#abrupt realization of Poor Coping Mechanisms through seeing someone you love do the same thing. or smth

[lycankeyy]

This is a random dark thing but I was looping Too Young again which is like The "fc!bf's negative emotions" song so idk why I'm surprised BFJQHDJ ANYWAY. A thing w fc!Pico is that he makes a lot of offhand jokes abt how like he Should be dead or making rly dark jokes about his near-death experiences just bc of the amount of shit he's been through and he doesn't really see a problem with it but I feel like after The Hanzou Incident BF starts saying similar shit and Pico's like woah hey wait a minute that's illegal you can't do that

[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.