A K-drama Deep-Dive Review
As I close my thoughts on One Day Off, I keep returning to something the drama does—something I’ve always found difficult to relate to.
In many K-dramas, characters speak with someone who has passed away. They sit together, share meals, walk side by side—tender moments shaped by memory, longing, or unspoken grief. These scenes ask us to imagine what it might be like to meet a loved one again, even if just for a day.
Sometimes, I feel drawn in. Other times, I find myself holding back. How do you have a conversation with someone who’s no longer here? How do you reach out and feel warmth where there is only absence? Maybe I haven’t yet allowed myself to imagine such a thing. Maybe it’s still too tender. Maybe that’s why I resist it.
Or perhaps imagination isn’t about creating something unreal, but about giving space to what remains—traces of someone in a place, a song, a scent. Maybe that’s why people talk to the dead—not because they expect an answer, but because remembering is a way of keeping someone close. And of course, it wouldn’t be as crisp or clear as it is in dramas. Instead, it’s about letting memory flow—and letting the past have its place in the present.
But for Hagyeong, it was real. She remembers her best friend and she imagines a conversation about life—how things have been since she passed, the music she listens to now. She walks in the park and imagines her friend walking beside her. She even imagines discussing death—where the best place would be to lay her remains.
And then, she expresses how much she misses her—not in the aching way of loss, but in the simple fact that life has become dull without her, since she no longer has anyone to hang out with. They talk about being kids, growing up, growing old. And then, finally, she bids her friend goodbye.
And that’s when she understands: their time together may not have been extraordinary. It wasn’t filled with grand moments or deep revelations. But that’s precisely what made it special—the aimless wandering, the unremarkable conversations, the simple act of being together. That’s what made it lighthearted, effortless, real.
And with that she concludes:
“I still believe that travelling is a fool’s paradise. It’s not all that fun or meaningful. After wandering without a purpose, there are only fleeting moments of clarity. But that’s what makes it fun. So if you feel like disappearing, take yourself out. If you’re all alone, in a strange place and don’t feel brave enough, then make it last just one day. If you can walk, eat, and let your mind wander, you’d be fine anywhere.”
And maybe that’s the lesson—not just about travel, but about life itself. Just like the imagined conversations with someone who has passed, our past experiences return to us in unexpected ways, shaping us, teaching us, reminding us.
Not everything we do will bring joy or feel meaningful in the moment. Life, like wandering, can feel aimless—but often, purpose follows quietly behind. And yet, in those fleeting moments of clarity, something remains. Maybe that’s enough. To walk and look. To eat and taste. To wander and think. To simply… be.
Like travel, memory is a journey—sometimes aimless, sometimes unexpected. We carry the past with us, not to relive it, but to let it walk beside us. Maybe that’s why wandering, even without purpose, still matters. Because in the quiet moments—whether on the road or in remembrance—we find ourselves, even if just for one day.
So, when and where will you be going off to walk, eat, and let your mind wander?
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