Few things bring more joy than witnessing an artist lost in their creative process. There’s something profoundly moving about following their journey—the struggles, the breakthroughs, the relentless pursuit of something just out of reach. Maybe it resonates so deeply because I face the same challenges in my own pursuit of writing.

I have to start by saying that discovering—or more accurately, being captivated by—BTS was one of the most meaningful artistic moments of my 2024. It opened a window I hadn’t realized was closed. Suddenly, my senses sharpened, as if I were hearing music for the first time, despite always loving it. Why hadn’t I felt this way for a long time? I don’t know. Maybe it was just another one of my late-to-the-party moments. But what a party to finally arrive at. Each BTS member continues to amaze me—not just as a band, but as individuals.

SUGA’s Road to D-Day is a must-watch for anyone who loves music. Raw, unfiltered, and deeply human, it offers an intimate look at an artist unafraid to lay bare his doubts and struggles.

When he said, “You can’t be single-minded for anything in life. You become an adult the minute you stop dreaming,” it hit me hard. Lately, I’ve felt this shift creeping in—the quiet fading of dreams, the weight of time pulling them further from reach. I’ve been trying to reclaim them, to hold onto that sense of possibility, but it’s not easy.

There was something profoundly human in his willingness to admit, “To work on it, I have to bring up some of my unpleasant memories. It is part of the process, to bring back bad memories from your past and learn to control those memories.” Even with all his success, he still wrestles with creativity, self-doubt, and the ghosts of his past. Hearing him say it out loud made me reflect on my own journey—the dreams I’ve nurtured, the ones I’ve let slip away, and the ones I’m still trying to reclaim.

Lately, I’ve been working with a mindfulness coach, confronting difficult memories, and building emotional resilience. Like SUGA said, it’s not easy. But maybe that’s the process—learning to face what lingers in the past so we can move forward, still dreaming.

It was humbling to hear him acknowledge his own limitations: “We need to have lots of guts to let go. I guess I’m not brave enough.” That vulnerability was comforting. We all have those moments—feeling like we’re not enough, like others move faster, create more effortlessly. He put it plainly: “Some people are so creative they can write a song in a drop, but I guess they are just born with that ability.” And yet, he keeps going. He keeps redefining success, reminding us that creativity isn’t about speed but about authenticity.

And then, in the midst of all that reflection, he said something so simple yet so profound: “When I gather around with nice people and make good music, it’s better than buying a watch or expensive things.” That thought stayed with me long after the documentary ended—a reminder of what truly matters, not just in music, but in life. The connections we make. The joy of creating something meaningful. The moments of shared understanding. Those are the things that last.

It’s easy to dismiss words like these coming from someone who has already achieved wealth and success. Of course, it’s easier to say when you have everything. But deep down, we all know what truly fulfills us. We don’t always admit it, maybe out of fear, maybe because we’re caught up in chasing what the world tells us we should want. But he says it—openly, vulnerably—even as a public figure. And that honesty is something rare. Something that lingers.

Of course, I can’t forget his collaboration with the legendary Ryuichi Sakamoto. Watching them together was nothing short of emotional. SUGA has admired Ryuichi since childhood, and to see them not just create music but share a deep artistic connection was a joy. Even Ryuichi was impressed—by his story, his dedication and artistry. Their Music collaboration felt like a meeting of souls, two musicians from different generations bound by the same relentless pursuit of creation.

Ryuichi’s words during their conversation still linger: “No matter how many songs you make, you are never fully satisfied. When you reach the top floor, you always find a floor above. There is no end. The world is full of songs.”

That thought stayed with me—there is no final destination in art, only the endless journey of discovery. And maybe that’s the beauty of it. There will always be another note to play, another story to tell, another dream to chase. Another script to write—one that, if we’re lucky, will resonate with someone, somewhere.

Watching Road to D-Day didn’t just deepen my admiration for SUGA—it made me feel seen. His words, his struggles, his way of navigating the creative process reminded me why I love art, why I keep searching for meaning in music, in writing, in life itself. And for that, I am grateful.

Image courtesy of Disney Plus