Modeling responsible AI use is a powerful form of digital citizenship. In my context as a librarian, bibliotherapist, educator, and fan community member, it’s more than policy to practice. It is formation. 1. I will use ChatGPT as a collaborator, not a crutch.
I affirm that my voice, insight, and experience are primary. AI can support my clarity and output, but it will not replace my discernment, values, or lived knowledge. 2. I will protect the privacy of people in my care.
When working on bibliotherapy stories, student support materials, or community narratives, I will anonymize names and details, and I will never upload sensitive personal or medical data. 3. I will use AI to strengthen my advocacy, not compromise it.
Whether I'm crafting workshop materials or writing about fandom justice, I commit to using ChatGPT to amplify truth, care, and dignity—not to dilute or sanitize uncomfortable realities. 4. I will fact-check and attribute.
For any citations, lyrics, research, or shared ideas, I will verify sources and acknowledge creators. AI-generated responses will be cross-checked and revised before being used in public platforms. 5. I will remain reflective about the power and limits of AI.
I understand that ChatGPT is trained on vast, sometimes biased datasets. I commit to questioning, rewording, and reframing outputs that may reinforce colonial, ableist, or extractive thinking. 6. I will honor my process and my pauses.
Not every question needs an immediate answer. I will use silence, solitude, and community check-ins alongside my digital tools. I trust my pace and my rhythms.
On the evening of our second day in Seoul, we made our way to Otsu Seiromushi, the restaurant owned by Jin’s brother. Tucked inside a building in a business district in Seoul, the place was ready for our group to be accommodated. There was quiet excitement in the air.
When we were seated, we began with small servings of starters: a cold plate of sashimi and seasoned appetizers. The grilled Jeju black pig arrived soon after, and it was impeccable: greaseless, tender, and not charred at all. For a grilled meat dish, it looked and tasted healthy. I couldn’t help but compare it to the lechon black pig (a.k.a baboy ramo) I tasted during the PASLI Conference last April at the IRRI in Silang, Cavite. That version had subtle flavors of salt and tanlad. This one, however, was more refined. Thinly sliced, just one strip flavored the palate entirely.
The plate of sashimi was another star on the menu. Just like the grilled pork, it tasted fresh and clean. The tuna melted in the mouth, and there was a kind of discipline in the dish that made you want to eat with reverence. It made me want to take only what I could muster and consume; nothing wasted. My favorite, though, was the oden-style soup with fish cakes and tofu. It was warm, comforting, and nourishing. I’ve been craving soup lately, perhaps due to my changing hormones as I enter menopause, and this bowl hit the spot. The warmth was bracing, the tofu made it even more comforting, and the elegantly wrapped fish cake pouches added depth and texture. This wasn’t just soup. It was a hug in a bowl. Some of my companions ordered IGIN, the alcoholic drink that Jin himself helped develop. Even Zoe got a glass. I didn’t. Like Hoseok, I have low alcohol tolerance, but I appreciated the joy of everyone toasting and sharing this experience together.
What stood out just as much as the food was the installation art in the middle of the restaurant. It featured large rocks that seemed to float in mid-air, reflected in still water below. I remembered what Yoongi once said in an interview: “I wouldn’t mind being resurrected as a rock” (not in full quotation). It was a funny comment, but in that moment, looking at the quiet stones, it felt profound. Rocks are silent. Steady. Enduring. They don’t need to prove anything to exist. They simply are. And maybe that’s what makes them strong. That meal and that moment gave me pause. I was grateful to be there, with my daughter, with fellow ARMYs eating thoughtfully, sharing stories and getting to know each other a little more beyond our online personas. It was about tasting new flavors and appreciating the stillness, the artistry of the food and the community being built personally; relationally in a fandom space where we are often judged as nothing but screaming teenagers. Let them. This is our joy. We earned it. It is sacred.
Truly Teena Ordoño, thank you for this well curated ARMY Tour package! On ARMY Day, I reflect with gratitude on a journey that began with my ARMY daughter and BTS. For me, it has always reached beyond music; beyond the Purple ocean or universe. From day one, transcendence was apparent. It was already in motion. Not during the enlistment era or after, when all members have all been discharged. For who in Kpop would dare reference Omelas and Snow Piercer in a song of loss, longing and emancipation? At the 4th BTS Conference in the University of Malaya, I had the honor of standing among scholars and fellow aca-fans who continue to explore what BTS means in our lives. For many of us, BTS was not just a gateway into K-pop and newer music or transmedia storytelling. BTS was, and still is, a lifeline. Their music helped us heal. It gave language to our silences. For some, it even became a form of decolonization, a path toward reclaiming joy, self-worth, and belonging.
It has been my lived experience. It was never about image or optics. It was speaking one’s truth, and holding power and accountability for myself and others I hold in high esteem. And having one’s own understanding of this dynamic, parasocial it may be, is the pre-requisite for realignment.
Before we can realign our purpose as ARMY, we must first ask: Who is BTS in our lives? Not just as artists, (and in delulu moments, partners even lovers; in worst cases, commodities we can simply consume) but as companions, teachers, mirrors, and catalysts. Our answers to that question shape the kind of fandom, fanbase or fan group we choose to build, one rooted in authenticity, reflection, and care.
ARMY as a fandom has changed in the last three years; and so are the Tannies and the industry they disturbed and helped change. Newer entry points into K-pop will continue to emerge, and we welcome them. But they also remind us that BTS’ story is still unfolding. And so is ours. ARMY. Whatever this is going to look like or will be, our history and culture which began back in 2013 can become pins of light. Whatever this will bring us, I am here for the ride.
Finally, I honor Zoe, who, to this day is still surprised I became ARMY. A story I will never tire of telling. And of course, much love and appreciation to the Tita ARMYs who are my companions in this ever-evolving journey. We may not all be published or cited as Bangtan scholars, but we have done the quiet, steady work of remembering, creating, caring, and holding space.
You know who you are. Happy ARMY Day! Borahae!  Zarah Gagatiga 7.10.25More Recent Articles
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