It has been a pretty brutal week for the MNL48 fans. Following the second day of the Pag-Ibig Fortune Cookie Handshake Event, the internet has been full of mostly negative vibes stemming from the announcement of a heavily modified General Election which makes it possible for anyone who did not make it into the To 48 will see their idol careers come to an abrupt end.
An article released by our friends at Anime Pilipinas last week featured an interview with MNL48 Producer Paolo Kurosawa which fanned the flames as realization sets in that AKS and Akimoto-sensei, seemingly knew of the changes and gave their blessing. And now sections of the fandom are up in arms, some advocating rather extreme measures while others are adopting a more practical approach by organizing fund drives to help the lower-ranked members get a fighting chance.
With this backdrop, I found it really hard to focus and write this blog as the negativity really affected me. I know deep in my heart that the fans are acting this way because they have grown to love the First Generation. The fear that they might never see their oshimen again and the sense of betrayal that many felt all came from the intense love they had for these young girls whose extraordinary journey from aspirants in a maligned process into role models the fans are extremely proud of.
Yet I really disapprove of the way the fandom has become so toxic that even the slightest rumor can galvanize them into doing something irrational. Even the issue of the Challengers – full members for almost a year now – has been ressurected and are being used against some of them. No wonder then, that I found myself uninspired to write most of the time.
And so here I was, wondering what kind of article I should write when I realized that I can go back to the memory that really made me happy: the handshake event. The real “AKB Tradition” that made AKB48 into the massive empire we see today. The manifestation of the “Idols you can meet” concept that has captured the hearts of fans everywhere.
I did not plan on going to the second day of MNL48’s Pag-Ibig Fortune Cookie handshake event. My finances were already in the red, and my family was wondering why I have been going out almost every weekend. But like some habit that I had difficulty kicking out of my system, I still went, wanting to show my support to my oshimen and maybe scrape enough to buy a handshake ticket. Unlike the first day, I wouldn’t have enough to go to other girls so I was really stingy with where I used what little I had.
To say that I am emotionally tied to the first generation is an understatement. Ever since I started writing about MNL48 in 2015 when it was nothing more than just an idea, I became witness to how the concept became a possibility, and then finally, a reality. I saw the tears, the effort, and the hopes of the people signing up to audition. I became an unwitting participant in the journeys of some members, most of whom were still living their own lives, oblivious to the fact that over a year later, they will be standing in the lanes, ready to receive their adoring fans.
I was almost standing close to some of these people, at a time when they’re not any different from the rest of us and to see them now, on stage, giving happiness and cheer to their fans, it is quite difficult not to get a little too emotional about it.
Watching the girls perform on stage makes me feel disconnected from their previous selves. The girls with the cheap candidate shirts, talking to strangers asking them to vote for her, have been subsumed by the cute, delicate idol with the smiles and charms of Venus. It is as if being a member has deified them into a higher plane; their touch becomes precious, and the memory of the interactions sacred to their fans. It feels weird whenever I look at them now and remember what they used to be, and marvel at their effect on other people now, even to their former detractors who now profess undying love and loyalty each and every event.
But being an “idol” had to be earned. The first generation was forged through the fires of adversity as hard work and high work ethic was demanded. Anything that can potentially distract them was denied, even so far as taking them all out of their comfort zones and forced to live with each other. As someone who also lived through a smiliar set-up, I know how hard it is, living in the same house as someone you do not necessarily like.
Some fans are wondering why the girls had to go thorugh such rigorous training at all. Indeed, the Japanese idol industry is not known to emphasize superior singing and dancing skills. While that may be true in a very broad sense, Japanese idols do undergo rigorous training. It is just that we never really got to see the process that took them there. Idols – most especially the big ones – are not out-of-shape and poorly-trained amateurs. And if we’re talking about how the Japanese train their talents, you’ll find out that they are far from being treated as princesses.
We usually see the end result and not the preparation, but assume that this is all there is to it. But in an industry that reaps in millions, there is a real incentive in training idols into competent performers. They can’t all be cute air-heads.
The rigorous training did produce results: MNL48 as a performing group is at the top – if not THE top – among Japanese-concept idols in the country. It is always a joy to watch lives because the energy is high, and you will always be treated to a good quality performance. They can now at least hold their own in a very scrutinizing and often too critical market.
That is what the “Idols you can meet” concept has brought to us. Girls barely out of their teens, being forced into the meat-grinder to be remade into these demi-goddesses we happen to have a “connection” with. And we want that connection because it makes us feel good. They make us feel good. And their struggles, their journey, their success AND their failures, and the effort they’re exerting, inspire us all.
And so we’re back again to that lane, waiting for my turn to shake Kaede Ishiyama‘s hand. All the fatigue and the worries are forgotten as I prepare myself mentally for that very short moment when I will be very close to my oshimen. The only real contact I will probably have with her for the duration of her idol career.
What is the feeling when I hold Kaede’s hand during my time on her handshake lane? Equal parts bliss, and frustration. Bliss because I am holding the hand of someone really dear to me, who happens to be someone I look up to. Frustration because ten seconds isn’t nearly enough for me to say everything to her, as well as imprint the memory in my head.
The system makes me want more. It is made to make me want more. And like the love-sick puppy that I am, I fork out the cash I needed to get more. And fans will do that because they too like it. They too feel good about it, perhaps because it makes them forget their problems too. They have enshrined these girls in a special place in their hearts.
I was warned by some close friends to never lose my grip on reality with my oshimen. I found it funny at first, but they are actually right. I entered into her fandom having a crush on her, and having too much an emotional attachement to an idol is potentially dangerous. But being a good fan means knowing your limits and respecting your boundaries. You will be taking care of not only yourself but also your oshimen.
We all care for the girls, and want to see them succeed. I know we all love our oshimens as much as I love Kay. Loving a person doesn’t have to mean anything more than looking out for her success. And loving someone also means respecting the boundaries that exist between you. It is hard sometimes because I am so emotionally invested, but it is something I know that we – as fans – have a responsibility to do.
And so, on that hot March afternoon, I held the hands of my oshimen. Me, trying to give out words of encouragement and support, she, thanking me profusely, expresing her gratitude in the limited time we had. I left the lane convinced that I chose the right to girl to follow, and the right group to support.
In closing, this is what the first generation means to me: girls that I have established a connection with, through our shared eperiences, being their fan, and being inspired by their journey. They had a lot going against them, but managed to emerge each and every time, stronger than before. They wanted to be role models, and by meeting adversity head on and persevering, they certainly did.
