Joy, In All Its Volume: What I Found at My First K-pop Concert

I didn’t just go to a concert.
I showed up for a part of me that once felt forgotten.

My first K-pop concert, Stray Kids in San Francisco, was so much more than flashing lights and synchronized choreography.

It was healing.
It was joy.
It was presence.

I attended a Stray Kids concert in San Francisco at Oracle Park with my best friend. It was our very first K-pop concert. I remember feeling everything all at once: nervous, excited, overwhelmed in the best way. I wasn’t sure what to wear, but I knew I wanted to feel beautiful for myself. To mark the moment. To honor the girl who had always dreamed of being there.

We arrived just as the music began. The crowd was alive. The lights flickered like stars. And when I saw them, Stray Kids, my heart bloomed. I waved my light stick through the cold air, and a quiet smile stretched across my face. I didn’t know the people beside me, but I felt held in a sea of belonging. I even met a few Stays, though my shyness tucked me into silence. Still, I was present. And I was home.

The performance? Beyond words. I cried not from sadness, but from the kind of joy that spills out when something sacred touches you. When a dream comes true and leaves light in its place.

And now, I just want to feel it again.

I used to believe presence only lived in quiet places.
In sunsets and slow mornings.
In soft-spoken journaling.

But that night, the presence was loud.
It pulsed through the bass.
It danced on every lyric.
It echoed through a crowd of strangers singing the exact words, each of us searching for something, and somehow, finding it together.

K-pop found me in a season when I was dimming my own light.
It reminded me how powerful it is to feel everything deeply.

Even when I didn’t understand every word, I understood the emotion.
The hope.
The courage.
The sense that someone, somewhere, saw the world a little like I did.

Watching Stray Kids on that stage, I realized I wasn’t just cheering for them.
I was cheering for the girl inside me.

The one who once felt too much.
Too sensitive.
Too different.
The one who danced in her room when no one was watching.
The one who found safety in lyrics and stitched herself back together with melodies.

And that night, I let her come forward.
I let her sing.
I let her cry.
I let her be seen.

I made a promise to myself this year: to go to a K-pop concert.
To show up for the dreams I whispered quietly but carried boldly in my heart.
And I did.

On May 28, 2025, I kept that promise to myself.

Seeing Bang Chan, Felix, Hyunjin, Lee Know, Han, I.N., Seungmin, and Changbin on that stage felt like a soft and resounding thank you.
A thank you to them for the music, the light, the healing.
And a thank you to myself for not giving up on the joy I knew I deserved.

This concert reminded me that I’m still allowed to dream.
To feel joy in my bones.
To live in the fullness of a moment, no matter how loud or chaotic it may be.

I may have gone to see someone else perform.
But I ended up witnessing myself.

And she was radiant.

With love,
Deja 🤍

Stay Presently You