We got home, thankfully.
Alive.
Not just in distance,
but in rhythm.
Days feel repetitive.
Time moves differently.
We stay home because we have to.
And somehow, in the middle of all this uncertainty,
my wife and I found a routine.
We started watching Korean dramas together.
At first, it was just something to do.
A way to pass the time.
A way to sit beside each other
without needing to talk too much.
One episode after dinner.
Another before bed.
Sometimes more,
because tomorrow looks exactly like today.
Slowly, it became our ritual.
We watched strangers fall in love in Crash Landing on You,
build dreams in Itaewon Class,
fight injustice, forgive wounds, and choose hope,
again and again.
And we watched them
together.
On the same couch.
Under the same blanket.
Sharing quiet laughs.
Shared reactions.
Shared silences.
At first, I thought I knew why we kept watching.
The storytelling is cinematic.
The lighting is careful.
The pacing is thoughtful.
Every frame looks like it belongs in a photograph.
Every scene is picturesque.
Every moment feels intentional.
I assumed that was enough.
But slowly, without realizing it,
those stories became our windows.
Windows to places we cannot go.
Lives we cannot touch.
Dreams that still feel possible.
While everything outside feels uncertain,
these stories keep moving.
There is tension.
There is loss.
There is waiting.
But there is also progress.
There are small victories.
There are endings.
And in a season where nothing feels certain,
it helps to be reminded
that things can still move forward.
We do not watch to escape.
We watch to steady ourselves.
To remind each other
that struggle can have meaning.
That patience matters.
That love grows quietly,
in ordinary days.
Some people are learning to bake.
Some are learning new skills.
We are learning how to be still together.
How to be present.
How to enjoy silence.
How to sit beside each other
without distractions.
We are learning that rest is not weakness.
That closeness does not need an occasion.
That hope can be practiced,
even through subtitles.
I do not know how long this season will last.
I do not know when things will feel normal again.
But I know this:
These nights matter.
They are shaping how we slow down.
How we listen.
How we choose each other
even when the world feels unstable.
When life becomes busy again,
I hope we remember this.
The couch.
The quiet.
The shared stories.
Not as something we survived,
but as something we learned from.
A reminder
that even in uncertain times,
we can still build small, steady rituals
that carry us forward.