The Curated Corner

I’m a feast-or-famine kind of series watcher. Either I binge an entire show in a few days, or I take a “short break” that somehow stretches into months, and by then… interest lost.

So, when When Life Gives You Tangerines dropped, I hesitated. I adored IU in Hotel Del Luna, but Park Bo-gum? My previous encounters with him (Record of Youth — bailed after three episodes, Love in the Moonlight — only survived because of Kim Yoo-jung) didn’t win me over. Still, for IU, I took the plunge. And this one? Another league entirely.

Seamless Storytelling Across Time

The series’ biggest triumph is its effortless jump between past and future. The transitions are smooth, the emotional continuity unbroken. Ae Sun is the heart of this story — played to perfection by Kim Tae-yeon (child), IU (young adult), and Moon So-ri (older years). Each brings the same soul to Ae Sun while making her age-specific struggles distinct.

IU in particular blew me away — Ae Sun’s warmth and vulnerability contrasted starkly with Geom-Myeong’s sharp edges, proving her range. And Kim Hye-ran as Ae Sun’s mother, Gwang-Rye, was magnetic — their mother-daughter bond was equal parts heartbreaking and joyful.

A Life Shaped by Her Mother’s Absence

For Ae Sun, her mother Gwang-Rye wasn’t just a parent — she was her anchor, confidante, and role model. Every decision Ae Sun made as an adult seemed touched by the grief of losing her. Whether it was how fiercely she loved her own children, the way she clung to community bonds, or how she found strength in hardship — it all traced back to the ache of being without her mother.

Even in joy, you could sense that loss in her. It was the lens through which she viewed the world. It made her cherish the people she loved all the more, but also made her more vulnerable to pain. IU and Kim Hye-ran made their scenes together electric — equal parts tenderness, frustration, and unspoken understanding. When Gwang-Rye dies, you feel Ae Sun’s world tilt, and that absence lingers like an invisible character in every frame thereafter.

Love, Loyalty, and a Sea That Never Sleeps

Gwan-Sik’s devotion is the kind of love story that feels rare on screen — pure, steady, and unwavering. His joy mirrored hers, his pain matched hers, and their bond as children laid the foundation for everything that followed.

The haenyeo community — female divers of Jeju — was an eye-opener for me. Their camaraderie, resilience, and quiet defiance against patriarchy were captured beautifully. Even as breadwinners, these women faced deep-rooted inequality, yet they stood together, especially for Ae Sun after her mother’s death.

Jeju itself is a character here — breathtaking and brutal. The sea brings both life and loss. The death of their child broke me, but Gwan-Sik’s grief in the scene where he registers the death? I had to pause the episode to catch my breath.

A Family Forged in Values, Not Blood

Through Ae Sun and Gwan-Sik’s choices, the show champions kindness, resilience, and the idea that a family is built, not inherited. They broke the cycle of selfishness they’d seen in their own families, raising children who — despite mistakes and frustrations — never lost their moral compass.

Geom-Myeong’s narration offers a layered view: she knows she sometimes hurt her parents, resents their sacrifices, but also grows to understand their unwavering love. Eun-Myeong’s arc — shaped by his mother’s lack of faith in him — was equally compelling, and the parents’ decision to sell the boat and take him out of jail underlined their priorities.

Side Stories and Political Backdrop

The political climate — dance bans, arrests for clubbing, the Korean financial crisis — was fascinating to me as someone unfamiliar with Korea’s history.

Geom-Myeong’s romances, however, were the weakest link. Her first love was passionate, her second (with my beloved Kim Seon-ho) was underdeveloped — their connection felt abrupt. Eun-Myeong’s romance also seemed forced, existing mainly to stretch certain plot threads.

The Highs and the Slip in the End

The series shines brightest in Ae Sun and Gwan-Sik’s journey from childhood to old age — intimate, believable, and beautifully acted. But after Gwan-Sik falls ill, the narrative starts to lose focus. The last two or three episodes felt like they were searching for an ending, falling into the trap many K-dramas do.

Final Verdict

When Life Gives You Tangerines is not flawless, but its emotional core — Ae Sun, Gwan-Sik, and the world around them — is powerful enough to make you forgive its stumbles. Watching it left me with heart-wrenched warmth — that bittersweet ache of being broken by their losses yet comforted by the steadfast love and kindness that carried them through.

That said, the ending felt a little too neat for my taste, tying up nearly every thread in a bow.

The one exception — Moon So-ri, as the older Ae Sun, still calling out for her mother in the final scene — cut straight through me. Damn, that lady is talented; in that moment, I could feel my chest tighten as if it were my own grief resurfacing. It’s a reminder that even in hardship, kindness and steadfast love can make life, if not perfect, deeply worth living.