BTS is 7. And I am 100% OT7.

As I delved deeper into the group’s work, however, I naturally began to identify more with this or that aspect of each member. I became rap line bias, vocal line wrecked, Namjoon ult. And yet, every moment, I find myself fascinated by a new facet of each of them. The last member I felt connected to was Jungkook. The sheer magnitude of his talent is undeniable, his charisma unmistakable. However, at the point in my journey when I and Bangtan crossed paths, and within my personal symbolic perception of BTS, the ‘Jungkook archetype’ was the one that resonated least with my own subjective experiences. Gradually, of course, he found his way into my heart, because at some point we always end up experiencing all the archetypal aspects of our own personality. So, eventually, my ‘Jungkook side’ would connect with the artist himself. That is the beauty of BTS’s complexity as an artistic phenomenon.

To celebrate the birthday of our dearest youngest, I’ve selected two passages from my book in which I talk about him. The first is an extract from my favourite chapter, ‘Spring Day’. The second is from the sequence of seven chapters in which I go through the ‘rooms of the individual process’. These rooms/chapters aren’t exactly about the members, but rather a sort of dialogue between my perception of them and my own individual process. Perhaps this is the moment in the book where they appear most clearly as symbolic, archetypal characters. After all, it is a work of non-fiction, yet one deeply immersed in a metaphorical landscape.

These two passages about Jungkook are my tribute to him today.

Happy birthday, Golden Maknae! Please stay healthy, don’t skip meals and keep being this beacon of joy.

Life is a repetition of choices and regrets

I too am scared, and we too, are scared

Though we dreamt of a high sky, it is high here, and cold, and so hard to breathe

It is true that the more light that burns upon us, the more shadows appear

What a relief, that we are seven

What a relief, that we are together

When you finish your Master’s, you’re supposed to go straight onto a PhD. That’s what people say. But I wanted to have a baby. That was my decision, 21 years ago. Much later, I started thinking about it again. A PhD would look so pretty on my CV. It would be nice for my self-esteem. In practical terms, however, starting a PhD would have harmed other aspects of the career I’d built up over all those years. I’d traveled a path as a lecturer and researcher outside Academia. In the field of Physiotherapy, just as in other areas, there’s a whole range of training and professional development courses organised by independent institutions, and I’d carved out a prominent place for myself in this field. I am a professor and a member of the scientific committee of the institution responsible for teaching the GDS Muscle and Articulation Chains internationally. I teach regularly in Brazil, but I also give courses and conferences as a guest lecturer in other countries. I participate in research projects as a supervisor, mentor, collaborator or reviewer at leading universities in my country. I am consistently respected as a professional in my clinical practice.

Do I need a PhD on my shelf? It would look lovely, gleaming in all its splendour. But would that title be worth everything I’d have to sacrifice to obtain it? Today, that no longer makes sense to me. I’ve come to the conclusion that the degree was once important, but today it would speak more to my vanity than to my journey.

Nevertheless, I’m just a Brazilian physiotherapist, a very small figure. I’m not a world-famous artist with millions of fans.

The question remains the same, though.

Do BTS need a Grammy on their shelf? It would look lovely, gleaming in all its splendour, undoubtedly. But would that award be worth everything they’d have to sacrifice to get it? Does that still make sense for them today?

Much has already been written and discussed on this subject. This piece wasn’t even really necessary, truth be told. Still, I just wanted to share my personal thoughts. I always feel that BTS, as a ‘saga’, permeates my life and is intertwined with my own experiences. My final decision to give up the PhD was only made a few months ago. That’s why, once again, I experienced Bangtan’s Grammy episode as if I were personally connected to it. So I’m not offering an opinion based on what I think, or what I know, or the information I have. Once again, I’m simply expressing what lingers as a feeling and a subjective perspective.

I’ve seen their bag. There’s actually one trophy missing. A trophy that perhaps no longer makes sense itself in today’s world. In any case, I believe that it probably no longer makes sense to BTS. And life goes on.

Nor is it news to anyone who has read my writing that the members of BTS are a source of inspiration that allows me to articulate the multitude of references and lines of thought that populate my restless mind. Recently, Kim Namjoon’s interview on ’s podcast led me down yet another path of interconnected reflections.

In an episode of the documentary series *Bring the Soul*, released in 2019 to accompany the *Speak Yourself* world tour, there is a scene that has stayed with me. The members are gathered around a table in a flat in Paris. Taehyung is running late. The others remark that he is probably at a museum, as he loves art. Taehyung comes running up the stairs, wearing a beret to match the ‘French vibe’. He is cheerful, talkative, and delighted to have, in fact, visited a museum. There are videos circulating on social media in which, when asked to give his name to confirm an order in cafés, Tae would choose names like Renoir or Van Gogh. His love of the visual arts, however, is not regarded as a defining trait or a standout aspect of Kim Taehyung’s personality. He is best known for his unique sense of style, particularly when it comes to fashion, but also for his spontaneity and unexpected remarks, his out-of-the-box thinking

Tae and Vincent.

Then, in the interview with Bella Freud, Namjoon reveals that his first experience with art was mediated by Taehyung, who invited him to visit a museum on a tedious day during the 2018 tour. I had already heard him mention, on other occasions, that it was the Art Institute of Chicago. I find it really interesting that this was his gateway to art. Firstly, because this museum is truly incredible, with impeccable architecture and curation. It’s a modern museum that’s a pleasure to visit; the exhibits are arranged in such a way that visitors can enjoy them without feeling exhausted by the end. When I was there for the first time, with my husband and son, all three of us agreed to change our plans and return the following day, as a single visit simply wasn’t enough. Besides, Chicago is a city where you can breathe in art on every corner. Interestingly, on that first visit, Namjoon was captivated by the Impressionists and Post-Impressionists (Monet, Seurat, Van Gogh). However, his personal taste has since gradually shifted towards contemporary art, although he remains fond of other periods, and even other art forms (as reflected in his collection of antique Korean pottery). His affinity for the Leeum Museum in Seoul illustrates this: it is a museum divided into two wings, one dedicated to ancient Korean art and the other to contemporary art.

Returning to Chicago, however, what strikes me is that, although he discovered his fascination with art through nineteenth-century painting, this took place in a city where you literally stumble upon works of art on every corner. There are sculptures by Picasso, Miró, Calder and Kapoor just waiting to catch the eye of any unsuspecting passer-by. Incidentally, on my recent trip to London, I visited the stunning Anish Kapoor exhibition. Namjoon was there a couple of days after me (he posted about it on Instagram).

Namjoon’s post on Instagram, at the Anish Kapoor exhibit in London

I couldn’t help but think of Kapoor’s famous ‘bean’, a sculpture that is practically the symbol of Chicago. Namjoon in London, years later – widely known as a patron of the arts, a collector and curator of an exhibition at MoMA in San Francisco – was, in a way, coming full circle by linking his world tour as an acclaimed musician to that (re)visit to Kapoor’s works.

The central point of this essay, however, is the difference in how the Taehyung/Namjoon duo experience art. Namjoon’s first visit to an art museum – after saying “I’m not a museum guy” – was in the company of his friend Taehyung.

It is possible that this partnership also took place on other occasions, in private; we have no way of knowing. But what is striking is that Taehyung seems to experience art in a more playful (in sort of a Winnicottian sense), intuitive, even sensory way, in the sense of simply enjoying the pleasure the artwork brings him. Taehyung’s relationship with art seems to lie in the realm of appreciating beauty and savouring the effect that beauty has on his emotions. Of course, this is my own personal perception; Taehyung has not sent me any text messages personally explaining how he relates to art. However, my perception is rooted in the mere observation of Taehyung’s personality, based on concepts already developed regarding archetypal psycho-corporal typologies. The keyword ‘Unique’ resonates in many aspects of Taehyung’s observable personality, as do his intrinsic adaptability and playfulness, in harmony with the keyword ‘Rhythm’ (if you’d like to understand these typologies and keywords better, I suggest reading this text here).

Namjoon walked through the door opened by Taehyung, but the path he took within the ‘labyrinth’ was different. Every individual on the planet is a combination of different archetypes, in varying and unique proportions. This enables communication. That aspect of Namjoon which resonates with the way Taehyung functions in the world – reflected, in this case, in the way he views art – led him to the visit to the museum in Chicago. But the experience awakened in him a connection with different aspects of his own way of functioning. In this case, the appreciation of art necessarily involves an intellectual process, rather than being only playful and intuitive. Let’s be clear: one is not better or more valid than the other. They are simply distinct ways of being in the world, which can interact harmoniously, both between individuals and within a single individual.

Leeum Museum - Seoul

The fact is that Namjoon found in art an object of study. He delved deeper, he researched, he debated. He seeks knowledge on the subject and makes connections between his discoveries and his prior intellectual references. This is the essence of the keyword ‘Goal’, in the sense of a way of functioning that requires rational processes to structure the dimension of the ideal. Namjoon also appreciates art for the enjoyment of beauty and for the emotion it evokes, without a doubt. But he transforms this enjoyment into curating an exhibition that establishes a dialogue between artistic expressions from different places and times; or into sponsoring museums and galleries; or into participating in projects to popularise the visual arts beyond a strictly ‘scholarly’ audience. A single artist’s painting serves as inspiration for the creation of an entire music album (my favourite of all, by the way, amongst the solo albums), and is also a refuge for a mind in constant activity. But it is also a life project, a social project, an object of adoration that becomes part of everyday life in a functional sphere, involving concrete goals.

Ever since my son was very young, I’ve always taken him to museums. My aim was to instil in him the feeling that art is fun, that it’s playful. Babies are enchanted by colours and shapes – why wouldn’t a baby be dazzled inside a museum? At the age of 13, that ‘baby’ was the first to say he wanted to go back to the Art Institute of Chicago the very next day. According to Godelieve Denys-Struyf, the source of the concepts that guide my approach to psycho-corporal organisation, we need to pass through the realm of the ideal, the playful and the intuitive before we can develop the intellectual processes that will enable us to understand rationally, draw parallels and register experience as knowledge. This process shapes, throughout our existence, the so-called ‘waves of awareness’. In other words, it is interesting to consider that, in order to appreciate life, we need to pass through Taehyung and Namjoon. Or, to put it differently, through the archetypal modes of functioning that they offer us as illustrations. This applies to art and to almost everything in life.

The result of this immersion was a book of nearly 300 pages and the creation of this writing space on Substack, where I continue to weave my thread through the metaphorical labyrinth I created in early 2025.

When I came across the Arirang era, I got the impression that the messages were more direct, more concrete. I should have been wary of the irony in Namjoon’s line in ‘Come Over’: I hate metaphors. Because few people in this world love metaphors as much as he does. Indeed, initially, we were presented with the magnificent music videos for ‘2.0’, ‘Hooligan’ and ‘Swim’ (the performance version is my favourite)—aesthetically stunning, yet a little more ‘literal’ than some of their predecessors from other eras, such as ‘Blood, Sweat and Tears’, ‘Fake Love’, ‘Black Swan’ or even the short films from the ‘Wings’ and ‘Love Yourself’ eras. Just when we thought they’d really gotten tired of that almost hermetic symbolism that was a fundamental part of their artistic identity, the music video for ‘Merry-go-round’ emerged.

It serves precisely to show that, just like a merry-go-round, BTS’s contents and aesthetics as an artistic happening can travel a whole trajectory, and then return to the starting point, like a Nietzschean eternal return. However, a starting point that is no longer quite the same, much like the successive – yet quite distinct – destructions of the Death Star in Star Wars, or like the strength of the sea’s waves, that turn every retreat into a new starting point, in the words of the Chilean poet Gabriela Mistral. Perhaps it is no coincidence, after all, that the song ‘Swim’ precedes ‘Merry-go-round’, both on the album and in the concert setlist.

Before diving (pardon the pun) into the music video itself, I’d like to turn my attention to the structure of the concert. To begin with, the 360-degree stage inevitably springs to mind as a merry-go-round in its own right, creating a real plot twist in its narrative. Yes, the central stage, with the audience forming a complete circle, resonates with the concept of union, alliance and unity expressed in ‘Body to Body’ and, above all, with the moment when everyone sings ‘Arirang’ in unison. But from this point on, the image is absolutely inseparable from the merry-go-round, particularly because of the artists’ movements on stage and the structure of the stage itself.

If we look at the architecture of the concert, it is divided into three sections. The first concludes with ‘Swim’ and ‘Merry-go-round’. In ‘Swim’, the centre of the stage rises like a round island, around which dancers move fabrics – BTS right (t)here, with the moon and the sharks – circular images constantly evoked. In the transition to ‘Merry-go-round’, the members are no longer on the suspended island; they are at floor level, on a circular path on the outer ring of the stage. The fabrics ultimately take the shape of a merry-go-round. The most interesting aspect, however, is that the stage remains static, and the members sing the entire time whilst walking – lined up in a row and equidistant from one another – along this circular ring. On a real merry-go-round, it is the base structure that moves. Horses, carriages and other decorative elements are fixed, attached to this structure. And the people enjoying the ride are fixed too, attached to these elements. By walking along the stationary stage, the members of BTS become the merry-go-round itself. However, at this moment, they are still trapped in the endless cycle and sing: I can’t get off this merry-go-round.

In the second session, the finale features the Arirang chorus in ‘Body to Body’, followed by ‘Idol’. The grand parade, with flags and banners and Korean pride, you can’t stop me loving myself. They step down from the stage and form a new circle, but this time around the merry-go-round, no longer trapped within it. They run and dance freely around the stadium, in various formations. They interact with the audience and the dancers. The carousel becomes a carnival; the representation of the cycle of repetition reveals itself in its primordial, playful form—that of an amusement park.

Then comes the third and final part of the show, in which they are back on the circular stage. This time, the stage spins whilst they remain stationary. They are the elements of the carousel, which spins beneath their stationary feet. However, instead of facing the path they have travelled in the circle, as when they walked to the sound of ‘Merry-go-round’, they now look outwards, towards the audience. And they sing: I’ll follow you into the sun. They pierce the circle with the straight line leading towards the Sun, ‘like an arrow in the blue sky’, and continue on their way together and alongside Army, because Life goes on and You never walk alone.

However, this straight line that subverts the carousel immediately takes me back to the thought that crossed my mind the first time I heard the song ‘Merry-go-round’. Whilst many made the immediate association with ‘Spring Day’, I saw the song as a much more direct response to ‘Seesaw’. My two favourite chapters in my entire book are, in fact, ‘Spring Day’ and ‘Seesaw’. In the playground of Arirang’s existential conflict, they revisit and reinvent the merry-go-round to break free from the seesaw. We could even blend the lyrics of the two songs to arrive at this hypothetical hybrid verse:

The decision is to get off – both the seesaw and the merry-go-round – and follow into the sun.

Watching the music video for ‘Merry-go-round’ was like diving back into the thought processes that led me to write my book. It was incredibly moving to see images portrayed that reflected the metaphors I had conjured up in my own mind a year and a half ago. Starting with the setting in which everything takes place, which inevitably reminds me of my labyrinth. The tiny carousel floats within this labyrinth; Jimin follows it and is led into a room, and various spaces alternate. In the end, the carousel floats in outer space, carrying the labyrinth with it, amidst the stars… ‘The galaxy inside’ – the line from the lyrics of ‘Magic Shop’ that I chose as the title.

The circular images and the shifting roles of each element within the carousel metaphor continue uninterrupted. The ‘living’ horses, running in the opposite direction to the carousel’s rotation, yet it suddenly becomes unclear whether they are actually moving in the same direction or the opposite. In Hobi’s verse, the horses are stationary, painted on the wall. Here, it is the rotating camera that creates the sensation of the carousel. Hobi is the very symbol of movement within the group. Perhaps the image speaks of the possibility of movement within the interstices of the immobility intrinsic to the carousel. In the Bangtan Universe narrative, Hoseok’s character is abandoned by his mother on a carousel at the age of 7, and this trauma runs through the character’s entire journey. Are the horses stationary to convey the difficulty of overcoming this paralysing trauma? Or, on the contrary, to highlight the possibility of movement despite devastating circumstances?

There is also the horse that appears as a shadow (reminiscent of the ‘Black Swan’ music video), which could symbolise a multitude of interpretations. It can be seen as the mirror of Jimin standing before it, but also of Jin, who approaches from the other side. Its larger-than-life size may suggest a play on perspective: my image is as large as I choose it to be, depending on how I illuminate myself. It may also suggest a sense of worthlessness or powerlessness in the face of this merry-go-round that is impossible to leave, and in this case the horse is not the mirror, but rather the merry-go-round that imprisons. It imprisons, but it is a shadow, not a real thing, so the imprisonment is subjective, somewhere between the conscious and the unconscious.

Yoongi, the eternal symbol of the shadow, inextricably evident in his solo track from the ‘Map of the Soul' era, walks amidst a circular storm. A whirlwind of clouds, smoke, fragments—perhaps of paper or leaves (I still need to watch the video about 1,547 times to pick up on all the details). The image reminds me as much of ‘Interlude: Shadow’ as it does of his ‘First Love’ short film from the ‘Wings’ era. The emotional turbulence, the dark side of the Force, the definition of the ‘character’ constructed at times as Agust D, at times as Min Yoongi, at times as Suga. Yet none of them is a character; they are all authentic facets of this complex and multidimensional artist’s personality.

Another striking image is the circle of seven chairs, where Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung are seated. They are happy, laughing and chatting. When Jin arrives, he greets everyone and joins them, sitting in an empty chair; Taehyung stands up and leaves, also smiling, happily. Just as during their military service, when the seven chairs remained united and the members took turns whilst preserving their shared space. Some enlisted earlier, whilst the others pursued solo projects. Then the first to enlist were discharged and took their places, embarking on their individual endeavors whilst awaiting the moment of reunion. A circle that remained unbroken despite the empty chairs, because they were never entirely empty. And staying together was a choice, which is reflected in the only moment in the entire music video where we see smiles and a lighthearted mood.

The only one who does not appear in a circular setting is Namjoon. In his verse, he says ‘my bed is my coffin’, and in the video he raps this while standing on a coffin. The square stone room resembles a cemetery, yet there is only a single coffin – Namjoon’s bed – where he has been openly battling the insomnia that is the main symptom of the depression he developed during his military service. Fortunately, he also seeks ‘a place that I could breathe on this map, world’ in ‘Swim’, and proclaims himself, ‘in front of the chaos and regrets, a human breathing and resisting’, when he sings ‘Into the Sun’ at the end of the show and the album.

But the video delves into many more layers, and it is impossible for me not to return to my own work at this moment of reflection. I excuse myself for making a few self-quotations. At one point in the book, for example, I step through the looking glass and visit a potential space, where I encounter the resonances between my own existential contents and the art and personality of each of the seven members. This is described as follows:

Can you imagine my surprise at seeing, in the recently released video, the image of the corridor and its doors, leading to each of the seven members, after they had made their way through the labyrinth and its rooms?

The music video begins with the carousel from You Never Walk Alone. Just like the 2017 album, Arirang also marks a rite of passage, a ‘coming of age’, even if of a different nature. In my book ‘The Galaxy Inside', in the chapter on 'Spring Day’, I explore the theme of the carousel:

Some people’s first impression of Arirang was that it lacked a certain depth and even authenticity when viewed within the context of BTS’s body of work. Then, gradually, these characteristics began to resurface as the concept was examined more closely. Until the carousel completed its turn and brought us the ‘Merry-go-round’ music video.

That is precisely why Arirang makes me link ‘Merry-go-round’ with ‘Seesaw’. There is a maturity in this new rite of passage that both demands and enables decision-making. The longing expressed in ‘Spring Day’ is reflected in the longing of the hiatus, of course. But there is a strength in their presence, in the way they stand before the world today, which stems from the realisation that the cycle can be broken by the very playfulness inherent in art. The carousel’s spin can become a pirouette when it turns into a toy rather than a prison. The seesaw is a game and a boost when it ceases to be a competition for power. We did see their bag; it is indeed full of trophies and hella thick. In Yoongi’s individual process room, I have a silent ‘dialogue’ with him, each of us at one end of the seesaw:

When leaving the military, they needed to revive the movement, but found themselves trapped on a “production line, working just like in a factory”, as we saw in the documentary. The globally acclaimed superstars, who have been through so many ups and downs, feel that ‘my life is like a broken roller coaster’. How do they get off this seesaw, this merry-go-round; how do they feel that roller-coaster thrill in their hearts again? Once again, it is the philosopher Kim Seokjin who comes to the rescue. In a conversation amongst the members, during which insecurities and doubts arose about how the new album would be received, Jin argues that, as long as they were together, happy, doing what they love, and Armys were happy, that would be enough. I also say in my book: “Certain seesaws in my life were in great need of a Seokjinian intervention”.

This essay is getting far too long, and I suspect I’ll need to return to this topic at some point. But the music video really did have an impact on me, as if it had got inside my head and seen me from the inside. It may be a little inelegant to quote myself so frequently, but I’ll finish for today with an excerpt from the ‘Seesaw’ chapter. May merry-go-rounds and seesaws remain fun, and may the members of BTS always rediscover the playfulness and joy in the art they create.

In the documentary about the process of creating his album D-Day (…), we realise that he himself experienced the anguish of the stasis of his artistic seesaw, but managed to get it moving again, without having to jump. I found in writing the weight of the pendulum that would restore continuous motion to certain spheres of my life. As for some others, although a little rusty, I discovered that a little boost could restore rhythm. The rhythm of breathing: inhale, exhale, fill, empty. The rhythm of existence. There are seesaws that I’ll have to abandon, however. I’ll probably come out with scraped knees. But I already have so many scars, I won’t even notice the ones on my knees. I’ve come off other seesaws and survived. Looking around, I see more toys. There are so many games and so many children in the playground! Maybe it’s time to change perspective and find the gang I want to keep playing with. Min Yoongi is definitely part of that gang.

P.S. I wrote the book over a year ago. Since then, I’ve discovered there are a bunch of children here on Substack with whom I’d love to keep playing.

I noticed a whole lot of things: each member representing an element of nature; suddenly the Sun merging with Hobi; the interplay of yin and yang; the Korean flag; dancers running with fabrics of different colours… It was all still very abstract. On Day 3, I was better prepared. I already knew I’d want to write about it, so I was ready to take notes and pick up on more details. I still wasn’t satisfied; a few pieces were missing from my interpretative puzzle. Today, I watched the live stream of the first day of the concert in Busan, the BTS Festa. I’ve gathered my thoughts, confirmed my hypotheses, and can now develop my own personal assessment. Tomorrow, I can go and enjoy the band’s anniversary at the cinema with my friends, just for the thrill of it. The VCR nerdiness ends today. Not that it wasn’t very emotional today. Just seeing ‘Normal’ sung in Korean… my eyes filled with tears. Namjoon, dear, I completely agree with you: “I believe in the power of lyrics!!!”. And I believe in the power of Bangtan Opera, as a performance design capable of encompassing the most diverse fields of art and thought within a cohesive, multi-layered narrative, allowing the viewer to engage with it from the surface—as pure entertainment—right through to multiple levels of semiological and artistic depth.

The entire concept of Arirang revolves around the tradition, history and folklore of the Korean people, and the ancient philosophy embodied in the image of the Taegeukgi (태극기), the flag of South Korea. The Arirang sample in the opening track, then King Seongdeok’s Divine Bell, serving as an interlude between the yang and yin halves of the album (as insightfully observed by Andreina in her essay “The Indivisible Knot: the Artistry in BTS’s ARIRANG”). At the concert, the first section concludes with ‘Body to Body’ and the powerful chorus of thousands singing ‘Arirang’, followed by ‘Idol’, another patriotic anthem, filled with cultural references, which is performed in a grand parade around the stadium, with dancers carrying flags and banners. A street party in Joseon.

The pre-concert setting alone immerses the audience in the atmosphere. The black-and-white images on the big screens and the traditional music invite meditation and tranquillity, contrary to what one might expect at a pop concert, where the DJ usually fires up the crowd with the band’s upbeat hits.

It came as no surprise to find strong cultural references in the intermission video as well. Which, in fact, is not limited to simply a video. It begins with dancers running onto the stage in straight lines, carrying giant strips of fabric in five colours: yellow, blue, red, white and black. The sequence of coloured lines eventually forms a circle, which spins, spins, and then breaks up and leaves the stage, giving way to the video being shown on the big screens. I’m tempted to start talking about these fabrics right away, which have been spinning in my head for over a month, but I’ll hold back, because I need to talk about the video first, so that they make sense. I must emphasise that the GDS concept—a physiotherapy methodology I have been devoted to studying for decades, and about which I have written in other essays here—has strong roots in traditional Chinese medicine, so it is inevitable that I will make some associations. In this text, I will mention some concepts that are described in detail in the following article:

However, there are different schools of thought within Eastern philosophy. The GDS concept was influenced by the Ko Cycle, which describes 5 elements / movements: earth, water, fire, wood and metal. The four black trigrams on the Korean flag (which, by the way, inspired the Arirang era logo itself) refer to the four essential elements within another school of thought: earth, water, fire and wind (or sky). Even the elements that are repeated evoke slightly different meanings.

But let’s move on to the video. Symbolic images alternate with the figures of the seven members of BTS. The connection with the meanings embodied in the Taegeukgi is undeniable.

The white background, which represents peace and purity, but which also represents the white canvas—the void from which everything can be generated, where everything begins and where ideas can flourish—is the first symbol evoked. It appears associated with RM, the leader, the original seed from which BTS was formed and who, to this day, is the mind from which ideas, concepts and lyrics germinate, but is also the foundation upon which all the others can rely and gain impulse to flourish.

Then comes Earth, associated with V. In my interpretation, Taehyung’s deep baritone voice anchors the vocal line to Earth. In the specific GDS psycho-corporal typology, which we summarise in the keyword ‘base’, associated with the sensation of welcome, security and comfort, as well as with the Earth element, we find this characteristic of resonance with low-pitched sounds. The other members of the vocal line are tenors, and they usually sing in their higher registers, despite having a wide vocal range. It is as if they were constantly pulling the sound towards the region of the psycho-corporal typology related to fire, associated with high-pitched sounds. When the four voices alternate, I physically feel the sensation of being carried towards my head by the very high-pitched voices, until Taehyung comes in and plants my feet firmly on the ground. It is the full meaning of ‘grounding on Earth’.

As for water, no one represents it better than Jimin. Jimin is fluidity in every respect. Fluidity of movement, fluidity of voice, fluidity of gender, fluidity of personality. Not in a negative sense, as someone lacking personality or character—quite the opposite—but the fluidity of someone who can fill empty spaces, like water, and be there for his companions whenever anyone needs him.

Jungkook is fire. He embodies the explosive and impulsive nature of the keyword ‘unique’, combined with the typologies of keyword ‘axis’ and ‘rhythm’, which represent childhood and adolescence. He is the youngest member, coming of age with all the power of this primal fire.

Suga is the wind, he is impermanence, thought unleashed, the voice that flows in every direction without regard for boundaries. It reminds me of the feeling I get when I listen to Yoongi’s rap—that I understand every word he says, even though I don’t literally understand Korean. He is so expressive through his voice that he makes himself understood beyond cognition, on a metaphysical level, on the realm of air.

Then comes the golden glow of the Sun, the light that transforms into Sunshine himself, J-Hope. A dazzling energy that would shine less brightly without its opposite, the pale light of the Moon, personified in the figure of Jin. The two have always been associated, respectively, with the images of the Sun and the Moon, ever since the Wings era, ten years ago now. Now, these images translate into yang and yin, which will take shape on stage with the entrance of new dancers, forming the centre of the Taegeukgi in red and blue, encompassing all symbols of harmony, from cosmic balance to pentacoordination.

And speaking of pentacoordination, I return to the fabrics from the outset. Because there were five of them, and I was very puzzled by the yellow one. In the Ko Cycle, or cycle of control, there is a relationship of complementary antagonism, of mutual control between the elements, to ensure the health and harmony of the whole. This is what we call pentacoordination in GDS. Except that the film didn’t show the elements of the Ko Cycle, but rather the four-element version. The colours of the Ko Cycle are: earth/yellow; water/black or violet; fire/red; wood/green; metal/blue. It didn’t work out with the fabrics either… They came in the four colours of the Taegeukgi (red, blue, white and black), but then there was that ‘intrusive’ yellow. I know this is rather nerdy of me, but that yellow really took up a considerable amount of space in my mental deliberations. Because my immediate interpretation will always be yellow = earth. Even in diagrams of muscle chains, the muscles belonging to the ‘keyword: base’ chain are always represented in yellow. I see this on the charts in my consulting room and in the slides for my courses every day, all day long.

So one possible personal interpretation could be: yellow anchors in the Korean land all the subjectivity symbolised in the nation’s flag. The nation is an abstract concept; the territory is substance, it is concrete. For the idea of Korea to become the Korean Land, where a people plant their roots, yellow is necessary. This theory aligns with the short film shown just before the encore, about which I have already seen comments such as: “oh, it’s nothing, it’s just a tree”. Yes, “it’s just a tree”, beautifully drawn, growing in every direction—roots, branches and leaves—towards the ground and towards the sky. Earth, water, fire, wood and metal, all the keywords blended together. Then they come on stage singing ‘Come Over’, in which they shyly ask us if we’ll still open the door for them, even though they’ve taken so long to show up. And they round off the cycle by singing: ‘I’ll follow you into the sun’. This only reinforces my theory that a BTS concert is a contemporary opera, and no yellow fabric is going to dissuade me from that idea.

Just today, over lunch, I shared the dilemma of the yellow fabric with my husband. He raised another possibility: yellow, red and blue are the primary colours. Wow, that was really clever of him. Because it makes perfect sense: the three primary colours, between black and white (the absence of colour and all colours mixed together). The five pentacoordinated fabrics, representing the primordial seed of all colours (with a broad interpretation of the meaning of ‘colours’), which will blossom in the film shown next and in all the symbols contained in the Taegeukgi.

My intention is not to ‘guess’ the true intention behind all these scenic, graphic and cinematographic elements. I think one of the greatest strengths of BTS’s art is this semi-abstract dimension in which all individual perceptions find a place. Rather than making definitive statements, they position themselves as vessels for each Army’s reflection. In my most recent piece, I comment on Namjoon: ‘These days, the mere fact that he makes us think is already something worth noting; it already defies the “normal”’.

It’s not normal for someone to spend so much time thinking about a piece of yellow fabric. But how many thoughts have sprung from the soil of that yellow fabric? During the performance of ‘Normal’, the lightsticks in the stadium turn yellow. I can’t wait to choose this colour at the cinema tomorrow and “dance yellow” while singing “Will you colour me red? Will you colour me blue?”.

Happy Festa!!!

We had the lovely Family Photo shoot. Not Concept Photos, Photo Sketch or any other name we’re used to. Family Photos.

Then came the series of 7 videos, each exactly 6 minutes and 13 seconds long, referencing the date 6.13, called NORMAL LOGS. Each member used a camera to capture a snapshot of their daily life, of their intimacy. Jimin on the floor of the hotel room, folding clothes and packing for the upcoming trip to El Paso. J-Hope washing his face in the bathroom, doing his skincare routine, choosing his outfit for the day. Suga proudly showing off his brand-new Eric Clapton model Stratocaster guitar. Taehyung, Jungkook and Jin at the gym. Namjoon reading and drinking coffee.

To start with, given those logs at the gym, I already know I’m going to need to write part 6 of my series ‘BTS at their 30s: PT thoughts’. If you’re not familiar with it, and are interested, here are the links to parts 1 to 5:

PT thoughts part 2

PT thoughts part 3

PT thoughts part 4

PT thoughts part 5

Also, my physiotherapist’s eye couldn’t help but be drawn to the obvious discomfort in Namjoon’s neck and shoulders, despite the supposedly comfortable and relaxed position he had chosen to adopt for that reading session. Or was that part of the concept? The concept of Namjoon’s NORMAL LOG is the main subject of this text, but first I mustn’t fail to mention the pearl of wisdom from my beloved philosopher Kim Seokjin, our Korean Yoda: “People are supposed to get healthier when they rest, so why do we have to work out to get healthier?”. Theoretically, as a physiotherapist, I shouldn’t relate to this (kidding-not-kidding)… but I can completely relate and will develop further thoughts on this in the near future (oh my, topics are lining up in a long queue of future essays….).

So here we are with Kim Namjoon, just awake, saying he usually reads a bit in the morning. He shows a massive book he’s been reading for a few months, but which is finally nearly finished. He puts on his glasses and sits down to read, to the sound of the not-so-white-noise of waterfalls and singing birds. And we spend the next 6 minutes watching, as Namjoon reads while sipping coffee. “And we call this sh*t normal”, as he himself says in the song.

There are many layers to this video, which made my mind whirl with ideas. The first thing: he wasn’t actually reading. He clearly wasn’t focused on the text; he kept flicking back and forth through the pages. You could see there were pictures, probably abstract paintings; it was likely a book on art. He’d created a pleasant, bright atmosphere, with the sounds of nature, the book, the coffee. But he wasn’t comfortable. He was constantly moving, trying to relieve the tension in his neck. He tried to pick up the cup without looking, and ended up groping around. He moved the side table to bring the cup closer. “Wish I had a minute just to turn me off”, he wrote in the same song, but his moment of peace and privacy included a camera that would share this recording with millions of people.

If the person were not Kim Namjoon, we might think this simulacrum of reading was a rehearsed scene, in keeping with the image of the ‘cool’ intellectual, the ‘thinking head’ of BTS, the man with a ‘sexy brain’, in the words of philosopher Kim Seokjin. Fake intellectualism, the most Instagrammable version of the concept of Namjooning.

But it was Kim Namjoon in the video, so it’s impossible not to think about the intentionality behind the whole mise-en-scène. It’s impossible not to see it as a statement. Or even an art installation, which is my main theory. It is common knowledge that he has a deep connection with the visual arts. He is currently curating an exhibition at MoMA San Francisco, where he will be displaying works from his private collection of contemporary Korean art, establishing a dialogue with the Western works in the museum’s collection. He produced a 6-minute, 13-second video of a young man reading, yet not reading; comfortable, yet uncomfortable; in an urban setting, to the sound of nature playing through a speaker; in his privacy, yet being filmed and subsequently broadcast to millions of people. Furthermore, the experience consists of an observer behind a screen, facing a young man reading a physical book, yet this very experience is mediated by the screen that the young man deliberately positioned to capture the moment.

Not forgetting that the book in his hands was, most likely, about contemporary art, I can perfectly envision this video in a museum gallery, an installation with a title that could range from “Young Reader” to “Meta-reading on canvas”. Let me just remind you that he was the one who wrote the song Still life (2022), about his life being constantly portrayed on a canvas. But I’m not going down that path. If I start talking about Indigo, I’ll never finish this essay.

On the other hand, I cannot help but think that Namjoon’s silence, in itself, conveys a message. “Heavy is the head, when you chase the truth”. His head felt heavy indeed; that much was clear. Was he genuinely suffering from neck pain, or was that too a statement, a performance charged with meaning?

“Normal” was one of the songs he discussed most deeply during his Arirang livestream. The same livestream in which he complained about the little value placed on lyrics these days. In which he said: “We don’t really read books anymore”. Perhaps he felt he had said everything he had to say on that occasion, and now opted for silence. Silence coupled with a book, defending his position. “Two sides of a coin and they both ain’t true”. Book and screen, speech and silence, intellect and entertainment, privacy and exposure. “Fantasy and fame, yeah, the things we choose”. When it comes to Namjoon, so well known for his words, nothing could have been more eloquent than silence.

RM’s rap verse in Normal:

He gave us ‘all of him’ in that video. His contradictions and paradoxes, his fragility and confidence, his intimacy with clear boundaries. His silence may have been, in a way, an answer to the question ‘What the hell you want from me?’. Just as, in his own words, Arirang was the best they could do in that context, at that time, under those conditions, he gives us the best he can, at that moment, from his own unique artistic approach: food for thought.

The line “Will you colour me red? Will you colour me blue?” makes me think of the two pills in The Matrix, one leading to a devastatingly undesired reality and the other preserving the illusion of “normality” within an unreal daily routine. Which Namjoon did we see in that video? The one from reality or the one from The Matrix? Which side of the coin did he choose to present to the public? Given that “they both ain’t true”? And what about us, the viewers of the video? Which side of the Matrix are we on? How many of Namjoon’s enthusiastic fans, who declare him their bias or ultimate favourite, praising above all his culture and intellect, actually read books or visit art galleries?

It might be that he simply decided to play with the image of the “avid reader” that everyone has of him. He had to record that 6-minute-and-13-second video, so he decided to keep it simple. It might be that all this overthinking is only in my head; the video, after all, perhaps wasn’t intended to have such a profound concept. In any case, this is what Namjoon provokes as an artist, intentionally or not. He “gets us feeling things unusual”. These days, the mere fact that he makes us think is already something noteworthy; it already defies the “normal”.

We sit there, watching those 6 minutes in which, basically, nothing happens. But a lot happens. And we’re left with the paradox that closes the song:

Happy Festa!

Join chat

How to get started

1. Get the Substack app by clicking this link or the button below. New chat threads won’t be sent sent via email, so turn on push notifications so you don’t miss conversation as it happens. You can also access chat on the web.

Get app

2. Open the app and tap the Chat icon. It looks like two bubbles in the bottom bar, and you’ll see a row for my chat inside.

3. That’s it! Jump into my thread to say hi, and if you have any issues, check out Substack’s FAQ.

Since I came back from Seoul, we’ve been thoroughly discussing Arirang – the album, the songs, the documentary. At some point, I said that, despite what many people say, I feel that Arirang is the most Korean of all their albums, and also that ‘Aliens’ is the most Korean of all the tracks on Arirang.

Then, in the next class, Lisa seonsaengnim (선생님) not only brought the lyrics of ‘Aliens’ for us to work on together, but she even prepared a full lesson on the Jungmori Jangdan (장단), complete with percussion notation, educational videos and historical and ethnographic context. Our nerdy souls rejoiced in musical harmony.

Some background is needed to set the scene.

The release of Arirang was marked by a mix of long-time fans enthusiastic about the album’s quality, new fans drawn in by the group’s sonic, visual and performative transformation (version 2.0), and an avalanche of harsh criticism, particularly regarding a supposed lack of ‘Koreanness’. Amidst this, fans of the band’s more pop-oriented side resented the massive return to rapline-centred musicality. But above all, many people – myself included – were taken aback by the predominance of English in the lyrics. At first glance, it seemed like an album created primarily for a global audience, going against everything the concept of Arirang stood for. Just as the world was opening up to learn Korean, BTS surrendered and sang in English. Or did they?

I confess that, from the very beginning, that wasn’t my impression. I had the opportunity to discuss the matter at length with my travelling companions in Seoul, who joined me for the album launch at Youedo Park on 20 March, the concert at Gwanghwamun Square the following day, the various interviews and the launch of the Netflix documentary. Our views diverged on several aspects, but I always felt that the fact there was a lot of English on the album didn’t diminish its ‘Koreanness’; it simply broadened BTS’s dialogue to reach audiences beyond Army. As I told them, I myself could only take part in that debate because I spoke English in the first place. If I only spoke my native Brazilian Portuguese, I would never have been able to connect with them. My Korean-American friend argued, quite properly, that I wasn’t world-famous, and that BTS wouldn’t need to rely on this tactic. She is absolutely right, of course. BTS can demand that the world speak Korean if it wants to understand them. But that is a choice involving somewhat more complex factors.

These factors were very evident in the documentary: in short, the conflict of interests between the artists and the company. In particular, Namjoon and Yoongi wanted more Korean in the lyrics, whilst the executives argued for the need for a global album. Namjoon, Yoongi and Taehyung were concerned about the responsibility of including the Arirang sample in a pop song and this being seen as a commercial use of the nation’s most precious cultural treasure.

But the truth is that they managed to come to a middle ground on all of this. The song ‘Body to Body’, which contains the Arirang sample, conveys different messages depending on whether we listen to only the English verses or understand the Korean part. It is accessible enough for a global audience — it’s the sort of song that gets the crowd fired up in the stadium. However, when we get to the verses written in Korean, we realise the true connection with the essence of Arirang, and the ‘Koreanness’ appears as if by magic. Also, the crowd indeed sings Arirang in Korean wherever they go, and that bears a whole lot of meaning.

The members of BTS held a two-month ‘song camp’ in Los Angeles to compose and record the album. Artistic residencies of this kind are common in various fields, particularly literature and the visual arts. The artist submits their work for review by peers and mentors, receives feedback, and refines the work through a process of exchange and discussion. This was the kind of process we saw in the Netflix documentary. I have never, however, seen the names of people participating in artistic residencies credited as authors in books, installations or other works that have gone through the same process. Anyone familiar with BTS’s music recognises the voices of RM, Suga and J-Hope in the album’s lyrics. So far, I still haven’t quite understood why there are so many people listed in the credits for the album’s songs. Did those people who appeared in the documentary giving Namjoon feedback on what he was writing in his own notebook receive songwriting credits? Is that why ‘Come Over’ didn’t make it onto the album? Because Yoongi wouldn’t compromise on a song so important to him?

But what does all this have to do with ‘Aliens’?

It has to do with my observation that this is the most ‘Korean’ track on the album. It’s the one where we can almost see the rappers’ handwriting (translation by Doolset Lyrics):

And also:

And above all—which brings us to my main point in all of this—when J-Hope sings:

Because, by now, every ARMY on the planet (or even on alien planets) already knows that Jungmori is a classic rhythm in traditional Korean music, a fundamental part of the country’s cultural heritage. But Lisa seonsaengnim didn’t stop at just that. She showed me the percussion instrument (janggu) used to create the rhythmic pattern, shared a video from the Korean Traditional Music Centre, studied the music sheet with me and had me listen to Jungmori in comparison with other rhythms, to ‘sharpen’ my ear.

And what a surprise it was when I found the traces of actual Jungmori in Aliens. The traditional rhythm echoes in the song, even though the drums used in the recording are entirely electronic. However experimental and contemporary the sound of this song may seem, there is a revival of traditional sounding elements, and, in particular, the beat refers directly to Jungmori, in a way that is even more noticeable in J-Hope’s verse, where it is explicitly named. To top it off, the song ends with a sort of military beat, evoking the distinctly Korean experience of having one’s youth crossed by the obligation of military service in a country at war – which they have all just been through themselves.

In the contemporary world, in electronic music, on the new album, there’s room for grounding in culture and tradition. Aliens is a song in which they challenge the gaze of those with wide eyes, who speak a language other than theirs, and see them as foreigners, outsiders.

To those people, they respond: “The sun rises in the east”, “Everybody know now where the K is”. The centre of the world map has already shifted. They do not need to wear hanboks or even play ancient instruments to mark their Koreanness. They have already done that in previous performances and songs; there is no need for redundancy (no matter how gorgeous they look in hanboks). Koreanness is expressed through reinterpretation, recycling, universalisation. This goes far beyond language. Music is a language in itself.

Arirang represents Korea just as much as it represents all non-Anglophone, non-Eurocentric cultures, even though, yes, it is sung in English. Arirang represents me. And as the “aliens” from Toy Story say: “We are eternally grateful”.

Lightsaber vibes: the brightest side of the Force!

Speaking of worlds colliding… It’s been a few days since I got home from the US and returned to “real life”. I just realized it’s quite mind-blowing that, a while ago, I wrote the following piece and named it after the chorus of my second favourite BTS song, ‘Life Goes On’ (‘Spring Day’ is number one; I also have a piece named after it).

I open the text by saying just how much of a geek I am, crazy about Star Wars, Harry Potter and other stuff.

On this recent trip, I got to see BTS in Tampa twice, then spent a few days at Disneyworld with my son. Thus, BTS, Star Wars and Harry Potter, all at once, wrapped up in the most beautiful, warm-blanket-hug of mother-son quality time, after he’d been in Florida for four months as an exchange student. We even got to spend May the 4th (Star Wars Day) at Galaxy’s Edge in Disney’s Hollywood Studios, and that really is the ultimate shared nerdiness!

Han and Chewie definitely needed me and my young padawan to help them fly the Millennium Falcon properly, right?

In the aforementioned essay, I also speak of Chinese elements, balanced amongst each other in the harmony of the lemniscate, and how they connect to Korean culture through language. And then, the VCR shown during the concert intermission showcases BTS members representing such elements and symbols, which are connected to the meaning of the Korean flag, yet closely linked to the various schools of thought in traditional Chinese philosophy and medicine (the VCR itself, by the way, is set to be explored in further depth in an upcoming essay of mine).

I didn’t even need BTS to have played ‘Life Goes On’, as if it were ‘just for me’, as the surprise song on Day 3. Yet they did. I also didn’t need Namjoon himself to come over to my side of the audience to wave and send hearts at that exact moment. And yet he did. I guess they knew that would be the perfect conclusion to this process of self-healing I’ve been indulging in over the past few weeks, ever since I went to Seoul for the Comeback. I had a rough start to 2026, but now I feel a sense of things coming full circle.

The footage is about as chaotic as the emotions I was feeling, but still...

In ‘Swim’, Namjoon says:

I answer him, paraphrasing J-Hope’s “More”: My writing makes me breathe, and I want more.

And to Yoongi’s verse:

I respond: I just wanna dive.

Swimming and diving in Tampa Day 2

PT thoughts part 2

PT thoughts part 3

PT thoughts part 4

In recent days, Bangtan TV released two videos on YouTube that invited me to revisit the subject: backstage footage and preparations for the Comeback concert in Seoul and for the US promotions of ‘Arirang’. The videos allow us to follow closely how the group dealt with the ankle sprain suffered by Namjoon two days before the big concert at Gwanghwamun Square.

My humble footage at The Comeback

First of all, I want to say that I stand by my view that turning 30 does not make them more prone to injury. An ankle sprain can happen to a dancer or athlete of any discipline, during rehearsals or training, at any age. What we see in the videos is what characterises the difference between young rookies and established, mature artists.

It is a fact that the BTS leader could not be off stage during the momentous occasion that was the concert in Gwanghwamun Square, even with his leg in a cast. What caught my attention, however, was the serenity with which not only Namjoon, but the entire group, reorganised the performance around this unavoidable problem. Choreography was modified, placements were adapted. Everyone contributed ideas. J-Hope, for example, pointed out that a particular option drew too much attention to his bandmate’s limping exit from the stage, and proposed another idea that allowed for a more discreet movement. Everyone took part in the decision-making.

This was the best I could do in the sea of phones, but still... “we’re finally here!”

In the video about the US promotions, a statement by Namjoon at the Guggenheim Museum was emblematic: “I can’t do 2.0, but I think I can do Swim”. It was his choice. Swim is a slower song and the choreography is simpler. He didn’t dance to the full extent of his abilities, but he was able to keep up with the group. In 2.0, he sang whilst sitting down, or standing still. And that’s fine.

At that point, he was no longer wearing the cast, but he was still on crutches and in pain. However, he had the maturity and freedom to balance his desires, his responsibilities, his ambitions and his physical limitations. How many times must each of them have danced through intense pain, pushing through injuries? The most obvious and well-known example is Yoongi’s shoulder. Many times, as well, members were left out of the performance, or performed whilst seated, because they were injured or ill. This is normal, especially in such a numerous group, subjected to such intense physical work.

What I saw, however, was a team of mature artists who have been able to take advantage of a status earned over the years, allowing them to make decisions balancing health and performance on their own terms, setting boundaries and reshaping the performance in their own way, based on their own choices and artistic vision. Namjoon no longer needs to prove anything to anyone; he has reached a level of respectability earned through his own merit. This is liberating and does not happen at the start of a career, despite the benefits of youth.

At the concerts in Goyang and Tokyo, Namjoon was still being carried during the ‘victory lap’ around the stadium, to the sound of ‘Idol’. In Tampa, the first stop on the American leg of the tour, he was already running freely – I was there to see it for myself (lucky me!). He was well looked after, took good care of himself, made a quick recovery, and continues to shine. When he opens ‘Body to Body’ by saying “I need the whole stadium to jump”, he can jump along with us, and will probably keep jumping for a long time to come.

Keep swimming, keep jumping, Bangtan! (Tampa, day 3)

I don’t travel to tick off cities or tourist attractions. I travel to live experiences. Attribution of meaning has always been a guiding element in everything I do. My travels are the embodiment of this way of life. From this perspective, my recent trip to Seoul was a sort of culmination of the process that has occupied my mind, my emotions, my relationships and my time over the last almost two years.

Yes, I went to Seoul to watch BTS’s comeback live in Gwanghwamun Square and to take part in the festival organised by the city of Seoul in honour of the group’s return. But above all, I went to meet H.M. Carrijo. I write here on Substack and also sign my book under a pseudonym. This persona, this alter ego, has revived the artist and writer within me and allowed me to rediscover a creative freedom I no longer thought possible. H.M. Carrijo has met many people, exchanged many ideas, and connected with an incredible diversity of stories, backgrounds, points of view, nationalities and even languages. All these people know me by my real name; it’s no secret. It’s just that Renata’s backpack was too heavy; she needed to lighten the load a little, allow herself some breathing space, without mixing the new world unfolding before her with what was previously known about her, what was expected of her, and even what was demanded of her. A different name was a liberating choice.

And so, H.M. Carrijo travelled to Seoul with a friend who, until then, had only existed in countless video calls and messages. She met people whose writing she had already read. She had breakfast at Amsterdam airport, during her stopover, with another friend who also existed only in the digital world, but who had also written an incredible book, which they had talked about so much. H.M. Carrijo went to live the Army experience in the flesh. She took part in meet-ups, pyjama parties, and outings to places of significance to Army. She spent 11 days alongside people who didn’t roll their eyes at the mention of the name BTS. On the contrary, they are eager to talk about the group, attentive to every new release, willing to spend hours discussing the album, the concert, the documentary. Women like me, with careers, husbands, children, responsibilities. Women with whom I found a common ground for exercising my newly acquired emotional freedom.

Some experiences, however, I needed to have on my own. Such was the case with my visit to Ttukseom Hangang Park on the sunny Saturday of 28 March.

Although I deeply admire BTS as a group, all seven members with their individuality and incomparable talents, the great magnet that binds me to them is the poetry of the leader and main lyricist, Kim Namjoon. His song ‘Reflection’, which is part of the 2016 album ‘Wings’, was initially to be titled ‘At Ttukseom’. The name was changed because, in terms of a global audience, it was considered somewhat obscure. The lyrics say (translation from Korean by Doolset Lyrics):

Namjoon says he wrote many lyrics in Ttukseom, including what is, for me personally, the most important song in the entire BTS discography: ‘Spring Day’. Well, I wanted to go to Ttukseom, on my own, sit under a tree and put on my earbuds to listen to ‘Reflection’ and ‘Spring Day’ in the very place where they were written. I wanted to immerse myself, through the experience, in the surroundings, the light, the scent, and the sensations evoked by these two songs that are so significant to my own story. The Army vocabulary includes the term “Namjooning”, which essentially means enjoying life in the ways of Kim Namjoon: walks in nature, books, museums, quality time with close friends. I went to Ttukseom to connect with my own version of “Namjooning”.

I’d been checking the weather forecast, hoping to see some cherry blossoms. My online sources were categorical: not until next week. I might see a tree here, another there, but a k-drama-worthy walkway lined with blossoms? No chance.

But then, as I was strolling through Ttukseom, admiring the beauty of the various other trees I’d been coming across along the way, I stumbled upon the most unbelievable stretch of cherry trees in full bloom. It looked as though Namjoon himself had personally ordered them, as a gift for me. I sat down on a rock beneath the cherry trees, facing the River Han, put on my earphones and surrendered to the moment.

Then came the surprises. The kind that arise when we are open enough to receive them. The kind that justify my diligence in always seeking to learn the language of the place I intend to visit.

Two elderly ladies approached me. They, too, looked as though they’d stepped straight out of a K-drama. Gently, one of them said: “We wanted to thank you for appreciating the beauty of our Korea.” And she gave me a candy as a gift. We chatted for a while, then she said: “You look so pretty there, would you like me to take a photo of you with your mobile?” And so she did. And the memory of that brief encounter will remain with me forever. Because I’m sure they were drawn to the energy of happiness that I was undoubtedly radiating. It was a moment of pure joy, just me, completely free. Those ladies’ sensitivity picked up on my light-heartedness and my freedom. I added the sweet taste of the candy to the mix of sensations, whilst I listened to music for a little longer. Then I got up and carried on strolling, heading towards yet another surprise.

I sat on a wooden swing, also facing the Han River. I stayed there, enjoying the scenery, the beautiful day, the pleasant temperature. A little while later, another elderly lady arrived. “May I sit here? My knees are aching…”. Given that there were other empty benches and swings, she obviously just wanted to chat with this woman who was “different” from those she was used to seeing around there. Ttukseom is a park very popular with locals; it was full of people picnicking, strolling about – the usual Saturday springtime scene. I probably stood out because I wasn’t Asian and was alone in that Seoulite treasure, off the usual tourist beaten track. The thing is, I was totally open to having a chat with the sweet old lady. I love making contact, chatting with the locals. Getting to know a place, for me, also means connecting with the people. She is 92 years old and walks in Ttukseom every day. She lives by herself, just round the corner. She told me about her five children, showed me photos, asked about me. We chatted for a good 20 minutes. We took a photo together, both on my phone and hers. When she walked away, she left a little piece of Seoul with me, in my little box of memories, in my heart.

Namjoon wrote ‘Spring Day’ whilst watching the falling leaves in Ttukseom. It’s a song about waiting, about the spring day that will come, no matter how long the cold winter lasts. In this new era of their work, the message is “keep swimming”, even if the sea is rough. Both messages are similar in a way, but the one in the brand new song “Swim” speaks of a more active kind of resilience, more in line with who I am today, compared to when BTS came into my life.

I indeed kept swimming, and landed in Seoul, to connect with my own desire for poetry, mine alone. To experience my inner Namjoon, on a perfect Spring Day. With blooming cherry trees, blue sky, and lovely old ladies. For me, this is the precise definition of Magic.

I left for Seoul on 17th March. I arrived there on the 19th; it’s quite a long journey. On the 20th, I witnessed the release of the new album at the Love Song Lounge at Yeouido Park. On the 21st, I went to the concert in Gwanghwamun Square. In the meantime, I met in real life some Army friends who had previously only existed on my computer screen. I was flooded with countless notifications from Weverse – live streams, teasers, the ‘Swim’ music video, Namjoon’s ankle injury. An avalanche of content began, including interviews, variety shows, Jimmy Fallon, the Guggenheim, album reviews (both positive and negative), and articles of all kinds. I found myself among a group of intelligent, educated women, passionate about BTS, from diverse nationalities and backgrounds, with whom I had the opportunity to discuss and dissect lyrics, performances and concepts. We went to the concert together, rented a party room to watch the Netflix stream together (the following day), and had a pyjama party to watch and discuss the documentary (on the day of its release).

Within 11 days, I lived a universe of experiences. My companions were following all the content published online much more diligently than I was, because I didn’t want to be stuck on my phone. I wanted to live Seoul, in the present moment. There would be time to watch everything later. I spent time both with them and alone, breathing in the atmosphere of every moment.

I thought I’d be writing furiously on the flight home. The first leg, from Seoul to Amsterdam, was a night flight, so I planned to try and get some sleep. From Amsterdam to Rio, a daytime flight, I’d have 12 hours to put my thoughts, analyses, experiences and insights down on paper. But I couldn’t do it. The sheer volume of ideas swirling round in my head was overwhelming; I didn’t even know where to start. I felt suffocated, as if my voice were stuck in my throat.

Then, the day after I got home, the MV for 2.0 was released. And it summed up a lot of what I was feeling, at least as far as the comeback itself was concerned. And I realised that it would be my starting point.

The song 2.0 literally speaks of this new stage in BTS’s career, an ‘upgraded’ version. They conquered the world in their twenties, achieved impressive careers as soloists, and now they’re returning to the scene together, stronger, more mature, to take their rightful place. As the lyrics say, ‘came back for what’s mine’.

A lot has already been said about the MV, from the reference to the Korean film ‘Oldboy’ by Park Chan-wook (who also directed ‘Decision to Leave’, Namjoon’s favourite film), to all the usual interpretations by the Army regarding every detail in the scene. I haven’t watched ‘Oldboy’ – yet – so I didn’t pick up on the reference straight away. I watched the MV the moment I received the notification on Weverse, so I hadn’t read any reactions or comments yet. I’d like to talk about my impressions from that moment, when I watched it about three times in a row, immersed solely in my own perceptions.

The video really does feel like a synthesis of what the transition to BTS 2.0 might look like. As it unfolded before my eyes, I was overcome by a flood of memories. Without realising the reference to ‘Oldboy’, what came to mind was ‘Not Today’, ‘Dope’, and other music videos charged with the same energy. A blend of rebellion, agressiveness and humour, as well as the impeccable synchronisation of the choreography, which also brings back the young BTS 1.0. A first impression that they remain who they were, and return to their artistic roots just as they reclaim their Korean identity, the theme which runs through the Arirang project.

Yet, at the same time, one can sense the weight of each of the seven members’ solo work. Each of them radiates an attitude, a presence, and an assertiveness distinct from the previous chapter. In my view, the characters portrayed in the first half of the video reflect these identities. When I see the seven of them stepping out of the lift, when the choreography begins, I see Lost in Namjoon’s image, I see Agust D’s Haegum, with his long hair and wide-collared shirt, I see Taehyung who wanted to sing jazz in a brown suit, I see the energy of Mona Lisa, of Who, of Standing next to you, I see Jin exuding the confidence gained from his world tour. At the same time, all these individualities, which have become so distinct, blend together like the bibimbap from Namjoon’s famous speech, forming a delicious and harmonious whole, without dissonance or conflict over protagonism.

So they head back to the lift and change into their outfits for the second part – essentially the second chapter, version 2.0. And it is at this moment that the transformation becomes clear. They stand apart from everything that came before and no longer fit into any pre-established category. Pop or K-pop? Rock? Hip hop? It doesn’t matter. They keep singing, dancing and rapping, at the highest technical and expressive level, just as they always have. But there is a fresh kind of elegance, attitude and presence that carry the weight of the crown they bear. Stylish, striking costumes, yet without excess. Subtlety in the hairstyles and accessories, with well-balanced Korean references. A frame discreet enough to truly let the work of art shine.

They have come a long way in these nearly four years, a journey that included their military service – more traumatic for some than for others, but which represented, for all of them, an interruption in one way or another. The extent to which this experience has contributed, and will continue to contribute, to each member’s personal and artistic maturity is a film we are still watching at this moment, and we have no way of knowing the outcome. The undeniable fact is that, over this time, each member has honed their skills; the group’s evolution is the result of individual growth, catalysed by the unparalleled chemistry of the seven together, which allows them to recreate the group’s unity whilst preserving what each has achieved on their own. It is the recipe for permanence that reflects this new era for BTS, with the name ‘Arirang’ evoking the Korean expression of timelessness.

There’s still plenty of content yet to come, and it will take a fair bit of time to process my days in Seoul. The world tour is about to start, and then we’ll see the full concert, which will be different from what I saw at Gwanghwamun Square. As for myself, I’ve already secured tickets for two shows, and I’m hoping to get one for São Paulo as well. My experiences in Seoul weren’t only about BTS, but I feel like my writing will take a while to move on to other topics, at least for now.

Anyway, I hope these fantastic artists stay healthy and don’t skip meals, as the Koreans say. May an excellent physiotherapist take care of Namjoon’s ankle (please!!!). And may the beauty of the last few days continue to resonate within me for a long time to come.

Apobangpo!

Anyone who knows me, even just a little bit, knows that I’m a huge geek.

I tend to fall in love with and dive deep into themes that interest me. I have a deep curiosity about topics that many people consider irrelevant.

I am crazy about Star Wars and Harry Potter, the Arthurian cycle (for those who don’t know, the stories related to King Arthur and surrounding themes), the history of medieval Europe, various mythologies, Korean culture, and BTS. I have always had a true passion for languages and words. I like to understand the etymology of words, discover where expressions came from, and unravel the cultural and historical context that underlies the construction of languages. I love learning new languages.

It was fascinating for me to discover that the days of the week in English have names derived from the gods of Norse mythology, a heritage of the Viking presence in Britain. It was also fascinating when I learned that the days of the week in Korean are named after the five elements of Traditional Chinese Medicine (in addition to the Sun and Moon, which seem to be present in all languages, which makes perfect sense). Maybe all this is completely silly to you, but it’s the kind of discovery that puts a smile on my face.

I recently came across the work of Scarlett, here on Substack, who writes excellent articles on astrology and K-dramas, among other interesting topics. Her latest essay was about the days of the week and their relationship to the different planets, even mentioning the five Chinese elements in the composition of this vocabulary in the Korean language. My text today is actually a kind of conversation with Scarlett, as it was her text that motivated me to address this subject.

I wrote a series of four articles about my perspective, as a physiotherapist, on the central theme of my writing here on Substack: the work of BTS. However, in these texts, I explored my own area of work ‘behind the screen’ in a little more depth, describing the concept of GDS muscle and articulationt chains and the psycho-corporal typologies that characterise them. I did not, however, address the more strictly biomechanical aspects of muscle chains, sticking to the behavioural and symbolic universe.

However, bodily attitudes and gestures are set off and sculpted in the body by muscular actions, which are structured from a complex interplay of action and reaction between the different muscle chains. Within this vast subject, I will concentrate here on an aspect related to what Scarlett’s article raised: the Chinese elements.

This is because Godelieve Denys Struyf (GDS) drew a parallel between her psycho-corporal typologies and the five elements of Traditional Chinese Medicine. For her, when describing her principles as ‘a global view of the individual’, the idea of globality that would most closely match her thinking would be that of Chinese medicine, as it is the most holistic: not only does it consider the mind-body unity, but it also includes, in its perception of the individual, all the factors – internal and external – that relate to them.

If you have read my article “BTS at their 30s: PT thoughts (part 3)”, you may remember the keywords that describe the different typologies. There are seven typologies, but three of them are variations of the same structure, which makes it possible to associate the typologies with the five elements. They are:

Axis (together with Rhythm and Unique) = Fire

Goal = Water

Communication = Wood

Focus = Metal

Base = Earth

In human biomechanics, in order to structure the body in an organised manner when standing and moving, it is necessary to exist a complementary antagonism, that is, all chains must exert a ‘healthy control’ over each other, so that none becomes excessive and takes over, triggering pathological processes or even preventing the variety of psycho-corporal expressions that are the mark of our alternation and adaptability. Interestingly, this relationship of control-complementarity occurs, biomechanically, following the same functioning as the Controlling Cycle (Ko Cycle) in Chinese medicine. This is further evidence that natural phenomena can be observed and described in different ways, and that the definition of what is or is not ‘scientific’ depends predominantly on the prevailing paradigm in the dominant culture.

In her researches, Godelieve Denys Struyf also investigated how tension is transmitted from one chain to another, based on reflex processes mediated by the nervous system, which we will not explore in depth here. What is interesting, in fact, is that she observed a constancy in this transmission of tension. By replicating the sequence on the image of the star of the Ko Cycle, what we obtain is the mathematical symbol for infinity, the Lemniscate. This is a very appropriate image to symbolise the infinite flow of tension and energy, which represents the presence of life and movement in the body.

So imagine my surprise in Korean class when I discovered that the order of the days of the week, whose names come from the Chinese elements, is the exact order of the Lemniscate: Fire - Water - Wood - Metal - Earth. The days pass, the weeks, the months, the years, in an infinite flow. And this flow dialogues with the infinite flow of movement and energy in every human being who inhabits this planet.

In my ‘physiotherapeutic’ texts, I have been supporting the idea that body language is our main means of expression, which precedes and intersects with words. At no point, however, have I sought to deny the immense importance of verbal language in the formation of the individual and culture. According to Godelieve Denys Struyf:

Despite this ‘linguistic diaspora’ metaphorised in the Tower of Babel, the connection between different peoples remains, both in body language and in the remnants of unity in verbal language, even though different languages seem so distinct. Language is one of the main expressions of a culture. In the interstices of language we can find traces of all the accumulated knowledge of a people, as well as their beliefs and traditions. In the same way, through the encounter of languages, it is possible to discover unsuspected convergences of knowledge accumulated over centuries and millennia. As such, the ancestral is constantly updated through its daily use, even when denied by the scientific parameters prevailing in each time period.

Arirang is a Korean folk song that has been passed down orally for over 600 years. It has been declared an immaterial cultural heritage by UNESCO and represents the unity and identity of the Korean people. It is the title of BTS’s new album, attesting to the group’s connection to their roots and culture, even though — and especially because — they have become global artists.

My teacher knows that I am Army, that I have a deep interest in Korean history and culture and that I am a major nerd, so she prepared a tailor-made lesson that delighted and moved me.

I learned about the different regions at the time when there was only one Korea. I learned the ancient linguistic expressions that appear in the different versions of the lyrics. I learned that, in all versions, the song speaks of longing, waiting, suffering for a distant love. About building a house to wait for a love that cannot arrive, about trying to cross mountains and hills to find those who are far away.

Arirang was sung by the people at work, in rituals, ceremonies and plays. In more recent times, it was sung as a form of protest during the Japanese occupation, when the Korean National Anthem was prohibited.

Arirang makes sense in a country arbitrarily divided by political and military forces, which are unable, however, to override the fact that, from north to south, they are all Koreans. Arirang speaks of the suffering of this impassable road, of the wait for unification, even though the song has been existing for so many centuries.

Because waiting, the pain of distance, insurmountable bridges, all of this has been present in human history since human beings organised themselves into societies. The beauty of Arirang lies in the universality that emanates from its character so deeply rooted in regional culture.

My teacher sent me videos from the national archive of Korean music. The traditional instruments, the sounds, exotic to my ears, the voices of those women, the pulsating lament in the music, the dignity of the hanboks and the movements, all of this touched me deeply.

I remembered Namjoon’s speech at the APEC summit, in which he defends the idea that only culture is capable of crossing borders. In a forum on global economics, he emphasised that art is the only way to unite people and transcend political and social differences. I also remembered the fantastic cellist Yo Yo Ma, who gave a free recital on the bridge connecting the United States and Mexico at a time when the construction of a wall at that location was being discussed. The audience sat on the ground behind the fences separating the border on both sides, and he stood alone on the bridge. In his speech, the musician stressed: ‘Art builds bridges, not walls.’

I have always been interested in music and dance from different cultural traditions. There is something poignant about those things that transcend time, something that unifies all peoples through art, which is the greatest expression of what is human in us. Arirang connects with humanity’s past, with the folk music of all peoples, and so, while it represents a culture so distant from my own, I can feel that it belongs to me too.

As for BTS, the videos sent by my teacher brought me an unexpected insight. Repeatedly, over time, I heard from the members of the group - especially Namjoon - that their work is not disconnected from their roots, that they will continue to compose in Korean, even though there is a constant demand for English. Some of their works highlight the connection with Korean traditions in a more obvious way, such as Idol and Daechwita, for example. However, when I saw the subtle dance movements of the women who sang Arirang in the videos I watched, I found unquestionable references that allowed me to realise that this connection is much greater than I suspected. BTS repeatedly ‘quotes’ traditional Korean dance in their choreography, in an almost subliminal way, but without a doubt. Could this be one of the secrets to the band’s global success? Contemporary pop music on the surface, but permeated and intertwined with the universality of what is most deeply rooted in an ancestral culture?

In the audio messages that the members left prior to the album’s release, Namjoon says: ‘We hope Arirang of BTS will be an album that transcends time and generations and sticks with you for a long long time.’ They talk about identity, roots and artistic authenticity, and Jin asks: ‘What is your Arirang?’.

We haven’t heard the album yet, it won’t be released until March. How long do we still have to wait until that spring day arrives and the wait is over? It’s curious how the lyrics of Spring Day, perhaps the most important song of the group’s career, bear a striking resemblance to Arirang in meaning, semantics and feeling. Spring Day has become, in a way, an Arirang for me. And now, the meaning of Arirang has expanded into a much broader concept, which makes me certain that Namjoon’s wish will be granted. Arirang has existed for centuries as a local cultural manifestation. BTS is turning Arirang, as an artistic manifestation, into a contemporary global expression of universal significance. This goes beyond even the songs on the album itself. It is certain that the mark they are leaving will span generations, because their work honours the true meaning of art.

In the previous episode of this saga, I briefly described the different psychocorporal typologies, emphasising that none of the ‘Tannies’ (or people who inhabit this planet) fully fit into any of them. Everyone is a mixture, and the more adaptable and subject to change, the healthier they are, both physically and emotionally.

I also mentioned that these structures can be functioning on their light side or their shadow side and, when out of balance, will leave morphological traces of their excesses, marking the body with their muscle chains.

In this text, I would like to use the theoretical background I have previously built to construct the observation in a more practical way. I want to invite you to see the bodies of Bangtan through my lens. I do not intend here to be categorical and determine that my conclusions correspond to indisputable and scientifically proven reality. I am simply sharing a reading of body language.

In every ‘conversation,’ there are myriad subjectivities that mediate between the speaker and the listener. The decoding of the message is linked to the symbolic, historical, cultural, and circumstantial universe of the recipient, in addition to being loaded with non-verbal aspects, such as tone and rhythm of speech, quality of gaze, physiological reactions (sweating and changes in breathing pace, for example), among others. Non-verbal nuances can interfere with the decoding of the message, even in the case of translation, for those who are not fluent in Korean, and every Army knows this very well.

The same is true in the ‘conversation’ of the body. We do not have access to all the elements, so our analysis will always be partial and biased. However, some things ‘scream out’, especially to those who have a trained eye. This is particularly true when bodies communicate messages that are very different from those to which the eye has become accustomed through constant observation. This is also particularly true when these messages already have one foot on the dark side of the Force.

I will give some small illustrative examples to add fuel to this discussion and help with understanding, as it is very important to clarify the purpose of dealing with typologies as archetypes, that is, reference models that are not used for labelling, but rather to place the interpretation of language and body behaviour in context.

I can already see that part 4 will not be the last, but why should it be?

Anyway, two moments in BTS’s recent history caught my attention in terms of body language. The first situation was the Gucci fashion show. If I’m not mistaken, it was Jin’s first appearance after his discharge. Even if it wasn’t the first, it was certainly very soon after he left the military. Jin was as handsome as ever, his outfit stunning. But I was intrigued by how his torso gave me the impression of being ‘shorter’. I looked for more images and realised that, in fact, there was a kind of ‘constraint’ on his abdomen. In the videos, I noticed that he sometimes tried to straighten his posture, but it was difficult. Jin’s body showed signs - based on the kind of interpretation proposed in the concept that guides me - of a certain emotional void. This was entirely consistent with the fact that he had spent the last 18 months in the military.

The postural characteristics of a certain introversion (keyword Focus) are constantly present in Jin’s body language, and they contribute to aggravating the closedness of the torso by the muscle chain that will ‘complain’ about the emotional void (keyword Base). After all, introversion is a protective mechanism. Jin’s shyness - sometimes unsuspected - is one of his greatest charms, but at that moment it was acting as a veritable armour. Recent recordings from the Run Seokjin tour already show a different, freer body. A longer torso, as it always had been. The body expressed the trauma, and now it expresses recovery.

The second situation really broke my heart. In the live stream immediately after the discharge, Jimin and Jungkook were sitting on the couch at Hybe. I was already deeply disturbed by how uncomfortable they looked in those uniforms that seemed to be shrinking, they looked suffocated, stiff. Those two ‘naughty children,’ so full of life and movement, gave the impression of wearing a straitjacket. At one point, Jungkook puts his hand on Jimin’s neck, and he automatically flinches. He avoids his friend’s touch and adopts a protective posture, bending and rotating inward. He curls up like a little snail in his shell. I almost cried. JK keeps his hand there, maintaining contact with the skin, offering affection and comfort (keyword: Base). Jimin calms down, both physically and emotionally. He relaxes his posture and smiles. Honestly... What did the military do to these boys??? Don’t even get me started on Namjoon...

Back to Jimin, our baby mochi, since the military, he shows automatic protective reactions (keyword Focus). If he is casually captured by a camera, as in Hobi and Jin’s concerts, he instantly retreats and covers his face.

As a Dior ambassador, at work, he embodies the star that he is, posing and showing off at the height of his beauty. Off stage, however, he still seems to be licking his wounds. One of my favourite moments from this new phase was when he took to the stage of Run Seokjin, alongside Taehyung. He didn’t do a solo, like Tae, Hobi, and JK. He didn’t even intend to go on stage. He was visibly uncomfortable. Then, immediately, the superhero of emotional intelligence, Kim Seokjin, came and threw a whole bottle of water right in his face. That small gesture was enough to ‘break’ the crystallisation of his introspective attitude. Jimin visibly “took off his armour,” loosened up, and ran around the stage with his friends, joking, smiling, and having fun. Thank you, Seokjin. You nailed it. And you even gave me a beautiful example to use in my lectures.

What is interesting to note is that both Jimin and Jin have always shown, respectively, the Focus and Base typologies in their physical and behavioural predominances. However, I was used to seeing these pyschocorporal attitudes in the plenitude of their Jedi aspect, with adaptability and alternation. Soon after the military, those typologies, which were already a relevant part of their expressive repertoires, crystallised in excess due to possible traumatic experiences (I cannot state this for certain, it is only a hypothesis) . The same keyword Base that makes Jin the ‘Mother’ of Bangtan, when out of balance, closed the anterior region of his torso to protect him from emotional aggression (real, metaphorical, and subliminal). The same keyword Focus, which makes Jimin this irresistible and adorable creature (sexy, cutie, lovely, as he says himself), in excess, brought insecurity and the wish for invisibility.

In any case, I always prefer to talk about the Jedi side of typologies, how they manifest beautifully in the bodies and behaviour of our beloved idols, in healthy balance. However, I have been concerned about the effects of the negative experiences they have probably had over the last two years, and I think the traces of these effects are quite emblematic to feed the discussion I have proposed here.

In the next few texts, I would like to focus on the beauty of their expressiveness on stage. The members constantly say, in their speeches at concerts, that it is on stage that they become who they really are, that they are most authentic, most truly themselves. I believe in the sincerity of this statement and attest to the quality of their body presence in the act of producing their art. Body language reveals the artist’s personality traits and emotional states even before the introduction of verbal language, whether in the form of music or speech. As I mentioned earlier, it is also extremely important to take into account the non-verbal aspects of speech. This includes speech in the form of music.

One of BTS’s main strengths lies in the message expressed in the lyrics of their songs. Which is to say, words have unquestionable relevance. Even in verbal language, however, the bond that the artist creates with the viewer is established not only by the content of the speech (or song), but above all by what they communicate outside of it, in the interstices. I think I’ll spend the rest of my life contemplating and delving into these interstices.

In addition to GDS’s original drawings, I will include images of BTS members. I would like to emphasise that these typologies are not labels. The same member may appear illustrating different typologies. The choice of photo relates to the message expressed by that member’s body language at that specific moment. This does not mean, in any way, that this is their only expressive possibility, nor that they fit entirely into that typology, nor that they fully correspond to all the characteristics described in that typology.

Godelieve Denys-Struyf always said that:

It is a premise of the GDS Concept that individuals become ill when they lose this adaptability and cristalize into a single mode of functioning. It is necessary to adopt different behaviours in different situations in life. This is a sign of bodily and emotional intelligence, not a lack of personality. Of course, there must be balance in everything. ‘Excessive adaptability,’ which translates into a certain susceptibility and influenceability (reminiscent of Woody Allen’s character Zelig), is also a form of crystallisation. It is necessary to be able to move between postures, behaviours, and emotions, expanding one’s expressive vocabulary and facilitating relationships with oneself, others, and the environment.

The typologies and their behavioral and physical characteristics, therefore, are not good or bad, better or worse than others. Like the Force, they can be on the bright side or the dark side. On the bright side, in their Jedi potency, they are experiencing their essence without excess, without fixation, allowing alternation with the others. On the dark side, in their Sith potency, they crystallise in excess and prevent the expression of others. For example, it is very good to be extroverted, but one must be able to deepen relationships and focus on specific tasks. It is very good to be introverted, but one must be able to come out of their shell and establish relationships with the people around them, exploring the world outside their own cocoon. Extroverted or introverted, one is not better than the other. Both are Jedi when there is alternation and adaptability. Both are Sith when there is rigidity (physical, emotional, or behavioural).

It is definitely time to end the preamble. Let’s learn about the psychophysical and behavioural typologies described by Godelieve Denys Struyf. I hope this knowledge will shed light on aspects of your observation of idols, actors, and anyone else you want to observe using this filter. Without labelling anyone, remembering that we are all a great mixture of all of them. It is the predominance of one or the other that differentiates and singularises us. And the fact that we all possess all the elements, in greater or lesser proportion, makes resonance and dialogue possible. I understand what I recognise. I understand the body language of others because my perception connects with something that exists within me. That is why body language is universal.

So let’s go. I return to the image of the set of typologies to continue our journey.

Drawing by Godelieve Denys-Struyf

I will initially describe the first five typologies, which fit into the context of the so-called ‘foundational personality structures’. The last two form the ‘relational axis’. The archetypal structures of the personality axis interact with the environment through the relational axis, so even when there are strong predominances, as we see in certain individuals, we will never be faced with a ‘pure’ typology. Infinite combinations are possible, but we can always observe, at least, the combination of two simultaneously: one from the personality axis and one from the relational axis. Even the predominances in the same individual can vary, according to the specific moment in their life. We all have our predominant structures that manifest themselves from childhood, which are structural, with genetic components, and then, over time, a process of action and reaction is established between all typologies, according to environmental influences, the historical moment, culture, and epigenetics. I will describe each one, like an alphabet. Only after learning the alphabet can we mix everything together and write poetry.

Keyword: Goal

Postural attitude is characterised by forward momentum. “To infinity and beyond”, as Buzz Lightyear would say. The knees bend backwards in hyperextension and propel the whole body forward, culminating in an inflated chest and a head slightly tilted backwards, so that the gaze can see far ahead.

On a psycho-behavioural level, it is the mental, verbal discourse, reflection, thought, logical reasoning, intellectual analysis, rationalism. This structure speaks to the manifestation of a need to be useful. All intellectual and rational attributes will be an instrument to fulfil this desire.

We come into the world with empty suitcases, and we fill them throughout our lives with experiences. These empty suitcases are what we call ‘potentials’; they are like our existential projects, which we will realise – or not – progressively throughout our lives. The impulse to fulfil these potentials translates into what we call psycho-behavioural motivation. In this case, motivation drives the individual to action, manifesting itself in an entrepreneurial, achieving personality that believes in the value of effort. It is a typology guided by the notions of performance, overcoming obstacles, planning and carrying out projects, conquest, knowledge, expertise, and leadership. Archetypically, it is the explorer, the protective warrior, and also the father.

Freud described the phenomenon of castration, or ‘second birth,’ in which the Father (as a symbolic figure, not literally) is responsible for ‘cutting the umbilical cord,’ allowing for the psychic differentiation between mother and baby, which will be decisive for the baby’s individuation process, initiating the long process of ego formation. Similarly, the archetypal Father, represented in this typology, breaks with his roots and rejects the past in search of knowledge and the achievement of his goals. Rupture is useful to a certain extent, because being stuck in the past prevents the creation of the new. Once again, it is necessary to take into account whether this typology is adaptable or rigid in the person’s behaviour. On the bright side of the Force, they develop a life of their own, independent of their ancestors, but without losing their references and emotional connections. On the dark side, they turn their backs and cut ties without looking back, living a life without access to the roots that nourish them.

Similarly, when other characteristics crystallise into excess, they can fall into rigour, Cartesianism, and stubbornness. One can become someone who, instead of simply striving to achieve their goals, will step over others and invade their space.

This typology is characterized precisely by being very connected to the mental sphere, with a certain poverty in body awareness, a lack of presence in the body. In excess, on the dark side of the Force, this can mean disrespect for the body. It is the dynamic of ‘no pain, no gain,’ where achieving the goal is more important than preserving health, and where targets are pushed to increasingly unreachable limits.

I could say much more about each of these typologies, but I need to set limits consistent with what I intend to do in my space on Substack. So let’s move on to the next one.

Keyword: Base

The postural attitude is characterised by a rounded shape, towards the centre of the body. Slightly bent knees bring the body backwards and give an impression of stillness or stability. The forward-curved shape of both the torso and shoulders conveys warmth and invites a hug.

This typology is related to the affective dimension, roots, foundation, connection to the past and history, and the need to love and be loved. Each structure speaks of a psycho-behavioural motivation — a void that drives me to fill it and makes me seek, in life, elements, both psycho-behavioural and physical, that will fill it. Individuals with an ‘empty suitcase,’ a predominant potential in this facet of personality, will constantly experience a void of affection. It is with experiences linked to affection, to the sensory sphere, that this emptiness will be filled.

Freud, back in the 19th century, said that the ego is, above all, a bodily ego, which is built in the psyche through concrete bodily experiences. Countless other theorists, notably Winnicott, emphasise the importance of bodily experiences, of touch on the skin, of sensory experiences. This typology is archetypically represented in the figure of the Mother (symbolic, not literal), and is nourished by this maternal function that involves eye contact, touch, holding, sheltering and containment, both concrete and metaphorical.

It is a typology that speaks of roots, is attached to the past, to traditions, the safe place where I can return. It conveys the notion of stability, anchoring, nourishment, and care. It is linked to the feeling of security. It is the first structure to form in the psychic apparatus. When everything happens in a healthy way, it builds the idea that the past is where I rely on to create the future and better experience the present. These are people who love to keep memories, keepsakes, and have something to remember from every moment, but who, in excess, can become hoarders.

When balanced, we have a certain nostalgia, healthy and comforting, but on the dark side of the Force, there is a risk of exaggerated attachment to the past and emotional dependence. The person manifests a permanent need for attention, is jealous, possessive, insecure and may show symptoms of anguish. This anguish is marked in the body, especially with an exaggeration of the curling of the torso and a retreat of the chin.

This typology is linked to sensuality, which is different from seduction, which falls into another typology. They enjoy touch and like massage. It is actually the sensory realm, which is more primeval, linked mainly to smell, the most primordial sense. It is linked to enjoyment, both sexual and broad sensory pleasure, through food and many other means. They are people who like to experiment and indulge, and can become greedy when they ‘go overboard’.

In the right measure, they represent a safe haven, where a warm hug is always guaranteed.

Keyword: Axis

This typology is characterized by an upright posture, on the anti-gravity axis, with a long, erect neck. The body as a whole gives the impression of being pulled upwards by an invisible thread.

It connects with the notion of the ideal, in all its manifestations. The ideal of justice, beauty, ideology. It is linked to subjectivity, spirituality, art, intuition, inspiration, abstract thought and balance. Archetypically, it is the magical function, the world of fantasy, of tales transmitted in oral tradition, which form the individual symbolic universe from the fertile ground of culture.

Its connection with the notion of ideal conveys, at the same time, physical and moral rectitude. The sense of right and wrong is of enormous value to this typology, which manifests its moral rigour in a straight posture. This upright posture is also aligned with a certain dignity and nobility, as well as with a greater sensitivity to the spiritual and metaphysical universe.

In excess, rigour can become intransigence, dignity can become presumption, and a perceptive and abstract mind can lead to a detachment from reality.

With the next typology to be described (keyword: rhythm), it forms a pair of reciprocal tension, inseparable in bodily biomechanics, but also in behaviour. The Axis represents inspiration, both symbolic and concrete, in the act of breathing. Rhythm represents exhalation, necessary to empty what is full and enable the beginning of a new cycle. The Axis needs Rhythm so as not to stiffen.

Keyword: Rhythm

The posture is characterised by a kind of indolence, as if the thread pulling the axis typology upwards had suddenly been cut. The laid back body is sustained by the ‘law of least effort.’ As a result, the appearance is that of a true zigzag, in which the knees go backwards in hyperextension, the pelvis goes forward, the chest falls backwards, and the head compensates by going forward, giving the neck a great length.

Despite the ‘slumped,’ lazy appearance, people who function healthily in this typology are endowed with enormous bodily dynamism. The best example is J-Hope, as I mentioned in Part 2 of this series of articles. His body is so malleable that at times it seems as if his bones are made of rubber. Despite his ‘disassembled’ appearance in a static posture (at ease, without posing), his body is made for movement.

In excess, it can be characterised by hypermobility and lack of structure, which would facilitate the onset of injuries. Fortunately, our Hobi seems to be in perfect balance.

In the psycho-behavioural sphere, the typology of Rhythm is party, music, movement, alternation and adaptability. It is the indispensable structure, in the body and in the psyche, that prevents the others from stiffening and crystallising.

It is diplomacy, both concrete and metaphorical, in the sense that it mediates the influences of all psychocorporal structures, so that none takes power, none prevents the expression of the others. Archetypically, it is the ‘clown,’ the inner child, who needs to inhabit each of us.

It connects to emotion, and it is through it that we express our inner contents linked to all other structures.

When it is not properly constructed, it loses its dynamic quality and the person may become overly emotional, cyclothymic, and also impressionable, inconsequential, and irresponsible.

It always needs to partner with Axis to gain structure and avoid becoming excessively malleable. Together, they convey the notion that balance comes from recovering from small imbalances. Together, they are the pulse, the breathing, the rhythm of life.

Keyword: Unique

This typology is, in fact, a combination of the previous two. In postural attitude, instead of forming a pair of reciprocal tension, they divide territory and leave their mark on specific regions. It is characterised by a straight neck, hyperlordosis of the lower back, and hyperextended knees. As a structural postural typology, in its most noticeable form, I do not see it very often in Asian artists, curiously enough. In Brazil, among my students and patients, on the other hand, it is the one I encounter most frequently. In the field of research on GDS Muscle Chains, we have already empirically verified that there are certain predominances in different countries and ethnicities, but we have not yet developed formal studies to support these observations. In any case, although it does not appear physically in its relatively ‘pure’ form (which is why I could not find any specific images of Bangtan members to include as illustrations), we can clearly see that it is insidiously present in all of them. This speaks more to the manifestation of its behavioral characteristics, which are undoubtedly part of the psychocorporal repertoire of our beloved young men.

We are in the realm of impulsivity and impetus. Above all, the need to show oneself as a unique being, to mark one’s individuality. This characteristic can even lead to a certain eccentricity. The notion of ideal, manifested in the Axis, is enhanced in a ‘militant’ attitude towards this ideal, be it artistic, spiritual, political, aesthetic or of any other nature. We are fully in the realm of K-pop, with coloured hair, extravagant costumes and accessories galore. If I had to choose a single piece to exemplify the meaning of this structure, it would be the MV for Idol.

The song itself is a true anthem that also kind of “militates for a cause”. The music video is the party, the dance, the music, all elevated to the highest power, in an explosion of colours and visual information. It draws so much attention that the viewer cannot take their eyes off it or close their mouth, and that is all this typology wishes for.

Keywords: Focus and Communication

The two structures of the relational axis will be addressed together, as they are inseparable. They consist of the two basic ways of interacting with the environment, which can be summarised as introversion and extroversion.

The Focus typology is closed off from the outside world in an attitude of protection and reserve. This is manifested through internal rotations and a general narrowing of the figure.

The Communication typology opens up to contact, spreads the legs, projects the pelvis forward, opens the arms, takes up space.

The Focus structure is also responsible for a dynamic of closure in terms of behaviour. It is very fond of its personal space, is reserved in relation to the environment, makes itself invisible, protects itself. It does not open up easily to others, but once it establishes a path of friendship, it is deep and forever, especially when combined with the Base typology. The kind of person who arrives at a party and does not feel comfortable with many strangers, but with their closest circle will really deepen the relationship. Their reserved attitude also translates into a mysterious and seductive character, with a magnetic attractiveness.

They are organised, systematic, precise and detail-oriented, in the sense that they plan their actions, with a beginning, middle and end. They have the ability to catalogue things so they can access them when necessary.

It is the typology of endurance, of long-term resistance. Combined with the Goal structure, it will persevere until the objectives and projects are achieved.

The keyword Communication refers to contact with the world, the ability to express oneself, and a multiplicity of interests. There is always a suitcase in their hallway, as there is no time to unpack, because they always want to discover new people and places. They are not afraid to come into contact with other cultures, nor do they find it strange for a person to live and behave differently.

Combined with Base, they seek human contact, their house is always full of friends, the table is always set, the more people, the merrier. Combined with Goal, they multiply their experiences, they are capable of conquering the world, whether through the bright side or the dark side of the Force.

In opposition to Focus, it is characterised by the ability to synthesise, because it sees the whole, unlike an excess of Focus that sticks so much to detail that it becomes prolix. On the other hand, without the organisation of its mirror typology, it can easily become scattered, as its attention will be constantly drawn to new ideas and goals. In excess, life can be somewhat disorganised and chaotic.

Communication seeks to discover the universe, Focus brings this universe to oneself, to be analysed and elaborated.

Openness and closure, mediated by rhythm, situate us in our relationship with others and with the world, as if in perpetual motion. We often refer to the combination of Focus, Communication and Rhythm as the ‘dynamic triad’, the source of healthy adaptability and alternation, which allows us to be in the world in movement, in balance, in connection with everything around us.

I have attempted to summarise a vast amount of theoretical content in a reasonable number of words. It is difficult to find a middle ground between being frivolously shallow and painfully prolix. In part 4, I will discuss a few more specific observations about the members of BTS and these concepts established here. I look forward to our next chat.

References:

Campignion P. Les chaines musculaires et articulares – Concept G.D.S. – Aspects biomécaniques – notions de base. Bruxelas, ICTGDS, 2001.

Freud, S. O Ego e o Id. In: FREUD, S. Edição standard brasileira das obras psicológicas completas de Sigmund Freud. Rio de Janeiro: Imago, 1990. v. 19.

Struyf G. D.. La structuration psychocorporelle de l`enfant la vague de croissance selon la méthode G.D.S. Bruxelles, ICTGDS, 2010.

Struyf G. D. Les chaînes musculaires et articulaires. Bruxelas, ICTGDS, 1997.

Winnicott D. Playing and reality. London, Routledge, 2005.

J-Hope, age 31, live in Mexico City (3-23-2025)

In my last article, I began the endeavour of sharing my perspective on BTS—particularly with regard to the bodies of its members—from the point of view of a physiotherapist. However, I would like to change course a little. To continue the train of thought, it will be necessary to develop some theoretical content on the Concept of GDS Muscle and Articulation Chains, with regard to understanding body language based on the observation of archetypal typologies, which involve the genetic structure, postural attitude and gestural functioning, the latter strongly influenced by psycho-socio-behavioural factors. This subject came up at the meeting organised by Jae-Ha Kim (which motivated the production of these essays) precisely when I mentioned that, not surprisingly, J-Hope was the only one in the group who had never been removed from a performance due to injury. In my point of view, this fact was perfectly consistent with my observation about typological structure and the way Hoseok deals with his body in movement. Incidentally, it is possible to say that Jung Hoseok’s body is the very definition of movement. As for the rarity of injuries - astonishing for the group’s dance leader - this would be linked to enormous osteoarticular adaptability and a type of muscular plasticity that even allows for certain excesses, but J-Hope is so adaptable and his body is so rich in dynamism that his muscle plasticity allows for the transition of tension in order to generate a kind of perpetual motion, a permanent movement. The muscle or joint does not actually get injured, because before that happens, intuitively there has already been adjustment, adaptation, the gesture has changed direction and the integrity of the body has been preserved. Hobi is the perfect translation of one of the archetypal typologies described by Godelieve Denys Struyf, which I will begin to explain little by little.

As I mentioned, GDS began her research in the 1970s, and it has been continuously expanded and deepened by Philippe Campignion to the present day. I have the honour of being part of the scientific committee of the Centre de Formation Philippe Campignion in France, where we continue to update, investigate and transmit this theoretical and practical knowledge. I will try to outline the concept in general terms, somewhat in the style of GDS Muscle Chains 101.

Based on the observation of bodily attitudes and their relationship with psychobehaviour, Struyf devoted herself to unravelling the muscular mechanisms that sculpt morphology and gesture. Having developed her research at a time marked by the ideas of Piret and Béziers, that ‘every gesture is charged with psyche’, a period in which techniques and methods of body awareness and management proliferated, emphasising the influence of emotions on bodily states, her work stood out for its investigation of strictly anatomical aspects that, in a way, give concreteness to the concepts proposed by other authors of the time. This work has been further developed and validated in the studies of Philippe Campignion and his disciples. Like any practice, system of beliefs or activity, scientific work is also a cultural construct, with paradigms that vary over time and geography (Scarlett, I thought of you at this point...). For this reason, some bodily techniques that emerged between the 1960s and 1980s ended up falling into a certain category of ‘alternative’ or even ‘esoteric’. The GDS Concept ‘survived,’ even in times of scientific extremism, materialised in the pre-eminence of so-called ‘evidence-based practices,’ because it managed to find a middle ground between the valorisation of the subjectivities inherent to humans and the contemporary need for scientific validation in circumscribed academic models.

Here, I would just like to digress briefly... This discussion is extremely important to me, in the context of the debate about the attempt to impose a “hard science” status on the field of health. Given that such a wide variety of factors – both subjective and objective – interfere with the interpretation and understanding of body morphology and, consequently, of the processes of falling ill linked both to this morphology and to the associated psychobehaviour, it is imperative to question the scientific paradigm as the only clinically valid possibility. The great risk lies precisely in anchoring oneself in a reductionist and excluding biomedical model, which can lead to an anachronistic Cartesianism. In the century of ‘liquid modernity,’ it is not possible to think about the human being without reflecting on the aspects most essential to this human being: the subjectivity of the symbolic world and insertion into culture. Cardoso and others comment, based on Epstein’s work, that ‘although the human body can be described as a set of organs, fluids and physiological processes, it is more than that and, in their view, should be studied as a cultural surface on which social expectations and ideological meanings have been mapped’. To truly access health and disease in this body, it is essential to establish a dialogue between the various fields of knowledge.

Returning to the point, Godelieve Denys-Struyf then established six psychocorporal typologies (two of which merge to form a seventh), to which six muscle chains are associated. Her theories are based on the premise that behavioural motivations - the so-called psychobehavioural drives - induce ‘imbalances’, translated into changes in the disposition of body masses and levers. To rebalance the body in bipedal statics, a set of muscular actions is triggered. The chained reflex activation of these muscles, when recovering balance, sculpts the body into a postural attitude. For each psychobehavioural drive, a muscle chain is recruited and a morphological typology is drawn. According to Struyf, these basic typological structures are present in all human beings, in varying proportions. They constitute archetypes that materialise the different constituent elements of the human condition: body structure, personality, psyche, behaviour, predisposition to certain diseases or disorders, qualities and defects, way of relating to the environment, etc. This whole set of factors is manifested in morphological models constructed by specific muscular actions, which are represented graphically in psychocorporal typologies. In reality, however, no one fits entirely into a single typology; they are not meant to label people. On the contrary, they are structures of reference that allow us to understand with greater richness and precision the multiple mixtures that occur in each of us.

GDS psychocorporal typologies. Drawing by Godelieve Denys-Struyf.

The infinite possible combinations between these typologies produce the individualities that make us unique and, at the same time, enable us to recognise, intuitively or unconsciously, the elements of personality and behaviour expressed in each human being, in what is similar or different from our own typology.

According to Philippe Campignion:

In this sense, it is essential to take into account the muscular actions that produce this language in the form of the body. It is not a question here of interpreting the gesture as a superficial manifestation of intentionality. In common sense, for instance, we tend to attribute meaning to gestures such as crossing our arms, translating an attitude of ‘closed to the other.’ On the contrary, the point is to understand the very shape of the body as language, universally perceived for what it has in common with all human beings, given that it is part of a culturally acquired symbolic universe.

Rodrigues discusses the body as a cultural phenomenon, stating that ‘the human body is socially constructed.’ However, he does not fail to value the close relationship between the biological and symbolic aspects, emphasising the participation of automatisms, reflexes, and muscle tensions, among other essentially ‘physical’ manifestations, in processes and reactions of predominantly sociocultural origin. Even so, he agrees with the authors of the French Sociological School in thinking of the bodily dimension as less biological and individual than socially and historically influenced. The author emphasises, following the thought of Lévi-Strass, the bodily component of the organisation of human behaviour as language, in which organisation is understood as “presence and attribution of meaning, that is, the recognition that subtle differences and nuances in gaze, posture, manner of greeting, economic activities, and ritual procedures express an assessment about the relationships that exist between those who look at each other, behave, greet each other, work or act, and about the relationship between them and others who are not directly related to the former.”

Lévi-Strauss (in his preface to Marcel Mauss’s seminal work) emphasises that society expresses itself symbolically and that the symbolic universe is constructed in the collective sphere. The author even questions the formation of personality in early childhood as a psychological, and therefore individual phenomenon, situating this process instead within the spectrum of culture. His proposition is that ‘psychological formulation is nothing more than a translation, on the level of the individual psyche, of a structure that is properly sociological.’ This line of reasoning allows us to perceive body language - both morphologically and behaviourally - as a phenomenon that can be captured by sensory and unconscious perception, as it is a language recognised by the symbolic substrate of all individuals belonging to the same cultural scope. In the preface to one of Campignion’s first books, Struyf comments:

My point of view is that the expressive content conveyed by body language is not strictly ‘non-verbal,’ but rather seems to be a language that both precedes and permeates verbal communication, sometimes being inseparable from it. Such language would also be part of the set of symbolic systems that constitute culture. The body constitutes both signifier and signified, and can confirm or contradict what words express. Often, it is even in opposition to verbal language that body language proves most eloquent.

Given this theoretical context, we have a little more grounding to contemplate the bodies of our seven fantastic young men, both in terms of their static structure and the way they function in gesture and movement. The same phenomenon occurs with actors in cinema, theatre, or television, whether Korean or not. In a piece of drama, the characters are initially presented mainly through their physical characterisation. The viewer recognises the elements of personality and “understands” the character on a sensory level, which allows for an immediate connection, whether through identification or antagonism. Still following in the footsteps of Lévi-Strauss and Marcel Mauss, we have here the precedence of the signifier over the signified, and the unconscious decoding of communication, with this unconscious thought acting as a mediating element between the observer and the object of their observation.

In parallel, we find the perspective of the GDS concept, where Campignion states that:

This premise allows us to infer the possibility of ‘reading’ the personality traits and behaviour manifested in a bodily attitude. The very shape of the body then becomes a signifier that establishes an immediate relationship with the observer’s symbolic world, in an early and, so to speak, ‘pre-rational’ way. Is this connection more relevant, from a communication point of view, than that which occurs on a verbal, rational, intellectual level? What is the influence of social representations linked to different body types in the apprehension of this language?

The comparison between characters in dramas played by actors and our beloved idols is not random. Both in the way they present themselves on stage and in their ‘spontaneous’ interactions - backstage, lives, variety shows, interviews, etc. - we can theoretically consider them as characters, given that we only have access to what we are deliberately allowed to access. I am in no way questioning the sincerity or authenticity of these artists, which I honestly believe to be legitimate. I am simply acknowledging that the glimpses of their private lives that we see are an inseparable part of their public lives. There are facets of their personalities that are not exposed, nor should they be. This is true for all of us, in fact. We wear the appropriate outfit for each occasion, the appropriate persona for each situation that life imposes. The ability to switch between different personas is a sign of adaptability and psychocorporal repertoire, and should not be interpreted as deceitfulness or personality deficiency. That said, we will always assume that our interpretations are based on what we are allowed to see. And that this is enough for our own dialogue with their archetypal typologies and the way each of them resonates within ourselves.

When reading from postural archetypes universally connected to a so-called ‘human condition,’ one might naively believe that we consider the body observed on screen as a translation of the perspective of a continuity between the human being and the body, a body that exists in a being, devoid of the masks and armour constructed more or less voluntarily. On the contrary, we are fully aware that the composition of a character is, in itself, a mimesis. Once again, this applies both to fictional characters and to the characters played by idols on stage. Just look, for example, at Jungkook and Jimin in music videos and on stage, and then at their more spontaneous versions in ‘Are you sure?’. Their body language and posture are different. This implies different interpretations on the part of the observer. For if the body is language, there is an ongoing decoding that broadens our perceptual repertoire and enriches the relationship we establish between our own symbolic content and what reverberates in us from the message conveyed by different images of the same individual, the different personas that constitute part of the whole that they represent. Multiple pieces of information reach our mental processes when we see the image of Jimin in the music video for ‘Boy with Luv’ or else ‘We are bulletproof Part 2,’ or in his live stream immediately after his discharge from the military (still in uniform), or paragliding in Zermatt. What I find interesting to investigate is how each Army’s interpretation of their idols’ ‘gestural and postural menu’ emerges from content that is universally imbued in the perception and sensitivity of both the artist and the viewer.

These theoretical assumptions allow us to think of the body as a means of communication in itself, directly connected to a perception stimulated by culturally introjected content. When this tool is used consciously by the artist, there is an intentional expansion of the possibilities of signification. However, when there is a relation of intense constancy in observation, as occurs in the Army-BTS ecosystem, there ends up developing such familiarity, as well as such a desire to capture the smallest details, that the gaze extrapolates organic perception and follows a path of attribution of meanings which, although also anchored in the same culturally introjected content, become much more susceptible to the intentionality of interpretation, to what the eyes desire to see, and not only to what the eyes simply see and the psychic apparatus processes as information organised by the individual symbolic and cultural universe.

Once again, this text is getting quite long. We have more to cover in part 3. Until then, has all this talk given you any insight? Has your observation of J-Hope or Jimin’s body changed in any way?

I look forward to seeing you for another “physiochat”...

Note: All quotes have been freely translated by me from the original French or Portuguese versions.

References:

CAMPIGNION, P. Respir-Ações. São Paulo: Summus, 1998.

CAMPIGNION, P. Aspectos biomecânicos: cadeias musculares e articulares G.D.S.: noções básicas. São Paulo: Summus, 2003.

CARDOSO, M.H.C.A.; CAMARGO JUNIOR, K.R.C.; LLERENA JUNIOR, J.C. A epistemologia narrativa e o exercício clínico do diagnóstico. Ciência & Saúde Coletiva 2002; 7 (3): 555-69.

EPSTEIN, J. Altered conditions: disease, medicine and storyteller. Nova York-Londres: Routledge,1995.

MAUSS, M. Sociologia e antropologia. São Paulo: Ubu, 2017.

PIRET, S.; BEZIERS, M.M. A Coordenação motora: aspecto mecânico da organização psicomotora do homem. São Paulo: Summus, 1992.

RODRIGUES, J.C. O corpo na história [online]. Rio de Janeiro: FIOCRUZ, 1999.

RODRIGUES, J.C. Tabu do corpo [online]. 7 ed. rev. Rio de Janeiro: FIOCRUZ, 2006. Available in: <http://books.scielo.org>

RODRIGUES, J.C. Comunicação e significado: escritos indisciplinares. Rio de Janeiro: Mauad X: PUC-Rio, 2006.

RUSSO, J. O corpo contra a palavra - as terapias corporais no campo psicológico dos anos 80. Rio de Janeiro: UFRJ, 1993.

STRUYF, G.D. Les chaînes musculaires et articulaires. Bruxelas: ICTGDS, 1997.

STRUYF, G.D. La structuration psychocorporelle de l’enfant: la vague de croissance selon la méthode G.D.S.. Bruxelas: ICTGDS, 2010.

I recently participated in an online meet-up about Korean culture, hosted by journalist Jae-Ha Kim (this is her Substack!). At one point, a discussion arose about the possible increased likelihood of injuries among BTS members, given that they are in their 30s and have already passed the peak of their youth. I had intended to keep quiet in my corner, as it was my first time participating in the meeting, but I couldn’t help myself and argued that, on the contrary, I considered it more unlikely that they would get injured at this point in their career than when they were just starting out. I elaborated a little on the subject, trying not to go on too long, but then one of the participants, Scarlett (also on Substack!), showed interest in hearing more about it. I was taken aback for two reasons: a) In my immediate circle, BTS’s appeal is close to zero, which made Scarlett’s curiosity touch me deeply (wow! Someone is actually interested in what I have to say about this!!!!); b) the subject is extremely vast and, in that informal and new environment, in my particular circumstances, I found myself unexpectedly unable to organise my thoughts sufficiently to string together ideas succinctly and objectively, without drawing too much attention, as I was not there to seek the limelight, I was not there to give a lecture, after all.

So now, after so much lonely reflection, I’ve decided to start exposing the topic in a slightly more structured way. At first, my goal here on Substack was to separate the physiotherapist/teacher from the writer/journalist. This is the main reason for using a pseudonym in this space. But there’s no way around it, they are all part of who I am, and I sign off on what Jungkook sings in Idol: ‘There are tens and hundreds of myself within me’. At this moment, then, I change the tone of my writing and dedicate this text to Jae-Ha and Scarlett.

I am a physiotherapist and have been working with the concept of GDS Muscle and Articulation Chains for almost 30 years. Developed in the 1970s by physiotherapists Godelieve Denys-Struyf (1931-2009) and Philippe Campignion, this concept is characterised by the perception of the human being in its multiple aspects, seeking to understand the pains and dysfunctions of bones, muscles and joints within a broader context. In this way, the causes of the problem are treated, bringing lasting and consistent results. The global observation also allows us to act preventively, as we seek to understand the different terrains that can favor the appearance of injuries.

Many authors have devoted themselves to investigating the relationships between body and psyche, between gesture and emotional content. However, none of them have described the anatomy of psychocorporal expression and the influence of behaviour on postural attitude with the detail and depth that we find in the work of Godelieve Denys -Struyf and Philippe Campignion on the concept of GDS Muscle and Articulation Chains, in which the construction of postural attitude is described from a broadened context that involves behavioural, cultural, psychological, genetic and historical factors.

For almost 20 years, I have been Philippe Campignion’s representative in Brazil, having trained hundreds of physiotherapists in this methodology. Therefore, my view of the world is always impregnated with this kind of ‘filter’. Even without deliberate intention, it is inevitable that I observe people, social groups, characters from films and series, etc. from this perspective. I illustrate my classes didactically with analogies to the postural attitude and body behaviour of characters from Star Wars, K-dramas, and cartoons. Of course, it is also through this filter that I see the behaviour, structure, and functioning of the bodies of BTS members.

Before developing the most intriguing themes on the observation of structure and body language, based on GDS typologies, I want to start by commenting on the issue of predisposition to injuries. This was something I touched on at the Jae-Ha meet-up.

Idols begin their lives as trainees at a very young age, in an extremely competitive environment. Not only do they rehearse an unhealthy number of hours per day, but they also hide their pain and injuries for fear of being cut. At the beginning of their career, the members of BTS were younger, but they lived under this constant threat, especially in the face of the challenges they encountered as newcomers from a ‘smaller’ company. It is common knowledge that Jimin sometimes slept for only two hours on the floor of the rehearsal room while his permanence in the group was still uncertain. Similarly, Suga hid his traumatic shoulder injury for years, enduring intense pain and progressively worsening the problem, until, in 2020, the situation became unmanageable and surgery was inevitable.

I have always been curious about the type of physiotherapy chosen by Hybe for the care of its artists. In documentaries, lives, and backstage footage, I have sometimes seen staff wearing ‘physical trainer’ T-shirts (I have never seen ‘physiotherapists’). I see gyms and, occasionally, specific approaches to trauma situations, such as RM’s thigh injury during a concert, where we saw the classic treatment with cold compresses, probably followed by electrotherapy techniques. Classic physiotherapy, focused on treating immediate symptoms. I have always wondered if the physical training of BTS (and idols in general) included a more integrative, preventive, re-educational approach. Because it is a fact that all I have seen are specific, isolated fragments that do not reflect the entirety of the work undertaken. Classic physiotherapy remains, nevertheless, predominant in sports environments. Fortunately, however, more and more teams, elite athletes, and artists with high physical demands (ballet companies, for example) are turning to more global physiotherapy methodologies, in order to address the health of these athletes/artists in a more individualised, comprehensive, and preventive manner. I visited the physiotherapy department of the Royal Ballet in London and was delighted with the level of individualisation in the approach, not only for the leading stars, but for the company as a whole. I had met their Head of the Department at the International Conference for Dance Medicine and Science in Houston, who invited me to visit, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise, but it was certainly a delight.

When I went to Seoul in April 2025, it had been recently announced that Hybe was the first company in the entertainment industry to have a health facility in its own building, accessible to artists and staff. I was very curious to visit this space and find out what kind of work was being done there, especially because I am familiar with Brazilian, North American and European physiotherapy, but I have no idea how similar or different the work done in Asia - in this case, South Korea - would actually be. As almost all the members of BTS were in military service at the time, I thought it might be possible to visit the building and meet the professionals in charge. Unfortunately, I couldn’t even find out where to send an email (their system is reeeally sealed off). I’m left with my curiosity and my unconfirmed interpretations...

Anyway, getting back to the subject, I believe that at this point in their careers, at the age of 30, the members of BTS have greater emotional maturity, body awareness and self-confidence, in addition to the respect they have earned for the position they have achieved. They don’t need to hide pain or injury for fear of being “cut from the team”. They certainly have a staff capable of determining that, hypothetically, today, Suga is out of rehearsal to rest his body. Or maybe tomorrow, Jimin needs to spare his ankle, so he’ll just ‘mark’ the choreography, as they say in dance slang. I sincerely hope that this team is developing a programme of body awareness and re-education that effectively contributes to injury prevention. And that this work is not limited to stretching and weight training, but includes manual therapy techniques and body-structuring experiences. Because, at 30, they are at the peak of their physical power as artists. The peak of Barishnikov, Makarova, Nureyev, Fonteyn, among many others, was not at the age of 20. They were promising prodigies, but consistency and robustness in art come with maturity, requiring time, refinement, precision, and experience. A 20-year-old ballerina may be technically perfect and win all competitions. But she will not touch the emotions of the audience with the depth and complexity of a Maya Plisetskaia dancing ‘The Dying Swan’ at 30, 40, or even 60 years of age.

This essay is getting too long for Substack, and I haven’t even begun to talk about the archetypal postural typologies that characterise the GDS Concept. I already understand that I will have to unravel my ideas in parts. The subject will have to continue in a future text. I envisage myself facing a certain tug-of-war between the type of writing I set out to do when I created this space for the journalist and artist who pulsated within me, and the academic writing I have become used to over so many years. I intend to allow myself to explore and experiment within this diffuse boundary. To tell the truth, integrating my different personas is proving to be a real multidimensional adventure. In fact, it was J-Hope who convinced me to bring my physiotherapist and teacher selves into this parallel universe of mine, with the lyrics of his song: ‘My work makes me breathe, so I want more.’

Shall we keep talking?

Rehearsal rooms have always been a cherished memory for me. I spent much of my childhood, adolescence and young adulthood in these spaces with wooden floors, giant mirrors, dance outfits, companionship and joy.

From time to time, I go back to my old school to take ballet classes and reconnect with the young ballerina I used to be. Just being in the changing room and classroom gives me a sense of comfort.

Today, a rehearsal room warmed my heart too. Not my rehearsal room, though. Theirs. Since BTS came into my life, they have become my comfort zone. But I only became an Army in early 2024, so I never shared the same timeline with them as a complete group. I immersed myself deeply in their work, but always through content produced in the past. I watched countless dance practice videos, where the excellence and perfect synchrony of the choreography left me in awe. However, that rehearsal room was in the past, just like my ballet school.

Today Namjoon posted photos of their rehearsal room. Together as a group,  gathered in a room with a wooden floor and a mirror. Unposed photos showing the daily routine of preparing for a spectacle, a scene that is part of the DNA of my personal memories. I was struck by how much those images touched me, how much Bangtan was still able to move me in new ways, even though I thought I had already experienced every kind of emotion through them.

Nostalgia for the dancer I left behind is not a new emotion. I have felt it since the day I saw Jimin in the Black Swan MV. What was new was feeling the comfort of an affectionate memory in the rehearsal room of someone who is not me, in a moment shared between artists who are on the other side of the world, whose lives I do not participate in directly. But who have inevitably become part of mine.

This is the weight of the connection they create with their audience. They become a receptacle and mirror for emotions, memories, and reflections that belong to each of us, but which find in them the potential space to be fully experienced. It is the parasocial relationship metamorphosed into a path of self-knowledge, of self-contact. It is the synthesis of their narrative axis that starts with the concept of "Love yourself", so that you can find the "Map of the Soul", so that you can finally "Be" yourself and then ultimately need no "Permission to dance". It is the very materialisation of the "Magic shop", the healing space created by them with their music, where you can exchange fear for a positive attitude.

I can't even imagine what beautiful dances are sprouting in that space. For now,  the rehearsal room is enough for me. By itself, it has already healed wounds that I didn't even know it could heal, simply by synthesising my past, present and future in a single image. A multi-temporal wooden floor, where I can gather momentum to continue spinning, jumping and creating.