A Memoir of 120 Heartbreaks

A gorgeous international artist was coming to town for a concert. This was one of the rarest visit. After lobbying hard with the promoter and the artist's rep., a local fans club had been granted an opportunity to welcome him at the airport. 120 female fans gathered in that evening, half of them were teenagers. They prepared flowers, gifts, fancy paper flags and banner. They wore bright orange uniformed t-shirts with the club's name printed in glitters. They rehearsed a chant, continuously calling the artist's name in perfect rhythm. Some of them even managed to make friends with the airport securities. The group's leader only set two strict rules: behave and do not stand or move from the designated welcoming spot. So there they sat obediently on the floor, in rows, at one corner outside the arrival gate. O, did they create one awesome scene; they attracted attention from media and all the people passing, spreading their contagious anticipation to the surroundings. The artist was planned to walk by and stop in front of the group, so they could see and greet him without any barriers. Finally there was a hush that their star had arrived. The air was quickly filled with tension. The chanting started ascendingly, the flags waved cheerfully, the cameras were ready to shoot. And there he was. Wearing casual outfit and a baseball cap. And that's all the group could see of him. He was tightly covered by a bunch of securities, who dragged him away really fast. He couldn't stop to meet his fans as planned. Doubtedly he could see the flowers and gifts presented in a desperate way; the fans, as sweet as they could, had changed their position from sitting to kneeling, trying to reach him and getting his attention. He was that close to them, really close. They could easily jump in front of the outnumbered securities and forced the ring to loosen up. But the girls stayed put. They behaved and nobody moved from their spot. They didn't stop chanting while they saw their object of affection slipping away right before their very eyes. And then at the end of the corner, they saw him stopped and turning his back around. He was trying to see his devoted fans through the gap between his securities body. He waved his hand up high, flashing his brightest smile that only could be seen by the lucky people within his range. He managed to do that for a split second, before he was pushed back and was again dragged quickly to nowhere. He was gone, just like that. Leaving his fans drowning in their disbeliefs. Flowers and gifts remained untouched. Not a single decent picture was captured.

I sat right there among those girls, at front row, at the end of that corner. I saw everything. I saw excitement degrading into tears, I felt many hearts broken. The group's leader - the founder of the fans club, one of my best friends - caught me with her eyes. She shook her head. The silence of disappointment and betrayal was alarming. A big fat bold question mark hung invisibly. Why? What happened? We followed the rules. We behaved. We thought we did it right. But then how could it go so terribly wrong??

-- Jerry Yan Charity Concert at Sands International Executive Club Jakarta --

So afterwards we got our answer. Apparently there were some of the club members (they didn't join in the welcoming group) who went too far in that evening. Out of the leader's knowledge, they bribed some airport authorities to let them go inside the terminal, and they waited until the plane landed. Then they went INSIDE the plane to see the artist before he could alight. They pinched his cheeks, (suspectedly) trying to kiss him and following his every moves. That was why security went nuts in protecting him. But these shameless stalkers had got their benefits. And those nicer fans outside had got nothing. Effin' generalisation.

-- Completed on 27 October 2010, a four-year delayed memoir --