OPEN LETTERS
An Open Letter to Justin Bieber
From one aunt to a former teen heart-throb
Dear Justin,
Hey, how are you? Yeah, I know you don’t know me. After all, I was just one of the many millions of those too-old guardians that accompany their daughters/nieces/granddaughters to one of your concerts many, many years ago.
The funny thing is, even though you don’t know me, you’ve made quite an impact on me.
Note: to me, not only to my then-junior-high-school niece who obviously was your biggest fan (although lots of teens at that time might have called themselves your “biggest fan”).
As the aunt of your “biggest fan”, I had one sole mission in life — at least according to my niece: to help her get everything Bieber-related items that she may need/want.
You know how needs and wants might be blurred when you’re into something so much, right? I’m sure you know.
So, years and years ago when you decided to hold a concert in this far-away country in Asia, she called and reminded me of that sole mission in my life.
*sigh
Since my niece and her parents lived in another city, the responsibility naturally fell to my shoulder to buy her a ticket. And another one for me because she was still too young to attend a concert on her own, said the parents.
And so I wait in line for hours — under direct sunlight — because apparently, so many teens wanted to see you sing and dance on stage that they already stood in line from 6 AM, way before the actual ticket box was opened. But I stuck it out.
For your concert. Ups, for my niece.
Concert tickets — check. Transportation — check. Accommodation for the night — check. Food for the concert aftermath — check
Oh, by the way, do you still remember what your fans used to call themselves? Belieber, hope you remember it. Because I do.
Only days before the concert, my niece sent me a text saying that there’s a local magazine running a special coverage on you. That her circles of Justin fans are all saying it could sell out very quickly. And since I once worked in a magazine, she begged me to somehow get that limited magazine for her.
And because I’m such a nice aunt *another sigh, I tried calling my acquaintance. But it was no use. She said it really was a hot potato and that even the editors could not get a hold of the finished product first.
She gave me a number for placing an order. I called in, but the line was always busy. I tried again and again.
Remember, this is not for yourself, I said to myself to calm down.
And finally, maybe on my eleventh tries, when I was calling using the office’s landline. (Trust me, I tried using my cell phone many times).
I was relieved. But the operator could not hear me clearly. I couldn’t blame her. She must’ve received hundreds of calls today. And my office was not known to be a quiet place either. People are speaking left and right.
So I tried to go to a corner (as much as the phone’s cord allowed me) and speak louder.
Me: I’d like to pre-order Magazine A, just one copy, please.
Operator: Sorry, what?
Me: Pre-order Magazine A, just one copy.
Operator: Issue number?
Me: I don’t know the issue number. The newest one. Err… no, the special edition one.
Operator: The title?
I looked down at the text from my niece. I said it once, twice… but the operator still can’t get what I was saying.
Me: I’M A BELIEBER.
Operator: Okay.
When I put down the phone, strangely the office was quieter.
A lot quieter.
I walked back to my seat. My life’s mission is accomplished. I was content. Until one of my seniors said hilariously, “Soooo… you’re a Belieber aren’t you?” and laughed.
Imagine saying that as a thirty-something, in a professional setting.
The whole room laugh and teased me endlessly.
So I had to explain myself: no, no… you guys got it wrong. It was for my niece. She’s the Belieber.
But you know, it was just no use. I just had to accept my fate.
So, Justin, thank you for giving my niece a full experience of becoming a fan.
And thank you for that one-year-long emotional scar you’ve given me.
Cheers!
The Aunt
