Drama Review of When Life Gives You Tangerines: A Heartfelt Journey of Love and Growth

Introducing "When Life Gives You Tangerines"

Poster for the show (Source: Netflix)

When Life Gives You Tangerines is a 2025 South Korean romantic slice-of-life drama that takes audiences on an emotional rollercoaster ride spanning over 70 years. Directed by Kim Won-suk and written by Lim Sang-choon, the 16-episode drama (divided into four seasonal volumes on Netflix) stars Lee Ji-eun (IU) and Park Bo-gum as the young Yang Gwan-sik and Oh Ae-sun, and Moon So-ri and Park Hae-joon as the older versions of the protagonists. Based primarily on Jeju Island, the drama masterfully intertwines individual and historical tales – from the post-war 1950s to the current day 2025 – into a touching tale about love, survival, and family. The series has garnered widespread critical acclaim for acting and heart-wrenching storytelling. It certainly left an impact on me, resonating with its story and multi-faceted characters. In fact, many fans and critics have already hailed it as one of the standout K-dramas of the year, and it’s easy to see why once you’re immersed in its world.

From its earliest episodes, When Life Gives You Tangerines whisks you away to the idyllic beauty of 1950s Jeju and introduces two unforgettable leads. Ae-sun is a spunky, ambitious girl who dreams of being a poet despite the limitations placed on her by society, and Gwan-sik is a brooding, stoic boy who is entirely smitten with her. The series traces their life journey from their teenage years to old age, showing how their island love story blossoms into "a lifelong tale of setbacks and triumphs — proving love endures across time". As the years go by, we watch Ae-sun and Gwan-sik weather life's highs and lows together: from young love and bittersweet sacrifices to the uncertainties of marriage, parenthood, and growing old. The tale is retold gently by their daughter, Geum-myeong, which also adds another layer of warmth to the narrative. Giving away as few spoilers as possible here, I can say that the drama weaves a rich, warm portrait of a couple and a family so real you'll laugh, dream, and cry with them for years. By the time I finished the first episodes, I was completely immersed in Ae-sun and Gwan-sik's journey of love and survival.

Significance of the Title

The title "When Life Gives You Tangerines" is a play on the old proverb "when life gives you lemons, make lemonade." It means making the best of what you are given in the English language – and substitutes lemons here with tangerines in a nod to the setting. Jeju Island is famous for its tangerines, as it grows over 99% of Korea's tangerines. Ae-sun is often forced to make the most of the options life has available to her, like turning "lemons into lemonade," or in this case, tangerines into something sweeter. Her path of finding happiness and fulfillment in the midst of life's adversities is absolutely summarized in the title. It’s about blooming where you’re planted – even if you’re planted in the rocky soil of a tiny island, facing obstacles at every turn.

Interestingly, the original Korean title is “폭싹 속았수다” (Pokssak Sogatsuda), a phrase in the Jeju dialect. This does not translate into tangerines at all – it more or less says "you have worked hard" or "thank you for your hard work," a common expression of gratitude in Jeju's unique linguistic heritage. In official Korean, the phrase could be misunderstood as "I was totally deceived," but on Jeju, it has a very different, and positive meaning. This alternate meaning of the Korean title is deeply ingrained in the drama's themes. "Thanks for your hard work" is essentially the message that echoes through the final episode – a tribute to the years of toil, love, and sacrifice that have been shared by the characters. The show is, after all, a tribute to the working man who toils and perseveres through life's seasons. By using the Jeju dialect, the title is a nod to the special culture of the island and the work ethic of Ae-sun, Gwan-sik, and their neighbors in the face of fast social change. Having seen the show, I felt the double entendre of the title was so appropriate: life gave these characters tangerines (sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter experiences), and they poured everything – their sweat and heart – into them to turn them into a worthwhile life.

Short Synopsis (Minimal Spoilers???)

Set against the beautiful backdrop of Jeju Island, When Life Gives You Tangerines is the sweeping saga of Oh Ae-sun and Yang Gwan-sik that takes place over the course of decades. We meet Ae-sun first as a spirited but resourceful girl in the 1950s who longs to receive an education and explore the world outside her small fishing village. Gwan-sik, another town soft boy, falls deeply in love with Ae-sun and becomes her rock in time and time out. After a freak tragedy in adolescence alters Ae-sun's path, she and Gwan-sik embark on life together. The show takes place over the "four seasons" of their lives – from the spring of their innocent youth, into the summer of building a family, through autumn's hardships and middle-age, and finally into the winter of their older years. Along the way, they must contend with personal and societal challenges: poverty, the strict conventions of a conservative era, heartbreak and tragedy, and the ever-changing face of Korea as it modernizes around them. Thanks to the unfaltering support of Gwan-sik, Ae-sun is able to hold on to her dreams (she never gives up her poetic aspirations) even while she works for her family's survival. On the other hand, Ae-sun's free spirit constantly challenges Gwan-sik to step out of his comfort zone time and time again. They have kids together, break up and get back together, and develop a life together that is rich with memories. This is a drama as much about the little things in life as it is about the big milestones.

Ending (Spoilers + My Interpretation)

Ae-sun with Geum-myeong Near the Show's End

The final episode of When Life Gives You Tangerines is a beautiful, heart-wrenching conclusion to Ae-sun and Gwan-sik's lifelong story. In their old age, the couple has to face one last and greatest challenge: Gwan-sik falls severely ill with cancer (multiple myeloma).

As his condition deteriorates, the family comes closer together, determined to make his last few days as peaceful and meaningful as possible. These last scenes are tear-jerking, dramatizing the "precious agony of being alive" that the drama has emphasized since the start. Gwan-sik, ever the devoted husband, laments that he could not do more to make life easier for Ae-sun in her latter days. He apologizes to her in a tearful bedside conversation for this alleged failing – but Ae-sun reassures him softly, "Thanks to you, I was never lonely for a day." In those few words, she encapsulates their marriage: he gave a lifetime of love, and she has no regrets. Ae-sun tells Gwan-sik that all the hardships were worth it because they experienced each other, testifying that she has no regrets about choosing the harder life with him over the more comfortable life that she might have lived with someone else (years ago on the show, we saw Ae-sun turn down a wealthy suitor, Bu Sang-gil, because he was not as loyal and warm as Gwan-sik). This is a theme – that love rooted in mutual respect and care is more valuable than any physical comfort – that comes full circle in the finale.

Soon after, Gwan-sik passes away, in a scene that the drama handles with dignity. Ae-sun stays with him in his final moments, reassuring him through tears that she'll be okay and thanking him for their life together. It's as melancholic as it sounds, but it's also strangely liberating. Every love story has a goodbye at the end, as the drama gently reminds us, but the thing that matters is the love itself. I didn't find this goodbye so much a "sad ending" in the traditional sense, but a bittersweet celebration of a life well-lived. Ae-sun's grief is deep, of course, but there is peace as well in knowing they lived as much as they could together. The show is very explicit that for Ae-sun, this is its own happy ending: she took Gwan-sik's hand when they were young and never let it go once, and she would not trade one second of that choice.

One of the biggest aspects of the ending is how it ties up not just Ae-sun and Gwan-sik's story, but also the postponed and fulfilled dreams along the way. Remember Ae-sun's childhood dream of becoming a poet? In the finale, that dream is finally fulfilled. With the assistance of her family, Ae-sun compiles her life tales and poetry into a publication that is launched just before Gwan-sik's death – one of his dying wishes was for her to receive recognition for her talent. The first copy of the poetry book is even dedicated to Gwan-sik, with Ae-sun writing a touching message assuring him that she'll be okay after he's gone. The title of her poem includes the Korean phrase “폭싹 속았수다,” meaning “here’s to all you’ve been through,” as a final tribute and thank-you to her husband. This brought me to tears; it was such a sincere acknowledgement of everything Gwan-sik had sacrificed for her and their family. It was like Ae-sun's way of saying, "I see you, and I value every ounce of effort and love you gave me."

The drama wonderfully shows that even in their later years, their hearts are as delicate as when they were young. And there is a subtle, near-mystical quality in the finale that deeply moved me. A cause of continued sorrow throughout the series is Ae-sun's relationship with her own mother (who was a haenyeo – a traditional Jeju female diver and died when Ae-sun was a child). In the final act, the series introduces Chloe Lee, the editor who publishes Ae-sun's poems. In a bout of brilliance, Chloe is also portrayed by the same actress who played the role of Ae-sun's mother decades earlier. It's implied that Chloe is Hye-ran, Ae-sun's mother, reincarnated. This is conveyed with a light touch – it's never stated, but there are suggestions: we saw Chloe as a child earlier in the story, and Ae-sun had wished that her mother's spirit could return in a new, luckier life. When Ae-sun meets Chloe, a modern career woman (a far cry from the physically demanding life of a haenyeo), it's as if her mother has really come back to see that Ae-sun turned out okay. The two of them aren't aware of this connection consciously, but the viewer feels it. To me, this was a really powerful way of bringing Ae-sun's story full circle – it's like she finally gets her mother's blessing and a sense of closure. On a meta level, Chloe also feels like an audience surrogate. Just as Chloe gets to live Ae-sun's life by editing the poetry book and is moved to tears by it, we as viewers have seen that life through the show. Finally, Chloe's character subtly tells us that those who've gone before us (parents, grandparents, ancestors) are proud of Ae-sun and Gwan-sik's generation for holding on and being joyful.

The final scenes of the show show this feeling of generational gratitude and love. Geum-myeong (Ae-sun's daughter) reads a voiceover letter thanking her parents, "who were so young and always so tender-hearted through all the seasons… thank you for all your efforts." As these words are being spoken, we see a flashback of young Ae-sun and Gwan-sik in the 1950s, optimistic and dreaming about the future, driving off into a gold-colored Jeju landscape a final time. It's a conclusion that managed to be both devastating and uplifting: I was in tears at the goodbye, but smiling at the thought that love, memory, and appreciation echo long after we're gone. To me, the ending is less about Ae-sun losing Gwan-sik – it's about a daughter honoring her parents' memory, about the end of a life cycle, and about being content in the knowledge that every ounce of love we give and receive matters. I found that very lovely.

Unpacking the Deep Themes

Aside from the romance, When Life Gives You Tangerines offers multiple themes to unpack. One of the strongest aspects of this drama is the manner in which it situates one family's individual struggle within the broader outlines of Korean history and culture. As we follow Ae-sun and Gwan-sik's lives throughout the decades, the series goes about mirroring real-world historical trends in subdued fashion: we see post-war poverty, the push for modernization and school during the 1970s, financial turmoil in the 1990s, and so forth. The show does not ride on such occurrences with overexplanation; they are instead background that adds to believability. Such blurring of the micro (household life) and macro (national history) gives the story an epic but grounded quality. It had a little bit of that Reply 1988 feel, another hit show, which was nostalgic and sweet in showing the ordinary Korean way of life of previous decades. This drama is the same appreciative and nostalgic tone, especially in depicting the old Jeju customs – from the tangerine farming practices to the moral codes of the close-knit community.

One of the pervasive themes of the play is that of the empowerment of women and the changing roles of mothers and daughters. The development of the character of Ae-sun is a declaration of subtle feminism at a time when such ideas were never verbalized. Being a clever young woman in the 1950s, Ae-sun wants to receive an education and feels angry that her sole purpose is to be married and bear children. Throughout the show, we see her pushing against societal limits in whatever little way she can. She may not get to attend college in Seoul like she wanted, but she learns through reading and later finds her voice through poetry. Her daughter Geum-myeong then has the privileges Ae-sun never enjoyed – education overseas, business pursuits – but also her own difficulties (e.g., sexist and classist prejudices). I liked how When Life Gives You Tangerines delineates these differences of generation. There is a wonderful scene where Geum-myeong realizes she must cancel her engagement with her first love, Yeong-bum, because of his rich mother's disdain for her lower-class origins and disrespect towards Ae-sun and Gwan-sik. Geum-myeong holds firm to her self-respect and parents' pride over a wedding that would have reproduced only old patterns of snobbery. Her decision, though painful to her, was the victory of the values Ae-sun well taught quietly. Later, Geum-myeong also finds a partner (Chung-seob) who truly appreciates her and "grants her permission to be herself," defying the K-drama trope of one true love by showing that a second love can be just as profound and, in fact, healthier. In short, it is about a more authentic expression of love and existence: the path isn't straight, and women in particular need to fight for their dignity and happiness, but the reward is a life on their terms.

Another aspect that I adored is that the show explores so deeply the issues of identity, belonging, and what "home" is. Jeju Island is not just a background; it's almost a character unto itself. Jeju island culture – its dialect, its diving matriarchs (the haenyeo), its seascape and tangerine orchards – permeates the show. Ae-sun's mother was a haenyeo, and the tradition of strong, self-reliant island women runs through in Ae-sun's own tenacity. There is a nice poignancy to Ae-sun becoming, in her later years, something of a community instructor, running a poetry workshop for elderly villagers who never were able to read or write. She's nearly paying back to the island that took her in, affirming that feeling of home. The show recognizes the uniqueness of Jeju's past, even the Korean title "폭싹 속 않았수다" uses Jeju dialect, and is a declaration of pride in that heritage. Simultaneously, the series integrates Jeju's tale with ease, informing us that whether island or continent, people's dreams and dilemmas aren't quite so disparate. At the end, I was struck by how home for Ae-sun and Gwan-sik was not necessarily a place geographically but rather the loved ones who make up their family. They endure poverty, change residence, send kids off to Seoul, but their home is ultimately each other and the familial bonds that stretch across generations. The final message of "thank you for working hard" speaks to this – it's like a warm pat on the back to everyone, acknowledging the unseen toil and love that go into building a life.

Finally, the drama talks about the process of time and aging in a way I rarely get to see in K-dramas. Literally, we watch the leads age from teen to elderly. Ae-sun, in the final episode, mourns ruefully: "Becoming old is nothing different. You remain the same from the inside, but when you look in the mirror, you see an old woman. That's all aging is." That hit me hard. We've shared those twenty years with her, so we're sure it's so deep in her heart that Ae-sun is still that same idealistic, fiery girl, even if her hair is gray and her body is tired. The show handles the topic of aging with such dignity and realism. Rather than using the tropes of magically youthful elderly persons or overly tragic disease, it shows these characters still growing, learning, and even in love with new parts of each other in their later years. The manner in which Gwan-sik modestly peeled tangerines for Ae-sun using his calloused hands, or the way Ae-sun teased him about his receding hairline – these minor scenes conveyed that love is not merely the domain of the young; it ages and smoothes out like good old wine. I also appreciated the sense in which the series suggests that every stage in life is lovely in its own terms: youth is its zest, middle age is its purpose, and old age is its sagacity and peace. When Life Gives You Tangerines doesn't so much question as invite us to realize that beneath the wrinkles, one's heart may always be the same.

A Closer Look at the Unforgettable Characters

It's not an exaggeration to say that characters in When Life Gives You Tangerines will stick with me for a while. It is centered around Oh Ae-sun, whose character is interpreted by two superb actresses from disparate generations. IU interprets Ae-sun in her youth and middle age, while veteran actress Moon So-ri portrays Ae-sun in her old age. Both are wonderfully done, so much so that I seriously felt that they were the same person evolving. IU, who previously starred in Hotel del Luna and My Mister, delivers what is possibly her most authentic performance here. She invests Ae-sun with a warm presence early on – stubborn, smart, and full of dreams. There is one scene where young Ae-sun recites an original poem in a flower field; IU's eyes glimmer so brightly with such assurance that you understand why this village girl could possibly captivate someone like Gwan-sik. But IU also captures the vulnerability of Ae-sun: the rage outbursts of anger when she's overlooked for something due to class or gender, the mournful silences she suffers after tragedу within her family. Later, when IU steps in to play Ae-sun's adult daughter Geum-myeong in the chronology of the story (an unconventional casting choice that even more surprisingly delivers), it showcases her range all the more. Moon So-ri, picking up the torch as Ae-sun in the final chapters of life, is absolutely phenomenal. She plays older Ae-sun with a gentle dignity and subtle strength that left me speechless. There is one scene where Ae-sun, a grandmother, reads her poetry to a gathering of elderly people – Moon So-ri's voice trembles ever so slightly, conveying decades of repressed longing and contentment at the same time. It was authentic, as if I were watching an actual 70-something woman who had lived life's every up and down. I loved how Ae-sun is not portrayed as a saint; she is merely a good person who commits faults, rebels sometimes, but always loves so deeply. That vulnerability made her feel like a person I might have known in real life, maybe an aunt or a teacher from my childhood. By the last episode of the series, Ae-sun had become one of my all-time favorite K-drama heroines because of her silent strength and unshakable hope.

Yang Gwan-sik is Ae-sun's opposite character, played by Park Bo-gum in his younger years and Park Hae-joon in adulthood. Gwan-sik is the kind of male lead you don't usually come across in romance dramas – he is not a chaebol prince or a snarky bad-boy; he is a humble fisherman's son with a good heart. And yet, he completely stole my heart. Park Bo-gum is famously charming (his appearance in Reply 1988 turned him into a household name as an innocent young man, and there is a nice symmetry to his playing a similarly "good guy" here). Young Gwan-sik is shyness and determination thrown together in such a cute manner by Bo-gum. He gives Gwan-sik a slightly gauche, heartfelt demeanor – the way he gazes at Ae-sun like she hung the moon, or the nervous hesitation in his voice as he first acknowledges, wins you over to his side right from the beginning. One of my favorite early scenes is Gwan-sik bringing a bundle of fresh fish to Ae-sun's family because he had noticed they were struggling – he doesn't say much, but Bo-gum's sweet smile says it all about Gwan-sik's niceness. Park Hae-joon acts the character as he ages (you might be able to place him from The World of the Married, where he acted very differently!). Hae-joon is excellent at capturing Gwan-sik's maturity and obstinacy. He retains a remnant of the youthfulness and gentleness of Gwan-sik even as an older man – a slight hunch to the shoulders, a soft voice when he utters the name of Ae-sun. It's truly touching. With this group of actors, Gwan-sik seems to be decades older and wiser than many men of his generation in the way he cares for his loved ones. While most of the male protagonists on the show (e.g., Ae-sun's former fiancé, Sang-gil) typify the old patriarchal mindset, Gwan-sik is the opposite. He supports Ae-sun's dreams and never tries to control her, keeping his ego in check for love throughout. Gwan-sik might be a quiet-type guy, but in the most subtle of manners – a glance, a pat on Ae-sun's shoulder – you see that loving Ae-sun and his family is life's greatest mission. At the end, Gwan-sik becomes part of my forever favorite drama husbands/dads.

The supporting characters are no exception. Standing out among them is Yang Geum-myeong, the eldest daughter of Ae-sun and Gwan-sik, who's played by IU as well (during Geum-myeong's adult life). Initially, I was worried that this double casting would be confusing, but IU cleverly differentiates the two roles – as Geum-myeong, there is greater worldly confidence and a dash of her father's niceness. Geum-myeong's development, from diligent go-getter to woman educated in the rougher edges of love and self-esteem, is compelling in itself. I especially loved the understated dynamic between Geum-myeong and Ae-sun; mother-daughter, separated by a generation gap, come to blows sometimes (what mother-daughter team doesn't?), but Geum-myeong learns to respect the sacrifices her mom made. There is a moment there where Geum-myeong is bawling to Ae-sun about how she began an online learning company so people like her mom, who could not afford to attend college, could learn without any hassle, and it was such a beautiful payoff to their process. Romantically, Kim Seon-ho is nice in a cameo role as Park Chung-seob, Geum-myeong's quirky artist husband, and his scenes introduce a soft, sweet atmosphere (Seon-ho's own effortless charm shines even in a short cameo, and I wasn't shocked to hear that many viewers wished there were more of him). Lee Jun-young also makes for a great Park Yeong-bum, Geum-myeong's first love – he's affable but a tad naive, and when his story ends, you can feel sad for both him and Geum-myeong.

Why I Loved It

There are countless reasons why When Life Gives You Tangerines captured my heart in full, but I shall start with the most basic: it made me laugh out loud and cry-my-eyes-out, more often than not at the same episode. The ability to strike a balance between humor and tears is something that I particularly appreciate with regard to storytelling, and this drama does it to perfection. One minute, you're giggling at young Ae-sun and Gwan-sik getting into a silly argument (their early romance has some richly comic moments – like Gwan-sik trying to impress Ae-sun by pretending to be more sophisticated than he is, something IU's character immediately spots and teases playfully). Before you know it, you're in tears as they fight against a life-altering test. The emotional rollercoaster never reads as manipulative or tackily overwritten; it reads as earned. Since the show spends so much time creating these characters through mundane day-to-day moments – peeling tangerines, dawn-fishing, noisy banter with the neighbors – you do care that much about their welfare. So when the heavier material arrives (and arrive it does, in that particular way life is prone to serving you curveballs), you feel it in your stomach. I love how Tangerines finds profound meaning in the mundane. There is a scene somewhere in the middle of the series that I believe is one of the most memorable: Ae-sun and Gwan-sik, tired from decades of hardship and heartache, slow dance on their porch under one light bulb, no music but the singing crickets. It's so quiet, such a mundane moment – they're not young and bubbly now, they're in their 50s, bent and worn out – but the love between them in that moment brought me to tears. It's as if the drama condensed the very essence of long-term love into that one dance. I crack up at the little joke Gwan-sik plays in this scene (he steps on Ae-sun's foot and apologizes bashfully, and she laughs that he still hasn't mastered dancing after all those years), and then I just lose it and cry because you can see how much they love each other after all those years. For me, that's love: not the elaborate romantic gestures, but the built-up tapestry of little moments and in-jokes across a lifetime. The fact that the show revolved around things like that is a large part of why I loved it so much.

Another reason why I got drawn in was how realistic and plausible the story seemed, despite taking place over a sort of unbelievable time period. I have to admit, I'm a fan of slice-of-life drama, and When Life Gives You Tangerines is probably the best one I've ever seen in this category. It never produces drama with silly plot twists or extreme villains. Rather, the battles are of far too mundane an origin: money troubles, domestic disagreements, sickness, the pain of watching your children mess up, the sorrow of paths not taken. Watching Ae-sun and Gwan-sik, I was reminded of my own family and stories that I've heard from my grandparents. There were moments that I would catch myself saying to myself, "Oh, my grandma went through something similar," or "My parents would be like that." Such realism is a rarity. Even when I literally could not relate (e.g., I did not live in Korea in the 1960s, of course), the feelings I saw on screen were so genuine that I immediately sympathized. The show does not idealize the past; however, it shows that the "good old days" had travail and discrimination, too. But it also finds humor and warmth in them. And then when life brings them down, I was right there hurting with them. For example, the way the loss of Ae-sun and Gwan-sik's first child (a horrible, sad thing to occur) is so realistic – the grieving process is captured in tasteful, realistic moments (Ae-sun softly folding up the baby's clothes, Gwan-sik rowing out on the sea to cry where no one can find him). It was completely devastating, but it also made subsequent healing and development all the more rewarding to witness. This drama elicited everything from me – I laughed, I cried, I cheered, I even screamed a few times (particularly when a particular snobbish mother-in-law was being horrible to Geum-myeong!). That entire spectrum of emotional experience is something I treasure, and one of the biggest reasons why I fell in love with Tangerines.

Lastly, and I can emphasize this all I want, I just loved the romance of Ae-sun and Gwan-sik. It's possibly one of the most beautiful portrayals of love I've ever seen in any period drama. Their romance had me glued from the start because it felt so naive and natural. Yes, it's a romance – wonderfully so at times – but of a subtle, unflashy kind that we don't normally get to see on television. There's no shower of rose petals or over-the-top declarations with firework formations behind the scenes. We get love in its native form instead: Gwan-sik gently massaging Ae-sun's shoulders after a long, tense day of work, Ae-sun saving the prime piece of fish for Gwan-sik at supper, the two exchanging a knowing glance and stifled guffaw when their kids do something silly. Don't get me wrong, there are also enough swoon moments (their first kiss under that clump of wildflowers – oh my, I giggled and swooned because it was awkward and sweet at the same time, which made it all the more real). But what really convinced me of their love is the deep friendship and respect that it's built on. They genuinely like each other, you know? Even if they fight (and they do disagree, especially during the mid-years when pressure mounts), there's this core of care which is indomitable. One of my favorite romantic scenes is a thoroughly pragmatic one: when they're in a tight financial corner, Ae-sun proposes they do something drastic to eliminate their financial troubles, and Gwan-sik seizes the opportunity to shoulder the burden instead, not because he's a "macho man who must provide," but because he can't abide seeing her in danger. Ae-sun, though, won't let him experience it alone, decreeing they're a team. It's this little back-and-forth, yet it encapsulated for me the reason their love works – they protect each other. The actors and writers did a great job of showing a relationship develop from adolescent foolishness to mature, tried love. By the last episode, when Ae-sun crawls into the hospital bed of Gwan-sik to hold him as he is dying, I felt the entire accumulation of all their years together in that one thing. It ripped my heart up and mended it all at once, if you can picture it. I was devastated at the thought of one of them going on alone, but also intensely reassured that not a moment of their love was ever wasted. That is why I loved this drama: it helped me to believe that love – real, enduring love – is the best thing we can find in this life. And it did so without ever releasing its grip on reality or lowering itself into Candyland. It's a tale of love, a tale for the ages, told in the most sincere language.

My Personal Takaways

Viewing When Life Gives You Tangerines was more than just entertainment for me – it was a deeply reflective experience that left me with some personal lessons.

Firstly, the drama prompted me to consider the lives and sacrifices of my own elders in a new light. Ae-sun and Gwan-sik's story was a love letter to our grandparents' and parents' generation – to the people who lived through eventful times, who had dreams that they could not fulfill perhaps due to circumstances, but who found meaning in taking care of their families. There were moments in the drama that gave me pause to think about my mother's life, or my grandmother's untold stories. The manner in which Geum-myeong starts to value her parents' hardships — after initially taking them for granted, as most of us do when we're younger — strongly resonates with me. I am amazed at how a book rooted in such a specific context – rural mid-20th century Korea – could contain such universal truths about filial piety and parental love. I was reminded by Ae-sun that our mothers had dreams and heartbreaks of their own before we were even born. I saw through Gwan-sik how quietly heroic a father's unwavering presence can be. The structure of "폭싹 속았수다"'s final message – "Thank you for your hard work" rang very personally. I interpreted it as a reminder to be grateful for the individuals who labored to give us the lives we live. It is something that I now carry in my heart when I think about my family's older generation.

Another lesson that I learned was about resilience and happiness in small things. Life is not always easy – and that's something the drama does not flinch from acknowledging. Ae-sun and Gwan-sik go through poverty, loss of child, health crises, setbacks… There were moments when I wondered how they would go on, and moments when even they wished to throw in the towel. But what struck me was the way they always found a reason to smile once more, to move forward. The program depicts this so well: they pick up the pieces of their devastated tangerine grove after a storm and replant; following a family tragedy, they eventually open their home to laughter again via their other child or a welcoming neighbor. It reminded me once again that happiness is a choice – not in any frivolous sense, but in the sense that even when life is cruel, we can still choose to see the light in a loved one's smile or the comfort of a routine. There’s a line where Ae-sun says (paraphrasing) that even when things didn’t turn out as she’d hoped, she kept herself busy with what needed to be done, and in that, she found a sense of peace. That really struck me. In my own life, when I’ve been anxious or disappointed, I’ve sometimes forgotten to appreciate the little daily blessings – a hot meal, a friend’s visit, a beautiful sunset. When Life Gives You Tangerines taught me slowly to cherish those small moments because they add up to a complete life. It reminded me that joy does not always come in big, apparent packages; sometimes it is in the quiet cup of tea Ae-sun enjoys after a tiring day, or how Gwan-sik exhales satisfied when he finally fixes a broken boat engine. I took away a resolve to cultivate that attitude: to focus on the “tangerines” in my own life and turn them into something sweet whenever possible.

The drama also gave me a new perspective on love and partnership. As someone who watches a lot of romance shows, I’ve seen my fair share of grand passion and dramatic flair on screen. But the relationship of Ae-sun and Gwan-sik taught me that there is something truly beautiful in a slowly and steadily developing love spanning years. It made me reconsider the idea of soulmates or "meant to be." Rather than some divine destiny, the drama tells us that love is a choice – a choice to choose each other every day, through every challenge. I watched these two characters knowingly choose kindness, forgiveness, and encouragement again and again, and something struck me: that is what makes for an epic love story. Not fated occurrences or dramatic reunions (though those may be fun in books), but the accumulation of trust and understanding. There's this one scene near the end of the series where an older Gwan-sik admits that he sometimes feels guilty that Ae-sun wound up marrying him and having such a hard life, and Ae-sun just laughs and says she'd do it all over again because this life they shared was what made it all worthwhile for her. That got to me. My personal takeaway was that shared life, with all its mess, can be the greatest adventure and achievement. It made me think about my own relationships – am I putting into them with that kind of commitment and gratitude? Am I deciding to choose the people I love every day, even when it isn't glamorous or easy? Those are big questions to be raised by a show, but that is the impact that the show had on me. It made me want to love more and not take the people in my life for granted.

Final Verdict and Recommendation!

When Life Gives You Tangerines is a precious gem that's both epic in scope and searingly intimate in its feel. It's the kind of drama that doesn't just entertain you for a couple of hours, but actually gets you reflecting on your own life and your own relationships afterward. In my book, it's a 10/10 because it's faultless on every level: storytelling, acting, cinematography, music, and emotional resonance. It's no surprise to me that the show was critically acclaimed (it even won the Best Drama award at the Baeksang Arts Awards, among others) – but apart from awards, it's the emotional resonance that sets it apart for real. This drama will likely be most suitable for viewers who appreciate thick family dramas, multi-generational fiction, and slow-burn slice-of-life stories.

That said, even if you're a K-drama beginner or otherwise prefer faster-paced narratives, I'd still urge you to try it. There's something universally captivating about this story. It's a romance, yes, but it's also about family, self-discovery, and the bittersweet beauty of time – themes that transcend culture and time. The English title says it all: when life hands you unexpected twists (your "tangerines"), it's your responsibility to make something beautiful of them. This drama shows people doing exactly that, and it's uplifting and heartwarming to behold. Do have some tissues available (I'm not lying, there will be tears), but also be prepared to laugh and to have that warm fuzzy sensation in your chest by the end. Watching When Life Gives You Tangerines was like reading a great book or listening to my grandmother talk about her life on a porch at sunset – it's comforting, eye-opening, and profoundly moving. It is a drama that will linger long after the final credits, and if you're anything like me, might even cause you to look at your own life with new, appreciative eyes.

Final Rating: 10/10

About the Author:

I'm Jophy Lin, a high school junior and researcher. I blog about a variety of topics, such as STEM research, competitions, shows, and my experiences in the scientific community. If you’re interested in research tips, competition insights, drama reviews, personal reflections on STEM opportunities, and other related topics, subscribe to my newsletter to stay updated!