Big Show

We were the oldest and the whitest in the crowd. From outside the stadium we could hear the teenage scream. An usher opened a curtain to a sky of orange star plastic lanterns gripped and shook by all those little paws.

Each year Big Bang puts on a Big Show in Seoul Olympic Park. G-Dragon and T.O.P., the leaders, struck out solo, and this is the band’s return. So we snuck into our seats, eyes glued to the dancers on the spider stage.

Soon as we sat down the leaders took to segways and rolled out in matching suits, fur stoles draped over one shoulder. They busted into the hits and kept them coming all night, spliced together with fireworks, bursts of flames, a short film, and a giant cannon.

We left the stadium with stupid grins like we were fourteen again and had just kissed our favorite Backstreet Boy.

Power of Purity

The second we stepped out of the subway, we heard a Korean pop song. We were headed to City Hall to take photos in front of a mammoth of a photo collage of Koreans standing with arms in a question mark, happy on the street.

The space was already taken. We were still across the street when we heard our first hallelujah. It was that kind of pop show. In the dark damp plot of green grass in front of City Hall stage, a factory of individually wrapped Christian Koreans, bobbing up and down to the beat in their translucent plastic rain suits.

In between the Korean melody, inspirational messages in English letter blocks rolled across the screen. The Power of Purity, the crowd’s matching white t-shirts all read. They surged forward and shook with excitement, clapped hands above their heads.

Eventually we made our way to the photo walls we’d came for, but by the time we stood in front of each other’s cameras we had an unexpected expression of shock and pleasure written on the face.

Dear Wondergirls: welcome to the front row.