132
248
23
2
5
6
10
5
7
6
4
10
5
2
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40
3
5
4
2
1
4
5
5
2
6
30
38
13
23
This review may contain spoilers
A LOVE LETTER TO LIFE ITSELF
GENERAL OVERVIEW:
This drama did not simply unfold before me, but it reached out, took my hand, and walked me through the quiet poetry of life. It arrived like a whisper at the perfect moment, as if it had been waiting for me, knowing I needed it before I even did. And now, as I step away, I do so with a heart that sees more clearly, that loves more deeply - my parents, my siblings, the family I have yet to meet. Love that had always been there, yet somehow feels more vivid now, more profoundly alive.
With every episode, I wept, not just from sorrow, but from the weight of beauty, the kind that presses against your chest and makes you ache. The drama did not seek to impress; it did not force sentimentality. Instead, it captured life in its purest form. The fire of fleeting moments that propel us forward. The warmth of love that holds you just right, wrapping itself around you like a childhood memory. The unnoticed, mundane details of everyday life - the quiet rustling of morning, the lingering gaze of a loved one, the weight of an unspoken word - all painted with such tenderness that they became luminous.
But it also held space for the shadows, for the fractures we cannot bear to touch. It did not turn away from the memories we bury, from the wounds we pretend have healed. Instead, it showed the quiet, steady courage it takes to gather the pieces, to look back, to remember. And in that remembering, to choose - again and again - to keep living.
Never has a story felt so natural, so unassumingly profound, as if I had simply been invited to walk through life itself, to feel it fully. And as I reached the final moments, I cried - not just for what was lost, not just for what was found, but for the sheer, breathtaking experience of being alive.
To the writer who wove such delicate truths into a story, to the director and cinematographers who made every frame an embrace, and to the actors who did not merely perform but became - thank you. IU and Park Bo Gum shone as always, but every single soul in this drama - the parents, the grandparents, the brother, the sister-in-law, the rival father-in-law, the ex-boyfriend, the children - etched themselves into my heart.
I will return to this drama not just as a viewer, but as someone who now understands. Again and again, whenever I need to remember love. Whenever I need to remember life.
______
A MORE DETAILED REVIEW:
• Spring: The Beginning of Everything
The opening stretch of the drama is everything. We meet young Ae-soon, who is brash, emotional, and deeply lovable, as she navigates a childhood split between her father's well-off but cold family and her haenyeo mother, Kwang-rye, who dives into the ocean daily just to keep them alive. The mother-daughter relationship is the emotional foundation of this entire drama, and it hit me like a freight train from the very first episode. Ae-soon's poem promising to give her mother 100 won a day so she wouldn't have to work so hard? I was completely done.
Gwan-sik enters her life like a steady, quiet tide. He is not loud or flashy. He puts her shoes on her feet like it is the most natural thing in the world. He misses his first kiss attempt because he is nervous, and somehow that makes it all the more endearing. Their early dynamic, with her teasing, chaotic energy against his immovable warmth, is absolutely charming to watch. IU and Park Bo-gum find their rhythm immediately, and their chemistry is the kind that feels effortless without ever feeling unearned.
The early episodes also lay the groundwork for one of the drama's most consistent and powerful themes: the inequality women faced in this era. When Ae-soon runs away to Busan with Gwan-sik, his grandmother's remark that 'it's brave when a boy does it, but frivolous when a girl acts out of love' cuts deep. Ae-soon loses her enrollment at school because of it. He merely gets suspended. That single moment sets the tone for everything that follows.
• Summer: When the Storm Hits
Married life suits Ae-soon and Gwan-sik, but it is far from easy. Sang-sil, who's petty, controlling, and deeply insecure, essentially freezes Gwan-sik out of the island's fishing community, making their survival an ongoing battle. These episodes show the couple at their most strained, and yet never once do they lose their fundamental warmth toward each other. Ae-soon's grandmother eventually comes through with her savings so they can buy a boat. The moment they finally have a home, the very house where Ae-soon's mother once lived, is one of the most quietly moving scenes of the series.
Then comes the typhoon. And with it, the single most devastating moment of the drama: the loss of their youngest son, Dong-myeong.
The way this tragedy is handled is extraordinary. The show does not sensationalize it. It shows a family broken open: Gwan-sik, always their pillar of strength, completely crumbling for the first time. Ae-soon and Gwan-sik each carrying silent, private guilt for years. Gwan-sik blaming himself for not reaching their son in time. Ae-soon blaming herself for leaving them with a half-asleep neighbor. They never fully say this to each other until much later in the series, and that delay feels achingly true to how grief actually works. You hold it, you carry it, you keep moving because the other children need you too.
What broke me even more was learning, decades later, that Gwan-sik had been silently blaming himself the whole time. The parallel of young Gwan-sik registering his son's death while Ae-soon finds her kitchen filled with food left by neighbors... grief expressed in the language of community - is an image I will not forget.
• The Middle Years: Geum-myeong Takes the Torch
One of the drama's most fascinating structural choices is how it gradually shifts focus from Ae-soon and Gwan-sik to their daughter, Geum-myeong, who is played in her adult years by IU again. The parallels between mother and daughter are deeply intentional and beautifully executed. Geum-myeong is Ae-soon's dreams made flesh: she gets the education, the freedom, the opportunities her mother never had. And yet she still faces the same deep-rooted biases against women. Her accomplishments mean nothing to Yeong-beom's mother, who rejects her with cold contempt. She still lives in a tiny, moldy room working illegal tutoring jobs just to survive. The generation changed, but the world did not change nearly enough.
This section also introduces Eun-myeong, their son, who mirrors Gwan-sik's own hopeless romantic tendencies by falling instantly for the daughter of their former enemy and hiding her in his room exactly the way his father once hid a girl. Gwan-sik's face upon realizing this is priceless. The show has a wonderful sense of humor in the middle of all its heartache, and these moments of generational irony are some of its most joyful.
The scene where Geum-myeong nearly dies from carbon monoxide poisoning in her tiny apartment, and Ae-soon arriving to find her unconscious, was a gut punch. Ae-soon then holding onto grown Geum-myeong the same way she once held little Dong-myeong? That was the moment I understood this show was operating on a completely different level.
The fallout of Geum-myeong's broken engagement with Yeong-beom is handled with real emotional intelligence. The show doesn't villainize Yeong-beom. He loved her, but he simply wasn't strong enough to fight for her in the ways that mattered, and she eventually had to accept that love is not enough when the person you love won't stand up for you. Enter Cheong-seop, quiet, steady, deeply devoted, who, in the tradition of this drama's best relationships, expresses everything through small, consistent actions. He is a Gwan-sik for Geum-myeong's generation.
• Winter: The Weight of Time
The final stretch of the drama is where everything converges. Eun-myeong's storyline, his resentment at being overlooked, his bad business choices, and his eventual breakdown in jail add a layer of messiness and complexity that feels deeply real. No family is perfect. Ae-soon and Gwan-sik sacrificed everything for their children, and yet Eun-myeong still grew up feeling like a secondhand priority. The scene where he breaks down confessing this is devastating, and Ae-soon's response, marching into that woman's house and physically taking back their television, is the most Ae-soon thing this drama has ever done. I laughed and cried simultaneously.
Gwan-sik's final act of risk, buying a shop on the promise of development that may or may not come through, is also remarkable. Here is a man who spent 40 years being the safe, steady, reliable one, finally taking a leap of faith. The fact that it nearly costs them their house makes Sang-gil's unlikely redemption arc all the more satisfying. Even the drama's most frustrating secondary character gets a meaningful, humanizing moment.
And then Gwan-sik's illness. His final days. The scene where he asks Geum-myeong to stay with him, reminiscing about his life with Ae-soon, and makes one final request, that she never leave her mother alone after he is gone, was the most quietly devastating thing I have seen in a drama in years. Gwan-sik passing away while gazing at Ae-soon's smiling face is an image that earns every single second of the 16 hours you spent getting there.
The finale moves quickly through time jumps, and the emotional weight it lands on - Ae-soon turning to poetry in her grief, the restaurant flourishing, the family carrying on... prioritizes feeling over plot, and for this particular story, that is absolutely the right call.
⸻
THEMES & CHARACTER DEPTH:
The generational sacrifice theme is handled with extraordinary subtlety. The show never preaches. It simply shows you: Kwang-rye's haenyeo life, Ae-soon's lost education, Geum-myeong's moldy apartment in Seoul. Each generation clears a little more ground for the next. Each woman inherits both the dreams and the burdens of her mother. The idea that 'sacrifices of one generation become the liberation of the next' is woven into every narrative thread, and it never once feels forced.
The drama's treatment of gender inequality is also remarkable for being so matter-of-fact about it. It does not make a speech. It simply shows you a girl who wins an election and loses the position to a boy because of who his father is. A woman who runs away for love and loses her schooling. A daughter who outperforms her peers and still cannot get approval from a potential mother-in-law. This is how inequality actually operates. The drama captures it perfectly.
Ae-soon herself is one of the most fully realized female characters in recent K-drama history. She is not softened or sanitized. She is loud, stubborn, occasionally selfish, fiercely loving, and absolutely magnificent. Her arc, from a girl who dreamed of poetry to a woman who eventually writes and wins a competition under a pseudonym, to an old woman who finally has the time to sit and write for herself, is quietly triumphant.
Gwan-sik is the rare male lead who is defined entirely by devotion and consistency rather than by grand gestures. Park Bo-gum plays him with such restraint and warmth that you feel his love in every small moment, like the wallpaper he chose to make Ae-soon smile in their cramped apartment, the secret pearl necklace he saved for, the way he goes back to work the day after their son's death because there is no other option. He is not trying to be a hero. He is trying to be a husband and father, and the drama treats that as heroism.
⸻
PERFORMANCE HIGHLIGHTS:
IU is extraordinary in this role. I say this as someone who has admired her range in past projects but was genuinely unprepared for what she does here. She plays Ae-soon at multiple ages, and brings something specific and true to each phase. Her comedic timing in the early episodes is sharp and effortless. Her emotional range in the middle and later sections is nothing short of remarkable. She deserved every award nomination she got and then some.
Park Bo-gum gives his best performance to date. He has always been excellent at warmth and sincerity, but Gwan-sik asks something more of him: decades of quiet love, grief swallowed and carried alone, a man who rarely speaks his feelings but shows them in everything he does. The scene where he completely breaks down after Dong-myeong's death is one of the most raw moments in the drama. He earns it completely.
Moon So-ri and Park Hae-joon as the older versions of Ae-soon and Gwan-sik are exceptional. They seamlessly carry the emotional throughlines established by IU and Bo-gum without ever feeling like a different show. Moon So-ri in particular brings such lived-in weight to middle-aged Ae-soon that you feel the decades in her posture, her voice, the way she moves.
⸻
VISUALS:
The cinematography is stunning. Jeju Island is not merely a backdrop here, but a character. The sea, the tangerine groves, the stone walls and village paths all feel like they are alive and breathing. Director Kim Won-seok uses the landscape to mirror the emotional states of his characters in ways that are often breathtaking. The slow-motion sequences and the recurring imagery of women at sea carry enormous symbolic weight.
The color palette shifts subtly as the drama moves through its seasons. The early episodes have a golden, sun-washed warmth. The middle years are more muted, more grounded. The later episodes have a quiet, wintry light that feels appropriate for where the story is going. It is meticulous work.
⸻
QUOTES I LOVED:
“To my love, from the age of nine until now, thanks to you, my life has been spring every day. Until the spring we meet again, I’ll live as though every day is spring.”
“The pain of losing a parent cuts deeper as life goes on, but the pain of losing a child is etched in the deepest part of your heart.”
“There are no take-backs in life. If your life and my life join together as one, we stick it out together whether we live or die.”
“They say you need countless lifetimes of fate to meet even once in this life. If you miss it when it brushes past, that’s the end.”
“Rain may pour as if it would sweep everything away. But once the sun starts blazing again, life rises again, no matter what.”
“None of us has fully grown up. But every time our hearts felt growing pains, we all grew a little.”
“A child may abandon sick parents, but not the other way around.”
⸻
FINAL THOUGHTS:
When Life Gives You Tangerines is one of the most significant Korean dramas I have ever watched. Not because it is flashy or innovative in structure, but because of how profoundly and honestly it captures what a human life actually looks like: the joy and the grief sitting side by side, the love expressed in small ordinary acts, the dreams deferred and the dreams eventually lived, the people lost along the way who stay with us anyway.
This drama made me think about my own parents differently. It made me want to call my mother. It made me think about the women who came before me and what they gave up so I could exist the way I do.
By the time Gwan-sik passed away, looking at Ae-soon's smiling face, I was not just watching a love story. I was watching a life. And it felt like the most honest thing I had seen in a very long time.
I give this a 10/10. It is a masterpiece.
Thanks for reading!💖
This drama did not simply unfold before me, but it reached out, took my hand, and walked me through the quiet poetry of life. It arrived like a whisper at the perfect moment, as if it had been waiting for me, knowing I needed it before I even did. And now, as I step away, I do so with a heart that sees more clearly, that loves more deeply - my parents, my siblings, the family I have yet to meet. Love that had always been there, yet somehow feels more vivid now, more profoundly alive.
With every episode, I wept, not just from sorrow, but from the weight of beauty, the kind that presses against your chest and makes you ache. The drama did not seek to impress; it did not force sentimentality. Instead, it captured life in its purest form. The fire of fleeting moments that propel us forward. The warmth of love that holds you just right, wrapping itself around you like a childhood memory. The unnoticed, mundane details of everyday life - the quiet rustling of morning, the lingering gaze of a loved one, the weight of an unspoken word - all painted with such tenderness that they became luminous.
But it also held space for the shadows, for the fractures we cannot bear to touch. It did not turn away from the memories we bury, from the wounds we pretend have healed. Instead, it showed the quiet, steady courage it takes to gather the pieces, to look back, to remember. And in that remembering, to choose - again and again - to keep living.
Never has a story felt so natural, so unassumingly profound, as if I had simply been invited to walk through life itself, to feel it fully. And as I reached the final moments, I cried - not just for what was lost, not just for what was found, but for the sheer, breathtaking experience of being alive.
To the writer who wove such delicate truths into a story, to the director and cinematographers who made every frame an embrace, and to the actors who did not merely perform but became - thank you. IU and Park Bo Gum shone as always, but every single soul in this drama - the parents, the grandparents, the brother, the sister-in-law, the rival father-in-law, the ex-boyfriend, the children - etched themselves into my heart.
I will return to this drama not just as a viewer, but as someone who now understands. Again and again, whenever I need to remember love. Whenever I need to remember life.
______
A MORE DETAILED REVIEW:
• Spring: The Beginning of Everything
The opening stretch of the drama is everything. We meet young Ae-soon, who is brash, emotional, and deeply lovable, as she navigates a childhood split between her father's well-off but cold family and her haenyeo mother, Kwang-rye, who dives into the ocean daily just to keep them alive. The mother-daughter relationship is the emotional foundation of this entire drama, and it hit me like a freight train from the very first episode. Ae-soon's poem promising to give her mother 100 won a day so she wouldn't have to work so hard? I was completely done.
Gwan-sik enters her life like a steady, quiet tide. He is not loud or flashy. He puts her shoes on her feet like it is the most natural thing in the world. He misses his first kiss attempt because he is nervous, and somehow that makes it all the more endearing. Their early dynamic, with her teasing, chaotic energy against his immovable warmth, is absolutely charming to watch. IU and Park Bo-gum find their rhythm immediately, and their chemistry is the kind that feels effortless without ever feeling unearned.
The early episodes also lay the groundwork for one of the drama's most consistent and powerful themes: the inequality women faced in this era. When Ae-soon runs away to Busan with Gwan-sik, his grandmother's remark that 'it's brave when a boy does it, but frivolous when a girl acts out of love' cuts deep. Ae-soon loses her enrollment at school because of it. He merely gets suspended. That single moment sets the tone for everything that follows.
• Summer: When the Storm Hits
Married life suits Ae-soon and Gwan-sik, but it is far from easy. Sang-sil, who's petty, controlling, and deeply insecure, essentially freezes Gwan-sik out of the island's fishing community, making their survival an ongoing battle. These episodes show the couple at their most strained, and yet never once do they lose their fundamental warmth toward each other. Ae-soon's grandmother eventually comes through with her savings so they can buy a boat. The moment they finally have a home, the very house where Ae-soon's mother once lived, is one of the most quietly moving scenes of the series.
Then comes the typhoon. And with it, the single most devastating moment of the drama: the loss of their youngest son, Dong-myeong.
The way this tragedy is handled is extraordinary. The show does not sensationalize it. It shows a family broken open: Gwan-sik, always their pillar of strength, completely crumbling for the first time. Ae-soon and Gwan-sik each carrying silent, private guilt for years. Gwan-sik blaming himself for not reaching their son in time. Ae-soon blaming herself for leaving them with a half-asleep neighbor. They never fully say this to each other until much later in the series, and that delay feels achingly true to how grief actually works. You hold it, you carry it, you keep moving because the other children need you too.
What broke me even more was learning, decades later, that Gwan-sik had been silently blaming himself the whole time. The parallel of young Gwan-sik registering his son's death while Ae-soon finds her kitchen filled with food left by neighbors... grief expressed in the language of community - is an image I will not forget.
• The Middle Years: Geum-myeong Takes the Torch
One of the drama's most fascinating structural choices is how it gradually shifts focus from Ae-soon and Gwan-sik to their daughter, Geum-myeong, who is played in her adult years by IU again. The parallels between mother and daughter are deeply intentional and beautifully executed. Geum-myeong is Ae-soon's dreams made flesh: she gets the education, the freedom, the opportunities her mother never had. And yet she still faces the same deep-rooted biases against women. Her accomplishments mean nothing to Yeong-beom's mother, who rejects her with cold contempt. She still lives in a tiny, moldy room working illegal tutoring jobs just to survive. The generation changed, but the world did not change nearly enough.
This section also introduces Eun-myeong, their son, who mirrors Gwan-sik's own hopeless romantic tendencies by falling instantly for the daughter of their former enemy and hiding her in his room exactly the way his father once hid a girl. Gwan-sik's face upon realizing this is priceless. The show has a wonderful sense of humor in the middle of all its heartache, and these moments of generational irony are some of its most joyful.
The scene where Geum-myeong nearly dies from carbon monoxide poisoning in her tiny apartment, and Ae-soon arriving to find her unconscious, was a gut punch. Ae-soon then holding onto grown Geum-myeong the same way she once held little Dong-myeong? That was the moment I understood this show was operating on a completely different level.
The fallout of Geum-myeong's broken engagement with Yeong-beom is handled with real emotional intelligence. The show doesn't villainize Yeong-beom. He loved her, but he simply wasn't strong enough to fight for her in the ways that mattered, and she eventually had to accept that love is not enough when the person you love won't stand up for you. Enter Cheong-seop, quiet, steady, deeply devoted, who, in the tradition of this drama's best relationships, expresses everything through small, consistent actions. He is a Gwan-sik for Geum-myeong's generation.
• Winter: The Weight of Time
The final stretch of the drama is where everything converges. Eun-myeong's storyline, his resentment at being overlooked, his bad business choices, and his eventual breakdown in jail add a layer of messiness and complexity that feels deeply real. No family is perfect. Ae-soon and Gwan-sik sacrificed everything for their children, and yet Eun-myeong still grew up feeling like a secondhand priority. The scene where he breaks down confessing this is devastating, and Ae-soon's response, marching into that woman's house and physically taking back their television, is the most Ae-soon thing this drama has ever done. I laughed and cried simultaneously.
Gwan-sik's final act of risk, buying a shop on the promise of development that may or may not come through, is also remarkable. Here is a man who spent 40 years being the safe, steady, reliable one, finally taking a leap of faith. The fact that it nearly costs them their house makes Sang-gil's unlikely redemption arc all the more satisfying. Even the drama's most frustrating secondary character gets a meaningful, humanizing moment.
And then Gwan-sik's illness. His final days. The scene where he asks Geum-myeong to stay with him, reminiscing about his life with Ae-soon, and makes one final request, that she never leave her mother alone after he is gone, was the most quietly devastating thing I have seen in a drama in years. Gwan-sik passing away while gazing at Ae-soon's smiling face is an image that earns every single second of the 16 hours you spent getting there.
The finale moves quickly through time jumps, and the emotional weight it lands on - Ae-soon turning to poetry in her grief, the restaurant flourishing, the family carrying on... prioritizes feeling over plot, and for this particular story, that is absolutely the right call.
⸻
THEMES & CHARACTER DEPTH:
The generational sacrifice theme is handled with extraordinary subtlety. The show never preaches. It simply shows you: Kwang-rye's haenyeo life, Ae-soon's lost education, Geum-myeong's moldy apartment in Seoul. Each generation clears a little more ground for the next. Each woman inherits both the dreams and the burdens of her mother. The idea that 'sacrifices of one generation become the liberation of the next' is woven into every narrative thread, and it never once feels forced.
The drama's treatment of gender inequality is also remarkable for being so matter-of-fact about it. It does not make a speech. It simply shows you a girl who wins an election and loses the position to a boy because of who his father is. A woman who runs away for love and loses her schooling. A daughter who outperforms her peers and still cannot get approval from a potential mother-in-law. This is how inequality actually operates. The drama captures it perfectly.
Ae-soon herself is one of the most fully realized female characters in recent K-drama history. She is not softened or sanitized. She is loud, stubborn, occasionally selfish, fiercely loving, and absolutely magnificent. Her arc, from a girl who dreamed of poetry to a woman who eventually writes and wins a competition under a pseudonym, to an old woman who finally has the time to sit and write for herself, is quietly triumphant.
Gwan-sik is the rare male lead who is defined entirely by devotion and consistency rather than by grand gestures. Park Bo-gum plays him with such restraint and warmth that you feel his love in every small moment, like the wallpaper he chose to make Ae-soon smile in their cramped apartment, the secret pearl necklace he saved for, the way he goes back to work the day after their son's death because there is no other option. He is not trying to be a hero. He is trying to be a husband and father, and the drama treats that as heroism.
⸻
PERFORMANCE HIGHLIGHTS:
IU is extraordinary in this role. I say this as someone who has admired her range in past projects but was genuinely unprepared for what she does here. She plays Ae-soon at multiple ages, and brings something specific and true to each phase. Her comedic timing in the early episodes is sharp and effortless. Her emotional range in the middle and later sections is nothing short of remarkable. She deserved every award nomination she got and then some.
Park Bo-gum gives his best performance to date. He has always been excellent at warmth and sincerity, but Gwan-sik asks something more of him: decades of quiet love, grief swallowed and carried alone, a man who rarely speaks his feelings but shows them in everything he does. The scene where he completely breaks down after Dong-myeong's death is one of the most raw moments in the drama. He earns it completely.
Moon So-ri and Park Hae-joon as the older versions of Ae-soon and Gwan-sik are exceptional. They seamlessly carry the emotional throughlines established by IU and Bo-gum without ever feeling like a different show. Moon So-ri in particular brings such lived-in weight to middle-aged Ae-soon that you feel the decades in her posture, her voice, the way she moves.
⸻
VISUALS:
The cinematography is stunning. Jeju Island is not merely a backdrop here, but a character. The sea, the tangerine groves, the stone walls and village paths all feel like they are alive and breathing. Director Kim Won-seok uses the landscape to mirror the emotional states of his characters in ways that are often breathtaking. The slow-motion sequences and the recurring imagery of women at sea carry enormous symbolic weight.
The color palette shifts subtly as the drama moves through its seasons. The early episodes have a golden, sun-washed warmth. The middle years are more muted, more grounded. The later episodes have a quiet, wintry light that feels appropriate for where the story is going. It is meticulous work.
⸻
QUOTES I LOVED:
“To my love, from the age of nine until now, thanks to you, my life has been spring every day. Until the spring we meet again, I’ll live as though every day is spring.”
“The pain of losing a parent cuts deeper as life goes on, but the pain of losing a child is etched in the deepest part of your heart.”
“There are no take-backs in life. If your life and my life join together as one, we stick it out together whether we live or die.”
“They say you need countless lifetimes of fate to meet even once in this life. If you miss it when it brushes past, that’s the end.”
“Rain may pour as if it would sweep everything away. But once the sun starts blazing again, life rises again, no matter what.”
“None of us has fully grown up. But every time our hearts felt growing pains, we all grew a little.”
“A child may abandon sick parents, but not the other way around.”
⸻
FINAL THOUGHTS:
When Life Gives You Tangerines is one of the most significant Korean dramas I have ever watched. Not because it is flashy or innovative in structure, but because of how profoundly and honestly it captures what a human life actually looks like: the joy and the grief sitting side by side, the love expressed in small ordinary acts, the dreams deferred and the dreams eventually lived, the people lost along the way who stay with us anyway.
This drama made me think about my own parents differently. It made me want to call my mother. It made me think about the women who came before me and what they gave up so I could exist the way I do.
By the time Gwan-sik passed away, looking at Ae-soon's smiling face, I was not just watching a love story. I was watching a life. And it felt like the most honest thing I had seen in a very long time.
I give this a 10/10. It is a masterpiece.
Thanks for reading!💖
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