This is my design

“This is my design,” says Will Graham as he stands in a closed crime scene, surrounded by the corpses of a husband and wife. A criminal profiler, Will is gifted with ‘pure empathy’, a trait where he is able to assume the role of the killer in order to better understand them. Naturally, a risk of Will’s gift is that he can all too easily become the killer. This proves interesting when he begins to seek psychiatric help from none other than Hannibal Lecter. 

This is the basic plot of my favourite TV show, Hannibal. The interplay between Will, the profiler, and Hannibal, his therapist-slash-the-guy-he’s-trying-to-catch, has always fascinated me. Will empathises with the killer to the extent that he can share the killer’s mind, he seeks the killer, and he risks becoming the killer himself. Hannibal knows that Will is seeking him, yet continues to be his therapist and assist on cases, pulling strings behind the scenes to help or hinder Will. They develop a friendship, a bond, a connection no one else can understand. If Will is to discover Hannibal is the killer he seeks, he must not reveal his hand for he will die. If he successfully catches Hannibal, he will lose the only person who understands him. This complex power dynamic is one that constantly reminds me of my relationship with, or to, BTS. 

I’ve been thinking about using Hannibal as an allegory in Idol Limerence’s maybe-one-day-to-be sequel, Return to Bangtan, since 2020. I fear my mind has been too unwell (let’s not delve too deeply into the fact that both Will Graham and I experienced brain-related fevers and illnesses) to capture the nuance required of such a feat, so I’ve let it fall by the wayside. Yet this week, of all weeks, Hannibal and Return to Bangtan are back in my life. Floating around in the space just beyond my mind… I can feel it’s there–the book, the body of work, the concept, the entity–but it’s not time for me to see its face. So in coming to you to share my Big 2023 Plan, the first words that came to mind were “this is my design” à la Will Graham. Because, in truth, this is far less of a plan than a loosely designed sequence of events and happenings that will–in theory–one day culminate in an offer or an opportunity of a lifetime. Even then, it’s something far more than that, something I can only show you as it unfolds. 

And, of course, I cannot simply share my design with you without also making this an exploration of me, my life, and how everything leads back to them. BTS. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter aren’t in this chapter just so I can playfully introduce my ideas. They’re here to provide a framework, an allegory, a metaphor, and a psychologically-thrilling undertone to the interplay between BTS and me. This is my design, after all, so I might as well have some fun.

When I made my Big 2023 Goal in November 2022, it was visceral to me. I could see it all unfolding, despite how distant and unachievable it felt. I had a pile of A1-size paper that I attached to the living room wall so I could see my thoughts writ large. I felt sick, mentally, I was stuck because I felt my problems were so huge that I could never get to a place of my goal becoming a reality. This is where I started my presentation to my mother who sat on the couch, likely wondering what exactly was about to take place. On the first piece of paper, I wrote: Opportunities for growth. Though what I really wanted to write was: All the reasons why I’m fucked right now. Under this I wrote four subheadings, four areas I felt that I was especially fucked… or rather, four areas I was looking for growth opportunities. 

The first was an interesting one, because I had somewhat resolved it: Financial independence. Since taking a position at the newspaper factory a few months prior, I was making money more consistently than I had been as a creative producer/director/human. I went to work, I did one task for eight hours, I went home and a week later I got paid. The emotional and intellectual freedom that I felt from no longer giving my precious creative energy to someone else was priceless. However, the reason why it appeared in the ‘I’m fucked’ list was that night shift made it near impossible for me to do anything else in my spare time. Though I would sleep well during the day, when I would wake it felt as if I were drowning. Everything moved slowly and for the life of me, I couldn’t seem to feel awake until I was back at my job, sometime past 10pm. I could intellectually understand all the vital next steps I needed to take in order to save my company and get my writing career back on track. But I had no ability to follow through on them. A catch-22, if you like, for cash flow was king, but it was coming at the price of my dreams. 

Next on the list was: Scaling the company for growth. At this point, I still had my business partner who I met with every Monday. We would discuss the current state of the business and make a list of action items to work on. The next steps were clear: Get an admin assistant to free up more of my time, put in place new processes–for example, book ordering, royalty accounting, etc–find a new accountant. As I had run the company by myself for close-on three years, everything was inside my head, and it was time to share the load. However, there was one main problem that stood in the way of everything else: There was no cash flow. In setting up the company I made certain decisions that would ensure that my overheads stayed low. I knew it would be key in ensuring longevity, and getting me through the first few years of establishment. But in order for everything to run smoothly, I needed a steady publication schedule that kept cash coming into the business. Our perpetual best-seller, Idol Limerence, came out in March 2020. Our last major books were released mid-2021. And the first book I published for 2022 came out in December. I point this out because selling older books (aka a backlist) is far more difficult than selling new releases. And without new releases, the backlist doesn’t move as fast. I was starting to feel the bite of my hiatus. Despite the cost of running the company being incredibly low, it was still too much to cover, let alone rummage up money for much-needed investments–such as publishing new books.  

Interrelated to this was the fact that I hadn’t written and published a book since my debut work Idol Limerence. I was fortunate enough to be able to build Revolutionaries on the back of my (very small) success with the book. But now time had passed and in order to maintain eyes on me and Revolt, I needed to put out a new title. In fact, I put it down as the most vital component to ensuring success. For not only would it bring in cash flow and bolster the company’s (and my) brand, I needed it. I desperately wanted to write again. And I couldn’t. I was beyond stuck. Plus, if I learnt anything from releasing Idol Limerence, it was that I never wanted to release a major title without the right PR and marketing support again. The burden of doing it all as the author and the publisher and the marketer completely ruined an experience I hoped to be empowering. The next time I release a book of my own, I want it to take off into the stratosphere. The book is my golden ticket. But it’s the one thing I couldn’t bring myself to do. Not yet. 

Lastly, I wrote down something I didn’t expect to be struggling with: Making content. At that time I had 12k followers on TikTok and 103k on Instagram. But was I utilising these platforms? No. I wasn’t posting anything anywhere at all. My abilities and concepts are limitless. My potential is huge. And yet when faced with figuring out exactly what to post that would solve all my problems, I was paralysed with inaction. I didn’t want to talk about books I had already published. That was old energy. I didn’t want to make ‘viral’ content about BTS, because that isn’t who I am. I had a new brand that I had been developing since my then-business partner gave me the funds to buy the 103k BTS fan account: The BTS Theorist. I had my main brand of Wallea Eaglehawk across all platforms. Yet I was stuck as to how to approach both. Of course, what I didn’t realise was that I went through a major identity death in South Korea. So it was no wonder that I had no idea what to do with my limitless self. If I had clearly defined limitations it would be far easier to post online. I’d have one or two things I could do, even if terribly, and I could stick to that. I needed a clear sense of direction. An overarching concept, an era. There was an idea that was floating around the back of my mind, it played a big part in the viscerality of my 2023 goal. But I was still too stuck in the ‘I’m fucked’ dilemma, so I didn’t realise how simple it got to be.

The reason why I compare my relationship with BTS to the relationship between Will and Hannibal is because, in my experience, it’s incredibly psychologically challenging. BTS aren’t physically in my life. I experience them through two main mediums: The internet and my imagination. They are simultaneously everywhere–everywhere I look online—and nowhere–not actual people in my day-to-day life. Everywhere–they’re always on my mind–and nowhere–I spend my time doing everything I can to be rid of them so I can feel a sense of normalcy. Only to achieve this ‘nowhere’ sense of normalcy, turn around, and come face to face with them once more. Because they are, of course, everywhere. A life with BTS is one with a clear direction: I want to write books with them. A life with BTS is one with a perpetual reminder that I am no one and I am nothing; for I am no closer to knowing them now than I was the first day I saw them. However, a life without BTS is dull, insipid, and directionless. Even in my escape from them, I am not saved. Perhaps this is the parasocial dance of a fan, or perhaps this is my experience alone. 

Will has built a relationship of trust and understanding with Hannibal. They work together, they are somewhat friends, of the strangest kind. Yet what provides great tension in their relationship is the unequal power dynamic, which for the most part is unbeknownst to Will. You see, Will is seeking Hannibal, the killer. Will is vulnerable and in need of therapy. Hannibal, the killer, provides this help to Will, while also constantly concealing his true identity… only to leave breadcrumbs in the hopes Will finds him. Because only Will can truly appreciate the artistry and skill of Hannibal. Through therapy, Hannibal is able to influence Will, shape his mind, and lead him in whatever direction he wishes. Will wants Hannibal, yet Hannibal keeps himself at arm’s length by means of preservation… and torture.

Of course, BTS are not serial killers nor are they my therapist. Instead, they are in my life by parasocial means. I know them intimately, but they do not know me. I constantly seek them, and by virtue of their existence as idols, they remain perpetually unavailable. Their face is right in front of mine, like Hannibal’s when Will wonders who the killer is. Yet when I reach out to touch them, they aren’t there. The truth is, I do not know them, and they do not know me. But that doesn’t stop them from being a constant source of anguish in my life. My muse, my inspiration, my greatest torment: BTS. 

I often forget, though, that this is my design. If I don’t like it, it’s within my means to change it. And this year I’m doing just that. Instead of my dreams remaining out of reach, taunting me for my own shortcomings, I’m going to go all in. Whatever I can do to increase my odds, I’m going to do. Better yet, I’m claiming it all very publicly. I’m going to tell as many people as I can about what I want and how I’m going to get it. Even if I fall flat on my face and the world laughs at me, I’m going to do it. A radical reclamation of my dreams that I’ve nurtured for the past four years. The caveat, however, is that there’s no guarantee. 

Now with my ‘I’m fucked’ list out of the way, I was able to turn my attention to the main show. On a second sheet of paper, I wrote Wallea 2023 (What I can control). I wrote the number one and circled it a few times. My one and only major goal for the year: Get noticed by Hybe/BTS/Equivalent and be given an opportunity for collaboration or work. Underneath this goal sat my strategy for how I plan to increase the odds of this happening. There are two integral parts to the strategy that are heavily reliant on one another. One: Grow my public profile as The BTS Theorist and Wallea Eaglehawk–I want to be widely known as a creative/author/entrepreneur/scholar. And two: Have a thriving publishing company. 

In order to achieve these two parts, I have one plan. One strategy. One clear objective: Increase eyeballs (and ears) on me, all of me, everything I do. I need to reach a point of saturation. This will increase my odds of being “discovered” and will also generate a number of relevant opportunities that align with my goal. My logic here is simple: Get people talking about me. Get enough people to know that this is what I want to do, so that when an opportunity arises, my name is mentioned. When people talk about who BTS should work with next, they think of me. When ARMY asks on Twitter “Who should write a book with Namjoon?” my name will be mentioned in the replies. These tiny little moments, over time, and in great number, will result in bigger moments. And one day, for whatever reason, it’ll be BTS or Hybe or someone with means and power who hears my name and decides to do something about it. 

In order to achieve all this I’m going to do one thing and one thing alone… well, actually, this one thing consists of many, many things. And it just so happens that it’s one of the main items on my ‘I’m fucked’ list: I’ve got to make a lot of content.

But on what?

I was still stuck as to which direction I was headed with my content. Knowing it was the way to reach all of my goals only made me more stressed and confused. The BTS Theorist is an important brand that will help me establish credibility as a BTS expert, for lack of a better word. But it won’t be the thing that captures the hearts and minds of enough people to create enough chatter, enough buzz, to get my name out there in a big way. In order to reach iconic levels of internet acclaim, people have to connect with me, Wallea Eaglehawk. My story. My plight. That’s where the tension is. But how do I communicate this? How do I create something in content form that has the expansive capacity to elevate me to new heights? 

It was at this point that mum spoke up. “Why don’t you write about exactly that? Trying to get noticed by BTS.” Ah yes, but of course. My original visceral plan was just that, but I still had no idea how to approach it. Because of our different perspectives and backgrounds, when mum and I have the same idea about something like this, I pay attention. “Because everyone will be able to relate to it,” she continued, “and the best part of all is that there’s no guarantee that any of it will work out.” It was then that I was reminded of one of my favourite movies, Safety Not Guaranteed, and everything fell into place. On a new piece of paper, I wrote The BTS Theorist on one side, Wallea Eaglehawk on the other, and beneath them, I wrote BTS Not Guaranteed. With that, a new era was born. A convergence of my two public selves, a container for all that I am and all that I will become, a place to document, share and communicate my way right to BTS’ proverbial door. 

A synthesis, a symbiosis. On the surface, it’s something quite simple. A free book written and released by the chapter. I will encourage people to subscribe to receive it in their inboxes directly. I will share my history, my ideas, my progress, and my future plans in a way that is organic, naturally unfolding, genuine and unapologetic. To accompany this I will create video trailers and other content to publish on Instagram and TikTok in order to direct new readers to subscribe. 

Below the surface, everything rides on it. My first legitimate venture into writing since 2020. A reclamation of my voice as author, a retraining of my writerly self. The first and vital cog in the machine of my dreams, if I can pull it off… everything else will presumably, hopefully, flow. More books published by my company, cash flow flowing, more content for The BTS Theorist and Wallea Eaglehawk, and, eventually, my second published book. Then, I’ll feel like I have made it to a comfortable starting point where I can establish myself fully.

But of course, the crux of this torment and the reason why we’re all here reading these words right now: There’s no guarantee. In fact, the odds aren’t looking great when you take into consideration that this plan hinges on my ability to consistently write and create content. They just so happen to be what I’m struggling with the most. 

Interestingly, when I met with my therapist-slash-coach in early December, the first thing she decided to address was my inability to write. She saw it as the one thing that stood in the way of me scaling my company and my quality of life (...and doing menial tasks like replying to emails). We soon identified that it was at the root of all my current issues, all my trauma, and my identity crisis. Everything led back to writing. Or a lack thereof. Not long after that, I started to write again, and the way forward became clear. All I had to do was write. 

Though in my mind the success of BTS Not Guaranteed and everything I was planning to do would come from videos, I was being called to simplify. No videos, just write. Though the algorithm doesn’t favour it, though people don’t have the attention span for long form anymore, I was going to write…and I was going to find my success through writing alone. At least for now. 

That’s it really, that’s the plan. Well, that’s the plan to the extent I’m going to share with you right now. Of course, there’s more that I will share as it naturally arises. But truly, the majority of the plan hinges on this very publication. It’s the first step and represents a whole lot to me. I’m writing in one session and publishing a first draft. I want it to be immediate, raw, untouched. Me responding to the world right now. This is how I’m building intimacy with you, dear reader, and convincing you of my plight. For it is not me who will tell BTS I exist, it’s you. And for now, writing to you is my sole focus, until it’s time to venture further afield. 

This week just gone, on January 10, I celebrated three years of my publishing company, Revolutionaries. It snuck up on me, as time is a social construct and I was presently existing between constructs in a post-visit-to-my-hometown comedown. While I was away I was suddenly struck with the realisation that I indeed have an Instagram account with 100k followers (yeah, I lost a few from being inactive). Suddenly, I was gripped with the drive to start posting. To take up space. 

One of the key points of tension that my therapist-slash-coach and I visited many times was my feeling that I didn’t want to be seen online. I didn’t feel my voice was important enough, that it was pointless, that everyone’s heard what I have to say too many times. That I didn’t have the right to take up space when it came to talking about BTS and ARMY. Despite neutralising this trauma, I hadn’t returned to The BTS Theorist. 

But then, all of a sudden, I was back. I was back and it was January 10 and I was taking stock of all the Instagram accounts I had neglected. They were more than just accounts, they represent key brands and elements of my business… of me. There’s my bookstore, my company, three imprints, and a new business that I’m soon to launch. I brought them all back and displayed them proudly on my profile. I could see how they intersect and interact with one another. I could see how I could build them and grow them over time, as my capacity permits. All of this was now within reach because I had started to write again, because of this publication. Just like that, I was making content again. Just like that, it all started to happen. I returned from my time away to reduced shifts at work, they finally had enough staff and I didn’t need to pick up more shifts than I needed. Just like that, I had more space and time. And just like that, I was coming back. Slowly but surely. But it’s happening. It’s here. I’m here.

What is most interesting to me about my relationship with BTS is that I am the one who torments me, not them. I am both Will and Hannibal. I have used BTS for the past four years to compare myself to, even when I was on complete bed rest, unable to move. I would look at them and cry, because they were doing everything I couldn’t. When they’re everywhere and nowhere, that’s my doing. When they disappear and I feel lost, that’s me, too. One of the questions Idol Limerence poses is: “If an idol were to take off their mask, is it their face beneath, or that of the fan?” Speaking to this dynamic exactly, the confusing parasocial dance between a fan and their idol. 

I used BTS to simultaneously inspire and sabotage me for four years too long. Now, I’m stepping beyond the fan/idol binary to meet them as equals in order to create art together. There’s no guarantee that this will work out, but come to think of it… I probably wouldn’t want to do it if there were a guarantee, anyway. That’s the beauty of it. They are everywhere and nowhere, I am everywhere and nowhere. Yet it is here and it is now. That’s the beauty of art. Of life. This is the in-between space that I create from best. This is my design.