Flip the Script - Jenlisa Adaptation

Chapter 1

I let out a quick sigh. "You're right. As always. Hopefully no one makes fun of my Korean."

"They're not going to. You practiced so much! And honestly your Korean wasn't even that bad in the first place. Why are you worrying about it now?"

While I lived in a not-so-diverse part of the New Zealand South, I spent countless nights cuddled up on the couch with my mom watching every Korean drama I could get my hands on. K-dramas were my way of feeling like I belonged somewhere when I lived in a place where no one but my parents looked like me.

But when I was scouted by an entertainment company in middle school and actually moved to Seoul four years ago, it didn't take long for me to realize I'm only as Korean as a sweet potato stuffed crust pizza. Yeah, sure, sweet potato stuffed crust pizzas are a staple of Korean Pizza Huts. But they're still pizzas. Which means they're not very Korean at all.

I may not feel Korean enough, but tonight everything depends on convincing people I belong here. My parents gave up the life they had in New Zealand to move back across the world with me. And everyone involved with the show worked so hard to get us to this point. As the co-lead, my performance affects the ratings and consequently their jobs.

Tonight everyone will be watching.

"Jennie?" Sophia says, bringing me out of my thoughts.

I sigh again. "Sorry, I'll try to relax."

"Excellent idea. Eat yummy food, put on a facial mask, anything that'll help you feel better.  Talk to you after the premiere?"

"Yup. Thanks, Sophia."

By the time we hang up, I've arrived at home. It's 8:45 p.m. fifteen minutes before the show's premiere.

The moment I open the door, Mom and Dad hug me. Mom's holding a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos, my favorite snack, while Dad's got a pair of chopsticks in one hand. I almost burst into happy tears then and there. As much as I love wasting Cheetos, I hate getting the red dust on my fingers. So I eat them with chopsticks. My parents know me so well.

"We're so excited to watch the show!" says Mom.

Not much for words, Dad doesn't say anything. But he doesn't have to. His proud smile says enough. He's a strong and silent Asian patriarch type, so a smile from him is the equivalent of glowing praise from someone else.

My parents work long hours, so I know how hard it must have been for them to make time for this. My stomach aches from how thankful I am. My life isn't perfect, but one thing I definitely lucked out on are my parents.

I plop down into my usual space on the couch, right in between Mom and Dad. We rarely have time to watch TV together anymore, but when we do, I cherish every second of it.

Too nervous to stay still, I bounce my leg up and down as I snack on my Flamin' Hot Cheetos, plucking each one out of the bag with my chopsticks and popping it into my mouth.

Mom, like she always does, notices immediately and says in a firm but gentle voice, "Jennie, you know bouncing your leg like that is bad luck! You're shaking your good fortune away."

I grew up with my parents telling me not to do seemingly random things like shaking my leg or leaving the fan on before I sleep at night. Back in Florida, I thought it was just my parents who had these oddly specific superstitions. But when we moved here, I heard ahjummas at a seolleongtang restaurant gossiping about fan death and realized those beliefs are part of what made my parents Korean in ways that I'm not.

I half pay attention to the commercials before the premiere, alternating between looking at my phone and the TV. When I first moved to Korea, the ads fascinated me since they're all visually stunning. But they also disturbed me a little bit since everyone looks unnaturally bright and happy, like they live in some alternative utopian society. And everything is so "per-fect," too, with grandparents sitting at tables with two parents and two children- a boy and a girl, of course.

Sure, my own family is pretty heteronormative and nuclear, but that doesn't mean I for sure want a family like that in the future. I'm bi, and I don't know who I'll end up with yet. And I'm nowhere close to even thinking about kids. I wish Korean media had more flexibility for other lifestyles.
When the last ad fades into black at exactly nine p.m., I sit up straight, with one hand in Mom's and the other in Dad's.

"It's going to be great," Mom says. "Appa and I are so proud of you."

Dad squeezes my hand, and I squeeze his back. His hands are a little sweatier than normal, but I smile and hold on tight.

Four months and counting if rehearsals and shooting days. Endless days and nights of filming. All the blood, sweat, and tears that the other members of the cast and crew, my parents, and I have put into this show so far. Everything has come down to this.

I let out one last slow breath and watch the show unfold.