Kdrama Deep-Dive Review: Jua’s dilemma living in Sijun’s world - the silent cost of loving someone who never truly sees you
Another way Melo Movie really struck me was in how Jua lived her life entirely within Sijun’s world. It all started with a crush—she even transferred schools just to be near him. Eventually, he took notice, and soon they were dating, a relationship that lasted seven years.
By then, Sijun had moved out of his family home into his own studio to pursue songwriting, while Jua was still searching for direction after high school. Interestingly, this is one of the few K-dramas where most of the main characters—except for Mubee—did not seem to attend college, and yet, it’s a complete non-issue.
As I mentioned in my intro piece, this drama doesn’t dwell on details. Instead, it makes you pay attention to small moments—and with that, the few glimpses you get become all the more significant. One of those glimpses is how Sijun consistently showed no interest in Jua’s search for something to call her own.
At the start of the drama, Jua arrives at Sijun’s studio with an envelope, excitedly announcing to him and Gyeom that she has signed up for a screenwriting opportunity. Sijun’s only response? “Screenwriting? You?” He doesn’t even bother looking at what’s in the envelope, simply setting it aside before turning back to the menu to order his meal.
Later, in a flashback near the end of the drama, Jua recalls a moment when she asked Sijun if she should start something of her own—she was anxious that her life was going nowhere and wanted to find something she truly enjoyed. And Sijun’s reply? “What food did you bring today? I’m hungry.”
Even when Jua was busy writing and completing her screenplay for a competition, Sijun expected her to drop everything and accompany him to an interview about his music. The fact that she was deeply invested in something important to her didn’t seem to register with him at all.
Sijun truly only existed in his own world, and to him, Jua was merely an extension of it. There was nothing else but himself, his music—and his food.
And that’s when Jua decided—she needed to remove herself from Sijun’s world. She had to start living a life of her own, even if it meant sacrificing the love and dedication she had given him. But how does one choose between true love and a meaningful life? It’s an impossible choice—unless you can have both at the same time.
Throughout their relationship, Jua had reshaped so much of her life just to fit into Sijun’s world. She always ordered rice bowls instead of the udon she preferred—because Sijun, who hated waiting, wouldn’t have to wait for her to finish a hot bowl of noodles. She disliked Star Wars and couldn’t relate to it, yet she watched it with him because it was his all-time favourite, then went home and watched what she actually enjoyed on her own. She sat through soccer matches just for him. She built Lego sets with him, even though she never understood why people would spend hours doing it.
That really resonated with me—how much should someone sacrifice for love, especially when it doesn’t even matter to the other person? Jua may have seen these things as acts of love, but did they become regrets the moment she started losing herself? Would it have been different if Sijun had noticed? If he had cared enough to take an interest in her pursuit of screenwriting? If he had watched Il Postino with her?
Sadly, we’ll never know—because Jua left without ever voicing her feelings. And that, too, is one of the drama’s strongest themes: unspoken frustrations. It runs throughout the entire drama, in all the characters.
Have you ever felt like there’s no point in saying something? That it wouldn’t make a difference? That you’ve tried, but nothing changed?
But what if, unlike Jua, you couldn’t just walk away?
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