IM JAEBUM
【 DEFSOUL 】; FILM & MUSIC PRODUCER
The pleasures I tried to deprive myself of assailed my mind all the more ardently; and I saw that if a person is born, like me, to debauchery, it is useless to apply restraints: fiery desires will soon shatter them. Ultimately, my dear, I’m an amphibious creature: I love everything, I enjoy everything, I want to try all kinds of pleasure.
- From Philosophy in the Boudoir by Marquis de Sade
BASICS
Name: Im Jae Bum
Hangul: 임재범
Birthdate: 6 January 1994
Zodiac sign: Capricorn
Nationality & Ethnicity: Korean
Languages: Korean, basic Japanese & English
Birthplace: Goyang, Gyeonggi-do
Current Residence: A studio loft in Hongdae
Alma Mater: Konkuk University, Film Major
Physical:
Height: 179 cm
Built: Mesomorph
Blood Type: A
Distinguishing Marks: Two identical moles above his right eye; has four ear piercings (two on each ear)
Traits: laid back, passionate, visceral, quick to anger, creative, impatient, spontaneous, resourceful
Likes: photography, producing music, rain storms, massages, eating ice cream in a cold place, scent of newly cut grass, mixing different kinds of cereals, big meals, skittles, newly washed sheets, cats
Dislikes: sugar free anything, long commute, wasting food, bad traffic, mondays, deadlines, music snobs, when you can't get a drink at the bar, celery, insufficient sleep, superficiality, hair that's been shed-- hair in the shower drain, to be specific.
ABOUT
Born in Goyang to a music teacher (father) and an architect (mother), Jaebum's childhood was filled with equal parts tenderness and unpredictability-- equal parts quiet and chaos too, due to a mentally unstable mother and a father who tried his best to keep the family together: sudden weekend trips to his grandmother's house, the burning memory of his fifth birthday, his arm in a cast, a vague recollection of water filling his lungs. His mother eventually moved to the room down the hall and it ruined all his subsequent birthdays.
Forced to 'grow up' early, Jaebum is a quiet yet imposing presence throughout his childhood, feeling like an old rental car, running until some of its part give away, waiting for his turn at the scrap yard. However, upon entering middle school, Jaebum slowly broke out of his shell, the sharpness in his eyes giving way to softness, a sliver of hope that maybe, maybe, this hollow feeling will eventually pass. He became friends with boys who climbed trees and get their knees skinned and girls who would let him borrow erasers and their latests CDs. Friends who visited him after his father who was driving him to school forgot to put his seatbelt while remembering to buckle Jaebum down, and the road was slippery, too slippery, and then it was dark.
(His injuries were minor, his father, however, did not make it. His world unraveled at the seams.)
Jaebum attended a different arts high school then and eventually passed his admission exam in Konkuk University, majoring in a film degree. There was music too, his father being a huge influence in his life. Jaebum continued producing music on the side, albeit not for profit. Music is a solace, a safe haven for his often tumultuous mind, pushing a beat or a note, making them fit together. Music always made sense when everything did not.
(The thing is, he was supposed to get an architecture degree just like his mother-- like his mother wanted, but he couldn't give up the only thing that connected him with his father.
He would visit her at the hospital every 10th of the month. It was routine. It was his father would have wanted. And Jaebum woould take every snarl, every disappointing glance, every sardonic laugh thrown his way. He said he didn't care, stopped caring a long time ago, but at every 10th of the month, he could feel the way his heart twist in itself, wring itself out until dry.)
At present, Jaebum works as a freelance multimedia producer and occasionally releasing music through his sound cloud.
Some Truths About Im Jaebum
Jaebum's hair trigger temper is the cause of his fucked up knuckles and countless broken phones and cheap ikea furniture.
Jaebum can drink you under the table, however, he won't.
What are collared shirts? What are dress shoes?
Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless Mind, parent version
"Dad, I miss you so much."
Lies About Im Jaebum
"he punched him on the mouth. saw one of his teeth flew out. jaebum threw it first, then he was just pummeling--"
"one time, he wrote his mother was already deceased on the school form."
Things on Im Jaebum's Coffee Table
Various records owned by his father. Graphic novels that he was supposed to gift to a friend but decided that he didn't like said friend that much. A small jade plant. A notebook, cover torn, so Jaebum stapled a couple of food delivery numbers in front of it. An old motorcycle magazine.
(ooc: GMT+8 / mirrored literacy / NSFW muse / trigger warnings apply / this is a side muse)
PLOT
( under construction )
JOURNAL
18.07.10
mother,
i'm writing to you today instead of waiting for you to wake up.
i want to say something like i miss you or something like, i don't know what you've been up to these days, isn't that funny?
something like actually, i don't care, and i will never call you mother. see you never were a mother, you don't deserve that title.
mother implies you were there, mother implies you returned your dvds to the damn library and gave me that 3 thousand won, 3 fucking thousand won, to replace that teacher's meter stick i didn't even break.
mother would mean that i could tell you your husband is dead, and that part of your son died with him too. mother would mean you knew not to drag me downstairs when you were fighting so that you could make me watch and talk about how your life would have been better if you were not part of this family.
i was angry before and i still am. so you're not a mother to me.
i told the nurse to keep the fucking windows closed so you wont get aches in your joints then take it out on them.
jaebum.
18.07.11
how about you advice me on this:
why is it that i say the most when i attempt to forget you? how it is so difficult to see you carry around thickets of paper, with cribbed images and your fucking personal scribbles and a bunch of ordinal clumps knowing i'm not in any of those anymore? had i even been there? did i ever count? did we ever count?
i hope you never closed that book. /our/ book. we could have had one but.. there's no one else to blame but myself. in my cowardice, my poison against your light. and how it angers me sometimes that i couldn't hold you and make it mean something, make it count. you've given me so much. and i took all of it.
when you asked me if i loved you and i said i don't know, it wasn't a lie. i didn't know then. because i thought all the happiness you said you felt all came from you. you and your... conviction. this great light. this.. beautiful... fucking light. it was all from you and it wasn't-- i was inadequate.
tonight after you work, you'll be pressing your journal against the wall of that studio, writing today's date, what you ate, what you thought, what you felt, your hand and your pen touching the letters on a page, knowing well that we'll never intersect again. i'm fully aware of this, yet i still-- i still think of you like how an elephant remembers every kindness that touched it. i think of you like yet i'm still here unashamed to be a part of your life so i wouldn't feel so un-alone.