on how being loved is being understood, not worshipped. (and yes, this is about that anaïs nin quote)
it starts with hye-jin having dinner with her family and du-sik. how hye-jin snaps at her stepmother, but also notices when she’s in pain and brings her water, gives her a lozenge. how du-sik blunders and stumbles the entire day, but also somehow conjures a stilted, fragile intimacy between them. how hye-jin’s father reacts upon finding out du-sik is an orphan, but also how he apologizes not ten minutes later. how du-sik sees hye-jin’s father at his worst and still makes an effort, because her father’s worst takes the same shape as hye-jin’s. no one was ever anything other than what they were. this is me and this is you, rough uncut edges and all, and we’re going to find a way to laugh together.
it was so startlingly easy for du-sik and hye-jin to pretend, wasn’t it? they didn’t act differently, not really. they bickered and laughed and moved around each other as if they’ve been doing it their entire lives. the only difference is they called it another name. because you can’t know someone without loving them, and they already know each other. it’s the way du-sik said friend the exact same way he said boyfriend. yes, i lied to you, father. but i didn’t lie about all of it. i still know her. i’ve seen the tender, fragile thing beating right in the heart of her. i know her and yes, i know that means i love her.
it’s hye-jin in seoul, unable to look at a single thing without thinking of gongjin. she looks at clothing, and wonders how it would look on du-sik. she looks at lobster, and thinks of snow crabs. she looks at the han river, and compares it to the ocean outside her home. because gongjin is a home now, right? in all its imperfect beauty, it’s become a home. she thinks of home, of du-sik, and turns her face into the rain.
it’s about how every week, i have to keep finding new ways to say that love is attention, it’s kindness, it’s knowing and being known. the way hye-jin follows du-sik after her parents have left, searching for another reason to linger. she asks him questions, real questions. tell me about your life, about your pain, about you. let me peel the snow crab for you. let me read you to sleep. let me see your hurt. stay, meet my grandfather, stay with me a little longer.
they’re saying that love is not about finding an altar to garnish, a temple to bow to. to love is to look unflinchingly at another, at their light and dark, their smiles and scars, and make a choice. i’ve seen you, all of you, and i still choose you.