17
22
2
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1
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1
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4
1
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8
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1
This review may contain spoilers
Even After a Lifetime of Loss, Coming Home Is Still a Beginning
Love Between Lines is already a widely discussed and well-reviewed drama, so there’s little need to reiterate its plot or summarize how it unfolds. Instead, I want to use this space to talk about what I haven’t talked/posted about during the watch!
This is not just about this drama, but a concise interpretation from all the projects I have seen…
Over time, I’ve come to see that a script is simply a story told from a particular perspective and angle, unfolding within a chosen span of time. However, knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to accept.
The wins, the losses, the injustices, the extent of forgiveness or the extent of allowed immorality, and even the emotional interests are all malleable—shaped by who is telling the story, what theme it serves, and where the storyteller decides to begin and end. They all change with perspective, with intention, with where the story is allowed to end. And how it ultimately reflects on the audience depends on how brave and candid the audience is willing to be.
For instance, I found myself unwilling to tread too deeply into my thoughts about the mother, the woman who married the man responsible for framing her husband and causing his death. When the truth finally came to light, what must she have felt? Disgust? Regret? Loathing? And directed toward whom—the villain, the circumstances, or herself?
The moment I begin to analyze the situation she was in when she made that decision, to consider the reasons behind it, to imagine what her son must have felt, or to question what alternatives she might have had—whether her choice was selective or truly the only route to survival—Is it wrong to think of oneself when one is helpless? — Stupidity is a crime, but to what extent does that hold? — Was it wrong of Xiao Yi to hide all of this from his mother? If yes, how so? And if not, then what? Which choice would have been more cruel? — What is she meant to do with the time she spent in wrongful hatred and misplaced trust—the time that has aged her, shaped her, and by now become an inseparable part of her being? – And what qualifies me to judge the morality or pragmatism of any of the decisions at all?-- these questions arise almost instantly. They take barely seconds to surface.
And yet, I deliberately refuse to pursue answers to any of them. Maybe I am not brave enough to face the answers and be able to determine the correct path.
But I want to end this on a gentle note. All’s well that ends well. Even if I’ve been lost for most of my life, it is enough to know that I am home now. From here, I can build—with what I have—the blocks of a future.
This is not just about this drama, but a concise interpretation from all the projects I have seen…
Over time, I’ve come to see that a script is simply a story told from a particular perspective and angle, unfolding within a chosen span of time. However, knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to accept.
The wins, the losses, the injustices, the extent of forgiveness or the extent of allowed immorality, and even the emotional interests are all malleable—shaped by who is telling the story, what theme it serves, and where the storyteller decides to begin and end. They all change with perspective, with intention, with where the story is allowed to end. And how it ultimately reflects on the audience depends on how brave and candid the audience is willing to be.
For instance, I found myself unwilling to tread too deeply into my thoughts about the mother, the woman who married the man responsible for framing her husband and causing his death. When the truth finally came to light, what must she have felt? Disgust? Regret? Loathing? And directed toward whom—the villain, the circumstances, or herself?
The moment I begin to analyze the situation she was in when she made that decision, to consider the reasons behind it, to imagine what her son must have felt, or to question what alternatives she might have had—whether her choice was selective or truly the only route to survival—Is it wrong to think of oneself when one is helpless? — Stupidity is a crime, but to what extent does that hold? — Was it wrong of Xiao Yi to hide all of this from his mother? If yes, how so? And if not, then what? Which choice would have been more cruel? — What is she meant to do with the time she spent in wrongful hatred and misplaced trust—the time that has aged her, shaped her, and by now become an inseparable part of her being? – And what qualifies me to judge the morality or pragmatism of any of the decisions at all?-- these questions arise almost instantly. They take barely seconds to surface.
And yet, I deliberately refuse to pursue answers to any of them. Maybe I am not brave enough to face the answers and be able to determine the correct path.
But I want to end this on a gentle note. All’s well that ends well. Even if I’ve been lost for most of my life, it is enough to know that I am home now. From here, I can build—with what I have—the blocks of a future.
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