
BTS fans asked to refrain from visiting RM, Jimin, V and Jungkook at military discharge
ORD loh! That's probably what Singapore fans of BTS are chanting for their idols, RM, Jimin, V and Jungkook, who will be discharged this June from South Korea's military service. Suga, who is fulfilling his duties as a public service worker due to health reasons, will also be discharged in June.
The five K-pop superstars are anticipated to be discharged at these dates:
RM and V: June 10, 2025
Jimin and Jungkook: June 11, 2025
Suga: June 21, 2025
The remaining members, Jin and J-Hope, completed their mandatory national duties last year. Jin was recently spotted in Singapore shooting a music video for his latest single, Don't Say You Love Me.
Of the septet, Jin and Suga were the first to enlist in December 2022, followed by J-Hope in April 2023. RM, Jimin, V, and Jungkook enlisted together in December 2023.
Anticipating an overwhelming turnout from their fanbase Army, their agency Big Hit Music has issued an official notice, according to South Korean media. Part of it reads: 'Please note that the discharge day is reserved for military personnel only. No special events are planned on the day of RM, Jimin, V, and Jungkook's discharge. Each location has very limited space, and overcrowding can pose safety risks.
'RM and V will meet fans in Chuncheon, while Jimin and Jungkook will appear in Yeoncheon. Instead of greeting fans at their respective bases, they will offer brief remarks and share their thoughts on completing their service at these designated spots.
"There will be no official events held at the bases. Given the limited space and narrow access roads, large gatherings could present safety concerns. We kindly request that fans avoid going to the bases."
Just days after their discharge, the band, with the exception of Suga, will be celebrating their 12th anniversary on June 13 with The 2025 BTS Festa at Kintex in Goyang, Gyeonggi Province, from June 13 to 14.

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CNA
2 hours ago
- CNA
From soju rituals to hangover soups: What I found out about South Korea's complicated drinking culture
I gestured to the server some distance away, holding up my index finger before pointing to the empty green bottle on my table. I could have practised what little Korean I knew, just sufficient to string together my request, 'Jeogiyo, soju hana juseyo.' (Excuse me, one soju please.) but failed to summon up enough liquid courage in the end. The irony of escaping subzero temperatures – so cold it drained my phone's battery in minutes – to seek refuge in a cozy tented street food stall only to order ice-cold soju didn't escape me. It's a dream come true, perpetuated by K-drama where the orange-tented pojangmacha usually sets the scene for developing romance between the male and female lead or colleagues drowning out woes after work. Located between exits 6 and 5 of Jongno 3-ga Station, Jongno 3-ga Pojangmacha Street comes alive every evening till late. Further away, I stumbled upon some more on the street where Caffe Pascucci is at. Irene Yoo, chef and co-owner of Orion Bar in Brooklyn, New York City, said: 'The Jongno neighborhood is a little touristy but very alluring for its crowded collection of pojangmacha.' The streetside drinking experience wasn't as affordable as one might think. Soju was cheap but I found anju (food consumed with alcohol) a little pricey – for one or two persons – so I didn't order frivolously. I drank alone, surrounded by strangers, already committing a faux pas in a country that takes pride in drinking together. FROM ANJU TO HOESIK Alcohol is deeply ingrained in Korean social life from Buddhist ceremonies and holidays to homebrewing culture and Confucian ancestral rituals. As early as in the Goryeo Dynasty (918-1392), many dishes were created to be paired with alcohol. My first meal in Seoul was at Samhaejip in Jongno 3-ga's Bossam Alley. It would have been a perfect spot to imbibe if not for the fact that we were there at noon. Top your bossam (boiled pork wraps) with oysters for a briny hit before slurping the piping hot gamjatang (pork spine stew) which comes free with every order. We knew we were at the right place seeing the boisterous group of elderly diners next table. Today, anju is more than just bar food – it's an essential part of Korean drinking culture. Jokbal (braised pig's trotters) is usually enjoyed with soju and on rainy days, Koreans crave jeon and makgeolli. So common it is to have fried chicken and beer together, there is even a portmanteau for it – chimaek, made up of 'chikin' (chicken) and 'maekju' (beer). At Majanggol, a butcher restaurant in Majang Meat Market, in between sips of soju and mouthfuls of perfectly-grilled chunks of hanwoo, we witnessed employees politely time their escape when their bosses got up to leave. Zhang Anqi, who has been living in Seoul for more than two years, observed: 'I have hoesik at least once every two weeks as I work in a fairly traditional Korean company. It's definitely less frequent compared to pre-pandemic times and hoesik are usually not organised on Fridays to promote work-life balance.' Hoesik is a unique aspect of Korean drinking culture – drawn-out after-work boozy dinners to foster team bonding and camaraderie. Pandemic restrictions accelerated the ongoing shift away from hoesik culture following Seoul High Court's landmark 2007 ruling which made forcing subordinates to drink alcohol illegal and the 2017 #MeToo movement where women protested more openly against workplace sexual harassment. 'People still feel some pressure to attend though. If your boss enjoys hoesik, it can be hard to say no,' Zhang added. Post-pandemic, Koreans do not succumb as much to the pressures of attending hoesik. Younger generations who do not like binge-drinking or hanging out with colleagues after office hours are more vocal in expressing their views and some companies are starting to take note. Denise Tan, a Singaporean global coordinator based in Seoul, hasn't attended a hoesik since joining her company one year ago. 'From what I heard, the attendance was so poor and the atmosphere so awkward that the bosses gave up hosting them.' KOREANS LOVE THEIR SOJU Traditionally distilled from rice at 35 per cent alcohol by volume (ABV), soju is probably the most well-known sool (Korean traditional liquor). In 1965, facing postwar rice shortage, producers were banned from using local rice to make alcoholic drinks. The soju in green bottles we are familiar with was born against that backdrop – made from cheap starches like sweet potatoes and tapioca, then distilled to over 95 per cent ABV before diluting to 30 per cent ABV and mixed with artificial sweeteners to make it more palatable. Diluted soju became widely popular because it was cheap, allowing for people of all social classes to clink glasses, talk more casually, and bond. During the economic boom of the 70s and 80s, Koreans wanted drinking to be efficient too – it was faster to get drunk on soju. Domestic sales of diluted soju hit 3.7 trillion won (S$3.5 billion) in 2020, ranking as the top alcoholic beverage with a 42.1 per cent market share followed by beer at 39.7 percent. Last year, soju exports exceeded US$200 million for the first time, on the back of an unfaltering K-wave and growing demand for low-alcohol beverages. Hitejinro first introduced Chamisul soju in 1998 with 23 per cent ABV, then launched a lower-proof version called Chamisul Fresh in 2006. Chamisul Fresh's alcohol content was further reduced to 16 per cent last year. Likewise, Lotte Chilsung Beverage also lowered the ABV of its flagship soju Chum-Churum from 20 per cent in 2006 to 16.5 per cent in 2021. Increasingly-popular fruit-flavoured soju is even milder – at about 13 per cent ABV. In recent years, the widespread popularity of green-bottled soju has given rise to an interest in artisanally-made ones, closer to how soju should be – undiluted and tasting more like whisky. At the same time, with rising inflation and high interest rates, many Koreans are also opting to spend more thoughtfully and drink at home, either alone or with friends, sometimes indulging in premium alcohol. Yeonghwi Yun, co-owner and manager of Bar Cham, said: 'Like us, many bars are now making cocktails with various Korean spirits, including soju. Premium distilled sojus like Hwayo, Won Soju, and Tokki Soju are also becoming widely known around the world, changing perceptions of soju.' Bar Cham is known for its innovative cocktails that honour Korean heritage. I took a risk – turning up at opening time as bookings were notoriously hard to score. It worked. I had my first 'gimbap' there, a delicious concoction crafted with Tokki Soju and complemented by fragrant sesame oil and cucumber. For those interested to learn about traditional Korean liquors, a good place to start would be at The Sool Gallery, a government-run tasting room offering free tasting sessions in English. Email them if you do not have a real name-verified Naver account to make a reservation. There is a small exhibition and you can buy sool to take home too. HANGOVER SOUP AND OTHER CURES An unmissable part of Korean drinking culture is haejangguk, or hangover soup, not unlike Singapore's post-revelry supper of bak kut teh or pig's organ soup. A comforting bowl of broth that's easy on the stomach to rehydrate and cure a hangover? This is something I can definitely get behind. Whether you prefer kongnamulguk (soybean sprout soup) or hwangtaeguk (dried pollack soup), there's a haejangguk for everyone. Instant noodles work just as well to combat that dreadful hunger-nausea. Founded in 1937 during the Japanese occupation, Seoul's sixth oldest restaurant Cheongjinok specialises in Seoul-style haejangguk, with cow blood curd – a big draw for me – and soy bean paste. Despite the mixed reviews in recent years, I found it satisfying – and my children asked for seconds. I asked Yun if he had a go-to haejangguk eatery. 'It's a gamjatang place in Jongno district. I've been working in this area for more than 10 years now and Gwanghwamun Ttukgam is still my all-time favourite.' For those who would rather not slurp their hangovers away, anti-hangover products offer a straightforward alternative. From bottled drinks to gummies and gelatin sticks, hangover cures are typically enriched with vitamins, electrolytes, and Korean herbs, all promising to curb the effects of over-drinking. Fueled by widespread alcohol consumption, South Korea's hangover cure market was valued at 347.3 billion won (S$323 million) in 2023, up from 224.3 billion won in 2021 – significant enough to prompt government regulation. Starting January this year, manufacturers will need to conduct clinical trials to back up their product claims. I've learnt the hard way that the most challenging part of hitting up a pojangmacha isn't figuring out when to stop ordering more soju but making it through the morning after. At the first convenience store I came upon, serendipitously playing Le Sserafim's Unforgiven on repeat, I desperately asked the cashier for hangover remedy recommendations. The pills didn't have much effect on my throbbing headache and nausea. Eventually, I found relief in cup noodles. I should have known better.


CNA
11 hours ago
- CNA
She's his limbs, he's her eyes. It's love and art in full colour for this couple with disabilities
It is not very often that couples who have disabilities get married or even stay in a long-term relationship in general. Throw in the mix of working closely together in the same space for a common career and the chances of friction and tension arising can be high. Yet, for Mr Shalom Lim, 29, and his girlfriend Amanda Yip, 38, they are embarking on the road less travelled and they believe their relationship is "rare and unique" enough to help them grow as a couple in life and at work. They met about two years ago and swiftly realised they completed each other to make a whole. Ms Yip is visually impaired and Mr Lim, who has a debilitating muscle-wasting disease caused by a mutated gene, is wheelchair-bound and requires a ventilator for daily living. Their common goal now as a couple is to realise their dream of being artists and to create art for other people with disabilities to behold and experience. And they are doing this through a startup called Rebirth Ensemble. When I met them, they were completing an artwork showing an iceberg emerging from the sea under a starry night sky. It might look like any ordinary oil pastel piece created during an art jamming session, but it was painstakingly drawn and required laborious back-and-forth communication. I watched as Mr Lim, whose arms rested limply at his sides, guided Ms Yip on where to place the pastel colours. He also prompted her on the direction and intensity of her strokes on the canvas. Mr Lim said: 'When the two of us are together, we feel that disability is not even present, because we complement each other's abilities.' Ms Yip agreed, saying that they form a team because they help each other move around and do things when they are together. 'I can be Shalom's arms and legs and he can be my eyes.' On working together for their startup, Mr Lim said: 'Traditionally, art is something that is seen but not experienced by the other senses. So the fine-art space, from my perspective, can be rather elitist and inaccessible. We want to change that.' Rebirth Ensemble was launched in October last year and is supported by Temasek Polytechnic. It is a studio that aims to make fine art accessible to everyone with special needs, regardless of whether they have vision, mobility, hearing or sensory issues. The couple's first goal is to create art pieces that are three-dimensional and can be touched by visitors, so that those with visual impairments such as Ms Yip can appreciate them. In the years ahead, they also plan to work on pieces that can be heard, smelled and perhaps even tasted. They recently submitted a proposal for next year's Singapore Art Week in January and hope to showcase a debut exhibition there. FINDING THEIR WAY AROUND BEFORE THEY FOUND EACH OTHER Ms Yip was born with a genetically-inherited eye condition called retinitis pigmentosa. This causes light perception problems, tunnel vision, as well as colour and night blindness. Her vision was not always terrible at the start but it gradually worsened over the years. Ms Yip went to a mainstream secondary school. In 2010, she graduated with a bachelor's degree in accounting and finance from England's University of London offered by the Singapore Institute of Management. She then worked in corporate jobs for 12 years. In the past, she could still see bus numbers without any assistive aids when buses approached bus stops. However, from the age of 24, she has been using a long-distance magnifying device to read bus numbers and sometimes, she asks for help from other commuters. Navigating public spaces requires her to use a white cane as well. This vision loss also affected her ability to create art, a hobby of hers that made her 'feel free', she said. When she was around 28 years old, she realised that she could no longer see pencil marks on the paper or differentiate colours, especially if they were subtle and light. 'I felt really depressed because I felt like something was taken away from me. When I tried to draw, I realised that I couldn't do the same as what I could do before. 'It was stressful to draw something and in the end, it still didn't look like what I imagined. That was frustrating. I felt like giving up, wondering why I was straining and squinting my eyes, trying to do something that I couldn't do by myself anymore,' she said. As for Mr Lim, he has Duchenne muscular dystrophy, which is a degenerative neuromuscular condition that causes muscles to weaken, starting with the lips, followed by the heart and lungs. He was diagnosed when he was three months old. At first, he could still walk like any other child but at the age of six, he started needing a wheelchair. He had to use a ventilator by the time he was 15 and he still relies on it today. As a teenager, he studied at Temasek Polytechnic's School of Business. After that, he took up a degree course on criminology and security from England's University of Liverpool that was a collaborative tie-up with the Singapore Institute of Technology. He wanted to learn about social justice issues because his older sister works as a prosecutor. To accommodate his lifestyle, he did the degree course on a part-time basis and took about six years to finish it, graduating in 2021. Like Ms Yip, he also loved to draw and paint. He took up the hobby when he was a child after seeing his older brother Isaac do it. In 2007, he published a collection of artworks entitled Live Your Dreams, together with his brother's book of art titled Not a Wasteland, to raise money for the Muscular Dystrophy Association (Singapore). His brother, who also had Duchenne muscular dystrophy, died in 2019. When he was 17, Mr Lim had a near-death episode with pneumonia and after he recovered, the strength 'just completely left' his body, he said. 'I did try, but it became very demoralising because I could no longer hold a piece of paper in the way I wanted to or make the strokes that I wanted. It was all just very haphazard and I didn't feel empowered at all,' he recalled. The traditional way of painting and drawing was, therefore, challenging for him and Ms Yip. SPURRED TO FULFIL EACH OTHER'S DREAMS Things changed when the couple met at a theatre workshop in March 2023 and fell in love. Working together was like a 'renaissance' for their artistic dreams since they could finally make art again, as Mr Lim put it. This was the reason why they named their startup Rebirth Ensemble. "Rebirth" pointed to them being able to produce art again, while "Ensemble" means it is a collaborative effort. They felt that it perfectly articulates their relationship. So far, they have completed two pieces of art, which are images of trees drawn using oil pastels on canvas. They spent about three sessions of an hour each over the span of a month to complete each artwork. Hearing this, it struck me how drawing and writing on paper is effortless to me, but is a process that requires much planning, intention and perseverance for the couple. When I asked why art means so much to them, Ms Yip said she believes that art is not just colours put on a canvas. She thinks that each brush stroke and colour choice has intention, tells a story and carries meaning. Mr Lim chimed in, saying that art has always been a therapeutic medium for him. He also witnessed how his late brother, who had autism in addition to Duchenne muscular dystrophy, suddenly 'blossomed' when he was exposed to fine art even though he could not communicate in words. 'For us as a differently-abled artist couple, we strongly believe that we have a very compelling and inspiring story to tell,' Mr Lim said of him and Ms Yip. 'And we want to use that story not just to inspire change or make a positive impact, but also to enable us to have a future together and leave our legacy behind.' THEIR HOPES FOR REBIRTH ENSEMBLE Mr Lim is the managing director of Rebirth Ensemble and Ms Yip is the lead artist. The startup rents an office space in Temasek Polytechnic at a subsidised rate. This venture is more than just a business to them – it is the foundation on which they hope to build their careers together, a means by which they can be independent and financially self-sufficient. 'Even if I were to work in a full-time job – but I can't because of my condition – we still won't make enough to be able to meet our relationship goals in terms of getting married, settling down and having our own place,' Mr Lim explained. Ms Yip said that through this startup, they hope to support themselves and potentially their parents. Keeping a full-time job was not easy for her. She had worked full-time in human resources for more than 10 years in three companies, but she was mostly in contract positions and found it difficult to secure a permanent role. Recalling her first job where she worked for 3.5 years, she said that the position underwent a revamp, which meant that she had to travel more between two premises. She explained to her manager that travelling was not straightforward for her, then asked if the job could be redesigned so that she could do more administrative and desk-bound work instead. 'Despite how much I expressed that I would like to stay, the senior management just said 'no'. I did not feel respected because I voiced up my challenges and they thought that there was nothing up for discussion. So I really felt discouraged,' she added. In her experience, she also felt that she was always viewed as a 'lesser' worker whose efforts were not really recognised or seen. In Mr Lim's case, he still has a part-time job as a marketing communications assistant at Shalom Medcare, a medical transportation service for wheelchair-bound users or those with special requirements. The company's name is a pure coincidence – Mr Lim does not own the company or have personal ties to it. Right now, he works from home on this part-time job. Going full-time would mean he would have to travel more frequently, which would be tough for him due to reduced stamina from his medical condition. For the rest of this year, their immediate plan for Rebirth Ensemble is to recreate selected art pieces by themselves and Mr Lim's late brother, to make the artworks three-dimensional and tactile. Some of his brother's pieces that they want to revive are drawings and paintings of tulips, a lighthouse, fire, smiley faces and the sea. Mr Lim said painting was important to his brother because it was his only platform to communicate and express who he was to the world. Ms Yip said: 'We are test-driving these ideas. And we don't want his brother's collection to be put away in a storeroom and not seen. We find that his art is very moving and we want more people to be able to enjoy that.' The pair hopes to have some works up for the next Singapore Art Week. If their proposal is rejected, they would search for other public spaces to display the artworks. They are also looking to create soundscapes that would make the art pieces accessible through hearing. This would 'add another layer' for the visually impaired to experience art, Mr Lim said. Along this line, he is keen to work with ArtWave Studio, which has expertise in sound design and production, and they have tentative plans to reach out to the studio. Another idea is to establish partnerships with SG Enable, a disability services organisation, and The Art Faculty, a gift shop selling crafts made by people with autism. As a new startup, Rebirth Ensemble is trying to secure grants from the National Arts Council and other agencies while building up its brand and preparing for its website launch. Mr Lim and Ms Yip are designing the website themselves. TWO IS BETTER THAN ONE Before I met them, I expected that the couple would find it challenging to perform daily tasks. However, I was surprised that they managed to adapt and find ways to work around the hindrances, making day-to-day living easier. Observing them at home, it was like they settled into a practised rhythm. Their movements were quick, seamless and required minimal direction, even if these might have looked a little odd to outsiders. For example, if he needed a drink, Mr Lim used a straw to drink from a plastic cup since he could not hold a mug. Ms Yip automatically positioned the straw to fit into his mouth easily without him having to adjust his head. She also held up his mobile phone so that he could look at the screen from a comfortable angle. He would then read aloud what he was seeing so that Ms Yip, whose sight prevents her from looking at words, would know the content and they could have a conversation about it. As an able-bodied person who never had to worry about doing things independently, it was humbling for me to see the lengths they both go to in order to live in a society that often treats their needs as invisible. Ms Yip said: 'Sometimes, if I drop something, he will help me to see and guide me to the correct spot to pick up the thing. "And when we're watching movies or TV shows, Shalom will be my 'audio describer'. He would describe the scene to me and what was happening.' The couple said they preferred a peaceful and quiet lifestyle. They like to take walks around Mr Lim's neighbourhood whenever Ms Yip visits him and they play with the pet dog at home. They also enjoy watching drama series on streaming site Netflix and humorous videos on video-sharing platform TikTok, as well as going for meals at the nearby shopping centre. When they are in their office at Temasek Polytechnic, they patronise the McDonald's outlet downstairs. 'A lot of the time, we are experiencing and enjoying art and life as one person,' Ms Yip said. Mr Lim agreed, saying: 'We really enjoy each other's company and we see each other as partners, not just in work and love, but also in life.' He added that long-lasting relationships among people with disabilities are uncommon or if they do last, it is usually between people with the same disability. Married couples are the exception rather than the norm. 'By telling our story, which is rare and unique, we want to show that even with severe disabilities, we can still thrive, flourish and be the people we want to be.' Nearing the end of the interview, I decided to touch on a topic that I assumed must weigh heavily on their minds – death. Considering that Mr Lim's older brother who had the same disease died at the age of 28, do they worry that their time together is limited? Mr Lim's response surprised me. It was, to me, a poignant reminder of the beauty of the human condition and the ability to transcend barriers. He did not directly address the part of the question about time being potentially short for him but said that someone who is gone can still be present in spirit. He shared, for example, a memory of watching Ms Yip recite a few poems last July at the Ion Art Gallery. The poems were written by visually impaired artist Chng Seok Tin, who died in 2019 at the age of 72. She was a recipient of the Cultural Medallion, Singapore's highest arts accolade. Mr Lim said: 'When I saw Amanda perform, I was really touched, because I could feel and see Seok Tin in Amanda's voice and delivery, making it seem like Seok Tin is still very much alive. "Seok Tin is no longer physically around, but her story lives on.' Mr Lim does not know the artist personally but said his mother once interacted with her. Similarly, he felt that his older brother 'never really left' him. He grew up being afraid of death but after losing his brother, his perspective changed. 'My brother's art and legacy continue to inspire me and empower me to do what I'm doing in the art space. (In that sense), no artist is ever gone.


CNA
16 hours ago
- CNA
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