What it Sounds Like: How Huntrix Sings Power into Imperfect Community
As a proud Korean immigrant, I’m arguably the most talkative when talking about my culture—and that’s coming from someone who had failing participation grades. Growing up, I was privileged to be surrounded by many who shared my background and have friends whose parents looked and sounded like mine. I don’t think I ever felt the need to minimize my Koreanness.
I packed my school lunches with my head held high (thanks, umma), preferred speaking in my native tongue over English, and idolized K-pop groups that guided my angsty adolescent years: Big Bang, 2NE1, and the like. To middle school Shiwon, they felt like spunky older siblings whose songs reached across the sea to remind me, “No matter how far you are from home, we’ll remind you where you come from.”
K-Pop Demon Hunters created a ripple in the Hallyu Wave in more ways than one.
The night Netflix released K-Pop Demon Hunters, my husband and I immediately cleared our (admittedly uneventful) evening schedule to watch it—and had the most fun we’d had in a while. From showcasing Korean street food and K-pop fan culture to illustrating folk religion for a contemporary audience, the overarching story balanced lighthearted fun with deeper themes of acceptance and transformation.
Reactions from my Korean American and greater AAPI community varied, and rightfully so. Proper media representation is a tough balance; no film, show, or book accomplishes it perfectly, and most of our critique comes from our passion and desire for authenticity. It just goes to show that we’re not a monolith, and all our opinions across the spectrum contribute to valuable dialogue on how we want others to see us.
But with the film now being Netflix’s most watched movie ever, and with there being continuous discourse surrounding KPDH’s global influence, I’ve been reflecting: in our current climate, what does KPDH’s success say about the impact of diverse storytelling? And what can we, as leaders, storytellers, and audience members, take away from three energetic K-pop stars battling evil with music?
KPDH teaches us the importance of finding a safe place to land.
In a world where generations of performers keep Korea safe from demonic creatures, Rumi is a dangerous outlier: half-human, half-demon, but fully committed to her role as the leader of Huntrix, her closely-knit girl group.
Despite her counterparts, Mira and Zoey, emphasizing their unwavering dedication to one another—as musicians, friends, and demon hunters—Rumi tries her best to hide what she believes to be the ugliest, most raw version of herself. The longer she maintains her carefully crafted mask, the more isolated she becomes, alienating the two people who may understand her the most.
Rumi’s secrecy later backfires, and she ends up facing her greatest adversary alone. This is where she starts one of her musical numbers, and personally my favorite, What it Sounds Like. Broken, but determined to save the people she loves, she begins to sing her real, unfiltered story:
Nothing but the truth now
Nothing but the proof of what I am
The worst of what I came from, patterns I’m ashamed of
Things that even I don’t understand
I tried to fix it, I tried to fight it
My head was twisted, my heart divided
My lies all collided
I don’t know why I didn’t trust you to be on my side
Haven’t we all experienced moments where we wanted to bury qualities that we deemed clandestine? Shame tells us that we’re not enough. We’re inclined to keep our perceived shortcomings in the dark to avoid rejection. But Rumi’s predicament shows that this approach is counterintuitive and sometimes ends up hurting more than one person. Her efforts to preserve an illusion of normalcy digs a deeper hole, ultimately causing her to wonder why she’d allowed her doubts to muddle her trust in Mira and Zoey.
After all, what's a community without vulnerability? What is true belonging without the unveiling of our imperfections that leads to a web that can catch and cradle us when we fall?
I broke into a million pieces and I can’t go back
But now I’m seeing all the beauty in the broken glass
The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony
My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like
Having reached the lowest of her lows, Rumi has an epiphany that finally emboldens her to live her truth. Half-human, half-demon, she’s been in perpetual identity purgatory. But her role as a friend, musician, and hunter has always been a reliable constant. Outside the lies she has heard about her worth, she has remained a young woman deeply connected to her heritage and values.
Rather than allowing fear to drive her decisions, Rumi embraces the boundless liberation that comes with practicing authenticity. No longer does she feel the need to be prim and perfect, poised and proper. Her messiness—disheveled hair, exposed demon marks, and all—becomes front and center, and she invites her loved ones to sit with this version of her that has been there all along.
In times of strife, community is our lifeline—so let’s lean into one another.
Rumi’s courage pulls Mira and Zoey out of their enemy’s trance, and we briefly get to witness their acceptance of Rumi’s true form and their own inner struggles. Mira’s family has labeled her as the black sheep, rebellious and uncontrollable. Zoey was torn between her American and Korean identities, not quite fitting into either one—a universal feeling for much of the Asian diaspora, this hit close to home for me.
Like Rumi, the pair wonder why they spent so much of their time locking up their uncertainties, only sharing small slivers of their burdens to feign confidence. They recognize that their bond has always been a sanctuary, but that they’d unintentionally left it barren. The three reconcile their hurt and, through joined song, promise to unearth beauty in the places that they believed would never see life. They step into the entrance of their shared refuge and finally accept that it’s there to stay, doors open and eager to house them.
Why did I cover up the colors stuck inside my head?
I should’ve let the jagged edges meet the light instead
Show me what’s underneath, I’ll find your harmony
The song we couldn’t write, this is what it sounds like
One of my favorite metaphors is, “a rising tide lifts all boats.” I’m the first one to confess that I overuse it in every other piece I write, but it never fails to ground me.
My circle of friends embody collective support through their unconditional kindness and willingness to step into honesty, even when it becomes uncomfortable. They allow me to voice my concerns while keeping me accountable, and gently challenge my thinking when it doesn’t accurately reflect who I try to be. When I call for them, they listen with open hearts, ensuring that I don’t have to face my trials alone. In turn, I try my best to return the favor, showing up for them in the ways I know how.
Despite my more withdrawn nature, Emily, Ingrit, and Sandy have also excavated parts of me that I’d never thought would manifest in a professional setting. Unlike the more tumultuous memories of my early career, I feel empowered to express my ideas openly because I know that I have a seat at their table, cushioned and made with my favorite shade of birch wood. The CCWomen team inspires me with their constant pursuit of change, even when our respective roadmaps look a little different.
Fostering a community is far from easy. I firmly believe that the more people congregate, the more room there is for misunderstanding, disagreement, and conflict. But our connections were not meant to be pristine; the human condition prevents it. While knowing that Mira and Zoey would likely learn how to accept her split lineage, Rumi remained quiet and let her insecurities fester into something more insidious.
How many of us, understanding that people love us as we are, still falter at the thought of being fully seen? How frequently do we try to conquer our battles alone, only to call for aid when we’re on our last leg?
Just as Rumi found power in Mira and Zoey’s celebration of her journey, Mira and Zoey were renewed by their leader’s transformation. Together, they closed one chapter and ushered in a new era, bringing peace to humanity and fortifying their bond.
When we lose sight of ourselves and those who lift us up, may we trust the fall and know that there will be arms to catch us. May we look to those who stand behind, alongside, and in front of us, and allow their collective singing to lead us back to what’s important.
