The first time a fan told me that I changed her life, I cried.

It was a year after I debuted with Girls Forever, and we were promoting our comeback single, “Sweet for You.” The music video hit fifty million views on the day it released, and the pastel bucket hats and pearl-frame sunglasses we wore in the video were sold out everywhere within a week. The fan was maybe eleven years old—the same age as me when I first started training with DB Entertainment—lanky and a little self-conscious, but all smiles to meet me, her eyes sparkling like the rhinestone studs on her T-shirt that spelled out my name: RACHEL KIM.

“Thank you so much, Rachel,” she said softly, holding out a homemade poster for me to sign.

“Of course!” I smiled back, fumbling with my gold signing pen as I scribbled out my name in what would become my well-known autograph (big R—ACHE—and finally a loopy L with a star on the tail).

I handed the poster back to the young girl, and a yellow-vested usher began to guide her down the line, but she called out, “Wait!” The usher rolled his eyes but allowed the girl to say her piece. She took a breath and looked at me with serious eyes. “I just moved to Seoul from America—just like you. It’s been hard,” she admitted, “but when I watch you perform and see you doing what you love, I feel less alone. Like maybe someday I can find my own way to shine. You really changed my life.” She smiled and thanked me for my signature. “Ahh!” she squealed, looking at it again. “You have no idea how much this means to me!” And with that, she hugged the poster to her chest and walked away. A big fat tear rolled down my cheek as I waved goodbye, swallowing the lump in my throat. Really, it was the other way around: she had no idea what her words meant to me.

Five and a half years in, I don’t cry at the fansigns anymore—I’ve learned how to keep a pleasant smile on my face through the events, to keep my emotions in check. Even so, sometimes I still want to pinch myself because it doesn’t feel real. How did I manage to get here? To say that training wasn’t easy would be a huge understatement. It was ruthless, demanding, and made me question my life choices more than a few times. And when we finally debuted, the pressure only amplified. Intense rehearsals, back-to-back live performances, and early-morning wake-up calls for music video shoots that lasted for two days straight, all with my eight Girls Forever groupmates, who I suddenly found myself with 24/7 (which, let’s be real, was a whole other kind of challenge).