it’s not about you: on fan entitlement and the myth of “taking opportunities”

This is an essay about limited resources. About spending your money how you want. And, ultimately, about kpop.

But before I can talk about kpop, I have to talk about other things—so here we go.

My mom died seven months ago.

Sometimes I still don’t believe it. At least once a day, I’m struck by the realization. Sometimes it’s something that reminds me of her, but more often than not, it’s seemingly random.

The first day after she died was the worst. But by the funeral, I felt like I could breathe again, and I told myself that one day, I’ll feel better. Normal.

But time doesn’t make it easier. In so many ways, time has made it harder. Perhaps some unknown point rests just beyond the horizon—but how long must I go to get there? When will I reach that point when it doesn’t hurt so bad?

Unsurprisingly, this half year without her has been hard, and sometimes it feels like each day is harder than the last. Every day I am further from the last time I talked to her. Hugged her. Laughed with her.

my mom and I in 2021

And every day, I find myself a little bit further from the person I was when she died.

The world is not the same, and neither am I.

When my mom was hospitalized for the complication that would eventually kill her two weeks later, I was in Japan. It was the last day of a two week, magical trip—everything I wanted that trip to be. We ate delicious food, saw incredible sights, and spent time with family and friends. The night before, I had seen ATEEZ’s concert in Kobe. And, through their music, I was transported somewhere nothing bad could happen.

at the Kobe In Your Fantasy concert

So in almost all the ways that matter, my heart and soul have divided my life into two halves: the half that is happy and hopeful in Japan, and the half that came back to a life of chaos and mourning. When I think of my life, there’s before Japan and after Japan. I long to go back to Japan. I dream about going back. But I know it’s not really about Japan.

The reason we were in Japan in the first place is because my parents wanted my twelve-year-old son to go. More specifically, they wanted to see him go while they were still alive, because for the past several years, it’s all he’s talked about. It was his dream trip.

My mom was diagnosed with a life-shortening illness—pulmonary fibrosis—in March of 2023. One day, her lungs would turn to stone and she would die. We all knew that. But for a time, she was alright. She had treatments, doctor’s appointments, and medications. But she was still able to live.

Then, in November of 2024, my dad was diagnosed with stage 4 colon and liver cancer. His illness became the more immediate one. But it was never lost on me that both of them had illnesses that would one day take them.

And between my mom and my dad, my life has been a series of hospital visits, illness, worry, stress, surgeries, and chemo for two years. And quite frankly, it still is.

When both of my parents’ illnesses became so severe that they could no longer travel, my dad decided he wanted to make sure he at least saw my son go on what my son called “the trip of a lifetime.” And that is how we found ourselves in Japan at the end of October, very coincidentally at the same time that ATEEZ also found themselves in Japan.

But it was never lost on me that, had they been able to, my parents would have wanted to go too.

Several weeks after my mom died, I caught my dad looking through a travel brochure.

“I would’ve liked to have gone on a cruise,” he said.

And I nodded. Because what do you even say?

“Here,” he said, passing it to me. “Book yourself one.” Then he sat back in his chair. “You should travel while you can,” he said. “Your mom and I always talked about all the places we’d go once she retired, but then she got sick…”

“I’ll look through it,” I said, because it was the only thing I could say.

For the past several months, I’ve had the intense desire to get away. Even when my mom was still in the hospital, I was talking to her about going on a road trip to Salem. She loved to travel, and she was excited—asking if we’d booked hotels yet, what we would see.

So when she died, that trip became a priority—blossomed into a two week extravaganza where I see a quarter of the country.

But it isn’t the only trip I’ve planned.

Disney World. LA (twice). And now South Korea, where I hope to attend the ATEEZ fanmeet.

Which leads me, finally, to kpop. But it’s not really about kpop—it never really is. It’s about resources—both time and money—and how others feel entitled to judge the ways we spend them.

Jjongbear at Destiny's Memories in LA

A common argument in the kpop community—at least in the atiny community—is that certain people are “taking opportunities” from others when they go to too many concerts, have too many fancalls, or, in the latest version of this conversation, attempt to get tickets to a fanmeet in Korea.

All of these are arguments about opportunity. An opportunity that the speaker wants.

But—and I say this with all the love in my heart—it is not another person’s responsibility to ensure that someone else gets every opportunity they want in life. We are responsible only for ourselves. And these past seven months have taught me that it is okay to be selfish sometimes when it comes to living your own life.

There is a difference between actively hurting others—scamming them, being cruel, causing harm—and incidentally disappointing someone because you got something they wanted. Because at the end of the day, it is a lottery. I am not guaranteed to win every fancall I try for. I am not guaranteed to get every ticket I want.

We all work within the resources we’re given. Money is a resource. Time is a resource. Even energy is a resource.

But money is a resource that can come back.

I can earn more money, but I can’t go back to before Japan. My parents can’t take the trips they once dreamed of. And there isn’t a guarantee of a later.

Having money isn’t as important as having the chance to live—to truly live—your life. No, don’t go into debt. But save where you can. Forgo what doesn’t matter. And try to build a life that lets you say yes to the opportunities that do.

The current argument is that because the fanmeet venue is small (only 6,000 people) international atiny should not fly in, because they are “taking” opportunities from people who live in Korea.

And yes, the venue is small. And it would be nice if everyone who wanted to see ATEEZ could.

But an international fan using their time and money to travel is no less valid than someone who lives in Korea doing the same. We both spend money. We both try for limited tickets. And we both exist in the same system of chance.

It isn’t unfair because someone is taking something from you. It feels unfair because not all of us have the same access to resources. Which, admittedly, is a hard truth to sit with.

The truth is, we only call it “taking opportunities” when we’re not the ones taking them.

It’s a symptom of entitlement. “I deserve this opportunity more than someone else.”

But no one is entitled to an experience simply because they want it. Not because of where they live. Not because they’ve never had it before.

A person who has never had a fancall is not more “deserving” than a person who has. A person who lives in Korea and has already attended a fanmeet is not less “deserving” than international fans who haven’t. These experiences are not rights. No one deserves them.

But we can choose to live in a way that allows us to reach for the things we want. We can try, just like anyone else.

My dad will never go on his cruise; my mom will never get to Salem. And as their daughter, I carry those lost dreams with me.

One day isn’t guaranteed. We get the one life. And we have to make it count.

So yeah, I am going to travel.

I will see concerts with the best seat I can get and afford.

I will take the opportunities that are in front of me.

And I will be happy for others who do the same.

What moment would you like to remember?