So was Jeon Jung-kook of BTS ( yes I will always bring BTS up…. Deal with it!!!).
That year matters to me, not because of nostalgia, but because of what it represents. 1997 wasn’t calm or settled. It was a year standing on the edge of something new, unsure whether to trust what came next. That uncertainty feels familiar. And ofcourse me and Jungkook was born in the same year, world needed us. 😂
A world that didn’t feel permanent
The world I was born into was already questioning itself.
Princess Diana 💕 died that year, and the way people reacted felt different. Public grief was raw, almost uncomfortable. It was one of the first times the world openly saw how fragile power, fame, and protection really were.
Colonial rule officially ended in Hong Kong. An old structure closed its chapter. At the same time, the Asian Financial Crisis shook economies that were supposed to be “safe.” Stability turned out to be temporary.
Even before I could understand it, the message was there: nothing lasts just because it always has.
Growing up alongside change
Technology didn’t explode in 1997. It crept in.
Netflix began as a simple idea. Google started quietly. Machines beat humans at chess for the first time. No one panicked yet, but something had shifted. The future was no longer distant. It was waiting.
I grew up adapting instead of arriving somewhere finished. Learning, unlearning, adjusting. That pattern stuck.
And to be honest, I am happy. Because I got to have a normal no phone childhood, and grow up as an amazing adult, with a great sense of self without caring about validation from anyone.
Emotion wasn’t embarrassing yet
Culture in 1997 felt honest.
Titanic made people cry openly, and it stays being one of my favourite movie (I can’t get past the fact that titanic came the same year as I was born). Music was dramatic. Pop stars were expressive, not detached. People weren’t afraid of feeling too much.
That shaped how I move through the world. I don’t dilute emotions to appear composed. I feel deeply, then decide what to do with it. Softness and strength were never opposites to me. They existed side by side.
Jungkook and the mirror effect
Jungkook being born the same year isn’t about comparison. It’s about resonance. He represents discipline with sensitivity. Growth without losing humanity. Global presence without emotional distance. Watching his evolution feels familiar. Not because our lives are similar, but because the tempo is.
We come from a year that doesn’t rush maturity, but demands it eventually. What being born in 1997 shaped in me I notice patterns before I trust systems. I value freedom but still want structure that earns my loyalty.
I’m independent, but I don’t mistake isolation for strength.
I’m ambitious, yet emotionally aware enough to know what ambition costs. I don’t force people. I state what I want. I don’t raise my voice (well I do kinda….). I hold my ground.
That’s very 1997.
What this year gave me
Being born in 1997 means I don’t blindly believe the world knows what it’s doing. I question gently. I move deliberately. I understand contradiction.
I can be brave and soft. Assertive and kind. Serious and playful.
Not because I’m trying to balance traits, but because I was born into a world that demanded flexibility.
Ohh….. A lot of things. The first is my second book. I have 2 ideas about 2 books, I am unable to choose which one I want to proceed with for now. I also don’t know where I want to put those books on. So I don’t know how I feel about all of this. Inspite of the fact that I have ideas, I am still unable to put it to practice. So I am stuck here…..
And the other thing is my poem book, again I have ideas for all the 20 poems, but because I also have a job, I am unable to start on this too. It’s like, I have the ideas, but I don’t know how to execute it. Am I the only one why feel like this? Or does anyone else also feels like it?
I feel like I have absolute no purpose right now, and I’m stuck in a loop, I don’t know how to get out of. I havebeen listening to BTS Sabrina Carpenter and Taylor’s new album, and that’s all I am doing. Working and listening to BTS, Taylor and Sabrina.
But I will surely start something this Saturday on my week off.
Okay, let’s be real—can you even imagine a world without music? No headphones on the way to work, no songs to scream-sing in the shower, no background tracks to your best (or worst) moments. Honestly, I can’t. Without music, my life would feel so empty, like living in black and white instead of color. 🌑✨
Music isn’t just sound—it’s therapy, it’s storytelling, it’s magic. Some days, the right song lifts me up like wings, and other days, it holds me when I just need to feel my feelings. It says the things I can’t say out loud.
Take Taylor Swift—she’s basically my diary set to music. 📝💔 Every era, every mood, she’s got a song for it. BTS? Their music feels like a pep talk straight to the soul, reminding me to keep believing in myself. 💜 Ariana Grande makes me feel powerful and unstoppable with those insane vocals. The Weeknd? He sets a vibe like no one else—moody, intense, but addictive. Kendrick Lamar makes me think deeper, like his words echo long after the track ends. And Beyoncé… she is music, honestly. Pure power, pure grace. 👑✨
And then, my heart belongs just as much to Arijit Singh and Shreya Ghoshal. Their songs? Instant goosebumps. 🥺🎤 They carry so much emotion, it feels like they’re singing straight to your soul. Hindi music has this way of making even the simplest feelings sound eternal.
Without all this, I think life would be flat. Music turns tiny moments into big ones. That random night drive suddenly feels cinematic. That heartbreak feels survivable because someone out there turned the same pain into a melody. That celebration? Ten times better with a beat to dance to. 🥂💃
So yeah… life without music? I don’t even want to think about it. It’s the heartbeat behind everything, the thing that makes ordinary days unforgettable. 🎧💫
Why Everyone’s Obsessed With Labubu? How a $15 Plush Became Fashion’s Latest Flex
Recently, I’ve been seeing Labubus everywhere. Online, in stores, dangling from designer bags… you literally can’t escape them. They’ve invaded my feed and my city like an adorable, toothy little army.
The first time I saw a Labubu was in a picture of Rihanna. She had one clipped to her bag like it was the hottest new accessory of the year. I thought, “Oh, cute—Rihanna’s carrying a plush toy.” But little did I know, that was the beginning of my Labubu nightmare.
Ever since then, those evil little creatures have followed me around. I don’t even get the appeal. They are ugly. Ugly in a way that’s almost impressive. They look like the kind of doll I would personally put a curse on and gift to my worst enemy, just to watch chaos unfold.
And yet, the obsession is real. People are dropping thousands of dollars just to get one. If you don’t have a Labubu, apparently you’re not just missing a plush—you’re missing life. It’s become a bizarre high-status badge.
Personally? I don’t own a Labubu, and I never will. But I had to know: how did this wave even start?
🤔What is a Labubu?
Labubu comes from the mind of Hong Kong illustrator Kasing Lung, part of his “The Monsters” series. The whole vibe is zoomorphic elves with exaggerated faces, but Labubu is the star—a scruffy, big-eared, sharp-toothed little monster inspired by Nordic folklore and forest spirits.
It started as an art toy back in 2015, living in the niche world of collectors and designer toy nerds. Then Pop Mart entered the scene, and everything changed.
✨How Pop Mart Turned Labubu into a Cultural Tsunami
Before Pop Mart, Labubu was a niche character. After Pop Mart? It was a marketing weapon. They put Labubu into their famous blind boxes—a genius move designed to keep people buying again and again just to “win” the one they wanted. Some boxes held rare “secret” editions, making them instant lottery tickets for collectors.
Labubu’s wide eyes, mischievous grin, and pointy ears translated perfectly into palm-sized vinyl. They looked great in photos. They looked even better in unboxing videos. Pop Mart cranked the hype machine with timed drops, limited runs, and no restocks—forcing people to act fast or pay absurd resale prices later.
Then came the celebrity seeding. Pop Mart slipped Labubus into the hands of influencers, and before long, they weren’t just collectibles—they were fashion-adjacent status symbols. You could clip one to your Birkin and instantly signal that you were in on the trend.
💅🏻Celebrity Jet Fuel
Celebrity influence didn’t just boost Labubu—it launched it into the stratosphere. Lisa from Blackpink casually carried a Labubu plush on her designer bag, and that was it. Labubu crossed over from toy-world darling to global fashion accessory.
From there, it was a celebrity free-for-all. Rihanna gave it street-style credibility. Dua Lipa made it playful and luxe. Kim Kardashian turned it into a paparazzi-worthy prop. The effect? People started seeing Labubu as more than a toy. It was a signal. If you had one, you weren’t just a collector—you were part of a cultural moment.
👹From Cute to Cursed: The “Evil Doll” Rumors
With hype comes chaos. And in Labubu’s case, chaos came with a supernatural twist.
Some conspiracy-loving corners of TikTok decided Labubu looked suspiciously like the Mesopotamian demon Pazuzu—wide grin, bulging eyes, sharp teeth. Cue the spooky stories: nightmares, strange noises, bad luck, even “demonic possession” claims.
Pop Mart even leaned into it, posting a fake recall notice on April Fools’ Day about “supernatural activity,” which, of course, only made the rumors worse.
In India, comedian Bharti Singh burned her child’s Labubu on camera, calling it “Shaitaan Ka Roop” (a demonic form). In Pakistan, actress Mishi Khan warned it could attract evil spirits. Across social media, people posted stories of nosebleeds, accidents, and creepy “watchful” eyes—followed by dramatic videos of Labubus being drowned, burned, or banished.
Experts say it’s all textbook “uncanny valley” anxiety mixed with internet folklore. No actual evidence supports the idea that Labubu is evil—it’s literally inspired by Nordic fairy tales, not demons. But facts are no match for viral superstition.
👀Why People Feel FOMO
Labubu isn’t just a plush—it’s a status symbol wrapped in scarcity. Blind box culture, limited drops, and celebrity hype all work together to create a sense of urgency. People aren’t just buying the toy—they’re buying membership in a trend.
If your favorite celebrity has one and your feed is full of them, not owning one starts to feel like social exclusion. And once scarcity kicks in, the prices skyrocket, which only makes it more desirable.
🗣️The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
The good: It’s a shared cultural moment. Fans connect over trades, unboxings, and styling. It fuels creativity, boosts Pop Mart’s business, and even supports indie creators making Labubu-inspired merch.
The bad: Resale market gouging, compulsive overspending, and trend burnout. Plus, the whole “evil doll” panic can actually cause anxiety and lead to bans, which is wild for something that’s basically a fuzzy goblin.
The ugly: One day, Labubu will be everywhere, and the same people who fought for one will pretend they never cared. That’s the internet for you.
🧠How to End the Madness
Want to kill the Labubu hysteria? Stop feeding it. Don’t share the cursed doll TikToks, stop paying scalper prices, and remember that no toy should dictate your social worth.
Also—maybe accept that not every plush with sharp teeth is a harbinger of doom. Sometimes it’s just a scruffy little monster from a Hong Kong illustrator’s imagination.
💓Conclusion
Labubu is the perfect storm: part art, part marketing genius, part internet fever dream. Pop Mart, celebrities, and social media made it unavoidable, and now it’s living rent-free in our cultural consciousness.
Enjoy it if you love it. Ignore it if you don’t. And if you really hate it? Well… you could always put a curse on it and gift it to your enemy.
Ladyink with love 