refined my packing style from what I’ve learned as I travel, I found it so thoughtful that the bathroom had rubber slippers and a disposable shower towel for the body wash. 

I unpacked, hung up my clothes, and read a little in bed before falling asleep. 

Of course I was my usual tailspinny self, obsessively checking and updating my planner to make sure this sojourn would be the best, least disastrous it could be. I still wasn’t doing it from the mindset of a tourist and deliberately avoided creating an itinerary; now that I had a multiple-entry visa, there would be time for me to focus on travel eventually. This was a trip, one with a specific purpose and I only had enough energy to deal with that. 

But about a week before my flight, I learned that both Lee Haesun and LEEGOC, two Korean visual artists I adore, would be holding exhibitions that coincided with my dates in the city. There was even a RIIZE exhibition at a cafe. I only had enough time to visit one of them, though, so I chose LEEGOC’s solo show “Sweet Home” at Chung M Art Company in Jongno. 

Seeing where the Sinchon Station entrance was the night before—just two minutes from my hotel—left me with less jitters about figuring out the subway system. I was confused about why there were seemingly two end-of-the-line destinations trains were bound for on Naver Maps, but I quickly figured out that the other one was the next station from your origin. 

I’ve always been good with directions, something I got from my dad. I’m hardly ever lost. Not in a physical sense, anyway. So I walked, and I kept going, trusting my instincts (and, okay, the signs) to guide me. I got to the turnstiles and found the correct platform, quickly hopping on the next train. I used the Hope on the Stage Seoul commemorative Namane card I’d bought as a souvenir, never imagining it would actually serve its function for me. I pre-loaded it using the app on my cousin’s phone since mine doesn’t have an NFC reader, and I found the process so convenient and cool. 

I can’t describe it, how good it feels to find my way and get to know a new place independently. To take up space on public transportation and be just another person in the city with somewhere to go and something to do. 

It was also great practice for my commute to Goyang the next day, since this was the same line transfer I would need to make.

When I emerged onto the street in Jongno, the air was cool and crisp, carrying leftover traces of spring. It was a nine-minute walk to the gallery, everything a lot to take in in the best way: plenty of chic white storefronts with the occasional oddity lining sloping roads, the solid, clean lines of modern architecture coexisting with modular wood finishes and stone details. Galleries wherever I turned my head. Pure and elegant, but it also had that Cubao Expo hidden-gem charm about it. Like Karrivin on steroids. All flanked by greenery and mountains. All that contrast was dizzying, but instead of birds flying around my head, there would be hearts. 

I fell in love instantly. 

I steeled myself before coming into the gallery, admiring its all-black brick exterior that really made the colors and starkly soft shapes of LEEGOC’s work stand out. The exhibit reminded me of this game my parents would play with me (and my sister and cousin, if they were with us) when I would come with them to inspect clients’ houses. They often lived in upscale villages we knew we could never afford or belong in, so we did the next best thing and played pretend, pointing out these beautiful homes as we passed and daydreaming about what it would be like if they were ours, what they would look like inside. Swimming in that pool, taking that Benz out for a road trip, ruminating on that terrace.  

My favorite piece is the one in the window, which is also the one on the poster: a yellow house with a mauve roof and a mint green garage door, clear blue skies giving way to the night with fading pinks and oranges from the final moments of sunset, and a young woman who has just arrived home with her dog.  

Upstairs there was a sketchbook left on the coffee table that detailed her process for this body of work. While flipping through it, I ran my fingers along the edges of the pages and the physical indents her markings had left, suddenly emotional with the humanity of it washing over me. Something made by her hands, touched by the hands that have visited here previously, that I was now holding in my own hands. 

Next to it was a guestbook. I turned the pages until I could find a fresh one and wrote: I traveled here from Manila and I feel so lucky to have experienced your work. 

“This is a series about homes,” she wrote in the sketchbook in both Korean and English, right at the beginning, over much simpler childlike drawings of the paintings downstairs. “Not just as buildings, but as places where memories and emotions gather.” 

The day after the concert I took a two-minute, one-stop train ride to visit the j-hope “And What?” exhibit in Hongdae. I was very excited about actually getting to experience something like this for once, when they would always feel so exclusive and so far away. 

I got a “Killin’ It Girl” gift photocard that I’m absolutely obsessed with and a hard plastic ticket photocard. The latter had a number of random options and mine was from the “On the Street” era (and the one I wanted the most out of the bunch!). The first activity was getting to press a button that would deposit another random card with one of Hoseok’s titles (i.e. the different sections of the exhibit), and I got “Dancer.” 

Coming from an editorial and content background, I know that “And What?” is a nightmare for SEO, but I don’t care, I love it. It’s silly and tongue-in-cheek, it’s cocky and cool, it’s succinct and it raises intrigue. Like of course an exhibition all about his career so far would be all about capturing his versatility, his boundless talent and potential, his ability to adapt and inhabit all these identities and show off all these facets of him.  

The first section, “Pioneer,” focuses primarily on how he was the first to officially debut solo in his group, but to me it’s also an apt modifier for how he has consistently created and broken records and set the standard for promotion and performance in the industry, earning him the nickname Jung “First Korean soloist to” Hoseok among fans. From reinventing what listening parties could be, to raising the bar for tour merch, to posting a homemade encore for a music show win that he can’t personally receive, he’s always defying expectations by being one step ahead. 

I’m probably misremembering some of it, but the infinity box that greets you upon entry was so moving: peer down and you’ll see his endless potential, take it in from another angle and you’ll see that there’s so much more to him than meets the eye. 

The “Dancer” and “Performer” sections show off his work on and off the stage in a lot of fun, interactive ways: a display case with his iconic red microphone, listening and viewing stations for his rehearsals, Hope on the Street lives, and street dance performances, even a room with just a massive projection of snippets from his tour. 

Obviously, me being a writer, I found the “Storyteller” room so endearing. It celebrates not just his work as a songwriter and lyricist, but also this rich lore he’s created around his artistry and persona as j-hope. I would even go as far as to call it worldbuilding. (His mixtape was called Hope World, after all.) 

His own style as a writer will always be so dreamy and romantic in my eyes: balancing moments of mirth and melancholy, observational but introspective, grounded but bright and brilliant and unafraid to get lost in imagination and fantasy. 

The ball pit that took up most of the room was full of fun pastel spheres printed with words associated with Hoseok, from song titles, to the classic adventure stories he wove into his lyrics, to his many, many nicknames. I had half a mind to stuff the “Blue Side” ball into my pocket and walk out of there a thief, but of course I knew better. (That, and the CCTV camera was pointed right at me, and there were also staff members in the room.) 

Before moving on to the next room, there was another activity where you could pick out a paper keyring with a surprise lyric. My first try gave me “Mona Lisa,” and while I love that song, I wanted something that better represented the full extent of what he can do. So I chose again—and got scolded for it by staff, because apparently you only get the one try, oops—and ended up with “Arson” this time. Perhaps the most experimental of his music, a song about leaning into risk and putting it all on the line that sounds like it. 

The “Musician” section was like taking a walk through his eras, complete with costumes from his music videos. 

I couldn’t wait to see these tiny “Daydream” sets for myself and I’d made sure to bring a doll for it. A kitty Hobi doll instead of the usual chipmunk or squirrel, but it really is just my favorite. I can’t stop thinking about the brainstorming sessions for this exhibition and the absolute genius who must’ve been like, “People love bringing their little 10cm babies places, let’s give them chairs and a bed to rest on and take the cutest photos to remember it by.” 

They need to collaborate with Takara Tomy and make this toy CNS car available to the public, like, yesterday. 

I’m gonna stop myself from saying anything about Jack in the Box and how much it means to me (and to culture) before I cry or I’m unable to shut up. So I’ll just say that it’s been divisive, but personally I really love how whimsical and silly and cute, how totally j-hope, the “Mona Lisa” cover is.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t really stop for the listening stations since the lines were long and I had this attitude of, I listen to them all the time, probably more than most of you ever will. So I almost missed this chance to hear the full version of “Blue Side”—a.k.a. “Blue Side (Self-Actualized Ver.)” as I’d called it when it was dropped without warning four years ago—a cappella, and I’m so glad I happened to read the sign. 

I fell in line and waited about five minutes before my turn. I didn’t know what to expect, but I quickly learned what “solely through his voice” meant: the audio included not just the main vocal track, but also his harmonies and his ad libs. The vocals are honey-smooth, but the rap parts are more raw, like they’re recordings he did in the moment while writing them. I have to stress here that there is no other credited vocalist on this song, and it was overwhelming to hear layers and layers of Hoseok’s gorgeous falsetto. The only reason I kept it together and managed to avoid crying was the threat of vulnerability in this crowd. Sometimes I think it’s only right that this experience be a once-in-a-lifetime one you can’t find anywhere else—I didn’t even stay to listen a second time since it felt like disturbing a holy grail—but of course I’d do anything to be able to hear it everyday. 

The room where you could leave messages on the walls had no more space, but I made do. I didn’t know if it would ever reach him, if it would even be decipherable, but I needed to let him know anyway: You’re the artist of my life.

My last meals on this trip: a saucy, creamy, crunchy, onion-y bulgogi burger paired with sweet onion shaker fries for dinner with banana split Dippin’ Dots for dessert, and a fluffy little omelette with breakfast sausages and tomato sauce (no rice, sadly) on the plane. 

Another detail I appreciated about the Mayven was how fuss-free it was, a relief for my social anxiety. I’d been looking for a “Do Not Disturb” sign to avoid housekeeping and learned that they didn’t actually offer it for days-long stays unless requested. Reception was on the second floor, so you could skip straight to the ground floor and slink away without seeing anyone. Nobody was at the desk when I checked out at 4 a.m., so I just left my key card with the automatic checkout machine. 

I had a surprisingly blasé, almost anxious going-through-the-motions attitude about going on this trip. I know it’s an incredibly privileged take and so many people would’ve loved to be in my place, but it’s been quite a whirlwind six months for me and I wanted to document it and write through my feelings a little. 

Work has been hectic with the other writers on the team moving on to different pursuits, leaving me scrambling to juggle productions, scripting, and daily programming. Finding their replacements has been taking some time. I’ve been pretty much burnt out and stressed since April and it hasn’t subsided. And it’s been so comforting to focus the rest of my energy on this tour and experience as much of it as I can, but that was the thing—with the rest of my energy used up like this, it left me drained, this supposed fluffy escapism ending up contributing to my burnout even further.

 

I still loved every second of it, don’t get me wrong, but it was such a strange feeling to grapple with. A kind of happiness that became all-consuming. I tried to make sense of it with Alissa as early as April when I flew to see him in Singapore. How I was so tired that a tiny voice in the back of my mind would say: I just want to lay in this hotel room and sleep and not go out. How I was so lucky to have seen him enough times—the fourth by then—that the smallest part of me could ever consider taking a j-hope concert (a fucking j-hope concert! me!) for granted like that. 

And then I was gearing up to go back to Seoul, and some days it felt like I was on autopilot, doing everything because I knew I had to. Because I still knew this was all I ever wanted. Endless logistics, too many hours at the airport, going on a flight all over again. There was almost a sense of dread to it, like let’s just get this over with. Part of it was definitely the depression talking. 

The crash that follows the euphoric sensation of a concert is a well-documented thing, but this is the first time I’ve experienced something like this, and it made me curious if anyone would know exactly what I’m talking about. 

Or maybe this is yet another symptom of growing older, simple as.

By the end of it I swore I would never get on another plane until October.

All I know is, all of this spiraling, it doesn’t negate the beautiful memories I left with, the only ones that will matter in the end. The hard parts were easier than I thought they would be, and this concert was one thing I never could have lived with missing out on. Because it was all worth it: Getting a ticket at all. Finally getting a visa that lets me come back whenever I want. Exploring on my own terms. The sweet onion fries I’m still thinking about. Seeing him. Seeing him. Seeing him. Then seeing him two more times. What I’ve held on long enough to be there for. Every little thing that’s led me here. Every little thing I almost took for granted but never could and never, ever would. 

I miss it all already. And I can only look forward to what’s next. 

(Just let me recover financially first.) 

Go on, hopefully, wherever you walk: A Hope on the Stage in Seoul diary

I started writing at an airport cafe, two hours before my flight to Seoul. I had brought my well-worn copy of Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast from when I was 17, wanting to preserve my phone’s battery. I read the first chapter—a young Hemingway writing in a cafe on a rainy day, pretending not to be preoccupied with the presence of a beautiful girl he would still remember 40 years later—and found myself itching to string together words of my own. So I put the book down, dug in my bag for my little spiral notebook, and wrote.  

In my bag: my passport and visa, my keys, earphones, mints, a hairbrush, perfume, hand sanitizer, lip balm, two Advils, a Snoopy doll, pens, a film camera, my wallet and cards, winter gloves, and printouts of my tickets to j-hope’s Hope on the Stage Tour, which would kick off the next day at the KSPO Dome. 

Just two months ago, I’d been telling friends that I couldn’t really see myself going to Seoul, that it wasn’t that high on my list of cities I wanted to visit. It didn’t seem like the best place for socially fragile solo travelers—and the visa application process felt so much more complicated than Japan’s. So I didn’t even try during the initial ticketing chaos for the Seoul dates. 

But the tour announcement plunged me into a spiral of anxiety and uncertainty. I would see posts from people about getting tickets and just want the same relief for myself. I found myself days later on my phone, checking Interpark at 5 a.m., having had no sleep. I don’t even remember what brought me there, but there I was, and there it was: a sudden singular blue square in a sea of gray.

An available ticket. 

Heart pounding, I let myself consider it. Just for a moment. I tapped it and put it in my cart, my thumb hovering over the checkout button.

And then the page refreshed, and it was gone.  

I told myself I wasn’t disappointed. I didn’t even want to go to Seoul, remember? But for the next few days it became an obsessive habit, checking the site over and over like it held some divine answer to life’s greatest mysteries. I told my cousin about it as we lurched along NLEX on a road trip to Bulacan for a family thing, pulling up the page yet again while we idled at a rest stop. 

“Here, see?” I said, tapping on the different sections. “I swear, it was right—” 

There. 

Another bright square among the gray. Like a neon sign for a safe haven during a storm. Orange, this time, but an unexpected pop of color all the same. 

One thing I’ve learned is that I tend to regret the things I deliberately missed out on so I could save money more than the things I allowed myself to enjoy, even if I had to splurge a little. What was I working so hard for? I’d admitted to myself over the last few days that I did regret missing out on the ticket I’d seen the first time, and this regret made it clear to me that I wanted this, and that I was willing to work to make it happen. I had time, and I could let myself have this experience. 

I didn’t waste a second this time, selecting the ticket and hitting checkout and typing my debit card details with adrenaline-shaky fingers. “What am I doing?” I kept asking her, or maybe myself. “What am I doing?” This was crazy. I was on my phone. I was on mobile data. I was at a gas station in rural Central Luzon. But the shitty data pulled through for me, and all of a sudden I had a ticket to the first day of Hope on the Stage in Seoul.  

The next five weeks became a blur of manic INFJ floundering, just me and my weekly planner app against the world. I got a haircut, I bought new pants and had them altered, I bought winter clothes, I applied for my visa, I booked flights and my hotel. They opened sales for obstructed view seats, and I got another ticket for the second day. Dragged myself out of bed, made phone calls, fell in line. Wherever my way, like the song goes. Just trust myself. 

I wasn’t sure how cold it was going to be (and how cold I was going to be), so I couldn’t really factor in any sightseeing. It was enough to focus my energy on going to a concert two days in a row, especially since I’d decided to stay around Jamsil and just walk to the venue. I found the idea surreal and exciting: a thirty-minute stroll through the park, and I’d get to see an artist that my world has revolved around in one way or another. 

It was a fly-in, concerts, fly-out situation. I had to bring a big suitcase to fit my puffer jacket, my sweaters, and the beautiful A-line mid-length coat I’d gotten, and I didn’t really want to deal with figuring out the subway, so I tried booking direct transfers to and from the airport on Klook. The WhatsApp communication in English, clear instructions, and set schedule were perfect for my OCD and social anxiety, and definitely made the premium pricing worth it. Getting to and from the airport has always been my biggest worry when traveling solo, and I’m so happy to have figured this out for future trips. 

The plane landed. I had made it. In the car I put on NCT 127’s “Angel Eyes” as I admired the cityscape and the Han River out the window.  

I stayed at the Jamsil Orosie Tourist Hotel, a chic little place with a vinyl listening lounge in the lobby and a mini-gallery on the top floor that had once housed Yoshitomo Nara pieces. I would leave the window open to let the cool air in since hotels had no-AC policies during more frigid seasons. It was charming and perfect, affordable all things considered, and the staff was friendly. I would definitely go back. 

Nights in Seoul were still hitting the negatives by late February, and it would snow as late as mid-April, but for the weekend of Hoseok’s concerts—and just for that weekend—the weather became warm and sunny, like the clouds were parting just for him. Six to twelve degrees during the day, zero to three when it got dark. 

But I quickly learned that I shouldn’t have worried about my body’s ability to adapt in winter, and not just because of this anomaly. Somehow, I was able to get around and stay cozy in just my sweaters, no outerwear or inner layers, even when I was out at night. I didn’t know my internal natural insulation was this strong. I would be walking and seeing my own breath puff out in wisps of white in front of me, and the chill would just feel pleasant and refreshing. The six large hot packs I’d brought remained six, and the gloves that were usually a staple for me in freezing cinemas stayed at the bottom of my bag.

I’d been romanticizing walking in the park for weeks, and it was everything I’d hoped it would be. Wide, evenly paved paths, plenty of benches when I needed to rest (I never thought they would be so comfy), gothic-looking trees and massive art pieces. So much open space to breathe it all in. The thirty minutes never felt like thirty minutes, and the 1.6 km never felt like 1.6 km.  

I very much wanted to check out a few restaurants that seemed amazing, but I just couldn’t muster the energy or bandwidth to even try and step inside, too wary of being a solo diner with the language barrier and locals’ alleged indifference (at best) to tourists. 

There was a Lotteria on the corner just before the park, and I saw that it had automated kiosks for ordering. On my walk back to the hotel after the first concert, I went in and managed to order a classic cheeseburger and mozzarella sticks. I had my dinner while watching that night’s episode of I Live Alone right on MBC, thanks to the room’s giant TV. Seriously, it was probably as wide as the bed, if not wider.

And it was Hoseok’s first guest appearance, of course. The one where, among many other endearing things, he took the drive-thru to get some In-N-Out. I watched him bite into his burger and took a bite out of mine, savoring the buttery potato buns and the salt of the cheese. It felt all the more nourishing, since I thought I would really go through this entire trip without any real food, and would’ve had to survive on the cheese bokki I had packed. It was just like any other burger, really, but the star for me was the dressing, which seemed to be this really rich, creamy, tangy, vibrant tartar sauce. 

He’d been live in front of me just an hour ago, here he was again onscreen, and now we were sharing this meal somehow. I was kind of having the best night ever.  

The day after I arrived, I had lunch then set off for the park, letting Naver Maps lead the way. Soon enough I could spot the vivid red of the tour poster adorning the dome through the bare trees, and for the first time ever, I felt it. The atmosphere, the energy thrumming on the day of a j-hope concert. I thought: So this is what it’s like. 

And I tried to embrace this atmosphere and experience it to the fullest, including the ARMY Zone, which I got to benefit from since I’d bought a membership for ticketing purposes. I was glad it included a physical ticket, since Interpark didn’t make any available, and the photocards were super cute. I also collected banners for the fan project and just enjoyed people watching, seeing how everyone expressed themselves and their love for Hoseok and finding solace in how happy and excited we all were. 

The day had arrived. 

I don’t really know how to transition to this. How to adequately express making my way inside. I feel like I was moving on autopilot. Facepass was so seamless and convenient, and they didn’t even check bags. 

And then I was at my seat, and the entire dome was red, red, red, and the anticipation was hitting a fever pitch. The crowd was different, I noted, nothing like Manila where we would erupt in cheers every time a song ended because it always meant we were just that much closer to seeing the artist we came here for. But I felt that telltale electric certainty, that awareness nonetheless.

 

There was an elevated walkway, a tiny square B-stage, and the main stage. It just added to the thrill, not knowing where he would pop out. Having no clue how it would start, what he would do, what he would look like. Anything could happen. 

This was the beginning of something special. Not just the start of the concert, but of the tour itself, of this whole new era for him. I felt so lucky to be able to witness it in person.

And then the red tarp on the main stage was moving, rising and falling, pulsing, appearing as though it were living and breathing in motion. I’ve seen it so many times by now, three times live and many more on a screen, and it never stops giving me the chills. The slow, lingering notes of “Music Box: Reflection,” eerie but magnetic. The stage design never stops being as much a star of the show as Hoseok himself, but this is where it’s most powerful and most effective—it’s just that the power never diminishes. 

He was rising, right in the middle, just as red, red, red. Fur draped over his shoulders, leather suit, sunglasses, that hair. Launching into “What if…,” a song that deftly balances apparent doubt and introspection with gratitude and self-assurance. Then comes “Pandora’s Box,” one of his calling-card songs with one of the best shout-along choruses, and a title drop for Jack in the Box. 

He literally lit the stage on fire with “Arson,” which remains unlike any song I’ve ever heard, followed by “STOP,” which was inspired by There Are No Bad People in the World, a book that never left his desk for like a year or two and that I desperately want to pick his brain about. (I had tweeted out wishful thinking for an English translation after his 2021 birthday live when he first talked about it, and that throwaway tweet actually manifested it like nine months later.)

And then it was time for my queen, “MORE.” A song I love so much it literally hurts sometimes, a song I still discover new things about. I’ve probably subconsciously been writing an essay on it since it came out. So I’ll just say this and save the rest for when I actually sit down and pull that essay together: it’s Hoseok’s musical theater “I Want” song, I love how passive-aggressive he is on it, the music video is cinema, I’ll never forget hearing the teaser for the first time, and the guitars and his screams in this performance could defibrillate a heart. 

It’s fitting to start off with the most dynamic songs from Jack in the Box, a body of work I still have trouble believing exists sometimes. Hoseok has evidently and admittedly taken a different route with this set of singles he’s been releasing to accompany the tour, and I support that and trust him through it—especially since he mentioned needing to establish a clear theme for when he actually begins a new album, which means his personal process and creative approach haven’t changed. But releasing “MORE” and “Arson” back-to-back will always be brave and unprecedented and, fuck it, hot in my eyes, and I want him to know that many of us did get the vision and the genius behind it the first time. 

He began “On the Street” with a gorgeous, poignant freestyle dance that reminds me of one of my favorite Hope on the Street lives. April 2020, when we all had intense feelings of longing and being lost and restless and afraid. Hoseok set up a camera in a practice room and danced for over an hour, and one of the songs he played was Nujabes’ “Luv(sic.) Part 3.” I watched this part of the live over and over that summer, strangely emotional but unable to verbalize why. Just that it made me sad in some way that was difficult to grasp, but also so hopeful. Seeing him in his element, no pretense, back to basics, sharing this vulnerability and his passion and this moment with us.  

I had the same emotional response to “On the Street.” A slower, stripped back version of the whistled intro raining over him along with these gliding butterflies. The butterfly confetti in Seoul was made of foam, which made their fall more graceful and unhurried, only one or two at a time. It all came together wonderfully.  

Something has to be said about how so many j-hope songs feel like definitive j-hope songs, “On the Street” being one of them. Like they could only ever have come from him, like they have the power to move you because every listen feels like the first. Like you’re seeing the big picture of who he is and what he’s capable of for the very first time, even though you’ve always known. 

 

The rest of Hope on the Street Vol. 1 followed: “Lock/Unlock” had him serving stable vocals while doing a full locking routine with a male partner who, on the second day, pretended to trace Hoseok’s body as if it were an hourglass figure. (I had to take some time and Process.) “I Don’t Know” naturally involved mesmerizing house dancing, and “I Wonder…” had such heartfelt choreo. He suddenly started singing a cappella after the latter, and I couldn’t understand what he was saying in the moment, so I thought he’d done it on a whim—which I choose to keep believing, just a little. I sang right along with him, every word. It was magical to get to create that inimitable harmony, and we sounded pretty damn good together, if I do say so myself. 

I stand by my opinion that “Just Dance” is one of the most romantic songs if people would just read the lyrics, and it was so exciting to finally join in for the infamous “j-hope! j-hope! j-hope!” chant before the bridge. It was only right that a song this romantic would be followed by what Hoseok calls his first real love song: “Sweet Dreams,” which he debuted on the first day of the Seoul concerts. The fog machines made the stage look so dreamy, and the song just sounded so pretty and sweet that I couldn’t help but smile the whole time. 

The song came out officially a week later, but I found myself listening to the live version I’d ripped from the livestream just as often, because it sounded fuller and more raw, with a guitar solo in the outro that isn’t in the studio version. It ended with this doo-wop-esque riff that made the song sound extra-lovey-dovey and wistful and the kind of ‘90s that resulted in something like That Thing You Do! 

I have this fear that Hoseok would ever consider “insight” or “feedback” from the wrong kind of people, that he would ever adjust to what he thinks they want to hear. He’s shared that part of his ambition does include creating a bona fide pop hit, and he’s trying to achieve that with these new tracks. Hearing this song (and hearing it for the first time live) reminded me all over again never to doubt him. That he can grow and expand and adapt to certain styles of songwriting and pop stardom while remaining true to the creative hallmarks that belong to and sound just like him and only him. That his integrity—one of my favorite qualities of his, and there are many—will never falter. And more importantly, that he will never embarrass me. Just kidding. 

Okay, this section is kind of insane and I don’t even know how to condense it into a few paragraphs. I can start with the fact that “1 VERSE” was the perfect way to set it all off, and I think I did a double-take when I realized what was happening, that my ears weren’t deceiving me. “Base Line,” meanwhile, was pure motion, and I was reminded all over again how much of a beast Hoseok is when it comes to layered instrumentals (and standout basslines). 

We finally got to hear “Airplane” live, after it was notably missing from the Hobipalooza set list! Here was when he moved to the elevated walkway, and everyone screamed when it transitioned to “Airplane Pt. 2.” I swear the air in the room changed when “MIC Drop” started, and with “Baepsae” it really began to feel like, I don’t know, going to Paris and seeing the Eiffel Tower. Something that you know exists like it’s a fact of life, immovable and fathomless and unchanging, something that almost feels like myth before you’re lucky enough to see it for yourself. That’s how it felt to see those practically patented hip thrusts with my own eyes. 

I also really love the way Hoseok knows which songs belong to him, capping off this part with “Dis-ease.” He actually sang most of it, the way he did in the demo he accidentally spoiled on live (a whole half a year before we heard the finished song, by the way), and he sounded great. 

He fell back onto a bed for “Daydream,” coupled with graphics making it look as though water splashed out, and the live band once again highlighted the delicate but intricate instrumentation in his music. “Chicken Noodle Soup” was the first solo work of his that I got to be there for when it dropped, so I couldn’t help but think: He’s really come so far. That, and: Oh my god, he just did THAT move from Becky’s verse, what the fuck.  

“HANGSANG” actually came after “Base Line,” but I wanted to single it out because it’s always been my favorite from Hope World after “Piece of Peace.” I’m forever obsessed with the attitude in it and how it ebbs and flows and transforms, kind of like MGMT’s “Flash Delirium” or even “Siberian Breaks.” The final verse just before the outro was where I lost my mind. There’s also this fancam that hit a million views from one of the shows after Seoul where he, um, appears to be saying “thank you” in sign language… or something else entirely that doesn’t seem to be all that innocent. 

It haunts me, it really does. 

And then there was “Outro: Ego.” When the video came out, it was like I was seeing him not through a microscope, but a kaleidoscope: infinite, effervescent, and constantly changing shape. At the time it was like really seeing him come into his own, and I knew he had so much more to prove and reveal about what kind of artist he really was. And just. I love this song so much, I can hardly stand it. It was one of the tracks I was most excited to experience live, and it did not disappoint.   

“Hope World” will always make me think about the moment that I’m certain cemented Hoseok as It For Me. I was reading his Time interview from when his mixtape dropped, and he was talking about incorporating classic literature and whimsical adventure stories into his lyrics, including Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. As a lit major, of course I was a fucking goner. There’s just something so YA love interest-coded about how he’s this literature teacher’s son who loves to dance. (Written by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan specifically.) 

He’s also mentioned how “Hope World” really captures his identity and artistry, and I wholly agree. Just hearing that ripple of water leading into the funky intro gave me the shivers, along with the stage lights and lightsticks illuminated in the unmistakable palette of the mixtape cover. It’s also the song where he makes it rain money (i.e. the now-notorious “Hobills,” or confetti of his face on the currency of whichever city he’s in) before the second chorus, because it “feel[s] like payday.”

I always love the part when he introduces his band. Total superstar move. And this is how he caps off an astonishing and, as far as I’m concerned, totally unheard of thirteen-song segment where it’s not a medley at all, almost all songs except maybe a couple were performed in their entirety with significant choreo, with full-bodied, stable vocals and the same boundless energy, never flagging once, back to back to back to back. 

He’s absolutely crazy. No one is on his level. They’re welcome to try. 

The VCR unfolded in bits and pieces as the concert progressed. It featured two Hoseoks (one of them trapped in a box), a whole bunch of easter eggs for his career so far, a cool vintage car, and some clever little match cuts. One of my favorite parts was the one that had the Hoseok in the box trying to find his way out, only to wind up right where he started, again and again, resulting in a sprawling shot that tracked multiple versions of him at once—all looking frustrated, and all looking hopelessly pretty in spite of it all. 

The conclusion doesn’t just tie it all together, not to mention break the fourth wall, it’s also the only time you get to hear “Safety Zone” during the show. It’s probably a top-three song for me, if not my absolute favorite of his (“Neuron” and “Blue Side” are hovering over its shoulder). 

I gasped when he put on a jacket, and it’s literally the one from Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” music video. For a second I was 15 again, visiting Betty Autier’s fashion blog for the millionth time just to admire her “Thriller” jacket and wishing I had my own. Hoseok’s looked super high quality, too, the leather a deep, cinematic red, not some cheap replica, so I had to wonder where they sourced it. It also ended any doubts for me that the music from the first VCR was at least a little bit inspired by MJ’s own music, I just couldn’t place where from exactly, just that it sounds vaguely like something from Dangerous. 

(It’s just my luck that they gave out “Thriller” Hobi photocards through ARMY Zone, and it had to be on the third day when I wasn’t attending anymore. My days of spending insane amounts on photocards are over, but for this one I didn’t hesitate to buy one off Twitter immediately.) 

I started a memory box just for this tour when I got home, and some of my favorite souvenirs have been the sweetest little gifts from the people around my section. The girl next to me on day one flew from Japan and she’d prepared packs with chocolate in Hope on the Stage wrappers, a logo keyring with a holo butterfly sticker, and a cute handwritten note. Another person was giving out random items, and I happened to pick up a Jack in the Box: Hope Edition JPFC POB photocard, which I don’t have in my collection. I’d wanted it, but it was too expensive at the time, so I was really happy.

During the encore, like with the band, he introduced each dancer individually and put their names up on a screen. It was a great way to honor not just these people who’ve made the shows as breathtaking as they’ve been, but also his roots in the street dance community, his first love and original driving force, and the power dance has to bring people together. 

“Equal Sign” kicks off the encore, followed by “Future.” There’s a video from the third show where he was just up there on his elevated platform, on his back, not saying anything as the backing track kept flowing around him, just taking it all in for a moment, as if reminding himself where he was and what an incredible thing he’d just done. Eyes closed, soft smile, deep breaths. Nodding to himself several times, which is what really breaks me.   

I’d get asked all the time, “So, how was it?” And for a good few weeks, I’ll be honest, I couldn’t even answer. Cliche, but there were definitely parts that might as well have been an out-of-body experience. I’d forget to look at him sometimes and just zone out to the music staring off into nothing, because it was fucking surreal, the idea of being in a concept of here and now that he also occupied. The presence of him, real and tangible but also profound and overwhelming.  

It was only later, and especially now, that I’m really able to stop and make sense of what it means to me and what I came away with. 

I thought I’d been moved by a performance before, but it was never like this. Never like him. I still can’t begin to wrap my head around how there could be someone out there who’s this talented, this principled, this captivating, this expressive, this whole. Someone who moves like water, sometimes like catharsis, sometimes like exhilaration. Someone with a clear, beautiful voice whose singing puts a pleasant weight in my chest—and when he’s delivering verses, that frenetic, addictive style shines through. And I get to love him? And witness him in my lifetime? And even be born in the same year as him? 

I told my friends that this is the first concert I’ve attended where I was happy for the artist performing on stage who finally gets to self-actualize and prove himself to himself and reach his final form doing what he loves exactly the way he wants like he deserves. Knowing what he’s been through, what he’s held back, what he had to overcome to get here. Something had shifted. He was so many Hoseoks at once, and they were all true, and I had so much affection for all of them. That’s what the nodding all came down to. 

He faked leaving the stage again, but I knew it still wasn’t over, because the most important song still had yet to be heard, and of course he was going to save the best for last. 

If there could only be one definitive j-hope song, “Neuron” would be it for me. Not just because it’s named after the dance crew that took him in as their maknae when he’d stopped being able to afford classes but still wanted to soak up everything he could learn like a sponge. From the intro alone—a blare of music and Hoseok’s layered vocals, that I’ll tell you again, we’ll never, ever give up forever in his spirited vibrato—I knew it was special. It’s a city song, it’s a song about synergy, it’s a song about movement and recognizing all the little steps that make up a person and make up a life. It’s some of Hoseok’s best work as a lyricist: We’ll always be alive to move us is a classic j-hope-ism, written in his one-of-a-kind syntax in English that says so much about how he thinks and expresses himself, his own personal language that transcends translation, and how he puts words together. Think “wherever my way” and “as always, for us.” 

And I can’t write about Hope on the Stage without mentioning the choreography for the instrumental break in the intro. Talk about a priceless deep rooted movement. I’ve never seen anything look more alive. 

On the second day, even though I was seated in the obstructed-view section, just before he left the stage for real, he turned to us, stopped in his tracks, bowed, and gave us a wave. I imagine sometimes that however far, however fleeting, we might have locked eyes. And then the lights came on, and he was gone.  

I didn’t cry. Not until I was walking back to my hotel after the first night, coasting along the park’s pathways and throwing my head back trying to look for the stars. I put on Lee Sora’s “Song Request” and NCT 127’s “Time Capsule” (One day, for a long time, this moment too might become a faint dot) as I went. I was thinking about the act of bringing myself to Seoul, how I was self-sufficient enough that I could just do that and go on this insane journey alone. I thought about calling my parents and telling them what had just happened, but of course I couldn’t do that anymore. I desperately wanted to know what they would’ve said. They would’ve been so happy for me. 

By the next day I knew the route by heart. And by the end of the trip, I would find that I was averaging 20,000 steps a day.

It rained on my last day in the city. I didn’t take my eyes off the Han River as we made our way to the airport. I hadn’t quite expected just how all-encompassing it was, the way it seemed to span the entire city. It made me wistful, how much it would heal me to live somewhere that accessible to a significant body of water. Knowing bits and pieces of Hoseok’s relationship to the river—late night bike rides, an endless view of it from his apartment window—it warmed me a little, now that I had some semblance of a relationship to it, myself. Or a firsthand impression, at the very least. 

It was past midnight when I landed. I didn’t cry at pickups this time despite my dad not being there to welcome me home. The ride I had booked had tinted windows, making my view of after-hours Metro Manila darker, muted. It was nice to be along EDSA again, even if it had only been a few days. 

I didn’t know what to do with myself. I thought I would crash and fall into a mood trying to pick my life back up after the concerts and the weeks leading up to them that had me in a tailspin, but I just kept going. All I felt was contentment, and there was so much more to look forward to. I would be seeing him again two more times, one of them being in my city. And I couldn’t wait, because seeing it for myself and being there drove home the fact that it’s something worth experiencing as much as I could.    

(And with six weeks between Seoul and Manila, I could finally fucking relax for the first time since the tour was announced in early January, I threw myself into planning this trip, and ticketing almost cost me my sanity.) 

My lifeline through it, of all things, was Nylon Japan’s 2025 horoscope. “You will be intoxicated by things that move you,” my April forecast said. “There is also the danger of sacrificing everything for the things you are passionate about.” The tour wasn’t officially announced yet, but I’d joked that I was definitely about to risk it all for Hope on the Stage Tour… and then April dates were announced for Manila, which was huge for the fact alone that Hoseok hadn’t been here in almost a decade. 

When I got the Seoul tickets, I checked it again and saw that my February forecast had also come true: “[You’ll] get a lot of stimulation from things you are passionate about. Many celestial bodies are grabbing the heart of Scorpio, so you may be shaken by something that will move your life.” (Not to mention the January one, which said I would be able to “identify the right answer and act accordingly,” and advised against being too much of a realist and putting my feelings on the back burner. It was this resolve to be frivolous for once and pursue this chance, practicality be damned, that helped me make this all happen.) 

I never did get to read past chapter one of A Moveable Feast on this trip. There was just too much going on, though I might pick it back up one of these days. But I think back to Hemingway and the Paris girl he never quite forgot about, and I can’t help but draw the parallels: just like in the book, there’s this boy I saw in a city that isn’t mine who will also linger in my mind for a very long time.