emergingsentiments

[emergingsentiments]

Antipolo

I saw you again after two years, the first time, too, since that fast food debacle — that one I had applied innuendo to because I wasn’t used to a man’s kind gestures. Before going up to the mountains, I had rehearsed all the lines in my head, the questions I would ask you, the small talk I would start and the compliments I would give.

The night before, I dreamed you messaged me with “I love you” and I panicked and replied, “I like you, too”. Then we talked about our respective jobs. I woke up hastily reaching for my phone, relieved to know the conversation didn’t actually happen. But there was a tinge of sadness, too, because it didn’t happen. In the dream, it felt real. It seemed real. It was an experience I could grasp. My heart was racing and felt light.

So that’s how it is when someone says I love you to you, right?

On the way to the mountains, it rained. Inside my overpriced ride, I mused about the script in my head as raindrops streamed down the car windows. Can I say it? Will I say it? Am I brave enough to speak words? Am I strong enough? I just had a serious bout of dry cough, one triggered by all the dust from construction at home, as well as the anxieties over my work, plans, and projects. Can I get through the lines without coughing and losing my voice and making a clown of myself?

When I got to the restaurant, the rain had stopped. Our friends were there. They were surprised I showed up after saying I couldn’t because of my cough. You weren’t around yet. You were late again. A friend of ours arrived before you, shocked I was around. She looked dismayed because, thinking I wasn’t coming, she left her Christmas present for me. I said she shouldn’t mind. So she took out all the presents, gave them to our friends, and pulled yours last. She looked at me and said I could have your gift. She removed the greeting card with your name and handed the box to me — all nicely wrapped. Out of all the gifts she pulled out last it was yours. It was almost as if what was meant for you was now for me. My imagination ran wild.

Once you finally arrived, my stomach tightened. I couldn’t eat. I lost my appetite. You sat on the other end of the table as I tried my best to hear your voice and steal passing glances as I reached for the pizza. You were always so soft-spoken.

Before moving to a nearby cafe for dessert, you worried about how you’d bring the gifts we’ve exchanged. You didn’t bring a bag, only a small pouch. And so I offered my little bag and said you could place yours there.

Inside the cafe, we finally sat across from each other. We were with friends but I couldn’t hear or pay attention to the voices of the others. Even the smog-laden cityscape of Manila couldn’t draw my interest. I wanted to talk to you. And so I did.

I asked you all the questions I could. I started topics I randomly thought of. We mused. We laughed. I saw the tattoo on your wrist and asked what the arrow meant. Move forward, you replied. And then you mentioned you had two more inked spots. You showed the one on your left bicep and pointed to another on your right deltoid. My imagination quizzed what was there underneath the shirt.

Seconds tumbled into minutes and into hours. While our friends got their iced coffee and chocolate drinks, we both, coincidentally, ordered hot brews. French press for you and drip coffee for me. The cup of joe I got didn’t taste bitter, even if I did away with the sugar. Its warmth cleared my throat and its caffeine had the same effects as alcohol. Though sober, words tumbled from our mouths as we talked about family, mused about our past, complained about our present, and inquired about each other’s future.

We spoke of our solitary hours, our illuminations, the threats to our sanity, and the practical decisions we need to make. We quizzed each other about finances and ranted about Internet connections. We laughed and grinned and settled with a few awkward minutes of silence. You spoke casually about the death of your ex. But I already knew about it.  Of course, it wasn’t just the two of us. Friends chimed in, too. But it felt like I was there only with you.

You were so much more different than what I had previously assumed. Even my insecurities left my body for those few hours I got to spend with you and with friends. I was proud of you, interested in you, maybe even a little wary of you in a new, unfamiliar way. I finally understood why you were taking teaching jobs. I finally saw why it was foolish of me to envy you. You’re a good guy. You are the type to draw people as friends, with your hushed voice, pensive eyes, cool calmness, simplicity. But a lot of things remain hidden in the way I still hide myself not just to you, but even to our friends.

I asked you about the graze box. “Was it good?” I inquired discreetly, lest our friends find out I shelled out over a thousand pesos for you. You said it was good. I was glad.

I was glad to know you a little better.

During that time I fell head over heels for you two months ago, I asked a mentor for advice. He said, “You can't rely on a safe distance when it comes to him because you have feelings for him. Because that is the effect of infatuation — you love at a distance — meanwhile placing him at a pedestal that his simple acts of kindness are bloated out of proportion. There is a wisdom in getting to know someone, so you don't end up idolizing them”

Going home, friends and I drove you right in front of your house — the one I've looked at in Google's street view, curious about where you slept and ate and hid from this pandemic stricken world. When you alighted from the car, things felt heavier. I handed you the gifts you’ve entrusted to my bag, and I wished you a Merry Christmas.

I’m looking at the gift box that was meant for you and which is now with me. It’s 4:31 am and I’m wide awake. I can’t go back to sleep. I don’t want to open it. I feel my fingers on the wrapper, where the greeting card bearing your name was once placed. Life is a funny thing. My voice is hoarse from last night. I feel deflated, like the fun over yesterday was sucked by the window of my room. A happiness hangover.

You see I will never admit to you how I truly feel. I wish I could but the circumstances are not in my favor. What I want the rest of the world to know, then, is how even amidst friends and strangers, you stood out and made a very lonely person happy even for just a few hours.

That loneliness stems from a struggle to value me not based on how I compared to others — and even to you. My value isn’t dependent on whether or not you’ll even reciprocate these feelings (which I know you won’t). My worth stems from the fact I am a human being, capable of loving, with a heart that beats and races, and with a mind that fights to keep its reign over this beating organ.

I feel love. I can love. I am loved. Maybe, not by you in the way I desire. But by the life that created me and these moments that I now dwell in — moments in the mountains, lost in the chatter of friendship, inundated by the hidden affairs of the heart.

I will learn from this, too.

“I figured out what I'm gonna say And I rehearse it for days Was it the way you turn to look at me All the things you said on the phone Was it your voice your smile I just don't know Wanna make it on my own

Strong heart, don't fail me now I know it's time to go but for now I linger on Big tear, you fall so soft I know in time you drown but for now you linger on I wanna linger on”

[emergingsentiments]

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episode 10 (Repost)

Loneliness must have drawn you back here, says Hwajung to Chohui. But these could have been words for Dusik and Hyejin, too. The past and current entanglements of Gongjin’s love affairs, after all, run parallel to each other. For Chohui, her mother’s death and her brother’s migration left her solitary, so it only seemed natural to return to somewhere familiar. Hyejin, on the other hand, visited the seaside town to reclaim the memory of happier times, when her mother was still alive. Dusik’s reasons are still obscured but the glimpses into the wakes he’s stood vigil by are compelling reasons behind his return.

Home, as I observed in the first episode of Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha, is where the heart is and the hurts are.

Episode 10 unfolded like the turning point that it is. As the previous chapters tackled the inner workings of all our characters, especially the progress of Hyejin and Dusik both as individuals and in their romantic engagements, we saw how people began to confront their fears. Whether it’s Cheonjae’s anxieties as a has-been singer and as a single father to a rebellious Juri or Gamri’s quiet suffering in her empty nest, the melancholy that undergirds the town’s surface pushed each one to face their scars and losses. For all the comic relief she brings, even Miseon had to brave confusion and rejection.

In this page of Gongjin’s tale, however, the theme of battling life’s greatest antagonist is truest among Dusik, Hyejin, and Seonghyun.

Poor Seonghyun, so new to the town yet so quick to have been thrown into the maelstrom of Gongjin’s charms and tragedies. His greatest fear was being late. He missed opportunities before, including in the postcard-perfect moments of his youth. Always an observer but never the one observed; always watching over Hyejin but always a step behind others in the line. If he were dancing, he’d be out of rhythm, too busy trying to memorize the choreography.

He has rehearsed his lines a thousand times. Will they come out right? Here, Lee Sang-yi gives Seonghyun his most graceful and yet graceless moment. Making an abrupt u-turn on his way to Seoul, he returns to Gongjin — late once again. Hyejin, attacked by a wandering sexual predator in town, has been saved by Dusik. If the shock of the night’s crime were not enough, he confesses the next evening to a Hyejin that had just mistakenly implied her growing affections for Dusik. She’s just had dinner, too.

Full and formal, Hyejin listens to Seonghyun’s lonely and tense confession. Sangyi delivers the lines Seonghyun has held onto for years. It’s a speech marked by jitters, fretful glances, and a slowly growing blush. Once out, he tries to stop the tension by marking the scene as a take. But the clapperboard humor isn’t enough. Hyejin watches him eat alone. She has no appetite.

Hyejin, for her part, couldn’t be blamed. She never really saw Seonghyun other than a senior to be admired. Yes, he’s saved her from a jerk before. But years of absence have made the heart grow duller instead of fonder. She’s also just come from an equally awkward dinner with Dusik, who is celebrating his grandfather’s death anniversary. There is no room for another meal. The night before — the night of the attack — she had slept in Dusik’s home for the third time as well.

At the first visit to his home, she kissed Mr. Hong on impulse and alcohol. On the second, she carried the weight and fears of an inebriated Dusik. On the third visit, she is traumatized from the night’s break-in, so now slips in to Mr. Hong’s clothes and stays over, unable to sleep unless Dusik’s around with poetry. He reads to her...It is my job to fall in love with you while waiting for you the next day. The antidote to Hyejin’s fear, after all, is Gongjin’s son.

But what does Hyejin fear? Well, it’s simple. She fears what she lost — her childhood, to be who she is. As a young girl who lost her mother, she had to grow up fast given her father’s alcohol-tinged coping mechanism. As a young woman, she had to build walls after a harsh rebuke of her lowly appearance. So she covers her scars with pretenses — and fancy shoes. Her clothes are her walls. Her life has been planned out. She steers this career with distinct professionalism and ambition. But it’s never ruthless. A woman-child, her core reveals a soft, compassionate heart.

This is what Dusik brings out in her. It’s not something Dusik necessarily gives. The two, after all, have their losses but they are whole persons, too. Dusik’s unconventional lifestyle and ways have eroded the surface of Hyejin’s fortress. Like salted sea slowly breaking down cliffs. With Dusik, she regains the lost child, the one who laughs when pieces of crab meat are flung to Dusik’s face. If that was Seonghyun, Hyejin would have been profusely apologetic and formal. But Mr. Hong is different. Around him, Hyejin can be unguarded, vulnerable.

Dusik, on the other hand, always saw her in a different light. Carrying the weight of unexplained grief, Dusik knows exactly what’s hidden behind Hyejin’s front. But for all his bravado, he’s afraid, too. The people he loved the most have left him, leaving him with an unimaginable sense of guilt. It’s what keeps him tethered to the idea of boundaries. He only likes Hyejin as a friend. But his eyes, his actions — they speak otherwise. If he admits to loving Hyejin, then the prospect of fresh losses cripple him. He’s an engineering graduate, so he has made the calculations. And yet, this strange woman who has returned from a childhood memory is urging him to take those risks and forget those probabilities.

He took a stab on the shoulder, one that nearly cost his life. Isn’t that love — or even the semblance of it? Why does Dusik need to certify his affections with assurance? Gamri, Gonjin’s wisest daughter, sees through Dusik’s barricades. Life’s brevity, she says, demands risks but most of all, honesty with oneself.

These are words worth ruminating in the evening breeze at the town’s breakwater.

It’s the same place where Hyejin finds him.

After a trip to Seoul to forget the town’s powers over her and Miseon, she realizes the city’s offerings were no longer attractive. Everything reminds her of Gongjin. She can’t stop thinking of Dusik. As a grown-up, Hyejin had sought security. Her instinct of self-preservation made her hard. Drenched in a sudden downpour in Seoul, she remembers her rain-soaked self with Dusik at the beach. It is enough for her to understand.

These realizations surge from Hyejin’s adrenaline-filled confession. Unable to deny her growing affections any further, she takes the plunge.

The child faces reality with simple acceptance. In the presence of a vulnerable Hyejin, things freely move and are themselves. The effects are immediately clear. Like any sensible woman, Hyejin knows Dusik could all but reject him, too. Who drives back from Seoul to rant about love, right? But Dusik understands. The hours waiting for her return were sooner than he had anticipated. But the man had made his calculations. The formulas are no longer useful.

True to himself, Dusik fulfills his new duty. It is my job to fall in love with you while waiting for you the next day. So he returns the confession with the most reasonable declaration: a kiss, first tender, one that leaves Hyejin breathless. He speaks but yearns for more. So he lets his lips touch hers for a second time. A kiss now free from all the tentativeness of the night.

A few weeks ago I read several criticisms about Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha. It’s cliched. People only watch it because the actors are popular. There’s nothing exceptional about a love story.

Cliched, true. But there is a reason why there are cliches because they are true. Do people only watch because the actors are popular? Perhaps. Perhaps not. A love story doesn’t hold a candle to the more intellectual and uncomfortable narratives available for consumption, right? You know, the stories that deal with war and violence, politics and its lack of virtue, the more profound tales that explore humanity or its degradation. But I fear this is an effort to leave the commonplace, the domestic, and the personal materials unattended for the sake of what seems profound. Yet, the production of these “better” and more profound stories does not offer any solace from suffering.

For over a year now, we’ve been fighting the wrath of an invisible virus. It might even be true to say that for many of us, we’ve lost someone dear, someone deeply loved. If not, we know someone who has dealt with these losses. Given the lockdowns and restrictions, even grieving has been abbreviated. Our reality is sobering. We fear many things. So while I don’t hold it against people to choose the more elevated tales, it would be a shame to dismiss those who gush over a love story as uncritical and frivolous.

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha resonates with and appeals to many because it reminds us of the things we’ve lost to the pandemic. Face-to-face conversations. The stability of a job. Family. Friendship. The pat on the back. Our grandparents. Our first love. A hand to hold. Dinner with friends under the warmth of incandescent light. Office conversations. Senseless chatter. The thrill of falling in love. The smell of the sea, and the sand on our feet. Our best friend. The normalcy of a leisurely walk. Dancing in the rain. People. Our community. The words we wanted to say. A kiss.

In a world where physical intimacy and closeness are dangerous, we feel our lips with our fingers watching Hyejun and Dusik kiss. And we remember the way we were. Kim Seon Ho was right in saying Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha is a healing drama. To love and be loved, after all, remains the ultimate catharsis.

[emergingsentiments]

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episode 9 (Repost)

If the previous installment of Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha probed the heart and its anxieties, then Episode 9 is where the show’s characters begin to confront these fears. Our Sikhye couple had already shared a subtext-laden embrace after a threat to Hyejin’s safety, and now that unexpected skinship begins to bother the two, so much so they are unable to sleep. Homcha shows this in the romantic parallelism of their nocturnal troubles. If there's no meaning to that intimate moment, then why would they lose sleep over it?

But the drama isn’t eager to please by simply saying they are in love. Actions, after all, speak louder than words. And what better way for a man to prove his love — and overcome his fear — than by meeting the parents. Thanks to a mix-up at Hyejin’s seaside home — organized by Miseon once more — Dusik finds himself face-to-face with Yoon Tae-hwa (Seo Sang-won), Hyejin’s father, and Lee Myung-shin (Woo Mi-hwa), her stepmom. This after both overheard rumors about Hyejin’s supposed trysts with Dusik, courtesy of resident loudmouth Namsook. You’d think after being saved from a swindler, she'd be a little more careful around Hyejin, right?

What follows is Dusik pretending to be Hyejin’s boyfriend for a day and Gongjin’s tour guide for Mr. Yoon and Ms. Lee. It’s a Kdrama trope used to good effect in this episode, giving our two reluctant lovebirds the space to be together for most of this chapter.

Mr. Yoon, however, is not easy to please. He’s brash and arrogant, brandishing high standards for himself and her daughter. For him, Dusik’s provincial austerity misses all the marks. Mr. Yoon is also confused with Mr. Hong’s unemployment. What is a Seoul National University engineering graduate doing in Gongjin fixing showerheads? And the language — too casual, too familiar! Hyejin should break up with Dusik. She’s too good for him, it seems. He fears for her future. So easily offended is Hyejin’s father by everything that sulking is almost as frequent as his breathing.

Seonghyun, who the pair of couples meet along the way, is different. Hyejin’s senior back in college, he’s now a successful TV show producer. In on the farce, Seonghyun tries his best to ingratiate with Mr. Yoon and Ms. Lee by offering brunch at Gamri’s home while putting his best foot forward. Mr. Yoon seems to fall for Seonghyun’s affectations. Earlier in the drama, our PD was likable in his naivete, politeness, and helpfulness. With potential losses on the line, however, he decides to put up a fight, and that means showing his true colors — and interests. He’s missed an opportunity once, so he figures he can’t lose another one.

Interestingly, Hyejin and Dusik remain the same despite the spur-of-the-moment arrangement. Except for lying about their relationship, they’re not doing anything unusual. Hyejin and Dusik as friends are the same as Hyejin and Dusik as fake lovers. They bicker and annoy each other, with Hyejin constantly muttering against Mr. Hong’s laughable ideas. They steal glances, argue with their eyes, and jostle with their gestures. Around Seonghyun, she is prim and proper. As Dusik’s friend and girlfriend-for-a-day, she’s always a little nervier, curious, annoying, foolish, and candid. Shin Minah’s wide-eyed surprise and arresting smiles capture the more uncalculated Hyejin, the one lost as she, according to her father, grew up too fast.

Unlike Seonghyun, Dusik is not interested in formalities. He uses his brashness and natural charm to deal with the bullheaded Mr. Yoon. When playing Go, he doesn’t attempt to please the man by deliberately losing. He simply sticks to his guns. Conversing about orchids, Dusik doesn’t shy away from showing off. When Mr. Yoon shows his disgust over seafood during family lunch, he insists that his guest take a bite. If it were Seonghyun, he would have acquiesced to the demands and impulses of Hyejin’s father. Dusik, however, lives large. He can be rough around the edges and unapologetic. He gets his way, too. But we also know it can often be just the exterior — a defense mechanism to whatever is lurking underneath.

We get glimpses of this past once more in Episode 9. During lunch and while Dusik is away, Mr. Yoon inquires with her daughter about Mr. Hong’s background. Who is he? Where is his family? An orphan? Well, that’s a flaw. The irony escapes Mr. Yoon, who gets reminded when Hyejin answers back, that he’s a remarried widow. If Dusik has no blood relations around, and it’s a gaping hole in his otherwise fascinating resume, then what does it make of Hyejin and the presence of her stepmother. It’s a searing argument that Dusik overhears but takes coolly even as Mr. Yoon storms out of the restaurant.

But it’s also an awkward rebuke of Hyejin’s stepmother who, throughout the episode, has demonstrated to be anything but the nightmarish second wife we may have imagined her to be. Myungshin takes everything in a stride, aware of her place. Amidst the hurt, she manages to be the middle-ground for both stubborn father and equally stubborn daughter, attentive to the needs of both. Hyejin sees this and is quick to apologize for her outburst.

Dusik is just as perceptive as Myunhshin. With great courage, he approaches Mr. Yoon to start one of the more poignant conversations in this chapter of Homcha. Broken by the death of her wife, he had largely neglected Hyejin’s needs as a child. She grew up too fast in the absence of paternal love. Listening intently, Dusik says otherwise. Hyejin received a lot of love — perhaps unseen because it doesn’t fit the conventions of what love might be. If not, then she wouldn’t be able to give love, right? Dusik takes the time to explain the actual situation, too, although Mr. Yoon doesn’t do our couple any favors by mentioning maybe, just maybe, Mr. Hong is who Hyejin deserves. Mr. Yoon clearly likes Mr. Hong.

This is what Homcha does well — provide glimpses of the growing affections between Hyejin and Dusik when they’re around other people. During lunch, Hyejin sees how Dusik manages to wear down the harsh walls of her father and fit comfortably with the family. She asks herself in the quiet of her thoughts what it is with Dusik that she gravitates towards. Probed by Mr. Yoon over his true affections, Dusik answers as prudent as he could that he likes Hyejin only as a friend, even though his eyes betray him.

Shin Min Ah and Kim Seon Ho use their powers to demonstrate this tension within. Their eyes flicker and their lips quiver, showing the tentativeness that marks the lives of their characters. How long can they hide what they truly feel?

It’s the same question for everyone else in Gongjin. Love is light and shadow, after all. For the ever upfront Miseon, that shadow clouds her judgment when she gets rejected by a more old-fashioned Eun-chul. In the more delicate relations between Chohui, Hwajung, and  Youngguk, the hidden reasons of Hwajung over her divorce frustrates a Youngguk, who now faces the pain of unrequited love. Hwajung displays a formidable front in the ending scenes when he refuses Youngguk the satisfaction of her deepest sentiments. But bottling it up has a cost, as Namsook rightfully explains. Hwajung will have to admit to it sooner or later.

Seonghyun, too, who is now confronted with the possibility Dusik does have a thing for Hyejin, must take a chance or be late again. On a late-night walk, Dusik also ponders about his earlier conversation with Mr. Yoon and senses it’s now or never. Both have made their decisions. One takes a u-turn while the other heads straight for it. Are they ready to confront those lingering terrors?

Namsook’s broad observations aren’t just frivolous curiosity, however. “If you keep bottling your emotions, you’ll get sick” she exclaims. It’s the perfect commentary to Episode 9’s darker epilogue. Dusik is at his shrink's clinic to discuss the root of his fear, that large swath of evening that hides beneath the daylight he projects in Gongjin. So everyone you love has left you? inquires the doctor, as we become privy to the painful memories of the wakes Dusik has had to attend, wakes that have scarred a man of promise, wakes that stole his sleep.

But the question is too simple, naive, even bare — and that makes it even harder to answer.

[emergingsentiments]

They say the opposite of love isn’t hatred but fear. Dislike doesn’t discourage us from loving. Fear does. We fear rejection, like Hwajung. We fear failing to meet the expectations of our partners, like Chohui. We fear being alone, like Gamri. We fear, most of all, losses, like Namsook. But if sacred scripture can be accommodated to speak its truth, we know in love there is no fear. And if the people of Gongjin are tasked to offer advice, it is to at the very least, try. That's the best way to become certain about what you're meant to do.

It’s only apt then that, faced with lurking danger in town, it is Dusik who welcomes Hyejin like a safe harbor for a ship to anchor from the storm. It’s only apt that it’s Hyejin who lunges towards Dusik, and that it is Dusik who, initially prepared to close himself off from anything that would risk breaking his heart again, opens his arms. But he doesn’t just let her in. He holds her, too. Hyejin escapes her fear while Dusik overcomes it.

Dusik, the man who wouldn’t deal with anything alive at home, has taken in something more than a hedgehog. He’s taken someone with a beating heart, more alive than anything he’s held for as long as he could remember. But Dusik takes one more step forward. He returns the favor, puts his arm around Hyejin in awe and surrender.

Maybe she remembers now that second drunken night outside Dusik’s home. And maybe Hyejin mutters to herself as Dusik did, don’t go.

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episode 8 (Repost)

If Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha’s Episode 8 is a body part, it would be the heart. Yes, we’re just halfway through the series and Dusik and Hyejin aren’t officially a couple yet. But this chapter of the show reveals a lot more about Mr. Hong and Dr. Yoon than any of the other episodes. It also lays bare the inner workings of Gongjin’s most prominent characters, deepening our understanding of the town’s sense of community and in the process the whys behind Dusik and Hyejin, too.

See, Gongjin’s greatest import is not its wealth of seafood. It's her stories. Every person in the village — both resident and visitor — has a history. Over the last few weeks, we’ve seen how this personal history has unfolded to define the present life of the characters. Many of them remain tethered to the past, not necessarily as some form of attachment, but most commonly to honor the people they’ve become. Infused into the salted air that breezes through Gonjin are struggles, victories, hurts, tragedies, silences, and mysteries. Weaved like a colorful fabric, they form the wisdom and home the town offers.

Namsook’s story is aptly tackled in this chapter of the heart. After all, Gongjin’s resident loudmouth seems to have none of it. Ruthlessly tactless, she appears incapable of living a day without prying into the lives of others or spreading rumors across town. For all her pomp, however, are weaknesses. She is, for one, quick to give in to Juri’s requests. Our rebellious teenager seems to have struck a chord — maybe even an alliance — with Namsook. So our gossip queen holds nothing when spoiling the girl. Her second fault is being naive about the stealth of today’s crimes. She is confidently naive, so almost loses her bucketload of cash to a phishing scam.

Fortunately, our lead love triangle of Hyejin, Dusik, and Seonghyun are in the right place and time. Who would have thought that, after their skirmishes, it would be Hyejin helping out the woman damaging her reputation? But Gonjin is full of surprises—and secrets. And Hwajung, too, is interested in filling in Hyejin about Namsook. After all, our dentist is practically a resident now.

To Hyejin, Hwajung explains what Namsook has been through. The lady lost a daughter to sickness. She was about Juri’s age, which explains Namsook’s affections for the teen. For one year after her daughter’s death, she withdrew to herself, lonely and voiceless. It’s a painful past that stands in stark contrast to the gossip-monger we know now. For the people of Gongjin, however, the insufferably loud Namsook is better than the alternative — a grief-soaked woman. It’s a moment telling about the townsfolk. These are people willing to understand because they know the other side of the story.  

Hwajung, too, has her side. She’s still mum about it. While it’s clear her divorce revolved around a complicated relationship between Chohui and the increasingly annoying Yongguk, questions still linger. Why does she drive Chohui away when the homeroom teacher visits her? Why is she so afraid of Chohui’s kindness? Why doesn’t she approve of Chohui’s request that all three of them will be the same again? These are the questions I’m sure will be answered soon enough, much like the lingering mystery of who is the sexual predator prowling around town.

It’s this imminent threat that leads us to what Episode 8 wants to drive home. The heart has its stories but it’s also plagued by fears.

We see this in Dusik, most of all. With Seonghyun around, their brotherly dynamic has turned into a competition. Our variety show director, after all, has clearly expressed interest in his old friend, Hyejin. It’s an honesty that irks Dusik because it’s something he cannot do. Seonghyun’s gregarious demeanor also attracts Gongjin’s people. He seems just as capable as Dusik. He’s as polite and as strong. He even does the usual tasks for free, unlike Mr. Hong. For Dusik, Seonghyun’s movements encroach on the comfortable bed he sleeps on as Gongjin’s favorite handyman. Is he, after all, that replaceable? Beyond tasks, however, Dusik’s great fear now is if he’s also dispensable in the eyes of Hyejin.

Episode 8 plays around this fear in the form of jealousy. Here, Kim Seon Ho got the assignment down pat. In his portrayal of Mr. Hong, the insecurities show in petty retaliation and even pettier victories over Seonghyun. He acts unperturbed by Seonghyun’s moves towards Hyejin but is quick to interfere with the two’s intimacy. At one point in the episode, Dusik declines the umbrella offered by Hyejin and Seonghyun, acting like his usual independent self and then going through the pouring rain. His face, however, tells a different story, and you can sense in his nuanced gaze that Mr. Hong is gripped by the fear of losing to Seonghyun and thus losing Hyejin. Seonho demands that sympathy for Mr. Hong.

But what is Dusik’s claim over Hyejin anyway? He’s the one who proposed they stay as friends, which was more an attempt to mask his truest feelings. He acts cavalier but is the one most deeply affected. Because from the start, Dusik already saw Hyejin in a different light. She was the lamp that brought an unexpected light to the hidden darkness of his soul. But because of his past, Dusik knows pursuing anything deeper will have its risks. Considering his losses, was it worth it to take that step? It’s what drives him crazy. It’s that fear knowing he is already in love and he must make a choice soon.

And what about Hyejin? Does she know, too? Is she aware of what burns inside her — that it isn’t just the heat and headiness from the alcohol? If Dusik knows and hesitates, then Hyejin is the one still learning but who rushes forward. She doesn’t waver in asking Dusik to look for her missing shoe. She follows Mr. Hong’s lead about where to stay and what to do in Gongjin. She lets herself be pulled from her slumber to help clean the town. She yields to Dusik’s request to drive him and three old ladies to Seoul. She agrees to meet the townsfolk halfway. She sits next to him like it's second nature to be beside him. She plays with Dusik in the rain. She lunges forward to give him a kiss. And she almost steals another in Dusik’s sleep.

What is wrong with her, she asks? Nothing. It’s not what’s wrong. It’s what is right with her. Hyejin recognizes that while she and Dusik didn’t exactly start off on the right foot, he’s been that one person in this previously unfamiliar town who had put up with her early pretensions. In hindsight, those were defenses. Losing her mother and having been disdained by a former lover, Hyejin had to put up her hedgehog spines — impossible standards, superficial fronts, defense mechanisms. Meeting Dusik — who perhaps unbeknownst to both have crossed paths before — has assured Hyejin to be herself, to let down her guard.

Mr. Hong’s lived wisdom speaks to Dr. Yoon’s soft interior. Like the cha cha cha, they’re dancing to a beat only they hear — forward and backward, side steps and then together, missteps and miscues — and figuring it out. Dusik and Hyejin are trying to understand each other because the alternative no longer makes sense.

They say the opposite of love isn’t hatred but fear. Dislike doesn’t discourage us from loving. Fear does. We fear rejection, like Hwajung. We fear failing to meet the expectations of our partners, like Chohui. We fear being alone, like Gamri. We fear, most of all, losses, like Namsook. But if sacred scripture can be accommodated to speak its truth, we know in love there is no fear. And if the people of Gongjin are tasked to offer advice, it is to at the very least, try. That's the best way to become certain about what you're meant to do.

It’s only apt then that, faced with lurking danger in town, it is Dusik who welcomes Hyejin like a safe harbor for a ship to anchor from the storm. It’s only apt that it’s Hyejin who lunges towards Dusik, and that it is Dusik who, initially prepared to close himself off from anything that would risk breaking his heart again, opens his arms. But he doesn’t just let her in. He holds her, too. Hyejin escapes her fear while Dusik overcomes it.

Dusik, the man who wouldn’t deal with anything alive at home, has taken in something more than a hedgehog. He’s taken someone with a beating heart, more alive than anything he’s held for as long as he could remember. But Dusik takes one more step forward. He returns the favor, puts his arm around Hyejin in awe and surrender.

Maybe she remembers now that second drunken night outside Dusik’s home. And maybe Hyejin mutters to herself as Dusik did, don’t go.

The opposite of love is not, as we many times or almost always think, hatred, but the fear to love, and fear to love is the fear of being free. – Paulo Freire

[emergingsentiments]

The whole of her memory is the episode’s epilogue where a woozy Hyejin looks for Dusik outside his home. She finds him sitting in the courtyard, quiet and inebriated, with reddened eyes and a lonesome gaze. Hyejin wants to bring her inside the house where it’s warm. Dusik is teary-eyed and Hyejin, like a child, teases him about the type to cry when he’s drunk. She tries to lift him from his stupor and get him safely inside. But the weight proves too much initially.

After a botched attempt to stand up, Dusik mournfully looks at Hyejin, rests his head on her shoulders, and pitifully begs for her not to go as a tear rolls down his eyes. We don’t know if it’s a conscious request or the words of a drunk man. We don’t know if he speaks of the past or the present. The few words are loaded with subtext and the fear of abandonment. So Hyejin acquiesces. She won’t go. She’s not going anywhere.

Are they still intoxicated? Or do they agree sober? Alone together, the barricades both have set up seem to be crumbling down.

In vino, veritas.

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episode 7 (Repost)

The last six episodes of Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha have been packed with revelations. At just a few minutes over an hour, each chapter unfolds with little bloat, offering enough cliffhangers and clues to sustain the anticipation. Like nuggets of gold, the brief epilogues also help tie the narrative together. In some cases, these bookmarks provide the most interesting and important moments of the drama. Because they cap each episode, one savors the story better in hindsight, with these intimate, momentary fragments providing context to the motives behind Gongjin’s core cast.

The speed by which the show has moved forward makes Episode 7 a welcome change of pace. If the last six swiftly laid out the backdrop for Hyejin and Dusik’s worlds to meet, populating Gongjin with several colorful characters, Episode 7 slows the speeding train by focusing on the progression of two of the town’s most complicated relationships. At this juncture, Homcha ‘risks’ losing the adrenaline of its brisk walk by carefully exploring the contours of Hwajung, Youngguk, and Chohui’s peculiar relations, and attentively building on the shift in dynamics between Hyejin, Dusik, and Seonghyun.

With the first love triangle, the story takes a unique turn, one that bolsters the theory that Hwajung and Chohui are perhaps the unexpected pair or couple. The awkward silences between the two ladies speak volumes, especially given the context provided by resident loudmouth Namsook. If our assumptions hold, then how did Hwajung and Yongguk end up together? Was their divorce a mutual decision? What were the reasons? It seems Yongguk is not aware that he and his ex-wife are actually pining for the same woman. Will it be revealed and how will Gongjin handle this ‘possible’ truth?

There are just as many questions for the other three now that Seonghyun is in the seaside town — and Dusik is perhaps the most curious to know the answers. With our PD staying in Gongjin for some time, Mr. Hong rightly senses competition, too. This despite their initial brotherly camaraderie. Seonghyun, after all, is no pushover. A blazing workaholic with limitless energy, he is surprisingly likable. He isn’t your run-of-the-mill, exasperating second lead. Much of it is due to Lee Sang Yi’s excellent portrayal of Seonghyun, offering a mega-watt smile, a passionate demeanor, and the right mix of clumsiness for charm. With this combination, he wins over the townsfolk, including the hardest to please, Gamri.

Meanwhile, despite his reputation and friendliness, Dusik can still be reticent. Parts of him are obscured by a mysterious past. It’s hard to pinpoint him as a type. He is all four seasons — a spring awakening, the summer’s heat, the melancholy of autumn, winter’s solitariness. He is presence but also evasion, permanence while only passing by. Seonghyun, on the other hand, is summer throughout — cloudless, bright, buzzing with activity. You can see through him. He brings a friendly assurance. In contrast, to embrace Dusik is to embrace uncertainty. You just don’t know what thoughts are hidden behind his pensive eyes.

Seonghyun also has the advantage of having known Hyejin longer, perhaps even better. Homcha cleverly uses his character to reveal more about our favorite dentist. From the onset, Hyejin was presented as an ambitious woman plagued by pressure and insecurities. It was clear she was only in Gongjin because she had no prospects back in Seoul, a truth she tried to deny during a wedding reception with peers. To Seonghyun, however, Hyejin starting a clinic in the province made sense. He always knew her as a woman who would serve where needed, not where the money necessarily was. It tells us that Hyejin’s little speech back in Seoul about profit in the province wasn’t necessarily indicative of her true personality.

Hyejin seems pleased to have found an old acquaintance in the village. However, because she shares many memories with Seonghyun back in college, it leaves Dusik out of place when all three are together. And Mr. Hong isn’t exactly a master at hiding his little jealousies. If anything should console him, it’s the obvious difference in the way Ms. Dentist treats him and Seonghyun. With her senior, Hyejin is a little bashful. Her speech is formal, too. With Mr. Hong, Hyejin is more natural. She isn’t afraid to speak up and be more tactless. When together, their increasingly frequent banter shows they’ve grown comfortable enough to make each other mad. As a dance, they’re unrehearsed, committing missteps as they feel each other through the music and movement.

Nowhere is this more obvious than the picture-perfect laundry scene. Lost in something as ordinary as washing blankets, Hyejin and Dusik playfully tease and annoy one another as “friends”. A slip, however, puts Hyejin in intimate contact with Dusik, triggering a strange memory from the troika’s previous drunken escapade.

The whole of her memory is the episode’s epilogue where a woozy Hyejin looks for Dusik outside his home. She finds him sitting in the courtyard, quiet and inebriated, with reddened eyes and a lonesome gaze. Hyejin wants to bring her inside the house where it’s warm. Dusik is teary-eyed and Hyejin, like a child, teases him about the type to cry when he’s drunk. She tries to lift him from his stupor and get him safely inside. But the weight proves too much initially.

After a botched attempt to stand up, Dusik mournfully looks at Hyejin, rests his head on her shoulders, and pitifully begs for her not to go as a tear rolls down his eyes. We don’t know if it’s a conscious request or the words of a drunk man. We don't know if he speaks of the past or the present. The few words are loaded with subtext and the fear of abandonment. So Hyejin acquiesces. She won’t go. She’s not going anywhere.

Are they still intoxicated? Or do they agree sober? Alone together, the barricades both have set up seem to be crumbling down.

In vino, veritas.

[emergingsentiments]

See, underneath the picturesque and coastal idyll of Gongjin are tales of trauma and tragedy. We sense that the town’s folksy air draws its warmth from the burning embers of its people’s pasts. Homcha is unafraid to weave the growing affections between Mr. Hong and Dr. Yoong using these sorrow-tainted fabrics, while only lightly reassuring us that even yesterdays have tomorrows. Surrounding Dusik and Hyejin are equally deep entanglements of human relationships — from a man trying to be the best father for her daughter to an iron-willed lady silently figuring out her place in the present as the past returns.

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episodes 5 and 6 (Repost)

“The problem with some people is that when they aren't drunk they're sober.” — William Butler Yeats

With Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha’s premise largely settled, its third pair of episodes move forward to deal with the aftermath of the previous week’s intoxication. Drunk and blacked out by the strength of alcohol, Hyejin wakes up next to Dusik. It’s as much a shock to her as it is to Gongjin’s tight-knit community, who, being in the right place and time, discover the issue and spread the rumor like wildfire. It’s a hilarious sequence, one that includes an embarrassing recollection of the good dentist’s trippy, drunken ways. It also sets up awkward conversations with the townsfolk, especially with Dusik being the other half of the scandal.

Hyejin wants to squelch the gossip. Dusik, however, seems cavalier about it. Their different attitudes inform much of the tension that fills Episode 5. What Homcha does so well at this juncture, however, is to pit these contrasting views, reactions, and responses of our leads to challenge our own. Hyejin, for instance, thinks of herself so highly as a woman of the city that she wouldn’t be caught dead being associated with Dusik, let alone rumored to have slept with him. It’s an uncomfortable judgment made against the seemingly flawless Renaissance man of Gongjin. He doesn’t take it lightly and calls out Hyejin for being narrow-minded.

But in hindsight, it’s not farfetched to sympathize with Hyejin. When we find out her condescension towards Dusik was not warranted given the man’s prestigious educational background, we also learn of her experience being looked down upon by a man. The man also happened to be her ex-boyfriend. This painful memory — unearthed by Miseon’s tactlessness — reveals the motives behind Hyejin’s views. She’s not just a woman driven by ambition and defined by material success. She’s not just a daughter grieving the early death of a mother. She’s also a human being that had to deal with social disadvantages, which led to her being ridiculed. Those negative experiences continue to influence and shape her persona seen best in her insecurities.

Dusik — well-read and well-educated — should have been the first person to recognize the scars behind Hyejin’s wounded ways. Hyejin is entitled to feel the way she does, without a man he’s practically just met prodding her to come out of her ‘shell’. This is where Dusik’s single-mindedness becomes a flaw. After all, he has his own skeletons in the closet. He knows enough about loss and pain to recognize its symptoms in other people. He surely would have sensed how uncomfortable Hyejin is being the subject of a small town’s raunchy rumors. There’s something else lurking behind the Dusik’s unbridled heroism and his confusing and flippant behavior around Hyejin. For instance, when Cheonjae suggests he finds a partner, he brushes it off and changes the conversation. Why the evasion? Why these apprehensions?

Like any good show, Homcha isn’t in any hurry to give answers. But we do get clues. First, there is that mysterious picture that bookmarks one of Dusik’s books. It’s probably connected to another hint — his visits to a shrink concerning a recurring nightmare. Dusik’s past looms ominously over his present. Lastly, we learn that summer night drinking fancy wine didn’t end only with a stoned Hyejin wrecking hangover havoc across Gongjin’s empty evening streets. It was capped with something less theatrical but more intimate — a kiss.

Kisses, they say, are far more intoxicating. And its effects are clear on both our dentist and jack-of-all-trades on Episode 6. Now that Hyejin remembers their lips-to-lips, we get to understand a little more about Dusik’s strategy. If he has been deliberately coy, it was an attempt to bury Hyejin’s memory of that kiss. But Dusik being Dusik, he pursues in taking down Hyejin’s defenses. If Hyejin can be contrary as a woman, then Dusik can be contradictory with his dilly-dallying, too. His newfound philosophy revolves around the idea of taking risks, crossing boundaries, getting drenched in the rain every now and then. It’s a romantic prospect but one that reduces Hyejin to another one of Dusik’s projects it seems. And yet, it’s an approach that doesn’t seem out of character, too.

Homcha subtly peels away the perfect facade of Mr. Hong, highlighting the man’s little foibles with every episode. Yes, he’s tremendously kind. Yes, he’s exceptionally good at everything. But he’s human, too, with anxieties and errors in judgment. We see more of the latter whenever he’s around Hyejin, which tells me behind the gallant exterior of Gongjin’s favorite son is a man either unsure of how to dance with a woman he obviously likes or afraid to step on his lover’s feet. Why? He knows the cha cha cha takes practice, right, and a willing partner, too? Had he failed in this dance before?

Hyejin yields to Dusik’s credo but not fully. She is her own woman, after all. Yes, she gets jealous and annoyed with Dusik’s cheekiness. But she can also be defiant by letting everyone know her displeasure at being rumored as Sikhye or in telling off Dusik as he tried to bring Juri home. Dusik will have to deal with Hyejin’s tantrums because he simply cannot stubbornly “fix” her or “work” on her as a side hustle. We’re talking about two people navigating the unsteady paths of life and love as grown-ups. They’ll need to grope the steps of their choreography. That takes time.

But they’ll have to get it right, soon. Ji Seong-hyun (Lee Sang-yi) has arrived in town, which makes for interesting love triangle fodder. Seonghyun, however, is exceptionally likable. A bit naive and with a megawatt smile, he also offers the unpleasant advantage of having known Hyejin for longer, including being a witness to that pivotal rejection she suffered from her ex. While we all know the fate of second leads, I look forward to how Seonghyun’s presence shifts dynamics and allegiances in a town known for impulsive, gossip-mongering residents. Does he prance away with the lady? Or will Cinderella’s final dance be with Dusik?

Speaking of dancing, we see a lot of it in arguably one of the show’s highlights so far — the festival. It’s an event that brings together our favorite characters in a wholesomely wild and merry night. With all of them in one stage, it’s easier to appreciate how Homcha has successfully balanced all the story arcs so far.

But it’s becoming clear Gongjin’s narratives, though varied, are all threaded by one thing — pain.

The drama sheds light on these aches using both humor and gravitas. With Miseon, we find comic relief in her frequent, ill-timed, and embarrassing stomach aches. Juri’s pain, on the other hand, draws close comparison with Hyejin’s loss of her mother. Her rebelliousness is rooted in the stifling parenting of Cheonjae who tries too hard to offer both father and mother figures to Juri. It’s a father-daughter struggle that sees Cheonjae accepting Juri becoming her own young lady, leaving behind his own dreams to support Juri’s own.

And of course, there’s Hwajung and Youngguk’s post-divorce relationship, one complicated further with the return to Gongjin of Youngguk’s first love, Cho-Hui (Hong Ji-Hee). It’s an arrival that isn’t exactly welcome, and one that causes Hwajung to clench her jaws and writhe in pain. Like Seonghyun, Chohui can win a congeniality award with her smile. Hwajung describes her as kind to a fault. But there’s something amiss with this love triangle, and if theories prove true, we may be in for a surprise.

See, underneath the picturesque and coastal idyll of Gongjin are tales of trauma and tragedy. We sense that the town’s folksy air draws its warmth from the burning embers of its people’s pasts. Homcha is unafraid to weave the growing affections between Mr. Hong and Dr. Yoong using these sorrow-tainted fabrics, while only lightly reassuring us that even yesterdays have tomorrows. Surrounding Dusik and Hyejin are equally deep entanglements of human relationships — from a man trying to be the best father for her daughter to an iron-willed lady silently figuring out her place in the present as the past returns. It’s interesting how all these stories will tie together in the coming weeks.

For now, we can only make assumptions in search of our own catharsis. But we will have to be hurt, too. If Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha claims to offer healing, then we must get wounds first, right?

[emergingsentiments]

Inside, Hyejin carefully examines the charming quaintness of Dusik’s home, surprised by the decor and adornments that reveal a man more cultivated than she had anticipated. Books, cameras, vinyl records — this isn’t some freelancer trying to make ends meet. If anything, Dusik’s home adds a layer of mystery to his character, and Hyejin is clearly fascinated by him. For Mr. Hong, it’s probably one of the few occasions someone breathing has entered his home. As he shared before, he doesn’t take anything alive — but here is Hyejin, heart beating, inside his most personal space.

At dinner, she insists on being sophisticated, acting out her role as a wine connoisseur only to fail out of nervousness. Dusik doesn’t mind. He lets her play the role. Soaked in the warm glaze of incandescent lights, they pry each other’s lives, every sip of wine loosening thoughts and unzipping their lips. Shin Min Ah is at her best here as Hyejin, embodying a tipsy woman with naturalness and detail. She is nervy, and lightheaded, feigning confidence she can hold her liquor — and her secrets — only to reveal her vulnerabilities. Kim Seon Ho’s Dusik, on the other hand, is gracious and watchful, with a steely gaze that pierces through Hyejin’s defenses. He looks at Hyejin as if he’s studying her, exploring the contours of her personality, but careful not to let his eyes disclose whatever secrets he hides himself.

And yet they seem more alike than they could admit, with pasts that still loom over their heads, emerging only with the powers of wine. In the end, Hyejin and Dusik are inebriated, alcohol running through their veins, cleansing wounds as any antiseptic does, lowering defenses, unguarding hearts, breathing hot, and falling. Cool hands clasping a feverish face, body betraying mind.

Drunk in the past. Drunk in attraction. Perhaps drunk in love?

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episodes 3 & 4 (Repost)

If the premiere episodes of Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha dealt with the definition of home, then episodes 3 & 4 were a careful exploration of the past and how it mingles with the present.

Hyejin is settling well in Gongjin, with plenty of help from Dusik, of course, and the companionship of the ever effervescent Miseon. While business at the dental clinic is picking up, Hyejin remains tethered to her life in Seoul. She is, after all, only in Gongjin temporarily, right? Her ways are still that of her big city life. Orders from across the world arrive in her provincial home. As expected, Dusik is tasked to deliver all the packages to Hyejin’s home. Who else will be the delivery man?

Behind closed doors, however, our dentist tries out every imaginable outfit for a colleague’s wedding back in the capital. It’s a short montage that tells us that, for all her assertiveness in the clinic, Hyejin is still insecure. Like Gongjin, the dentist’s community in Seoul is small. Everyone seems to know everyone. With word of her opening shop in a fishing village, she has to frantically posture as successful and content like her urban counterparts. Thus the indecisiveness over her clothes—and even over herself.

Her quick trip to the city isn’t smooth-sailing, though. Ever a step ahead of everyone, Dusik decides to hitch a ride with Hyejin, bringing with him the three halmeonis. Offered with no way out, Hyejin reluctantly agrees. As expected, the journey to Seoul is far from uneventful, with the elderly ladies offering every bit of comic nuisance to Hyjein who is struggling with her patience, while Dusik offers little more than a request for her to be more understanding.

The unlikely troop makes it to the capital just in time, however, and our good dentist arrives at the wedding after dropping everyone off. At the reception, the psychological warfare among the female dentists is palpable, each maneuvering the conversation as they see fit. Confronted with questions about her choice to open a clinic in Gongjin, Hyejin keenly pushes the narrative of the business potential of the rural areas.

After the reception, she stumbles upon Dusik — but wouldn’t be caught dead being seen with him, and so rushes to get away from the crowds. Unbeknownst to her, the eyes of the city have snapped a photo just as the pair make their way back to Gongjin.

If the trip to Seoul was full of hysteria and uncontrollable tempers and bladders, the return to the fishing town was marked by awkward silences and what seems to be the growing fascination of Hyejin over Dusik. Who wouldn’t be curious, anyway? Mr. Hong appears everywhere. He’s always at the right time and place, even if it’s not the right time and place for Hyejin. Who is this virtuoso with his brazen confidence sleeping in her car? What are the stories hidden lurking underneath his methodical ways?

Back at Gongjin, Hyejin is the talk of the town in Seoul. Not for her so-called success in the province but instead for having been seen with Dusik. Are Mr. Hong and Hyejin a couple? They weren’t fast enough to hide after all. Hyejin’s immediate response is to squelch the rumors. But when the chit-chat from her colleagues turns to her favor, she changes her tone to boost her stock.

It’s this type of back and forth in Hyejin’s persona that makes her stand out as a lead female character. She’s not perfect. But she isn’t flawed either. She is, instead, human. As a woman, she can also afford to be contrary. We see her genuine desire to help her patients. She minces no words about what needs to be done. But she also has her affectations, a defect seemingly rooted in the early death of her mother. Like the veneers she puts on her patients, she also uses plenty of covers to improve her appearance. And it's this contradictoriness that often clashes with the more obstinate Dusik, too.

Mr. Hong, after all, usually gets his way. He’s also single-minded about how he runs his business. He’ll help you, go out of his way, and offer his time, effort, and support. But he carries out his duties with honesty, pragmatism, and fairness. There is no need for pretensions here. He settles accounts with little fanfare or desire to simply draw attention to himself. Be yourself and you should get along well with Dusik. Do your job and you shouldn’t get on his bad side.

Like Hyejin in the first episode, however, we can’t help but ask what is the deal with Dusik? For someone so omnipresent, he is also so elusive. The show offers plenty of clues about his intriguing past. Seonhohappy made a comprehensive thread about what we know of Mr. Hong so far. While many of these theories can be true, why a renaissance man should be in a fishing village carrying out odd jobs remains a mystery. No single motivation has yet to emerge.

What’s clear is that Dusik is always attentive to the needs of Gongjin’s people. When Cheon-jae was hoarse and couldn’t entertain the business owners at the cafe, Mr. Hong was quick to pick up the guitar and sing. Upon learning about the mystery trail of trash in a part of town, he joins forces with Hwa-Jung to persuade — or threaten— the city hall in installing a camera. When he fishes out Hyejin’s missing shoe from the sea, he takes pains to make sure he returns it in good condition. In a wonderful display of community, Gongjin’s people also rally together to put a sexual predator in prison — but at the center of the town’s heroic efforts is Mr. Hong once again.

Dusik is superman. But what is his kryptonite? So far, I see two. Gam-Ri is one. A stalwart presence of the town, the elderly woman has been the guiding presence of Dusik since his grandfather died. She is a strong and at times stubborn lady but very sensible, too. Her wisdom allows her to see past the defenses of people. Because Dusik owes her a debt of gratitude, he makes a great effort to ensure she’s safe, happy, and healthy. Sometimes, his kindness to her is to a fault.

The other is Hyejin — for reasons that are obvious.

This woman from Seoul is different. We’ve already seen how Dusik bends over backward to help out Hyejin. But when he pushes her to treat Gam-Ri’s teeth with little regard for ethics, Hyejin stands her ground. It’s not just for matters of principle, however. Hyejin — the woman — has largely been shaped by grief and her losses inform her creeds. We find out later on that she does care for Gam-Ri and convinces her to get the treatment — something Dusik, who is emotionally attached to Gam-Ri, is unable to do. Hyejin is a tough nut to crack, one who will not change her ways overnight, and that is part of her appeal to Dusik.

Homcha’s second pair of episodes wrap up in the best way possible. Indebted to saving her and Miseon from a pervert, Hyejin leaves a gift on the doorsteps of Dusik’s home. Unable to let go of her treasured wine, however, she ends up having dinner with Mr. Hong — might as well enjoy the gift, too, right?

Inside, Hyejin carefully examines the charming quaintness of Dusik’s home, surprised by the decor and adornments that reveal a man more cultivated than she had anticipated. Books, cameras, vinyl records — this isn’t some freelancer trying to make ends meet. If anything, Dusik’s home adds a layer of mystery to his character, and Hyejin is clearly fascinated by him. For Mr. Hong, it’s probably one of the few occasions someone breathing has entered his home. As he shared before, he doesn’t take anything alive — but here is Hyejin, heart beating, inside his most personal space.

At dinner, she insists on being sophisticated, acting out her role as a wine connoisseur only to fail out of nervousness. Dusik doesn’t mind. He lets her play the role. Soaked in the warm glaze of incandescent lights, they pry each other's lives, every sip of wine loosening thoughts and unzipping their lips. Shin Min Ah is at her best here as Hyejin, embodying a tipsy woman with naturalness and detail. She is nervy, and lightheaded, feigning confidence she can hold her liquor — and her secrets — only to reveal her vulnerabilities. Kim Seon Ho’s Dusik, on the other hand, is gracious and watchful, with a steely gaze that pierces through Hyejin’s defenses. He looks at Hyejin as if he’s studying her, exploring the contours of her personality, but careful not to let his eyes disclose whatever secrets he hides himself.

And yet they seem more alike than they could admit, with pasts that still loom over their heads, emerging only with the powers of wine. In the end, Hyejin and Dusik are inebriated, alcohol running through their veins, cleansing wounds as any antiseptic does, lowering defenses, unguarding hearts, breathing hot, and falling. Cool hands clasping a feverish face, body betraying mind.

Drunk in the past. Drunk in attraction. Perhaps drunk in love?

[emergingsentiments]

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episodes 1 and 2 (Repost)

"Life is not easy for all of us. Some spend their whole lives on unpaved words, while some run at full speed only to reach the edge of a cliff."

What is home? And is home a place or a feeling? These are the questions the premiere episodes of Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha pose.

Yoon Hye-jin (Shin Min-a) seems to have it all in Seoul — a nice apartment, a stable job as a dentist, and her online orders. But perhaps the most important thing she owns is her principle. Ambitious as she may be, she isn’t keen on ripping off patients to earn or to pay for her shopping indulgences. Her chief dentist at the clinic, however, thinks otherwise. So despite her materialistic tendencies, Hye-jin stands up to her greedy and disingenuous boss in a spur-of-the-moment defiance, one which predictably has its professional and financial repercussions.

Now jobless and possibly in debt, a childhood memory draws her from the confines of her sleek domicile to the quaint seaside town of Gongjin, not only to seek a reprieve from her city miseries but also to remember.

Gongjin, however, is the home of Hong Du-sik (Kim Seon-ho) — a charismatic jack-of-all-trades who is as ubiquitous as the scent of ocean air in the town. He is everywhere it seems — on the boat, by the sea, at a coffee shop, or the fish market. If Hyejin’s ambitious and near solitary exterior represented the cutthroat urban soul, then Dusik’s endless list of side hustle captures the untiring enterprise needed to survive and sustain a life in the province. It’s a life that demands diligence and street smarts, as well empathy and community. Perfectly helpful to everyone in town, especially to Kim Gam-ri (Kim Young-ok), and capable of almost every form of labor, he is as popular as the dried squid Gongjin is known for.

The two meet on the beach — though not for the first time, we find out later on. It’s the perfect location for the world of opposites to collide: sand and the sea. Hyejin — the fish out of water — symbolically loses a shoe from a much-prized pair. Dusik — amphibious and with the ability to move around in any environment — finds the other heel. He returns it to her partly annoyed.

Though grateful, Hyejin seeks to find the other shoe, attached not only to its value but also because she cannot see herself walking barefoot. Dusik is not impressed. He nonetheless pities the out-of-place Seoulite and throws her his pair of slippers — oversized, overused, possibly acquired for free from one of the seaside restaurants. Walk my paths, Dusik seems to say. They are Hyejin’s welcome gifts to a town she will have to understand because it will become her home. Or will it?

Plucked from the metropolis and driven by both impulse and circumstance, the good dentist will have to figure out not just Dusik’s deal but Gongjin’s townsfolk, too. Left with no choice, she leaves behind the comforts and conveniences of the city. However, the small-town outlook and habits of Gongjin's people are unfamiliar and even repulsive to her. As hopeful as she is for new beginnings, an awkward and very public faux pas means she is also off to a rocky start. This and a series of other missteps finds her alienated from the community. Almost like learning the Cha-Cha-Cha, Hyejin’s footwork is a mess.

Dusik, who witnesses and hears Hyejin’s judgemental tirade, comes to her aid but only subtly and as a gentle nudge. He isn’t pretending to be a savior who could fix the unpleasant cracks between Hyejin and Gongjin’s people. Instead, he reminds her to meet the community halfway. For instance, he doesn’t chastise her for wearing tight-fitting running wear that scandalized the elderly women of the town. He knows its purpose; he even explained it to the elderly women. But Dusik also sheds light on the motivations behind this conservative view of his town’s people.

When Hyejin attempts to win the community’s trust by doling out rice cakes while inviting them to her clinic’s opening, Dusik senses the insincerity. Material gifts are meaningless. As the saying goes, it’s the thought that counts. Remorse has to be personal. She’s the new girl in town, after all. Hyejin cannot expect Gongjin to adjust to her whims. Dusik does what he can — secretly, too. But the city girl will have to take the initiative in building meaningful relations with the town’s people.

In both cases, we get a timely commentary on the need to understand other people. After all, we live in world increasingly adversarial, quick to respond to and mob those we disagree with. We're fast to label those who stand our way as enemies instead as partners for truth-seeking. If Homcha follows its current tracks, I'm curious to see if this wisdom of seeing both sides is further emphasized.

Despite Hyejin’s multiple setbacks, she moves forward. It helps that her inimitable best friend, Pyo Mi-seon (Gong Min-jeung), follow her to town. Mi-seon brings comic relief and relentless energy to our dentist’s new life. So through small and careful steps — and with Dusik just watching over her ever so carefully — she settles in and slowly makes amends with Gongjin’s men and women.

And what a community Gongjin is. Homcha masterfully paints a town brimming with life and populated by every character and role we know and relate to. The seaside commune is scenic and vibrant, almost too idyllic even. Its port is bustling and its homes are welcoming. From the mountains, the horizon glistens with every break of dawn. What we know from Dusik and Hyejin, however, is that the surface isn’t all there is to it.

In a telling short montage at the start of Episode 2, we get a glimpse of the townsfolk's quiet sorrows. Hwa-jung (Lee Bong-ryun), the assertive landlady, is a divorcee still hurting about her marriage’s breakdown. The owner of the town’s cafe and pub, Cheon-jae (Jo Han-chul), is a forgotten singer and one-hit wonder struggling with his confidence and purpose. Nam-sook (Cha Chung-hwa), the quirky and chatty owner of the Chinese restaurant, appears to grieve the loss of a child. Even Dusik — who seems faultless — hides a wound. Behind the closed doors of the homes of Gongjin are unspoken aches and regrets.

Home is where the heart is, they say. But often, home is also where the hurts are.

Life wounds can only be remedied by love. Homcha makes no qualms about it. It’s a love story at its core but one that explores love’s healing effects in a place closest to us, a space that has to be the safest for us. Dusik is clearly smitten by the new resident of Gongjin. He sees her in a different light. It’s easy to tell, however, he has some baggage—a suit to be specific. Hyejin carries with her a spirit of grief as well. What of her mother? What of her childhood? How their respective hurts have shaped them and will continue to define their characters will be an interesting exploration by the series. With the first two episodes out, I’m hopeful we become privy to the furnishings of Dusik’s and Hyejin’s “homes”.

Where the first two episodes succeed is not just in juxtaposing the clashing views of urban and rural. Instead, we see more of what is common between the two. Hyejin’s uncharitable remarks over the narrow-minded views of Gongjin’s people are easy to associate with the condescension typical of city dwellers. But one can say the same with the trio of halmeoni who were so quickly appalled by Hyejin’s workout clothes. Judgments, after all, know no place or time. We think of those in the province as being insular and yet we also meet a chief dentist with a small-town outlook, ready to ruin the reputation of another in a similarly tight-knit dentist’s community.

Perhaps we are more the same than different?

What makes Homcha stand out, however, is that it doesn’t try too hard. The characters — and the actors — are unpretentious. As such, we get a light-hearted and heartwarming journey as our main characters and the Gongjin community settle, work, and live. You feel as if you're part of the community, too.

From its warm colors to its penchant for nostalgic songs, Homcha lives up to its title. It evokes that familiar place we grew up in and stirs memories of the spaces and faces that have shaped our persona. Sometimes we choose to stay there—or find ourselves stuck. Sometimes we outgrow it, too, and we move on to greener pastures. But that part of our lives connected to our youth never really disappears. To survive we need to accept and love the parts of our history we are least proud of, right? Once we do, how ready are we to show them to other eyes, to let them be held by other hands?

Round my hometown Ooh the people I've met Are the wonders of my world

PS

If I had a gripe with the show, it’s the fact that Hyejin apparently has no idea how to use the forgot password feature of websites. That's all.