Our Unwritten Seoul

Watch it for the human relationships and reactions.

I don't have much thoughts about the plot, but I stayed for the characters and their motivations, thoughts and feelings. Some of them more frustrating than the others, but as you do in real life, I stayed, I listened, and I understood even with their incoherent feelings and messy reactions, because that is the human experience for you.
My favorite character was the twins mother, it encapsulated the feeling of her being a daughter and struggling as one as well, but still failing to meet in the middle with her own daughters, as real people do. Not everyone turns into the best parent just because they were wronged as a kid.
Anyway, give it a chance, every character has some trait to look for.

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Everyone keeps hiding, What they long to find...

Drawing inspiration from one of storytelling's most enduring motifs—the double and the exchange of identities—Our Unwritten Seoul transforms a potentially familiar premise into a profound reflection on invisible pain and the weight of expectations. The series explores alienation, the search for belonging and purpose, and the painful reckoning with dreams that can no longer be pursued.
Through the lives of twin sisters Yoo Mi-ji and Yoo Mi-rae, seemingly opposites in both temperament and circumstance, the drama gradually reveals a cast of characters united by hidden wounds, lingering guilt, unspoken regrets, and fragile inner lives concealed behind reassuring façades.

The writers deserve considerable credit for embracing such an ambitious narrative structure. Expanding through a remarkable number of interconnected backstories, the series touches the lives of nearly every major character without ever losing sight of its emotional core. As its world grows, Our Unwritten Seoul maintains a striking thematic unity, weaving together love, solidarity, quiet melancholy, and a rare emotional restraint that becomes one of its defining qualities.
One of the drama's greatest strengths lies in its constant reversal of perspectives. Those who appear to have everything under control often stand closest to breaking point, while the individuals most readily dismissed as unsuccessful or directionless prove to be the ones most capable of understanding and supporting others. Through this tension between perception and reality, the series encourages viewers to look beyond first impressions and question assumptions that seem firmly established.

Seen in this light, the theme of identity exchange serves a far deeper purpose than a simple narrative device. The twins do not merely step into each other's lives; they experience the weight of the judgments, misunderstandings, and expectations that shape those around them. In doing so, the drama challenges the notion that identity can be easily recognized or defined from the outside, revealing how little we often know about the struggles hidden beneath the surface.
Mi-rae appears to be the successful daughter while carrying a loneliness few people ever notice; Mi-ji is viewed as the sister who never quite found her place despite her remarkable ability to connect with others; Ho-su seems to have built the life everyone admires, yet remains deeply marked by physical and emotional wounds. Even Ro-sa ultimately proves very different from the figure the neighborhood—and the audience—had come to know.

The title itself carries a meaning that extends far beyond its geographical reference. This "unwritten Seoul" evokes lives still waiting to be told, stories struggling to break free from the definitions imposed by others—or by the characters themselves. The twins' journey becomes an attempt to reimagine their identities through a new perspective and a different understanding of their past.
The places themselves contribute to this reflection. The Seoul portrayed by the series bears little resemblance to the city of postcards and tourist guides. Alongside the modern metropolis survive seemingly modest spaces such as Ro-sa's restaurant and Se-jin's strawberry farm, which become places of memory, healing, and renewal. By preserving stories, relationships, and identities threatened by time and modernity, they offer the characters refuge from external pressures and the opportunity to reconnect with parts of themselves they believed lost.

These reflections on identity, belonging, and self-discovery find their clearest expression in the journeys of the main characters. Though their paths differ greatly, Mi-rae, Mi-ji, and Ho-su share the same challenge: learning to separate who they truly are from who others believe them to be, while coming to terms with wounds and guilt that have shaped their lives for far too long.

Mi-rae is not alone because she lives alone. She is alone because she has learned to carry everything on her own. Family responsibilities, professional expectations, successes, and failures have gradually built an invisible prison around her, one in which vulnerability feels like weakness and asking for help like a personal defeat.
Nothing illustrates this condition more effectively than her desk at the office. Isolated from her colleagues, exposed to everyone's gaze yet excluded from any genuine sense of belonging, it functions as a modern-day scarlet letter—a tool of exclusion that turns Mi-rae into a warning for anyone who dares challenge the company's hierarchy.
Her breaking point does not stem from weakness, but from the gradual disappearance of every space in which she can simply exist as herself. Her family sees a dependable daughter, her workplace a problem to manage, and society a measure of success. Eventually, Mi-rae begins to see herself through the same lens.

By contrast, Se-jin's strawberry farm becomes a place of healing. Where the office demands performance and conformity, the farm offers acceptance, the freedom to fail, and the chance to reconnect with a more human version of herself.
The exchange with Mi-ji does not transform Mi-rae into someone else; it allows her to reconcile with who she already is. Thoughtful and cautious until the very end, she gradually learns to separate her worth from achievement and expectation. When she leaves the company and chooses a different future, she is not abandoning herself—she is choosing herself for the first time. Her journey ultimately reflects one of the series' central ideas: one's place in the world does not necessarily coincide with the role the world has assigned.

If Mi-rae embodies the weight of expectations, Mi-ji represents the ability to keep moving forward despite disappointment and loss. Her apparent lightness does not come from an absence of pain, but from a refusal to let pain define her. Having lost her dream of becoming an athlete and spent years struggling with isolation and self-doubt, she nevertheless retains a rare ability to look beyond immediate obstacles.
Her optimism never feels naïve. It emerges instead from a genuine resilience that allows her to recognize the suffering of others without judgment and offer support without trying to solve every problem. This quality makes her Ho-su's anchor during the most difficult period of his life.
Mi-ji's own healing begins when she stops seeing herself as someone who needs to be saved and discovers that she can be a source of strength for others. In a drama filled with characters searching for their place in the world, she comes to embody perhaps its simplest and most meaningful idea: the ability to move forward, one day at a time, without losing faith that each new page may still hold something beautiful.

Ho-su is perhaps the most idealistic character in the series. Guided by a strong sense of justice and unwavering loyalty to his principles, he struggles to accept compromises he considers morally wrong, even when they might make his life easier. This integrity often places him at odds with his professional environment and leads him to stand beside those he believes have been treated unfairly.
To the drama's credit, however, Ho-su is never portrayed as a figure of heroic perfection. His convictions often turn into self-imposed isolation, convincing him that every burden must be carried alone.
Like Mi-ji, he lives under the weight of a past he has never fully forgiven himself for. The accident that took his father's life and damaged his hearing continues to shape both his sense of self and his relationships. Despite Bun-hong's unconditional love, Ho-su still sees himself as a burden to those around him. When his condition worsens, this fear resurfaces with renewed force, leading him to push Mi-ji away precisely when he needs her most.

Their bond acquires a particular depth because both are defined by wounds and guilt that have kept them tied to the past. It is no coincidence that Ho-su is one of the few people capable of recognizing Mi-ji regardless of appearances or circumstances. His confession carries an additional significance: the person Mi-ji has always considered less accomplished and less worthy of love is exactly the person he falls in love with. Ho-su loves her not for who she might become, but for who she has always been. At a time when he had stopped believing in himself, she was the one person who continued to believe in him.

His journey reaches its conclusion when he realizes that accepting help does not mean surrendering his dignity. Coming to terms with his worsening hearing loss is not an act of resignation, but an acknowledgment that vulnerability does not diminish a person's worth. In this sense, Ho-su embodies one of the series' most delicate reflections: courage does not lie in facing every battle alone, but in allowing those who love us to walk beside us.

Ro-sa and Sang-wol's beautiful backstory feels almost like a drama within the drama itself. Through the lives of two women raised on the margins of society and forced to confront poverty, exclusion, and violence, it retraces part of the long and difficult path of women's emancipation in modern Korea. Despite their different backgrounds and personalities, they come to embody many of the values at the heart of the series: solidarity, sacrifice, belonging, and mutual devotion.
It is no coincidence that Ro-sa refers to Sang-wol as her "twin", creating a striking parallel with Mi-ji and Mi-rae. Like the sisters, their bond transcends conventional definitions, becoming a relationship built on profound emotional intimacy and unwavering support. The result is one of the series' most moving relationships, granting these secondary characters a depth rarely afforded to figures outside the central storyline.

Their story also offers one of the drama's most poignant reflections on identity. For decades, Sang-wol lives under Ro-sa's name, not to erase herself, but to preserve the memory of the only person who ever offered her love, dignity, and belonging. In a narrative deeply concerned with how identity is shaped and perceived, their bond suggests that identity itself can become an act of care—an emotional legacy carried forward through time.

Equally important are the maternal figures, portrayed with remarkable nuance. Far from idealized, Bun-hong and Ok-hui reveal how love can be expressed through both devotion and imperfection. In different ways, they pass on not only affection and protection, but also fears, guilt, and expectations that echo across generations. Some of the drama's most moving moments emerge when these inheritances are finally acknowledged, allowing old cycles of pain and misunderstanding to be broken.

Ultimately, the series suggests that rewriting one's life does not mean becoming someone else. It means learning to revisit one's story with greater understanding, making peace with mistakes, regrets, and missed opportunities without allowing them to define the present. Every blank page becomes an opportunity to continue the story with a deeper awareness of who we are.
Perhaps the authors' most insightful choice lies in their refusal of artificial complementarity. The exchange does not turn the sisters into improved versions of one another, nor does it merge their personalities. Instead, it allows them to understand themselves and the world around them more deeply while remaining true to their nature. Mi-rae stays thoughtful and cautious, Mi-ji impulsive and radiant; what changes is not who they are, but the way they learn to inhabit their own identities.

Much of this delicate balance rests on Park Bo-young's extraordinary performance, which serves as the emotional core of the series. Tasked with portraying two profoundly different characters without relying on exaggerated distinctions, she delivers a performance of remarkable sensitivity, capturing the full emotional range of the narrative—from vulnerability and strength to melancholy, hope, and the desire to begin again. More than a display of technical skill, her portrayal makes both sisters feel authentic and deeply moving throughout their journeys.
Alongside her, an excellent ensemble cast brings depth and credibility to a richly layered narrative world where even secondary characters leave a lasting impression. From Ho-su, Ro-sa,/Sang-wol to the maternal figures whose influence resonates throughout the story, each character is given meaningful space without ever feeling superfluous.

This may be Our Unwritten Seoul's greatest achievement: its ability to embrace a remarkable number of themes, characters, and narrative threads without sacrificing cohesion or emotional depth. Where many stories would lose focus, the drama remains firmly anchored to its human core, guiding every character toward a resolution that feels both earned and sincere.

Ultimately, Our Unwritten Seoul is not a story about becoming someone else, but about learning to accept who we are. It is a story about identity, memory, belonging, and second chances, reminding us that no life can be rewritten by erasing the pages that came before. What we can do is learn to see those pages differently and find the courage to keep writing the ones still ahead. As the finale gently suggests, every blank page is not a reminder of what has been lost, but a testament to what we may still become.

9/10

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Uneven but worth a watch

As an English speaker, trying to follow the plot through subtitles–I was confused. Why? The series features a set of identical twins with similar names who decide to temporarily switch places and take over each other’s lives. One actress plays both girls as adults. A different actress plays both girls as teens. In addition, there are the male leads who are interested in the two girls.

That wouldn’t be so much of a problem if it weren’t for the fact that a lot of back story has to be filled in for ALL of these characters. And the focus jumps back and forth in time and place without clear indication when a switch happens.

It helps that one of the twins has long hair and the other has short hair. The first twin (long hair) has a corporate job in Seoul, while the other one (short hair) works on a strawberry farm. This would work if they both stayed put. But, no, Ms. Office Worker comes home now and then and Ms. Strawberry Farm finds time to visit Seoul. Mi-ji, the twin with the bubbly personality, is likable but immature–she pouts, shrieks, sulks, and throws temper tantrums. It gets tiresome after awhile.

Each girl–when I say girl we’re mostly talking about these two as 30-year-old women–has to fake it when the people around them mention incidents that occurred before the identity switch took place. Viewers have to keep the timeline remember the date of the switch–and also whether or not the short-haired girl is wearing extensions in order to pass for her sister.

Let me add that everyone in this series has psychological issues, including the parents, the grandmother, and another older woman who, it turns out, has also switched identities with someone else. Aaargh!

While the actors do a skillful job with the script they’ve been given, the plot was just too convoluted for me. I could follow it, but it made my brain tired. And in some places, things just weren’t believable. For example, each of the male leads has to convince the viewers that he’s only interested in ONE of the two girls–and that he can not only tell them apart (although their mother can’t)–but loves his chosen girl’s unique characteristics.

Maybe it could be true in the case of the dude who loves the girl who has some verve and personality, but the other twin is despondent, poker-faced, and impassive–and she seldom responds or reacts to her admirer in any way whatsoever. Also, there’s a sexual abuse situation that’s so minimal that if you blink, you’ll miss it. But all the characters talk about it endlessly. I loved the older characters, especially the mothers, played by two amazing veteran actors.

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Good but Missing Something

I genuinely enjoyed Our Unwritten Soeul, but I often found myself pressing the skip button during slower scenes that dragged on. The drama struggled to strike a balance between being a heartfelt exploration of mental health and an uplifting romantic story. In trying to do both, it didn’t fully succeed at either.

The premise itself—twin sisters switching places when one becomes mentally and emotionally exhausted—was strong and had the potential to deliver a powerful narrative. Unfortunately, it felt underdeveloped. While Mi-Rae’s journey toward self-discovery and empowerment had moments of resonance, the drama lacked a clear end goal. The revenge arc that seemed promising at first fizzled out, becoming almost irrelevant in the final episodes, which made the ending feel anticlimactic.

The romance subplot was another missed opportunity. Both love stories had their moments, but they never quite rose above mediocrity. The relationships felt serviceable rather than moving, leaving little emotional impact once the credits rolled.

Overall, the show seemed to scatter its focus. Instead of fully fleshing out one compelling thread—whether that be the mental health struggles, the revenge story, or the romance—it spread itself too thin. As a result, it ended without a strong sense of completion or satisfaction.

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Solid Premise, Uneven Execution

(Watched 9 episodes then read episode summaries for episodes 10-12)
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Our Unwritten Soeul starts off incredibly well. The opening episodes are tightly written, emotionally engaging, and hook you right away. The identical twin-switch premise is handled with intrigue and care, setting up a compelling foundation for the story.

What truly elevates the drama is the acting. Park Bo Young plays both twins as adults, while Lee Jae In portrays both twins in their teenage years. Since the characters are identical twins, the show cleverly uses the same actors for both roles, which means both actresses are essentially acting opposite themselves in many scenes. Despite playing two people who look exactly alike, they bring out the unique personalities, emotional differences, and inner struggles of each twin. It’s a demanding challenge, but they pull it off with nuance and conviction, making each character feel distinct and authentic.

However, the drama starts to lose its momentum around the end of episode 6, right when Yoo Mi Ji and Lee Ho Su get together. That moment felt like a natural, satisfying conclusion, and if the twins had switched back at that point followed by the confession, it could have served as a powerful emotional peak. Instead, the show delays the switch, which weakens the payoff and drags out the tension unnecessarily.

The subplot where Mi Ji lies about being Mi Rae when Ho Su runs into people from his university adds nothing meaningful to the story. It comes off as filler and does little to move the plot forward or deepen the characters.

When the switch finally does happen, it feels rushed, and the aftermath is surprisingly underwhelming. Practically everyone either finds out or is simply told by the twins that they had switched, which deflates the dramatic tension that had been carefully built in the first half of the show.

Park Sang Yeong’s sudden decision to tell the Director about the switch also feels out of place. Earlier in the same episode, he explicitly mentioned that he owed Mi Rae something and wanted to repay her by helping her in some way, which made his actions seem supportive and trustworthy. However, later on in that episode, he ends up revealing the truth, and from my standpoint, it felt inconsistent and unearned. I was skipping a little because the pacing was getting slower and slower, so I may have missed a few details, but the shift in his character didn’t feel properly built up or justified within the story.

The episode runtime, around 1 hour and 20 minutes each, becomes more of a burden as the drama progresses. While the longer format works in the beginning, the slower pacing in the second half makes each episode feel more drawn out than necessary.

In summary, this drama starts strong, with a gripping concept and stellar dual performances by Park Bo Young and Lee Jae In. Unfortunately, it loses momentum in the second half, with pacing issues and missed opportunities holding it back from being great. It’s still worth watching for the acting and early episodes, but don’t expect it to stick the landing.

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Beautifully excellent drama.

Our Unwritten Seoul even by the name I was so hooked. Genuinely loved the acting, cast, story and the soft cinematography of the show. Just watched 2 episodes and they're a really a good start .This drama is so easy - not rushed, not slow no overacting but also setting a strong emotional character development. Park Boyoung outpassed my expectations. Also Park JinYoung is such a great actor. Everyone in tha drama doing an amazing job.Felt like this is going to be everyone's comfort drama.Excited for more episodes.Go for it!! 🙌🏻

Okay so I'm here after completing this drama and I'll still say the same. This drama was so good. 🫶🏻

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Sometimes, it takes living someone else’s life to understand your own.

At first glance, this drama might seem like just another healing slice of life series. But it slowly reveals itself to be a deeply poignant exploration of survival, self worth and the invisible scars people carry. The themes it carries arent loud but they leave a lasting impact.

The heart of this story revolves around identical twin sisters, Mi Ji and Mi Rae, two souls alike in origin but vastly different in how they navigate the world. Mi Rae, the more reserved of the two, lives in seoul and works in an office where she finds herself silently battling a harsh and unforgiving corporate world. After becoming a whistleblower, she is socially ostracized and things spiral further when she is sexually assaulted by a colleague. Even then, she chooses silence, hiding her pain from her family in the countryside.

Mi Ji, on the other hand, was once an energetic athlete, a stark contrast to her introverted twin. But one small accident shattered her dreams and she spiraled into years of isolation and depression. Even as she slowly begins to heal, the echoes of that darkness never fully leave her. The drama shows this kind of internal battle so well, how even getting through the day can feel like climbing a mountain alone.

When Mi Rae reaches her breaking point and tries to end her life, its Mi Ji who steps in. And in that moment, the story takes a new turn, the twins decide to switch lives. Mi Rae finds peace in the countryside, pretending to be Mi Ji, while Mi Ji takes over her sister’s role in the city. Its not just a simple swap. Through living each others lives, they begin to understand one another on a deeper level and also slowly heal parts of themselves.

The character work in this drama is beautifully done.

Ho Su, the ML, is a kind hearted lawyer with a disability from a childhood accident that also took his father’s life. Raised by a stepmother he struggles to fully accept, Ho Su lives with guilt, pain and a feeling of being a burden. But he is honest, thoughtful and deeply loyal especially to Mi Ji, whom he has loved since they were younger. When he realizes she is now living as Mi Rae, he chooses not to confront her. Instead, he waits patiently until she is ready to tell him herself. Their relationship grows slowly and meaningfully, full of trust, warmth and understanding.

Whereas in the village, Mi Rae (posing as Mi Ji) meets Se Jin, a former city man who left corporate life after his grandfather's death to tend the family farm. Grounded, kind and also lively guy, Se Jin is drawn to her gentleness and vulnerability. Their bond grows in quiet companionship, rooted in the comfort of second chances and simpler living.

Park Boyoung is truly unforgettable in this. She plays both Mi Ji and Mi Rae so effortlessly that you never once question who is who. The way she captures their differences, not just in how they speak or move but in the weight they carry is so real and moving & Jinyoung quietly steals your heart as Ho Su. He doesnt need big emotional scenes to make an impact, there is so much feeling in his silences, his small gestures. He plays a complicated role with such honesty that it stays with you long after.

What sets this drama apart is how naturally it handles serious topics, mental health, trauma, workplace injustice, disability, societal pressure, even queerness without being preachy. Everything is shown through real life moments, like struggling to get out of bed, dealing with shame or just trying to pass time without breaking down. The idea that people often hide parts of themselves to survive whether its by staying silent, isolating or pretending to be someone else, is presented with so much empathy.

Sometimes, the drama reminds us that thinking too much about the past only brings regret and worrying about the future only brings anxiety. And yet, the answer isnt always grand or life changing. It can be something simple, focusing on small tasks, doing one thing at a time, holding on for just another day. These moments of just getting through are treated with quiet respect.

The supporting characters add even more heart to the story, Ho Su’s stepmother who keeps loving him even when he pushes her away, the twins grandmother, who has such warm soul and even their estranged mother who carries guilt and slowly begins to reconnect with her daughters.

In the end, this is not a story about big twists or dramatic endings. Its about people who are broken in different ways, learning how to keep living. Its about survival in all its forms whether it looks brave, messy or quiet. And sometimes, thats the most inspiring story of all.

Edit: I would also like to give a special mention to Kim Ro Sa/Sang Wol grandmaa's character. Her arc was so beautiful and heartwarming, tragically beautiful, in fact and her bond with both our leads, Miji and Hosu, was just so touching.

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An incredible drama. The way they managed to seamlessly blend the scenes with the actress playing two different characters in the same frame, with perfect reactions as if they were really talking to each other, is absolutely mind-blowing. I had never seen a series or movie pull off a single actress playing two roles in the same scene so flawlessly, without any visible cuts or mistakes.

Beyond that, the story is deeply touching. It follows a sister who is unemployed and constantly criticized by her mother, while the mom puts all her hopes into her other daughter who is actually suffering from severe depression and is on the verge of suicide because of her job. Then comes the scene where she tries to jump out the window, but in the end both sisters fall… and then they switch lives.

I found it really funny how they jumped into each other’s lives without knowing anything about them. It created a lot of chaos, but it also gave us some amazing scenes the romance moments, the grandmother figuring out they had switched while the mother noticed nothing… and the scene where they finally confess the truth. I loved it so much.

I highly recommend it!

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Imperfect, but Emotionally Resonant

Our Unwritten Seoul is a difficult drama to pin down because it does so many things well that you’re likely to be drawn in by its story and the range of themes it explores. It isn’t perfect, though, and it doesn’t always play to its strengths. The pacing becomes uneven, especially toward the end, where the final stretch feels rushed and slightly disjointed, even if it doesn’t completely undo the emotional journey built earlier.

One notable drawback is the way Mi Ji’s personality shift is portrayed across time. Her adult self appears much more bubbly and soft, in sharp contrast to her tomboyish, guarded teenage version. Rather than feeling like a fully earned evolution, the change can come across as somewhat inconsistent, as if important parts of her emotional transition were skipped, making it harder to clearly connect the two as the same person.

On the positive side, the casting is nearly perfect, strengthening every relationship and letting the emotional moments truly shine with a sense of real stakes. The drama explores a wide range of powerful themes — work pressure, unresolved trauma, loss, and complex family dynamics — and handles them with enough nuance to feel deeply personal and relatable. It may also surprise viewers with how certain character arcs evolve, offering growth that feels earned and refreshingly thoughtful in a landscape where such development is no longer a given.

The OST, while serviceable, isn’t particularly memorable, and the drama’s emotional moments might have hit even harder with a more striking soundtrack. Still, despite its uneven ending and music that fails to leave a lasting impression, Unwritten Seoul remains a genuinely engaging watch — emotionally rich, thoughtfully cast, and thematically layered in a way that may linger long after the final scene fades out.

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The 10th episode just makes you feel.......

I don't why I am writing this review, I guess I can't keep my feelings to myself, but I just felt it might be worth sharing so, this is the first, there have been many kdramas that I have watched over the past few years, sure each one has left some lasting impression and opened me to different perspectives of thought and action, but this particular episode just hit me at the right time of my life, griping some part of me, hooking me, had me overanalyzing each shot of the episode the stills, the transitions, the black and white compositions, and yes, it may be me just exaggerating but who cares, just watch it, it might make you feel "something" if not for anything. The actors{mainly the ones playing the younger versions & of course the adults, }, writers, director(s), everyone involved in this project have really done well, thank you.

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"Is it thrown because it was deflated " Or "It deflated because it was thrown "

"I am like this because of my living...."


OR " I am the reason I am living like this"

watching this really made me think so deep, after a long a time a kdrama made me think so deep. the character ( twins ) are so different yet same

i love how they told us about workplace bullying , we can understand a child making fun of other child ( children means age 1-9 ) after that they have the understanding
but adults who work in a big company and got there education from some prestigious universities are bullying each other , and the fact the law never does anything, the law or just everyone is with the person who has power even if they have done something wrong

we often think we know few people who are really close to us , but the real truth is that we don't anyone, we don't know what a person is going through but we people as a society always judge but then if someone , person who has even a little bit of courage speaks about it we make them our next victim and this cycle goes on and nobody tried to stop it

this a amazing k drama , i am just 2 ep into it and I am loving it
Highy recommend

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