Holding My Story
“If you ask me, Jun… you’re a little…”
Vanessa hesitated, then pressed on.
“This might come off as rude, but I’m going to be honest. It isn’t so much that you lack confidence in yourself. It’s more like you don’t care about yourself at all.”
Cassandra and Greg, who had been listening quietly, chimed in at once.
“Exactly. I’ve been saying that forever. Jun needs to start paying a little more attention to himself.”
“Yeah, you’ve always been like that.”
Excuse me? I protested at the two of them without a word, but Vanessa only looked as if she had expected exactly that and spoke with firm conviction.
“If you’re going to make a living as an influencer, you need to know your strengths and weaknesses better than anyone. And for that, you first have to look at yourself with care — and actually cherish yourself.”
“...Yes.”
Faced with advice from a towering senior in the industry, I could only nod along. I had a few choice words for Greg and Cassandra, but there was no point wasting time making excuses in front of a veteran who was actually trying to help me.
“I’ll say it again — start by showing more of yourself. Honestly, Jun, you’ve got a great face for a mask and a wonderful voice. Not using either is a huge waste.”
“Well… Vanessa. The truth is, I’ve been writing down one line every day about whatever happened…”
The problem was that even if I called it a vlog, I didn’t feel like I’d have anything to say.
“I get it. You’re not writing a diary full of feelings — just a factual log of what happened.”
“Right.”
Suddenly inventing feelings I didn’t have… or rather, not inventing them so much as — anyway. Suddenly pouring my whole daily life into a camera with no script did not sound easy.
“Oh, by the way — I watched your vlogs, Vanessa. They were great.”
“Thank you. What did you think?”
“Really natural, full of energy… just like the person sitting here right now.”
Vanessa let out a little “heh-heh” laugh that somehow sounded like a middle-aged uncle’s. It was the signature laugh her subscribers loved — I’d seen it all over the comments.
“That’s right. It took a lot of work to get there.”
“So it really does take effort. At first I thought you must have a script for every scene.”
“Of course I plan ahead — I decide what kind of moment I want to capture that day. But once the camera starts rolling on location, it’s live.”
I nodded without answering. She really was living hard, too.
I had vaguely assumed influencers produced content out of endless self-love. What I hadn’t accounted for was the endless self-management and self-objectification that came with it.
A small pang of reflection hit me, and I was already sinking back into the question of how I was supposed to film anything, when Vanessa offered another suggestion.
“If talking to the camera alone feels hard, the first step is just getting used to using your voice in front of it. What about something like ASMR reading? Reading books aloud?”
“Aren’t there already tons of channels that do that professionally?”
Could I really compete with channels that had professional voice-actor diction and voices that were simply a pleasure to listen to?
“Your selling point would be a little different from theirs. For those channels, reading is the specialty, so viewers expect that level of polish. But your subscribers would watch because it’s you reading to them. They won’t be looking for technical perfection.”
“Is that so.”
I was still half-convinced at best, but Vanessa nodded and spoke in a serious tone.
“The people you’ll need going forward aren’t just subscribers — they’re fans. And fans are wonderful people. They’ll support and love almost everything you try.”
That was a difficult thing to hear, and a grateful one.
“Especially with a book-reading video — you’d only be reading something you thought was good enough to recommend, right? Then people would feel like they’d learned a little more about you.”
She had a point. Even just weaving in the small reasons I liked a book would start to show my way of thinking, the direction I wanted my life to go.
“If you want to talk about your life, you eventually have to open yourself up more — starting from the tiniest pieces.”
“Yes. It’s a little embarrassing. I’ll have to work harder from now on.”
Vanessa smiled faintly.
“It is a scary job, honestly. You’re baring yourself to the public, showing every little thing, and then getting judged for it.”
Cassandra added her piece.
“Especially in Jun’s case — he didn’t exactly choose this path on purpose. He kind of fell into the career sideways. That makes it even harder.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yep. This guy quit a perfectly good job overnight and only then started focusing on YouTube.”
Suddenly the conversation about my past — and about me — was rolling along without me in it.
“And Uncle Jun can make anything!”
Even Charlie, who would normally rather stay out of grown-up talk and was currently savoring the rare treat of “YouTube while eating” that his mother had allowed, threw in a comment of his own.
“Oh, and he looks mild-mannered, but he’s got a temper when it counts. It’s actually hilarious…”
Hey. Greg. Buddy?
For a while the “exposés” continued — whether they counted as roasting or praise was anyone’s guess. How did these people have more to say about me than I did?
Vanessa, though, listened with genuine interest and then said,
“I kind of figured, but Jun really is a wonderful person. Perfect. He’s got influencer written all over him.”
“Sorry?”
“When you meet someone wonderful, you want to be their friend, right?”
“...”
“...Don’t you, Jun?”
The people I could actually call “friends” were sitting at this table, for starters. James downstairs on the first floor had gotten pretty close by now — maybe I could call him a friend too.
Greg and Cassandra were wonderful people, sure, but I hadn’t become their friend because they were cool. We had simply spent enough time together that they had soaked into my life on their own.
“Okay then — what kind of person do you want to be friends with, Jun?”
“Ah…”
I had a feeling that answering with I don’t think you need to force yourself to make friends was not the move here.
Vanessa seemed to hear the answer I hadn’t said out loud.
“So it’s not just yourself you’re not interested in, Jun. You’re not very interested in other people either.”
Before I could reply, Cassandra cut in again.
“But he’s incredibly warm with his people. Once Jun decides someone is his, he’s genuinely kind. If I started telling stories, we wouldn’t finish in a day.”
Greg backed her up.
“True. When everyone was against me doing music, this guy was the only one who supported me.”
“Oh! That is a rock-solid charm point. The type who seems cold and indifferent most of the time, but shows up for you the moment you need him. In that case, what about this idea—”
And just like that, the three of them were off again, talking about me without me.
I told myself this wasn’t how these things were supposed to go and tried hard to listen and jump in, but it was hopeless. Three power extroverts in a heated discussion, and me trying to wedge myself into the middle of it — not easy.
At least I had Luca. Pretending to look after the baby was a perfectly valid way to step out of the conversation for a minute.
I thought I might take him outside for a short walk — get some air, come back — and spoke to him gently.
“Hey, Luca. Is the picture book fun?”
“Yeah.”
That clear, bright little “yeah” carried a firm message: I’m concentrating. Do not touch.
“...Right. Have fun, then.”
“...”
No answer this time. Feeling like a dad who’d just been snubbed by his teenage son, I quietly returned to my seat.
Truthfully, I had probably already exceeded my daily conversation capacity.
I was reaching for my fork, resigning myself to finishing the rest of the meal in silence, when a topic finally appeared that I could actually rejoin.
“Oh — by the way, as of yesterday I’ve submitted all three of my recipes. I finished the interview, too. How about you, Jun?”
My mind snapped fully awake. She’d already finished? Surely the others weren’t all that far ahead… were they?
“Ah… I’m a little embarrassed to say, but I only handed in the second recipe recently. I’m still deciding on the third.”
“I see. Well, the deadline’s still pretty generous, isn’t it? I thought the book wasn’t coming out until next spring.”
Vanessa said something that would have sent Kelly’s blood pressure through the roof, then pulled out her phone and showed me a few photos.
“What do you think? I’ve been picking out a few brands to plate my recipes with for the photo shoot. Once you submit all of yours, your editor will probably bring this up with you, too.”
They were already talking about photo shoots. The sense that I alone was falling behind made my chest tighten with urgency. The last thing I needed was for Kelly to start thinking, This whole project is stuck because of that guy. I hated being a burden more than almost anything.
The dinner, packed with advice from Vanessa that felt like pure nourishment, ended on a warm and lively note. We promised to seriously think about content we could shoot together someday, and then we parted ways.
On the way home, Cassandra looked thoroughly, thoroughly pleased.
“It’s too early to judge from one dinner, but she seems like a good person.”
“Yeah. She gave a lot of really useful advice, too. I’ll have to make her something later as a thank-you.”
Of course, the things Vanessa had said were things you could find anywhere. But hearing them as tips from a successful influencer herself made them land completely differently.
Good tips deserved to be put into practice right away.
“Once Reni comes back on Monday, I think I’ll start by filming a video of me reading the kids’ picture books.”
“That’s a good idea. Better than suddenly showing up with some dense novel. Growing the content around the kids makes sense — they’re the biggest part of your life right now.”
“Yeah. Then for the shot composition…”
After a full, satisfying day, I came home, put Luca to bed, and sat down with a notebook and a pencil. Exhaustion was creeping in, but the thought that I needed to finish the third recipe kept sleep far away. Whether it worked or not, I just needed to get something on the page.
My Story, My Food.
I wrote the book title once, then listed out the recipes I had already submitted.
The sweet-and-spicy jalapeño sablés I’d made for stress relief, and the pretty colored jello cakes for a picky little eater. Both recipes carried their own stories. What story should the last one hold?
Since it’s the final recipe, it should feel like… something more than the other two desserts.
I wanted a dessert that could pull everything together — and maybe stand as the representative piece among the three.
As I groped vaguely for what that might be, I thought about what Cassandra had said: the children who took up the biggest place in my life right now.
The kids who had painted my gray world gold.
I started jotting down key points that could symbolize the children who had seeped into my life like warm sunlight.
Gold. Warmth. Sweetness. Softness…
If anything could hold all of that at once, it had to be a cake.
To bring in the gold naturally, maybe a lemon cake? Ah — but if I wanted to pour a little more of my own story into it…