Beanie level: Jang Geu-rae

Today years old when I realized that Ju-ri from IOTNBO is Ji-eun from Miss Independent Ji-eun 😮

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Also why do they already look like they’re happy in the next episode and coming to terms with their issues? It’s only 11/12. Paranoid about the trauma these writers will put us through 13-16.

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My heart is aching so much for MY and KT. So lonely.

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The last few minutes of this episode. What just happened.

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    was stunned for a good 15 min after

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      Still processing the implications

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        do you think KT said he wishes ST was dead more often than we were led to believe, or has ST just been holding onto that one instance? i thought ST’s memory was ironclad until this episode, but he accused KT of pushing him into the river too which we know to be false..

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          getting him to fall in**

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          This was the part that shocked me. When Moon-young asked Sang-tae if there was a time he hated his brother, I knew (or thought I knew) it was when Kang-tae tried to leave him to drown in the river. I was expecting this to be the center of his emotional breakdown when Kang-tae went to see him. But for him to think that his younger brother purposely pushed him? I’m at a loss for words.

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            it’s why I wonder how often KT must have said he wants his hyung to die for ST to have leapt to that logical conclusion, or whether this is more naturally borne out of resentment/making sense of that one memory. I was really shocked how ST accused KT of wishing he could kill his brother every day..

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            @asterell True! Hopefully episode 10 will give us some answers

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            Maybe he heard it via others…..you know, maybe other people commented that Kang Tae is too young, he is burdened with this responsibility, he must not wish him to be around….maybe others put the thought in his head and he just made a leap based on old memories resurfacing……I just felt really gutted for Kang Tae, poor guy can’t seem to catch a break.

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          could it be that just like how GT’s memories are distorted, ST’s are the same. (not to discount what their mother said about having just to take care of ST).

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          The thing is, it was Sang-tae who left him to drown in the river. I’m just really confused. Was it because ST created that memory or because he genuinely thought his brother wanted to kill him or was it his own guilty conscience that created that memory? I doubt it’s KT with the wrong memory because we didn’t see that memory through his eyes, we saw part of it through MY’s eyes.

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IOTNBO ep 9. What emotion DIDN’T this have???

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    I know right?! My heart hasn’t completely recovered yet, and probably won’t till tomorrow’s episode where hopefully they will let us know why Sang-tae would think this way. Or at least to make Sang-tae realize that no, Kang-tae didn’t purposely push him that day…that the falling part was an accident.

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@bluewaters20 @azzo1 too fittingly funny haha

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    Yes I’ve watched this. I have almost watched and enjoyed all of the Bollywood meets BTS song versions XD

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    This is the best really 😂

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Does anyone remember what genre MY’s mom wrote? I have a theory if her genre fits…

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    Crime-solving, I believe

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      Ok that makes so much sense – I have a theory: what if MY’s mom killed KT’s mom?? It might explain some connection to the butterflies – the fact that ST remembers butterflies and is frightened, and the fact that MY was splitting butterflies (if we are to take that scene literally).

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        I’ve considered this theory from the very beginning of the drama, and the same theory has come up again I discussions between other Beanies as well 👌🏻👌🏻 It’s definitely a possibility 🤔🤔🤔
        It would take the “fated childhood friends to adult lovers” trope and turn it into its head

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Also: as Kang-tae slowly finds happiness and sheds his shackles, Sang-tae sinks deeper into loneliness, anxiety, and confusion.

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When your theory from the first few eps proves to be true: Just like KT is the caretaker for ST, MY is KT’s caretaker. Of course, it’s a lot more complicated than that, but this simplicity is apt.

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IOTNBO Ep 6; Thought:

KT and MY both don\’t have a home. He\’s always moving, and she goes back to a haunted house and leaves the dust sheets on, as if she\’ll leave any moment. But that first morning of them living together, the darkness brightens and MY experiences what a morning at home feels like for the first time. They’re becoming homes for each other.

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    When she fell on her bed..not a speck of dust
    When KT sat on bed to test it.. not a speck of dust
    When ST fell on his bed… wind of dust

    Moral of the story: Dust knows its bosses and who holds the budget for its TV appearance

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Some (REALLY UNEDITED) thoughts on episodes 1-4 of It’s Okay to Not be Okay.

PART 3 of 3

But Ju-ri also brings something else to the table: her character seems “mature”, more adult. She projects herself as this quiet, contained, calm person. When you contrast it with Moon-young and Kang-tae’s first meeting, their conversation almost seems petty. He calls her a clueless freak but keeps thinking about her; she “wants” him and even throws tantrums to “get” him. They’re like children trapped in adult bodies. And just like everything else, this is clearly intentional. This drama is addressing trauma—especially childhood traumas, arguably the type that has deeply embedded itself into an adult’s psyche, actions, thoughts. That theme of childhood is there from the beginning: look at the use of fairy tales, the beautiful stop-motion animation in the beginning about the girl and the boy, the flashbacks to childhood over and over again. They used a little girl who has PTSD from a father who tried to kill her to show Moon-young’s own past of a father who tried to kill her. And that’s where you begin seeing glimpses of another side of Moon-young, of the CHILD Moon-young.

It’s clear that Moon-young’s career as a writer is a way to heal herself from the traumas she has faced. When she’s doing her book reading in the hospital, the running patient abruptly stops the conclusion to her story, which she’s angry about. You can see that’s the most important part to her. Of course, we do hear the ending soon enough—through Kang-tae’s reading:

“And he shouted at her with so much resentment, ‘All my bad memories are gone. But why can’t I become happy?’ Then the witch took his soul as they had promised and told him this: ‘Hurtful, painful memories… Only those with such memories buried in their hearts can become stronger, more passionate, and emotionally flexible. And only those can attain happiness.’”

Talk about healing. Here, in her books, you see who Moon-young really is. Incredibly strong, ineffably resilient, beautifully profound, and painfully lonely. There’s a repeated shot of her on her bed throughout the first four episodes curled up into herself whenever she thinks of Kang-tae: that’s her child coming out, a moment of the real her, the Moon-young before the conclusions in her books. Even though she IS strong, both outwardly and inwardly, she’s clearly never fully healed the way she has the potential to. She did what she could all on her own, with no one’s help.

So it seems fitting that the writers would pluck a caretaker and just give her a beautiful, gentle romance so she has someone who can take care of her. Fitting–but typical and boring. And so far, this drama has been anything BUT typical. Remember the darkness in Kang-tae? His darkness is a product of his childhood too: his mother was murdered, he’s faced with the prospect of taking care of his autistic older brother at such a young age, and he has his own issues with his mother, too—in a flashback, we see his mother says that the reason she gave birth to Kang-tae was so he could take care of Sang-tae. He’s embedded that into his life’s purpose—he doesn’t know anything else. His main job is caretaker of his brother, and because that’s all he knows, he’s become caretaker for others. Even with Moon-young, he takes it upon himself to save her from situations she can easily take herself out of. He’s completely absorbed “caretaker” into his personality. But it isn’t until Moon-young calls him a hypocrite that he feels suddenly exposed. Remember his eyes? He’s scared, shocked that someone could see right through him. When the new patient runs away in episode 3, freely protesting his dad at the mic, doing everything society completely opposes and looks down upon, Kang-tae imagines himself standing there. He imagines freedom from the shackles of people’s expectations of him—of his OWN expectations of him, of his mother’s expectations. And he hates himself for that.

But then comes a scene that puts another angle to this. Sang-tae is saving up for a car so they always have a home even when they’re on the move. It’s the most painfully heartbreaking thing for Kang-tae to hear this. He cries, overcome by emotion, hugs him and tells him, “I don’t need a house, car, or money. All I need is you, really. You’re my everything.” And as he says it, in the thick of his emotions, he’s inundated with flashbacks of Moon-young calling him a hypocrite. He fights it, completely sure of himself this time. “Really. All I need is you. Really.” This is his butterfly method. Hugging his brother to reassure himself. And this is why the caretaker here is actually not him: it’s Moon-young. She’s helping him unconventionally come to terms with his true feelings, just like Director Oh is helping Sang-tae and his other patients through unconventional therapy methods. He has had that role of caretaker for so long it juxtaposes with the fact that he resents his mother seemed to care for his brother more, and he’s been confused about whether he holds any resentment for his brother, too. He’s felt like a hypocrite because of it, but this was a bit of confrontation with himself where he realized he actually did think his brother was everything. He was sure of it. Why? Because Moon-young brought it out.

Moon-young brings out the lost child in him. Throughout the episodes, we see her peeling away his layers through persistence. No one bothers to look under the surface of who Kang-tae really is. Moon-young rips his skin off. In the same way, we see in episode four that Kang-tae is just as vicious. No one cares to look beneath the surface for Moon-young either. But Kang-tae gets her on a level that no one else does, and he hates that he is drawn to her. And as the healing progresses, the children come out more and more.

This fourth episode is the one that ties it all together. If there’s one thing that stands out: it’s the rain. In Kang-tae’s flashback to childhood, it’s raining, and his mother is too focused on caring for his hyung than him. He waits in the rain, drenched, a child coming to a despairing, lonely realization. He’s stranded and alone and feels unloved, unseen, forgotten, washed away. Back to the present, when Moon-young and Kang-tae are sitting together in a convenience store, Moon-young tells him he seems pretty young because she “can see that you want to be loved.” His stares, speechless, his eyes just as shocked and uncovered of pretense as when she’d called him a hypocrite, and little Kang-tae takes his place, just as it begins raining outside. She was giving him something in the rain, a piece of acknowledgement, of openness, of being SEEN, in the rain. In the same situation he felt unseen and washed away, she was washing away a bit of his loneliness and seeing him for what he was.

But the car scene with the “I love you!” shows it’s still a push and pull. Moon-young has moments of truth where she is healing him, but Kang-tae’s indifference is also inadvertently and indirectly healing HER. He makes her want to understand him. She’s actually expending effort in understanding his emotions—a language she doesn’t speak because of her ASPD. She’s doing whatever she can that SHE thinks would work to keep up a relationship with him. That’s where her child comes out again. Persistent, childish, feeling-less confession to someone who really wants something like that is her showing her inner child, too. She is even willing to walk her father because she thinks that’s what Kang-tae would want. But he yells at her, frustrated and slighted, telling her she doesn’t know how to identify her own emotions and that she’ll never understand him. He leaves, but Moon-young looks small, incredibly, genuinely hurt. And to rub a whole gallon of salt on her wound, she goes back only to be choked by her father, who remembers her despite his dementia and her trauma resurfaces, scenes of her childhood flashing as she loses breath. When he’s forced off of her, she’s hysterical and rightfully so, tears streaming down her face as she laughs sarcastically, with no humor left in her. But as the camera pans out, the image is jarring: of all those “caretakers”, no one even passes her a comforting hand. Instead, they soothe the person who attempted to murder her, and stare at her as if she caused it, like she’s the crazy one. No one is soothing her, and the man who taught her the butterfly method had just ripped her wings out.

Back at home, Kang-tae finally begins to read Moon-young’s Zombie Kid, and it overtakes him. “With both his arms, the boy tightly held his mother’s torso and spoke for the first time in his life. ‘Mom is so warm.’ What did the boy really want? To satiate his hunger? Or to feel his mother’s warmth?” This is the moment when little Kang-tae and older Kang-tae become one. He’s crying like a child, feeling heard by Moon-young’s book, understood—his most authentic self than all his years of living. M…[Read more]

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Some (REALLY UNEDITED) thoughts on episodes 1-4 of It’s Okay to Not be Okay.

PART 2 of 3
I’m writing this after watching four episodes, and I’d argue that that’s why I CAN write this. What seemed so confusing in the first few episodes reaches a complete crescendo by the end of the fourth and you’re sold. Suddenly, everything makes so much more sense, but you’re left with more questions than ever. As I go back to analyze what happens in the first few episodes, it’s with more understanding coloring my perceptions.

Let’s take a look at the first scene where Kang-tae, the younger brother, is listening to his hyung’s employer fire him because Sang-tae had an autistic episode because of the noise created by the industrial machinery around him. Sang-tae is looking through the window and notes, “He’s angry.” This seems like a small thing, but boy have I learned that this writer is intentional about every single moment in this drama. When Kang-tae clears out his brother’s locker, he seems angry, but when he speaks to his brother, he has the sweetest smile on his face, just asking if Sang-tae is hungry. When I first saw this, I fell for it. I thought, “Hmm, guess I mis-judged the facial expressions there. He wasn’t angry at his brother, he’s obviously angry at the employer.” Typical. Just what you’d expect from a drama about a filial brother taking care of his autistic brother. Sweet, but nothing new. Four episodes later, you gotta rethink everything. He WAS angry at his brother. He hid it. He lied. He felt burdened. He felt frustrated. This right here was an uncomfortable truth, exactly what the drama forces you to delve into. Our hero is not perfect. He’s not even a hero. He wears the facade of a hero, and he knows it. It isn’t until Episode 3 (or was it 4?) where Moon-young calls him a hypocrite that he faces it (more on that later).

Which brings me to my next point. Every time he looks into her eyes, it’s like he’s looking into a mirror, facing himself. If the writer was intentional about every moment in the drama, the director is even more so. Consistently, over and over again, we see this shot of Moon-young and Kang-tae facing each other on a split screen when they’re thinking of the other. It seems like such an old-school shot, so typical (honestly reminiscent of terrible romantic Bollywood films for me), but it’s SO INTENTIONAL. Why would the director spend so much of screen time to show that over and over again? Because there’s an obvious, barely hidden meaning in there: they’re facing their truths. When Kang-tae looks at her, he sees that she sees right through him, so he’s effectively facing HIMSELF. When Moon-young looks at him, she sees someone who makes her feel good without even recognizing the feeling. The juxtaposition is so apt: Moon-young’s expression is extremely soft, beautifully so, in those moments, which is comparable to how she acts in day-to-day life: arrogant, uncaring, and villainous. Kang-tae’s expression on the other hand is the realest it ever is: troubled, vulnerable, tired, exhausted, pensive, which is comparable to how he acts in day-to-day life: “normal”, sweet, kind, caring. They’re holding up a mirror to each other’s souls – what they provide for each other is not something they’ve ever found anywhere else. Kang-tae is uncomfortable with this self-realization. Moon-young, a character with ASPD, is feeling positive emotions for the first time. It’s a first for both.

This first instance of feeling different around each other and forging a new connection happens outside the mental hospital Kang-tae is working at, where you first see his cool persona slip into frustration. When Moon-young dumps her cigarette into the cup, doing whatever it is she wants to do, and walks away—Kang-tae angrily crushes his cup in his fist. Let’s take a minute to pause and really appreciate the subtlety of what’s happening here. When I first saw it, it didn’t register. But after the fourth episode, you really begin to understand the nuances. The first scene was anger covered up. This next scene was also anger, but a little of it showed. Anger is so important here. There’s so much of it locked inside Kang-tae. Who is the real Kang-tae? This persona of caretaker that he took on? Supposedly sweet and altruistic? No, the irony is that there is darkness in him.

The cinematography strikes again. The setting is beautiful, cherry blossoms blooming in the back, sunlight and happiness. Seems like the perfect atmosphere to have a butterflies and rainbows meeting of romantic fate between two people. And comically, that’s what it starts off with. Moon-young asks, “Do you believe in destiny?” And you think, not another typical romcom, seems like just the rest. But something is off. There’s no feeling in the way she says it. Is that bad acting or is something there? (Hint: it’s phenomenal acting because something is most definitely there). Moon-young doesn’t know what else to do and plays a role, contrived. She’s a writer so she dishes out dialogues. She’ll do whatever it is she can to get what she wants, including saying whatever she wants. It’s what she does in a later episode, screaming out to a leaving Kang-tae that she loves him, smirking when he stops thinking she’s said the right thing, no actual feeling in the words. It’s not destiny, she says later in the fight where Kang-tae injures himself saving the patient from the knife. And then he calls her a “clueless freak.” That seems so out of character from his caretaker persona that it’s jarring. He’s not sweet with her. He calls her out. But that’s because he sees her for what she is.

This is especially made apparent using a foil: Ju-ri, the “normal” woman who works at another mental hospital, connected to both Moon-young and Kang-tae from childhood. She has all the right expressions to show that Moon-young is not “normal”, that she’s a terrible person. She’s astounded when Moon-young talks so casually about her father being dead to her, disgusted by her apparent lack of kind emotions. She goes in to get Moon-young’s signature like a self-proclaimed martyr, emotionally drained by the end of the meeting. There’s something dark about her. Ironically, by the end of the fourth episode, it’s Ju-ri who seems like the villain, fake and not empathetic, doing whatever SHE can to get what she wants, too. Judging Moon-young and putting her down for selfish reasons. And what’s most telling is that she does this all with the politest facial expressions, the softest voice, the most innocent projection of herself. She sees herself as normal, pure, kind, and that’s how the world sees her too. As viewers, that’s how we begin to see her. But then we begin to question what we’re seeing. Moon-young, this woman who has ASPD, seems to have more emotions than Ju-ri. That’s the most ironic part of it all, but goes well with everything else: everything is not as it seems. Put yourself in the shoes of the “different” and you’ll realize that “normal” may not be such an amazing thing after all.

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Some (REALLY UNEDITED) thoughts on episodes 1-4 of It’s Okay to Not be Okay.

PART 1 of 3
It’s interesting that the English title differs from the literal translation of the Korean title. “I’m a Psycho, But That’s Okay” vs. “It’s Okay to Not Be Okay.” They offer completely different expectations. In the English interpretation of the title, it seems to be all about empathy. About healing. It sounds like a counselor speaking to a patient, or a concerned friend speaking to someone in distress. There’s a texture to the phrase – light but heavy at the same time, but overused, not imparting anything new, maybe alluding to depression as a mental illness.

In the Korean version of the title, on the other hand, there is this sense of manic craze, that maybe what we’re about to watch, the people whose stories we’ll hear, these are not things we can relate to. It’s especially interesting in the context of Korean society; many Koreans openly admit that their society runs not on individualism like its Western counterpart, but on trends, on everyone doing what everyone else does. If you’re different from the rest, you’re the odd one out, you do not belong. There is an element of healing in it as well.

After watching the first episode, I appreciate the original title so much more, and wish Netflix went with the literal translation. This isn’t a normal story about healing – although that exists. This is a story about the different. In this world, everything is upside down. As a viewer, do you find yourself empathizing with the “normal” people or the “psychos”? Who even are the “psychos” then?

Everything about this production is true to that notion of “different.” From the writing to the directing to the cinematography—there is an edginess, a different approach. Already at the end of its first episode, there’s a promise of so much potential. It’s off to a slow start, but the characters are already different by the end of the second episode. What genre is this? It seems confused at first—romantic comedy? Horror? Fantasy? And I think that’s the charm to it. At some points, some characters seem so real it feels like a slice of life show. And then at others, you see comical, completely off the cuff cinematography, like the female protagonist reaching Godzilla-like heights and stepping into the city. It seems insane and makes you think, “what the hell is even going on”—and that’s why it’s brilliant. This drama makes you question what’s normal and it blurs the line between reality and its opposite so much that you can’t fully understand what’s going on. This drama has set out to achieve something I personally have not seen before: actually EMPATHIZING (not sympathizing) with those who have mental illnesses OTHER THAN DEPRESSION. It puts you directly into the shoes of those people, and doesn’t tell you the story from a “normal” person’s perspective. In fact, it tells you the story from the perspective of a person who is trying so hard to fit that mold of “normal” but is confronted by his worst nightmare: someone who can see right through him and pushes all his buttons.

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    This drama has taken me out of a really long Kdrama slump… I love it 😍😍😍😍

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      Yayyyy to those revival dramas!

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        Comment was deleted

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        😁😁😁😁😁

        I honestly don’t know if it’s because my preference in Kdramas has changed so much and that’s why it’s so difficult for me to get into one, or if it’s because of the quality of the drama that drives me away 😱😱 And then you have Chinese dramas that have REALLY taken off in the last few years (I’d say that Chinese dramas REALLY picked up after the release of “Three Lives, Three Worlds, Ten Miles of Peach Blossoms”)

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          I feel you! I’ve been through that slump – hospital playlist was a good one for me that took me out of it, and now this one is doing great. There were very few I liked in the past two/three years that hit the spot. This one seems to be doing a good job currently. As for Chinese dramas – I don’t have a single one recently that I liked, so interesting to hear that they’ve improved; maybe I should give one a chance.

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          good writing seems to be really hard to come by these days. even tropes can be good – if the writing was original enough. IOTNBO has been the most original so far.

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#HiByeMama has had the most beautiful ending. I didn\’t know I could cry this much or this many times in a single episode. Going to truly miss the stellar cast and the beautiful, beautiful characters.

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BEANIES STOP WHAT YOU\’RE DOING RIGHT NOW AND GO WATCH ITAEWON CLASS FIRST EPISODE NOW!

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K-Quote of the Day:

“I’m sure you have things you miss in the old times…
that you can’t go back to.”

– Hotel Del Luna
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Someone once told me a story of the time he found out his mother had aborted a sibling a couple of years ago. He was inundated with a massive barrel’s worth of a cocktail of emotions, outraged and devastated and angry and upset. He felt the loss of a sibling he never knew existed. But what had upset him the most was this: When I asked her why she didn’t tell me, she said she forgot about it. Forgot! Who forgets an abortion???!

It sounds horrible and neglectful. But isn’t forgetting a blessing? If she hadn’t forgotten, she would be living with raw pain every day. We do move on with time. Time is a blessing because it lets us forget the intensity of the emotions of that moment. When I told him this, he was blown away. It’s not that his mother didn’t care—whatever circumstances were surrounding the abortion didn’t matter. It was that she once felt an intensity of pain that no one would want to wish on their worst enemy. Moments of remembering were fine. A lifetime of remembering is a mental prison sentence.

It’s the same principle with the things we can’t return to. The beautiful memories, the times we wish to return to. They’re like flowers preserved between two pieces of clear glass: beautiful to look at, but unreachable, and if we ever succeed in shattering the glass to get to the flowers, they’d be vulnerable to rotting with time. Those things we miss in the old times…they’re beautiful where they are. The blessing is in the fact that they are moments of happiness locked in time, those moments we remember, that we want to remember. It’s a blessing to forget the sad moments. It’s a blessing to remember the happy ones. And it’s a blessing they’re all locked in time, because they are preserved where they belong.

Here’s to making new moments we can miss in the future, and resolutely plowing through the sad moments in the present, knowing we’ll long forget the pain they came with.

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Think I’m going to start a new thing for myself. Let’s see how consistent these stream of consciousness reflections will be!

K-Quote of the Day:

\”When the day breaks…
I hear the clip-clop…of people’s footsteps.
Hearing that sound from underneath my covers…makes me feel so lonely.
You couldn’t even imagine.
The feeling that I’m the only one not rolling forward.
So, sometimes… I sit outside near the door, early in the morning.

Because I want to feel as if I’m rolling forward with them, too.”

-Jung Hee, My Ajusshi
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Am I the only one here?

I don’t know if it’s a byproduct of the rat’s race global society we live in, but I’ve developed a fear of getting stuck. Perhaps it has to do with one of the darkest times of my life, where depression told me that laziness was no longer a choice, it was an enforced state of being. When that happens, when you’re direction-less, listless, without purpose—but with a deep want for purpose, it’s like a battle within yourself. You feel dead, but you feel uncomfortable. That discomfort is the light. It’s the sign that you’re not okay with the depths you’ve fallen into, that as bleak as things may seem on the surface of your own heart, the candle of hope is still burning deep inside you. It just needs to be tended to.

And although we can make much social commentary on the ills of a hyper productive society that expects too much [ironically, or maybe fittingly, coupled with a global epidemic of procrastination], the fact remains that more often than not, we will all arrive at a time when we ask, “Am I the only one here?”

And I think the answer is, yes, you are for the moment, because you own this journey, and this journey is yours for the making and also no, you’re not the only one here because others have been here in the past, and others are here now, and still others will pass by here in the future and that brings a sense of togetherness that is unparalleled.

Yes, people are rolling forward, Jung Hee. But if you turned around and saw that there are people who’re stuck just like you are, perhaps your wait won’t feel so lonely anymore. And then one day, we’ll clip-clop our way forward too.

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    Aw, I wish I could format this post so that all my italics and line breaks would stay.

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    At times I think if the urge for productivity is a very capitalist ideology. We are told that our lives cannot be at peace if we are not churning our energy in sth, but also weirdly one thinks this is true. It is applicable to me who also thinks she has stopped in a world that keeps on moving and I have the urge to move with them too.

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      100%! I’ve heard that comparison a lot, and I’m inclined to agree that it is very capitalistic. But I guess what can define that urge for productivity is the intention and purpose behind it. Is it the pursuit of money? Is it that we think happiness comes from productivity? Is it running away from something that makes us pour ourselves and fret over using every single minute? So many ways to think about it…

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    Thank you for sharing this~! It was lovely to read.

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    For some reason my post has disappeared 🙁 Just re-posting below for timestamp purposes.
    ——————————————————————————————–

    Think I’m going to start a new thing for myself. Let’s see how consistent these stream of consciousness reflections will be!

    K-Quote of the Day:

    “When the day breaks…
    I hear the clip-clop…of people’s footsteps.
    Hearing that sound from underneath my covers…makes me feel so lonely.
    You couldn’t even imagine.
    The feeling that I’m the only one not rolling forward.
    So, sometimes… I sit outside near the door, early in the morning.

    Because I want to feel as if I’m rolling forward with them, too.”

    -Jung Hee, My Ajusshi
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    .
    .
    Am I the only one here?

    I don’t know if it’s a byproduct of the rat’s race global society we live in, but I’ve developed a fear of getting stuck. Perhaps it has to do with one of the darkest times of my life, where depression told me that laziness was no longer a choice, it was an enforced state of being. When that happens, when you’re direction-less, listless, without purpose—but with a deep want for purpose, it’s like a battle within yourself. You feel dead, but you feel uncomfortable. That discomfort is the light. It’s the sign that you’re not okay with the depths you’ve fallen into, that as bleak as things may seem on the surface of your own heart, the candle of hope is still burning deep inside you. It just needs to be tended to.

    And although we can make much social commentary on the ills of a hyper productive society that expects too much [ironically, or maybe fittingly, coupled with a global epidemic of procrastination], the fact remains that more often than not, we will all arrive at a time when we ask, “Am I the only one here?”

    And I think the answer is, yes, you are for the moment, because you own this journey, and this journey is yours for the making and also no, you’re not the only one here because others have been here in the past, and others are here now, and still others will pass by here in the future and that brings a sense of togetherness that is unparalleled.

    Yes, people are rolling forward, Jung Hee. But if you turned around and saw that there are people who’re stuck just like you are, perhaps your wait won’t feel so lonely anymore. And then one day, we’ll clip-clop our way forward too.

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