1 week ago
12
Upgrade to High-Speed Internet for only ₱1499/month!
Enjoy up to 100 Mbps fiber broadband, perfect for browsing, streaming, and gaming.
Visit Suniway.ph to learn
Around this time five years ago, the world went into a tailspin. The COVID-19 pandemic kept most of us indoors — no vaccines yet, just anxiety, uncertainty, and an excessive number of banana bread recipes to keep us occupied. Terms like “Zoom meeting,” “work from home,” “remote learning,” “asymptomatic,” “PPE” and “plantitas” became as common as our reflexive reaction to a sneeze or cough.
But then, like a ray of sunlight after a typhoon, or a neon-drenched beacon of hope, Korean super-band BTS dropped a literal bomb: Dynamite. A song so bright and infectious, it lifted spirits across the globe. One of those spirits? My daughter’s. And, indirectly, mine.
She fell hard — plunging headfirst into the BTS fandom, memorizing lyrics (in Korean, no less!), dancing as if she had every Permission to Dance until she collapsed from exhaustion (after the third song), debating theories about music videos, and turning her room into a shrine dedicated to seven impossibly talented and well-coiffed young men.
At first, my wife and I were hapless bystanders, caught in the whirlwind of music and videos playing on a seemingly endless loop. Each song was Darth Vader telling Luke, “It is useless to resist.” But, I have to admit, it wasn’t just relentless exposure that won me over. BTS’s music has great beats, tight harmonies, and — this is the kicker — genuinely uplifting messages. I let myself be pulled in, one Spring Day at a time.
What can I say? I’ve been a fan of Brand Korea for some time now. People who have been following me sometimes ask why I write about Korea so much. The answer is simple: great food, beautifully crafted stories, amazing filmmaking, kind and friendly people — and the music (OMG!). Don’t even get me started on Korea itself as a nation of envy. It’s my deep appreciation for a culture that consistently delivers quality, whether in entertainment, cuisine, or the way it approaches life with passion and discipline.
So it’s no surprise that I was easily converted into an ARMY dad. That’s another term I’ve added to my post-pandemic vocab: ARMY — which sounds much hipper than its actual meaning, “Adorable Representative M.C. for Youth.”
Before BTS, I couldn’t tell one idol from another. Now, I’m not merely a sympathizer — I’m a full-fledged ARMY dad now. My YouTube Music and Spotify playlists are dominated by BTS and their solo projects. With eyes closed, I could tell if the high notes belong to Jungkook, Jimin or Jin. I can distinguish the rap styles of RM, Suga and J-Hope in under two seconds. And V’s voice? Instantly recognizable, even in collaborations with foreign artists.
I’ve watched their MVs, reels, interviews, reality shows, and streamed concerts, including their first concert in LA as the pandemic waned and their last in Busan, which promised more Yet to Come. Sadly, while my daughter and her friends have globetrotted chasing BTS, I have yet to see them live.
Then came the announcement: J-Hope, freshly discharged from military service, would perform in Manila as part of his “Hope on the Stage Tour.” Probably only one out of seven international acts could fill concert venues these days. J-Hope is one of them, with tickets to his show selling out faster than I could say Chicken Noodle Soup. Even my daughter and her friends have to fly to Thailand because they couldn’t score Manila tickets despite their, um, concerted efforts. A question to our concert organizers: Why are tickets here significantly more expensive than in other countries? It’s not helping our local tourism industry.
Assuming I had won a Golden Ticket and managed to be part of the collective, would I, a Gen Xer, even fit in? BTS concerts are packed with devoted, screaming fans, most of whom were born around the time I was figuring out how to work an iPod. Would I be that dad, the one who sticks out like a sore thumb, awkwardly waving an ARMY Bomb like a lighter at MJ’s HIStory World Tour, trying to keep up with the fanchants while simultaneously worrying about my knees and lower back?
The Tagalog idiom “nagmumurang kamatis” — which describes an older person trying to look or act young — comes to mind. That could be me, yes, especially when I attempt their dance steps. But in my defense, BTS transcends age. Their music, performances, and work ethic are things that any generation can appreciate. Right?
So, I came close to seeing J-Hope perform onstage. No worries. I’ll wait until the rest of the group completes their mandatory military service (in June!). The real question is: when that moment finally arrives, will I have the gall to join the “in” crowd, or will I be the first casualty of an overenthusiastic MIC Drop dance attempt? Only time will tell.
In the meantime, I continue bonding with my daughter over BTS, especially during the daily commute. I claim I could do the Butter choreo (in my head), hum Boy With Luv while imagining Halsey in all her cutely graceless glory, get emotional over Blue & Grey, and suddenly need a workout playlist — only to fill it with Run BTS and Dope. I’ve even found myself reflecting on the deeper messages behind songs like Magic Shop and Love Myself. Who knew that at this age, I’d be embracing K-pop philosophy?
From time to time, I’d overhear my daughter’s conversations about BTS. They’re almost always full of joy. Thought bubbles saying “2! 3! (Hoping for More Good Days)” float before me. Other times I’d see her smiling, hear her giggling like a teenager while watching something BTS-related. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t live vicariously through those moments. Deep down, I know: I have crossed over. There’s no going back.
And here’s a prediction — 20 or 30 years from now, today’s ARMYs will be queuing up and shelling out a fortune for a BTS reunion concert. By then, they’ll be at the peak of their careers, with their own families, still clutching their lightsticks, hoping to relive the magic.
If I’m still around, I’ll probably be right there with them, except with a more strategic game plan to secure tickets (because we all know how impossible that is). It’s no different from me going to see Daryl Hall in Manila — a nostalgic experience years in the making. Hopefully, BTS will still deliver an electrifying performance and not leave the audience with the kind of disappointment that comes from watching a beloved artist struggle through a setlist like a geriatric marathoner.
In that future grand event, I’ll try to sing along, waving my very own ARMY Bomb, and hoping my knees don’t give out mid-Idol. Because in the end, being an ARMY dad isn’t just about the music — it’s about this strange, wonderful shared experience that bridges generations. And if I have to embarrass myself in the process, don’t fret. I’m Fine. Life Goes On.
