That summer belonged to us
I recently finished watching the Korean drama "Twenty-Five Twenty-One."
As someone struggling with my own worries, I cried like a fool over this "life drama" that was neither a romantic comedy nor a sports story.
I was moved by the many profound quotes in this series. I will skip the plot summary, but I would like to jot down some brief thoughts.
To me, at 22 years old, the theme of this drama appeared to be the "brilliance of the moment."
Events like the IMF crisis and 9/11—things beyond the control of any single insignificant person—are "the times," and they significantly alter the lives of the young protagonists.
It felt as if we were watching ourselves being tossed about by an unknown, mutating virus.
On a macro level, those events might just be one "fact" of one "era" on a page of history.
However, on a micro level, they surely and steadily throw the gears of each individual's life out of alignment.
A love that was certainly there, yet failed to come to fruition because it was tossed about by the times.
It seems very heartbreaking, and while many people seem to view the ending of this work as a "sad ending," I do not want to label it as either a "sad ending" or a "happy ending."
I feel that this, both in the drama and in our own lives, becomes a form of "salvation."
"There aren't many things in this world that go the way you want them to."
This line from the show says it all. However, this is not something to be particularly pessimistic about.
It is because what the "I" of "now" thinks and sees is nothing more than "now." It is only natural that we cannot foresee the "future" from there. That is why it would be strange if things actually went "the way you want them to."
Even so.
Even if you understand it in your head, once you have known a dream-like time, love, or friendship, you end up wishing for it to last forever.
"This moment feels like it will last forever."
"It will become forever."
"Let's hope so."
I, too, have had moments where I wished for that.
Standing before an ocean so blue it seemed otherworldly, feeling the sun, which shone so brightly it blurred the horizon, slowly sink as it scorched my back.
After the famous beach scene in Episode 10, Hee-do's words as an adult follow.
"There is no such thing as forever. Everything ends in an instant and disappears."
"But you know, that's not so bad either."
There was also this line.
"Life is long, and fireworks are just for a moment."
Also, looking back at her diary from that time, the adult Hee-do reflects:
"A time when love and friendship were everything. Such a period is only a fleeting moment in life."
"I want my daughter to experience it too. The noisy friendships and the intense love. Because that moment is what makes a long life shine."
For us, 'fireworks' might indeed be nothing more than a fleeting moment. Their brilliance, excitement, confusion, and happiness are never meant to last long or forever.
However, even if they are only for a 'moment,' the simple fact that they truly shone is what matters.
I believed I could have it all. I wanted to have so much. I was under the illusion that I had captured both love and friendship.
Looking back, every day was trial and error. The moments I insisted would last forever. I loved that illusion.
Realizing that 'eternal brilliance' was an illusion.
That may indeed be what it means to accept reality and 'become an adult.'
But that is different from 'giving up.'
Still, there was one thing I did capture.
That summer belonged to us.
Even if that brilliance was ephemeral, it was something that truly existed.
Even if it was just for a moment, the fireworks truly sparkled.
That alone is an unshakable fact.
A 'future' that can never be foreseen from the 'present.'
That is why life doesn't go as planned. That is why it feels like there is nothing 'certain.'
But as long as there is a moment where you feel you 'truly captured it,' that is enough.
There is meaning in having captured it once.
This drama held hidden hints for looking at life from a broader perspective.
Starting from 18 and 22, then 21 and 25, and finally between 22 and 26.
My struggles as a 22-year-old, right in the middle, are likely because I am in that gap—expecting 'eternity' from the brilliance of 'fireworks,' under the illusion that I had captured it, and learning how to let it go.
No one decided that 18 is the boundary between child and adult, yet it feels like an unspoken rule, and I somehow thought so too.
But I, at 22, and Yi-jin, at 22 in the show.
We are still far from being adults, right in the middle of being tossed about by 'fireworks.'
But through this drama, I feel I have been able to grasp that a bit more objectively.
I will surely spend some time in the future feeling confused by 'noisy friendships and intense love,' and getting deeply hurt every time I find happiness.
Even if I lose something along the way.
As long as there is a moment where I can think, 'That summer belonged to us,' that is enough.
All tragedies are funny when viewed from a distance.
That's why I live as if I'm looking from afar.
Let's look at things from space, which was your dream.
That is how I know I can keep living. That is the kind of drama it was.
I am grateful for such a wonderful work.