what it’s like to love a stranger
My mother often calls the pro-gamers that I follow ‘idols’. Even this trip that I just returned from, the trip that inspired this post, she referred to it as ‘a trip to see my idols’. In the beginning, I was skeptical. Idols? Are they really idols?
I realized that my — and, to a certain extent, our — perception of the word ‘idol’ has been highly influenced by pop culture. When I think of the word ‘idol’, my mind immediately brings forward pictures of Korean stars, impeccable vocals and fluid choreography.
A quick search online brought up the following definition:
Idol: A person or thing that is greatly admired, loved, or revered.
What do I truly feel for these pro-gamers? How had I become so invested in their happiness that their success has me screaming in delight and their failure bringing tears to my eyes? It isn’t admiration, despite their diligence in honing their craft. It isn’t reverence, despite their stamina in fighting through thick and thin to be the best.
It occurred to me then, sitting at the Bangkok airport, scribbling the draft of this entry into my journal at 5 in the morning, that my mother was right. I had flown all the way to Korea to see my idols: people that I greatly love.
Take a pause here, and think. Think about your favourite pro-gamer, your favourite team. What is it that attracts you to them?
Is it love?
I admire their perseverance. I revere the amount of time that they put into mastering their craft. Yet, it is neither admiration nor perseverance that has me flying across the continent to see them in person, that has me waking up at odd hours of the night to watch them play in international tournaments.
The gamer is indeed what started the attraction. And yet, as time went on, it became less about the Summoner ID and more about the person sitting behind the screen.
I, admittedly, often have trouble realizing that these pro-gamers are human, too. It seems so much easier to put them up on a pedestal, high beyond my reach. World Champions, I think, SKT Blank and AFs MaRin. LCK Champions, I whisper, Longzhu GorillA and Longzhu PraY.
Maybe I needed this trip. What started out as a trip planned around seeing pro-gamers do their job soon became an experience I am unlikely to forget. I am used to, before this, fanservice being aegyo at a camera, or hundreds of girls paying hundreds of dollars to attend a concert, for a split second high five that is meaningless to the k-pop idol but everything to the girl who poured out all her savings for that second.
I have been that girl. I have shelled out hundreds of dollars for concert upon concert, desperate for even a bit of their time. I have seen the weary smiles on k-pop idols’ faces as they hold their hands up for hundreds of girls to press their own against. I have been entirely ignored by some, even as I passed by them, ecstatic for the high five only to be devastated when they don’t seem to care.
I expected, going into this trip, the same from the pro-gamers. Instead of fake smiles and tired eyes, I got a person. I saw, in front of me, a human being.

MaRin, Worlds MVP, giggling at a mistake he made, choosing a filter that had to be downloaded. Kramer, up and coming ADC, shifting his head while making awkward noises because the filter wouldn’t apply to his face. GorillA, LCK Champion, fiddling about with his gifts because the paperbags kept falling over. Malrang, touted superstar rookie jungler from the Challenger scene, desperately backing away from the camera. PraY, top 3 AD Carry in the world, looking at a fan and telling her that it’s been a long time since he’s seen her at a fanmeet.
They’re human, too, just like us. They’re not some unattainable star in a faraway galaxy. They’re here, grounded like us, as eager as we are to make another memory with the people they see once or twice a week.
With this realization came the thought that, like most people to us, they are ultimately strangers. I speak, of course, merely for myself. As an overseas fan, I am unable to meet them on a weekly basis, the only things I know about them gathered from the media, interviews and videos.
“The camera is recording,” Peanut once said in a T1 Camera. “Ruler and Wraith are really different in private and in front of their fans,” Stitch revealed in a Samsung interview.
Ignorance is bliss, I think, in this case. I would prefer not to know whether or not they are wearing masks.
With all the insight I gained from the trip remains one regret. If you are reading this, perhaps you already know what it is.
I did not manage to meet the most important stranger of all.

I did not cry over this, at the point of writing the draft in Thailand. I have, since, breaking down into tears upon unpacking the hand held fan I received during SKT vs Afreeca. I sobbed, in the privacy of my room, of missed opportunities and wailed about the unfairness of it all. Why, of all times, did SKT choose to falter now?
Weeks ago, I wrote a single line: The higher they fly, the harder they fall. And oh, how the mighty have fallen, and how hard they have.
There is a line in the 2015 World Championships theme song: “Can we bring to fall the giants?”. In my time of loving these strangers, I’ve realized that yes, you can. We’ve known them as giants for so long that we fail to realize that, despite their success, they’re human, too. They too, hurt, and in the way us, as fans, do not owe them anything, they do not owe us anything, either. We are but mere spectators, the audience to the orchestra they perform with highly accurate skillshots and cleverly executed plays.
There will always be a part of me that mourns not being able to meet Blank, but I know that his job comes first. I will forever think of this missed opportunity, even if I do ever have the chance to see him in the future, but I know he does not owe me a fanmeet. I will not begrudge him anything, merely continue to support him silently, from a place he cannot see.
I cannot say this was a wasted trip; far from it. I met so many other pro-gamers that I love and was humbled by their presence.
I saw SK Telecom T1 watch each other practice in the booth, grinning like children and laughing at some joke or another. I saw Ever8 Winners lurking outside the Nexon Arena the way teenagers their age do in shopping malls. I saw Longzhu Gaming crowd around each other and holler about where they wanted to go after winning their series. I saw MVP joke around in the booth, harrassing each other and fighting to stand in front of the air conditioner. I saw the Afreeca Freecs’ scariest leader MaRin joke around with the youngest member Mowgli. I saw the ROX Tigers huddle into each other where there was no one in line for their fanmeet, almost as though counting on each other for suport. I saw KT Rolster, a rambunctious bunch mock fighting outside a juice stall, Score whispering into a grinning Pawn’s ear like schoolgirls.
Every single one of them is a stranger to me, every memory another reminder that they’re human. I don’t, and never will, know enough about them. I am nothing more than a speck in their universe, a girl with no Korean skills to her name, struggling to communicate, one that they will never see again. But I feel honoured to have even gotten a fraction of their time, even as a nameless face that will soon fade from their memory.
To me, those pictures I will cherish for a long, long time. The signatures received will be kept alongside memorabilia I treasure the most. Their smiles and words of thanks I will keep in my mind’s eyes until I no longer can.
I am as much a stranger to them as they are to me. I do not doubt the fact that they do not love me the same way I do them. It is but a part of the reality that I must live with.
But nobody said that it would be easy to love a stranger.
