Some people walk beside you without ever knowing they do.

They don’t know every chapter you’ve lived through, yet somehow they become woven into your story. They are there during the seasons that shape you—the uncertain beginnings, the quiet victories, the disappointments, and the dreams that slowly take form. Years later, when you look back, you realise they weren’t just someone you admired.

They quietly walked beside you while you were becoming yourself.

For me, that person is Jung Ilhoon.

The Years That Shaped Me

I was 22 years old when I first discovered BTOB in 2013. I was navigating my first job—a season that was exciting, but also exhausting. Like many young adults, I was trying to figure out who I was and where life was taking me. After long days at work, I found myself turning to BTOB, and little by little, they became a source of comfort and joy.

As I spent more time getting to know the members, I found myself becoming increasingly drawn to Ilhoon. He fascinated me because he was impossible to predict.

One moment, he would have me laughing out loud with his quick wit and playful humor. The next, he would be thoughtfully explaining the deeper meaning behind a song with such sincerity that I found myself seeing it in a completely different light. He possessed so many different sides that I never knew which version of him I would encounter next, yet somehow every version felt genuine.

Then there was his songwriting.

The more I listened to the songs he wrote, the more I appreciated the honesty behind his lyrics. They weren’t simply beautiful words put to music. They reflected someone who thought deeply, observed carefully, and wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable. Even now, I still find myself returning to them, discovering new meaning depending on where I am in life.

I continued watching him grow—not just as an artist, but as a person. Every album, every performance, and every interview only deepened my respect for him. Beyond his talent, what stayed with me most was the kindness I consistently saw in him. You can’t truly know a celebrity through a screen, but sometimes you catch glimpses of someone’s character in the way they treat people, speak about their work, and carry themselves. Those glimpses convinced me that behind the artist I admired was someone with a genuinely good heart.

Somewhere along the way, admiration quietly became unwavering support.

If you had told my 22-year-old self where that admiration would eventually lead, I wouldn’t have believed you.

Not because I dreamed of interviewing Jung Ilhoon one day.

The truth was, that possibility had never even crossed my mind.

What I couldn’t have imagined was how one simple decision—to keep supporting an artist whose music resonated with me—would quietly shape so many chapters of my own life.

As the years went by, I became the head of BTOB Philippines, working alongside people who poured their hearts into supporting artists they admired. What began as cheering for an artist grew into organising comeback support projects, coordinating streaming and voting teams, and bringing fans together for a common goal.

I didn’t realise it then, but those experiences were teaching me far more than I knew. They taught me how to lead, communicate, organize, and build a community.

Whenever I had the opportunity, I travelled to attend Ilhoon’s events, especially in Korea and Japan. Those trips challenged me in ways I never expected. They taught me independence, gave me the courage to navigate unfamiliar places on my own, and slowly expanded my world.

Over time, I became a familiar face at his events, and eventually, he even remembered my name.

While my life as a fan continued, another passion quietly began taking shape.

I began volunteering as a writer for concerts, fan meetings, and artist interviews whenever friends in the media needed an extra hand. What started as a hobby gradually became something I genuinely cared about. Without realising it, I was learning how to ask better questions, listen more carefully, and tell stories that mattered.

At the time, none of these experiences seemed connected.

I wasn’t thinking about where they might lead.

I was simply saying yes to opportunities that excited me.

Supporting an artist.

Leading a fan community.

Travelling alone.

Writing articles.

Making lifelong friends.

Each chapter felt separate while I was living it.

Only years later would I realise they had all been quietly shaping the person I was becoming.

Meanwhile, Ilhoon was growing too.

Over thirteen years, I watched him mature as an artist, continue refining his craft, pursue his passion with unwavering dedication, and persevere through seasons that were undoubtedly difficult.

Our journeys unfolded separately, each taking unexpected turns.

At the time, I thought I was simply supporting an artist whose work had become part of my youth.

I had no idea I was also becoming the person who would one day sit across from him—not as a fan waiting in line, but as a writer invited to tell his story.

The Full Circle Moment

The morning of the interview, I found out that I would be leading it.

I remember staring at my phone for a few seconds, reading the message again just to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood.

Me?

After more than a decade of supporting Jung Ilhoon, I wasn’t just going to see him again.

I was going to interview him.

By the time I arrived at SBTown’s office, I had already given myself countless pep talks.

Be professional.

Don’t let your nerves show.

Apparently, I wasn’t as composed as I thought.

One of the staff looked at me, smiled, and said,

“You’re shaking.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Somewhere between the excitement and the nerves, I whispered a quiet prayer.

Lord… Ikaw na po bahala.

Then, almost before I was ready, the staff opened the door.

I took a deep breath.

And stepped inside.

The first thing I noticed was his eyes.

The moment he saw me, they lit up with recognition.

Before I could overthink anything, I smiled and broke the ice with a joke.

“Hi! I’m not even going to pretend I’m not a fan.”

Everyone laughed.

It was the perfect way to acknowledge the obvious.

Before we officially began, I handed him a gift from his Filipino fans—a custom-made barong by Filipino designer Happy Andrada.

To us, it represented home. It represented years of love and support from fans who had continued cheering him on across time and distance.

I didn’t expect what happened next.

He thanked me, unfolded it, and almost immediately put it on.

The room filled with smiles.

So did I.

It was such a small gesture.

But somehow, it meant everything.

After we exchanged our greetings, something happened that caught me completely off guard.

Instead of simply waiting for the interview to begin, Ilhoon turned the conversation toward me.

“How are you? Have you been good?”

Then he smiled and said,

“I remember you because I think you’ve been a fan for a long time. I was so happy to see you yesterday.”

For a moment, thirteen years quietly folded into one conversation.

Years ago, being recognised by him would have made my heart race.

This time, it simply made me smile.

Somewhere in that conversation, I stopped feeling like a fan interviewing the artist I had admired for thirteen years.

I was simply a writer talking to an artist whose work had quietly accompanied so many years of my life.

As the interview began, something unexpected happened.

The nerves disappeared.

Somewhere between my first few questions and his thoughtful answers, I found myself completely immersed in the conversation.

We talked about music—not just as something we create or listen to, but as something whose meaning changes as we grow older.

One answer stayed with me.

We spoke about “Insane,” BTOB’s debut song.

He shared that when he first recorded it, he was too young to fully understand the emotions behind the lyrics. If he could sing it again today, he said, he would sing it with the perspective of the person he has become.

I loved that answer.

It reminded me that songs stay the same.

People don’t.

As listeners, we hear familiar lyrics differently as we grow older.

As artists, they create differently because they have lived more.

Somehow, we had both arrived at the same place.

Not the same experiences.

Just… a different understanding of life than we had thirteen years ago.

Of course, there were lighter moments too.

At one point, he jokingly called himself “a hot guy.”

I couldn’t help but giggle.

Some things never change.

That playful humour was one of the reasons I had admired him all those years ago, and hearing it again made me smile.

Not because it reminded me of the past.

But because it reminded me that some parts of people remain wonderfully familiar, even as they grow.

When the interview ended, I gave him a few more gifts from Filipino fans.

We thanked each other, took photos together, and just before we parted ways, he smiled and said something I’ll always remember.

“I’m happy that you interviewed me.”

Then he added,

“We should meet each other more often.”

It was such a simple sentence.

One that could easily be forgotten.

Somehow…

I don’t think I ever will.

As I walked out of the room, I expected to feel overwhelmed.

Instead, what I felt was something much quieter.

Peace.

The kind of peace that only comes when something you’ve carried in your heart for years finally finds its place.

For the first time, I wasn’t walking away wishing for one more conversation.

One more interaction.

One more photo.

My heart was simply… full.

Full because he was doing well.

Full because I had finally lived a dream I never thought possible.

And full because, somewhere along the way, I had grown too.

I had found my own dreams to chase.

My own happiness to hold onto.

My own life to build.

I would always support Jung Ilhoon.

But now, I could do so with a heart full of gratitude, contentment, and peace.

The Journey to That Room

As I left the interview venue that afternoon, I found myself thinking less about the interview itself and more about the thirteen years that had led to it.

In that interview room, it wasn’t just my 22-year-old self sitting across from Ilhoon.

It was every version of me.

The young professional trying to find her place.

The young fan who boarded flights she never imagined taking.

The fan club leader who discovered she loved bringing people together.

The volunteer writer who kept saying yes to every opportunity to learn.

And the woman who eventually built a career, moved to another country, found people who became home, and slowly created a life she loves.

They had all made it there.

The greatest gift Ilhoon gave me was never a handshake, a hug, or even remembering my name.

It was inspiration.

During Ilhoon’s hiatus, one song stayed with me more than any other: “Someday.”

“Some day, let’s meet again
On a better day
Let’s be more happy, more cool
Like the ocean with waves
Let’s meet again
I’ll wait for us
Let’s be more happy, more calm
Some day, under the heart fluttering sunlight”

For years, those lyrics gave me hope.

Today, they mean something entirely different.

As I looked across the table that afternoon, I couldn’t help but wonder if every version of Ilhoon throughout those thirteen years had arrived there too.

The young artist who wrote Insane before he fully understood its emotions.

The artist who persevered through difficult seasons.

The artist who continued refining his craft, growing, and finding his way back.

Just as every version of me had quietly led to that moment, perhaps every version of him had too.

For twenty minutes, our paths crossed once again.

The interview itself may have lasted only a short while.

But the journey to that room took thirteen years.

We met again.

On a better day.

No one else will ever walk beside the years of my youth.

For me, it will always be Jung Ilhoon.