Page 42 of When Worlds Collide
“But, what about your degree?” my dad said, frowning at me.
“I know,” I sighed, “I know it cost a fortune to send me there-”
“Love, we don’t care about the money,” my dad cut me off. “I meant, when did you know this wasn’t something you wanted to do anymore? You were always so gung-ho about it in school. I’ve never seen you so determined.”
I fought back the urge to sigh again, because he wasn’t wrong. I remembered how passionately I’d sold the idea of going to university to study music production. It was such a specific career path that initially, they’d tried to encourage me to go a bit more broad. Media studies, music theory, something with a bitmore versatility, but I hadn’t relented and, in the end, they’d let me make my own choices.
“I know, Pops. I think…” I paused to consider my words. “I think I convinced myself at uni that it was what I wanted, because I didn’t really know what I wanted." I took a moment to think about what I wanted to say. How best to convey what I'd come to realise over the past several months.
“Working at Pisces, it wasn’t really music production,” I huffed, “but I saw enough of it. I was around enough of it, professionally, to know that I can’t do it. All the tedious minutia kills it for me. And the politics of it all…” I rolled my head on my shoulders, exhausted somehow.
“I think I had to be in that environment to understand that it’s not what I want, because, I think – I know – I still want to be in the music world, but I don’t know how. Yet.”
I wasn’t explaining it well. Even in my head I muddled through it. I could feel the passion I still had for music creation. I just didn’t want to be the one creating it. I wanted to wrap the artistry of an unfinished song around myself and watch as it came together in a collaboration of artist, producer, and instruments. I wanted to celebrate its creation. I wanted to talk about it, write about it in my blog.
But how does that translate to a career? Maybe it didn’t. The thought was too bleak to be spoken aloud.
“And you think working at this Korean company will help you find something you want to do?” My mum asked sceptically. “And you couldn’t do that in LA, or back here in the UK?”
“I don’t know, Mum.” I fought to keep my tone even because I knew what she was getting at.
“But you do know you don’t want to be a music producer anymore?”
I felt my hackles rise at the bite in her voice.
“Yes, that I do know.” I felt the tic in my jaw, and tried to relax.
“I don’t get it, Kaiya,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “This just seems very rash. You only graduated a year ago, and you weren’t even in LA a year. Have you even given it a chance?”
“I tried, Mum, this wasn’t an easy decision.”
She scoffed, and Dad turned to her and said, “Let her speak her piece, Val. You know as well as I do that she won’t have rushed into this, not our girl.”
A lump rose in my throat, for an entirely different reason this time. Sometimes it was so easy to forget that I was not his own flesh and blood. He’d married my mum when I was three years old, barely a year after meeting her, and then he’d legally adopted me. Ernest may not be my father, but he was my dad.
Mum sighed. “Are you sure about this, Ky? Where are you living? What are you doing for money?”
Ah. I’d hoped they wouldn’t bring that up. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“I’m staying with my-” I cleared my throat. “With my boyfriend. He has his own place, so…” Gah, was there any way to deliver that information without making it sound like I was mooching off Jihoon? I deliberately omitted the fact we’d been staying in a fancy hotel up until this point. There was no good reason for them to know that particular fact.
“You’re living with him?” If my mum’s eyebrows shot any further up her forehead, they’d disappear into her hairline. “How long have you known this boy?”
I suppressed the urge to grin at her calling Jihoon a ‘boy’.
“Since April, Mum.”
“What does he do? Can he support you?”
“Good grief, Val,” my dad interjected, “are you going to ask to see his bank statements, next?”
My mum pulled back slightly. “I’m just asking if he’s capable of taking care of her. I mean, she’s clearly dropped her entire life to swan across the world to be with him-”
Dad plucked my mum’s hand out of the air – mid-gesture – and pulled it in towards him, holding it in a way I’d watched him do a million times.
“Val, she’s an adult. She’s made an adult decision. Besides –” he turned back to face the screen, leaning closer and offering me his best, conspiratorial smile. “You’ll get a job soon, won’t you, love?”
I just nodded.
