When Life Gives You Tangerines (Korean: 폭싹 속았수다, Jeju dialect for “Thank You for Your Hard Work”) is a touching Korean drama that follows the lives of Ae-sun and Gwan-sik as they grow, love, and navigate hardships on Jeju Island.

(TW: Contains spoilers)

After watching When Life Gives You Tangerines, I found myself deeply reflecting on my own childhood, on how I learned to process emotions, the way I received love from my parents, and how those experiences shaped the way I show love to others now.

My parents weren’t the most expressive or heartwarming people. They didn’t say “I love you” often, nor did they always know how to comfort me with words. But they showed up in the ways they knew how—through acts of service, quiet support, and simply being there. At the time, I didn’t always recognize it as love. But now, looking back, I realize how much of their love was hidden in those small, consistent gestures.

That quiet love taught me so much. It became the foundation of how I care for the people around me. I started mirroring the way they showed up—by being reliable, thoughtful, and present. Over time, I also added my layers to it: learning to be more emotionally open, using words and affection freely, and offering the kind of warmth I once longed for.

The drama reminded me of the ways we inherit love—not just through DNA, but through habits, emotional patterns, and little things we don’t even notice until we’re older. It also made me reflect on the men I’ve loved in the past and how my early understanding of love influenced those choices.

1. Learning to Forgive Your Parents

There was a time I questioned why my parents weren’t more affectionate, why praise didn’t come easily, or why I sometimes felt emotionally starved. Would I have been more confident if I’d grown up with more warmth?

But When Life Gives You Tangerines helped me realize something I’d only recently begun to understand: my parents did the best they could with what they knew. They sacrificed their comfort, dreams, and perhaps even their emotional well-being so I could chase mine. Their love wasn’t loud or perfect — but it was there, in every late night spent worrying, every act of provision, and all the ways they showed up without asking for thanks.

The drama also reminded me how a parent’s love can feel one-sided. They give endlessly, while we, seeing them every day, often take that love for granted. We forget that just as it’s our first time being human, it’s their first time being parents.

Forgiving our parents for the life they couldn’t give us isn’t easy, but it’s necessary. Sometimes, the act of simply trying is love in itself. And as much as we may have wished they gave us more, they likely wished they could have too.

2. The Burden the First Child Carries

I’m not the eldest, but this drama helped me see what my older sister carried all these years. Like Geum-myeong, she took on responsibilities far beyond her age. She paid for her university fees, solved her own problems, and kept her worries to herself so that our parents could breathe. She became the reliable, self-sufficient eldest daughter not because she had to, but because she wanted to protect us. It may have seemed like it was “just her role,” but beneath that were sacrifices, silent hopes, and a longing to be seen. This drama reminded me of how much I owe her, not just as a sister but as someone who quietly carried us through life.

This is the kind of silent sacrifice that many eldest children will understand: behaving, overachieving, enduring, and many more just to make life a little easier for the ones we love.

3. Love Isn't Just About Feelings — It's About Courage and Action

Geum-Myeong and Yeong-Beom’s relationship wasn’t just a story of first love and bad timing, it was about the painful reality that love alone isn't enough when one person can’t protect or stand up for the other.

Yeong-Beom was torn between being a good son and a good partner, but in the end, he chose silence. He stood by as his mother disrespected Geum-Myeong and her family, letting her endure humiliation and hurt. It wasn’t just a lack of readiness — it was a lack of courage. And that silence said more than words ever could. The heartbreak wasn’t that they drifted apart — it’s that Geum-Myeong was left unprotected by someone who claimed to love her.

Watching Geum-myeong leave a relationship that no longer served her and her family made me reflect deeply on my past. I remember staying in relationships that hurt me, knowing it would also hurt my parents to see me like that.

Geum-myeong showed the strength I lacked at the time—she prioritized her self-worth and her family’s peace. Her courage made me realize that love isn’t enough when there’s no protection, no action. Real love isn’t just about passion or history. It’s about someone who will stand up for you, with you. Watching her reclaim her dignity made me reflect on how I, too, want to be loved—and how I need to love myself better.

4. Gwan-sik Loved With His Entire Being

My dad, like Gwan-sik, wasn’t a man of many words. He never said “I love you” out loud, but his actions spoke volumes. He cooked my favourite meals, quietly picked up my parcels without being asked, and assembled my computer chair the moment it arrived. He even chose to retire early—not because he wanted to stop working but because he didn’t want to burden us with his chronic back pain. These quiet, thoughtful acts were his way of loving.

Gwan-sik was the quiet hero of the drama. His love wasn’t loud or poetic, but it was constant, grounding, and safe. He loved Ae-sun with patience and softness. He let her be wild, expressive, and unfiltered, all while being her anchor. He redefined masculinity by being gentle and grounded — and he showed that real strength can exist without dominance.

As a father, he was emotionally present, even if financially limited. He remembered birthdays, bought favourite meals, and gave silent reassurances that he would always be there. His love wasn’t loud — but it was deeply felt.

“If something goes wrong, just back down and run straight to me. Okay?”

“Then go for now, and if you don’t like it, run back. Just run straight home, okay? I’ll be at home”

“Geum-Myeong. Dad’s still right here. Just do everything you want. Whatever you want. If your husband annoys you, run back to me. Dad’s always here for you. Okay?”

Sometimes, the most powerful kind of love is the one that never leaves.

5. Parents With Secure Attachment Styles Are Rare and Powerful

Watching Geum-myeong and Eun-myeong express their emotions freely was both healing and heartbreaking. In many Asian households, emotional expression is suppressed, not nurtured. But in the drama, Aesun and Gwansik raised their children in an environment where tears weren’t shameful, and being vulnerable wasn’t a weakness.

I’ve always wondered why some people are so confident, sure of themselves, and unafraid to speak up or take risks—until I met their parents. That safety, that inner calm, often begins at home. The drama made me realize that I want to be the kind of parent who listens, who doesn’t punish feelings, who lets love be soft and safe. Because emotional security isn’t just a gift—it’s a lifelong strength.

Love isn’t always grand or poetic...

When Life Gives You Tangerines reminded me that love isn’t always grand or poetic. Often, it’s quiet, steady, and deeply human. It’s in the way our parents tried their best, even when they didn’t know how. Forgiving them for the life they couldn’t give us is hard, but necessary — they were learning too. And sometimes, effort is love.

Geum-Myeong’s silent strength mirrored my sister’s — growing up fast, sacrificing quietly so our parents wouldn’t have to worry. Her courage to walk away from a relationship that no longer served her made me reflect on my past, when I stayed too long in something that hurt and also hurt my family in the process.

Gwan-sik’s quiet love reminded me of my dad. He never said “I love you,” but he showed it — through meals cooked, parcels picked up, and even choosing early retirement so we wouldn’t carry his burden. His love wasn’t loud, but it was deeply felt.

Watching the emotional safety Geum-Myeong and Eun-Myeong had made me realize how rare and powerful that is. I’ve seen how different life looks when someone grows up with that kind of security. One day, I hope to be that kind of parent — one who listens, allows emotions, and lets love be soft and safe.

When Life Gives You Tangerines didn’t just tell a story — it reflected mine. And it taught me that love, in all its imperfect forms, is often enough. Especially when it stays, quietly and endlessly, with you.