1
This review may contain spoilers
A Beautifully Painful Drama Of Life
This drama caught me off guard. Not with plot twists or flashy romance, but with its honesty. It’s a slice of life, but the kind that doesn’t taste sweet all the time. It’s a little burnt around the edges, soft in the middle. Real.
Cheng Le Le is in her 40s, doing stand-up comedy that barely stands on its own. So she works part-time at a convenience store too. That’s her life. Not a dream, not a tragedy. Just life. Her story unfolds around the people in her orbit, her dad who believes in aliens, two friends who shouldn’t make sense together but somehow do, a husband she once loved, maybe still does in some quiet corner of her heart. But deosnt matter as the marriage life is near its end.
There’s no climax. No victory lap. Just roads she has to walk. Because life doesn’t come with a final destination. It flows. Sometimes like a river, sometimes like a flood. And when loss comes, no amount of preparation saves you from breaking. What hurts even more is when you realize you have to keep walking, even when your legs don’t know this new path.
The show was labeled with a healing tag, but don’t believe that. No one heals here. Not in the way we want. They endure. They laugh, they cry, sometimes in the same scene. And I cried with them. For joy. For grief. For being alive.
That’s the thing about Taiwanese dramas. They’re too real. They don’t pretend. They remind you you’re human, beautifully, painfully human. And I love them for that. Even when I say I hate them.
I was especially grateful this wasn’t about some teenager/20-something figuring out life. This was about a woman who’s already halfway through it, still stumbling, still unsure, still trying. Cheng Le Le is not your ideal protagonist, and that’s what makes her perfect. She’s ordinary, unpolished. She turns her pain into punchlines, not healing. Just survival.
And her dad—what a character. He says, “Being childish for your whole life is quite an achievement.” And he’s right. I’m going to hold onto that. But let’s not pretend his life was all sunshine and UFOs. His sadness was there too, packed deep inside, not hidden from us, but from himself. I liked him. I really did. And like Cheng Le Le, I’ll keep looking for aliens after him.
His death was a quiet, painful unraveling. But the harder part was watching her feel it. That kind of grief lingers. It lingers even now.
Visually, the drama is stunning. Not dramatic. Just beautiful in the way reality is, natural light, soft shadows, warm colors that bleed into everyday spaces. The kind of cinematography that makes you feel like you’re there.
And this line will stay with me:
“Others call their dads superheroes, but I call mine an alien. He always said the universe is infinite, and humans are insignificant. We should take it easy in life. However, he forgot to tell me, humans exist in the world, and humans are complicated.”
What a beautiful, aching piece of work.
8 out of 10
And a piece of my heart with it.
Cheng Le Le is in her 40s, doing stand-up comedy that barely stands on its own. So she works part-time at a convenience store too. That’s her life. Not a dream, not a tragedy. Just life. Her story unfolds around the people in her orbit, her dad who believes in aliens, two friends who shouldn’t make sense together but somehow do, a husband she once loved, maybe still does in some quiet corner of her heart. But deosnt matter as the marriage life is near its end.
There’s no climax. No victory lap. Just roads she has to walk. Because life doesn’t come with a final destination. It flows. Sometimes like a river, sometimes like a flood. And when loss comes, no amount of preparation saves you from breaking. What hurts even more is when you realize you have to keep walking, even when your legs don’t know this new path.
The show was labeled with a healing tag, but don’t believe that. No one heals here. Not in the way we want. They endure. They laugh, they cry, sometimes in the same scene. And I cried with them. For joy. For grief. For being alive.
That’s the thing about Taiwanese dramas. They’re too real. They don’t pretend. They remind you you’re human, beautifully, painfully human. And I love them for that. Even when I say I hate them.
I was especially grateful this wasn’t about some teenager/20-something figuring out life. This was about a woman who’s already halfway through it, still stumbling, still unsure, still trying. Cheng Le Le is not your ideal protagonist, and that’s what makes her perfect. She’s ordinary, unpolished. She turns her pain into punchlines, not healing. Just survival.
And her dad—what a character. He says, “Being childish for your whole life is quite an achievement.” And he’s right. I’m going to hold onto that. But let’s not pretend his life was all sunshine and UFOs. His sadness was there too, packed deep inside, not hidden from us, but from himself. I liked him. I really did. And like Cheng Le Le, I’ll keep looking for aliens after him.
His death was a quiet, painful unraveling. But the harder part was watching her feel it. That kind of grief lingers. It lingers even now.
Visually, the drama is stunning. Not dramatic. Just beautiful in the way reality is, natural light, soft shadows, warm colors that bleed into everyday spaces. The kind of cinematography that makes you feel like you’re there.
And this line will stay with me:
“Others call their dads superheroes, but I call mine an alien. He always said the universe is infinite, and humans are insignificant. We should take it easy in life. However, he forgot to tell me, humans exist in the world, and humans are complicated.”
What a beautiful, aching piece of work.
8 out of 10
And a piece of my heart with it.
Was this review helpful to you?
