Kdrama: Gu Jun-pyo's lunchbox

Probably the most striking change in my life during Covid is watching television, which I basically never did before and now do every day. I'm not very handy with all the controls, but my remote has a "Netflix" button. After I tired of American TV and Brit Box, I thought, "Why not try one of these kdramas Netflix is always advertising?" The rest is history, as they say. I have been thinking about my profound love of melodrama -- which these writers completely anticipate -- and how satisfying it is to worry about these fictional characters whose lives will move to the next thing in 16 or so episodes even though mine will not.  

Lately I've been caught in a love-hate relationship with Boys over Flowers. Very chaotic -- the two lovers at the center of the drama rarely had more than two calm minutes of connection before the next crisis took off. This disturbed my sleep, as you might imagine. The only saving grace was that Yoon Ji-hoo was devoted to Geum Jan-di and always showed up to her rescue (and mine). Not that he got to have the girl in the end... 

This is not the kind of tidy show that Crash Landing on You is. This was more like the erratic brainstorming of people who just needed to find the next fix of terror for the audience. So a question like, "Why does the plutocrat Gu Jun-pyo love commoner Geum Jan-di?" can never be answered except maybe "It made good television." But there is one exchange on this topic that is helpful. She asks, "Why me? I'm not cute, or smart, or wealthy." He replies, "I have all that: I'm handsome, smart and rich. I don't need anything. So just be you." Which evades the question -- what is about her that has captivated him?

I believe the answer lies in the humble lunchbox, which shows up, by my count on five occasions, and leads me to assume that the archetype here is the Snow Queen. The frozen boy immediately recognizes the warmth Geum Jan-di exudes and sees in everything about her life the possibility to be engaged and friendly -- literally, to be warm. He wants to eat her lunch from the first time he sees her with her lunchbox. He asks her to make it for him. The first time she does, he has been dragged off by the Snow Queen. She sits waiting for him: eventually Yoon Ji-hoo arrives and takes her home. The second time they do get to picnic and he loves the lunchbox, but it is the occasion for her to say she can't take the no-holds-barred battering she is getting from his mother.  (This image is from Cooking Gallery)

An aside: She's actually not that forthright -- his mother's attacks on her friends are more than she could take so she retreats. These shows are very roundabout and key people may or may not ever know what's "really" going on. People have to have their own moral or emotional compass; alternatively, a very strong friend network will suffice and might share the news. 

The third appearance of the lunchbox is not in person, but in Geum Jan-di's recounting to the Snow Queen what her son likes. Gu Jun-pyo has been injured in an accident. As soon as he is pronounced out of danger, his mother turns to leave. His sister screams at her, "Do you know anything about your son, like what he likes to eat?" Of course she doesn't. As she walks away, she suddenly feels weak and sits down on a bench. Geum Jan-di sits down next to her and explains that Gu Jun-pyo likes to go on a picnic and have rolled eggs. Geum Jan-di smiles with deep joy at the memory. The Snow Queen, who has done her best to destroy Geum Jan-di, feels the warmth of this young woman: it is the exact moment when the ice in her heart melts.  

Gu Jun-pyo recovers from the accident but has amnesia about Geum Jan-di. The fourth appearance of the lunchbox is Geum Jan-di's effort to get him to remember her. She leaves it by his hospital bed while he is sleeping. Gu Jun-pyo recognizes the taste. Unfortunately, a snow princess (the fifth!) has snuck into the action and claims that she made it. He falls for this, of course. He likes it so much he asks her to make it again. In the fairytales this is when her falsehood would be discovered, but not here. Snow princess pulls off the deception for a bit more. This fifth appearance of the lunchbox was, for me, the most terrifying of all the terrors in the 25 episodes of the show, because snow princess would freeze Gu Jun-pyo for good. So much evil. Geum Jan-di finds the way to his heart and all ends as well as it can in kdrama, which falls short of my standard for happily ever after. And perhaps especially with this anxiety-provoking show -- can we please let these two have a couple of years of joy??? 

Back to the humble lunchbox. In another scene, Gu Jun-pyo insists that Geum Jan-di make him her special ramen. She brings it to him on fine china. He says, "Where's the lid? I want the lid." By this he means he wants to eat it from the pot, using the lid as a plate. His joy at eating it that way is world-encompassing. These small objects -- the lunchbox and the lid -- enable him to be alive in a way that is denied him in his silver-spoon world. At one point, his sister, recognizing the dilemma he is in, asks, "How far will you go?" Meaning "Will you give up all this?" The survival of his family depends on his answer, and ultimately he finds a way that is consistent with his principles. 

As my favorite reviewer noted, Boys over Flowers is rough, but ultimately I am grateful for the experience. I wish I could have watched it in 2009 with all of Korea -- it was a tad lonely to go through all this melodrama on my own, which is why I'm sharing it here! And that's a wrap! 

The Tao of Kdrama

I believe that Korean situation stories hold much relevance for people seeking enlightenment.  When I watch them, I laugh, I cry, I learn.  Here is the "Tao of Kdrama" I laid out to reflect on what I'd learned.  It's a listicle.  

1. “I'm sorry”+bow

Life means always having to say you’re sorry, Erich Segal notwithstanding.  Everybody in Kdrama says it all the time. 

 

2. No excuses. 

This is shocking to me, as crafting a “good” excuse is second nature.  Traffic, the paper-eating dog, Covid (the master excuse) – whatever, there’s ALWAYS a reason.  Nope, they don’t offer a reason, just an apology.  See #1.

 

3. Gossip is necessary. 

Happily, since you can't offer the excuse yourself, the friends tell all and it straightens out many a difficult moment.  Consider this from Crash Landing on You: Yoon Se-ri has missed her flight because she had to save Captain Ri’s life.  He wakes up and yells at her that she wasn’t on the flight, for which he has risked his life.  She says, “I'm sorry” and flees the room.  The nurse and doctor come in.  The nurse says, “You and your girlfriend are perfect for each other – thank goodness she has your blood type, you might have died.”  Captain Ri gets out of the sick bed, goes to find Yoon Se-ri and gives her a kiss. 

 

4. There is suffering.

Everybody has substantial trauma – a lost parent or sibling, being raised in an orphanage, abuse at work. 

 

5.  There is a path away from suffering.

Bond with your people, don’t be greedy, live up to your name.                                                                                                                    

6.  Shop. 

“Do all rich guys think they’re in Pretty Woman?” Eun Ha-won asks in Cinderella and the Four Knights.  Yes, is the answer. 

 

7.  Laugh. 

 

8.  Listen. 

The magic’s in the music, and often the key to the story. 

 

9.  Be true to your Self. 

Goo Hae-ryung, in Rookie Historian, refuses to be a princess just because she loves a prince.  She wants to be a historian.  There’s no path forward except one’s own path. 

 

10.  Chop vegetables. 

Everybody can cook and so can we!

Coronavirus: Lingering and kdrama

Sunday, February 22, 2012, The New York Times had a stunning graphic of the nearly 500,000 deaths from Covid-19.  This graphic occupied the middle of the whole front page.  The headline of the lead story, to the right, was "Storms exposing a nation primed for catastrophe." Another section had the word "Unraveling" as its graphic, for a story about people with dementia falling apart during Covid.  And the Home section had an image of a person, under the covers, lingering in bed, captioned by the words, "We're lingering just a little while longer."  

When I was a medical student rotating on surgery -- which was one of the highlights of my life -- we had a patient named Mr. Rodriguez who had pain of unknown origin which seemed to be located in his leg.  He stayed under the covers, moaning, and the fellow medical student who was in charge of his case referred to this as "UTB" -- under the blanket.  The team debated amputating the painful leg, well aware that this was not necessarily reasonable or even a cure: it was just what surgeons could do and he was on a surgical service.   

But here I am, 40+ years later, lingering under the covers, just as the Times said, identifying with Mr. Rodriguez and his moaning.  I have developed a second method of being UTB: watching a lot of TV.  I'm never been a TV watcher before this. My ability to operate my TV is limited.  I have, however,  got a "Netflix" button on my remote and Netflix, it turns out, has a very large supply of kdrama, and this, it turns out, is a very good blanket.  

My delight in kdrama is utterly unexpected by me, as I'm not that interested in popular culture.  But apparently South Korea knew me better than I knew myself: throw some life issues, romance and silly jokes together with a good soundtrack is all I am looking for.  I think it helps that these are not American stories.  Not one to do things by halves, I joined the masses learning Korean and I have listened carefully to the soundtracks, as half the story is in the songs.  I joined a TV Club, which helps me understand what I'm seeing.  

I have asked numerous wise people if binge-watching kdrama all weekend is bad for my health and I have been reassured that it's quite normal.  I think what they are saying is that it is OK to have some laughs on the weekends, as they help me squarely face the truths, like the truth that our nation is primed for catastrophe.  It has been the work I chose for myself -- to name the processes that were tearing at the nation and to explain them to other people.  I do this because I was trained as a physician that correct diagnosis leads to correct treatment.  I love the work, but, despite my lifelong habit of working all the time, I just can't do that at this moment.  I need to sneak away and watch some incredibly beautiful movie stars stare deeply into each other's eyes, while the theme song swells in the background.  I need to see the antics of the designated clowns, which keep me chuckling even while reading about catastrophe all week long.  I need to see stories I've never seen before, like the fracture of Korea into north and south.    

UTB is temporizing, a kind of partition of my own life, a respite.  Paradoxically, it is helping me grow as a person -- I'm learning my limits, expanding my horizons, learning a new language.  I think I'm learning something else, which is that these kdrama songs and stories of yearning are the real meat-and-potatoes of my life just now.  I am yearning for a vaccination, a vacation, world peace, better national infrastructure, the reunification of the Korean peninsula, the salvation of all the species.  Watching two people who yearn for each other stands for all my yearning and I clap and cry when they connect.  It gives me hope.