Beloved Eun-dong: A 20‑Year Romance Between Memory, Regret and Identity
Introduction
Have you ever carried memory like a secret flame for two decades? In This Is My Love, I was drawn into the vivid ache of a love paused by fate and resurrected by memory. As Ji Eun-ho scribes his autobiography with the hope of finding Eun-dong, every recollection pulses with longing and regret. Watching how identity intertwines with love and loss felt like tracing footsteps in someone else’s past. If you’ve ever wondered whether memory can be more real than presence, this story will haunt you—and comfort you.
Overview
Title: This Is My Love (사랑하는 은동아)
Year: 2015
Genre: Romance, Melodrama, Memory Drama
Main Cast: Joo Jin-mo, Kim Sa-rang, Baek Sung-hyun, Yoon So-hee, Kim Tae-hoon
Episodes: 16
Runtime: ~65 minutes per episode
Streaming Platform: Viki
Overall Story
In 1995, a reckless seventeen-year-old Park Hyun-soo (Joo Jin-mo as older Eun-ho, Park Jin-young and Baek Sung‑hyun younger) meets thirteen-year-old Ji Eun-dong (Lee Ja‑in in youth, Yoon So-hee adult) in a rainy collision that sparks lifelong devotion. Their innocent teen romance blooms until Eun-dong disappears under tragic family circumstances, leaving Hyun-soo haunted by love and absence. The narrative returns in 2015: Hyun‑soo, now celebrated actor Ji Eun‑ho, hires ghostwriter Seo Jung‑eun (Kim Sa‑rang) to help chronicle his search for Eun-dong. As Jung-eun transcribes his memories, Eun-ho relives fragmented identity shaped by regret and obsession, and Jung‑eun begins to feel a connection both uncanny and emotional.
As the ghostwriter peels back layers, Eun-ho revisits key moments: the rain-soaked swings, childhood letters, and moments when identity and love blurred in youth. Each flashback weighs on present emotion—he is not just an actor, but a vessel for lost memory. Jung-eun starts to question whether recounting his story heals him or binds him further. The book project becomes a psychological journey, one where identity is reconstructed through memory, obsession, and longing.
The show explores how memory can distort identity. Eun-ho’s public persona is polished, but private life is hollow: success cannot fill absence. Jung‑eun’s own identity becomes entangled with Eun-dong’s story as she discovers uncanny links between her life and Eun-ho’s memories. She must choose whether to remain observer or rewrite her own path. Their connection raises questions about selfhood when personal history is outsourced to another mind.
Settings shift between rainy teen alleys in the 1990s and sleek modern Seoul in 2015, adding emotional weight to time and memory. Nostalgic locations—old swing sets, childhood homes—contrast with Eun-ho's drafting desk and Jung-eun’s office space. These visual juxtapositions highlight how environments shape identity and remembrance. The rain motif returns again and again, a symbol of cleansing, nostalgia, and erased footprints.
Supporting characters deepen the emotional architecture: Eun-dong’s adoptive family raises her away from Hyun-soo; Jung-eun is tied to the project through ties to Eun-dong’s past. Choi Jae-ho (Kim Tae-hoon) and Jo Seo-ryung (Kim Yoo-ri) provide context to societal expectations and family legacy. Their presence emphasizes how identity is influenced by society as much as personal bond. As layers peel back, the question remains: can identity survive when rooted in someone else’s memory?
The structure is deliberate: alternating past romance, mid-life longing, and present narration. Each episode layers regret and creative ambition as themes—Eun-ho’s ambition to reconnect drives the emotional tension. Jung‑eun’s empathy grows alongside confusion and whether telling this story is healing or haunting. Emotional intimacy is built not through drama but through confession, reflection, and shared silence.
In its final arc, memories converge with reality when Eun-dong reappears in Eun-ho’s life through Jung‑eun’s work. Choices must be made: resume a love paused, or accept identity shaped by loss? The ending asks whether love is about presence or memory, closure or continuity. It doesn’t offer easy resolution—but it leaves identity grounded in authenticity rather than illusion.
Highlight Moments / Key Episodes
Episode 1: A teenage Hyun‑soo meets Eun‑dong in the rain—setting in motion a 20‑year emotional trajectory tied to memory and identity.
Episode 5: Eun-ho recalls the moment Eun‑dong vanished—his grief becomes a public obsession and Jung-eun feels the weight of narrating pain.
Episode 8: Jung‑eun discovers her own resemblance to Eun‑dong—blurring lines of identity and author versus subject.
Episode 12: Eun-ho narrates a childhood scene to Jung‑eun, and emotion fractures when memory fails him mid-story.
Episode 16: Eun‑ho reads the final chapter of his autobiography—memory, identity, and hope collide in a quiet reckoning.
Memorable Lines
"I believed if I found you, I could become myself." – Ji Eun‑ho, Episode 5 An admission that identity was constructed around memory—and healing depends on reconnection.
"Your story felt like mine—and part of me feared forgetting who I was." – Seo Jung‑eun, Episode 8 Revealing how adopting another’s past can threaten one’s sense of self.
"Sometimes absence is the loudest confession of love." – Ji Eun‑ho, Episode 3 A poetic articulation of regret and longing as identity‑shaping forces.
"Memory doesn’t preserve—you rewrite it every time you recall." – Seo Jung‑eun, Episode 10 A reflection on how creative ambition and regret reshape past identity.
"I’m not chasing her—I’m chasing the person I became when I loved her." – Ji Eun‑ho, Episode 14 Demonstrating that love's imprint can become central to self‑definition.
Why It’s Special
What Is My Love stands out for the raw devotion it portrays, turning a two‑decade pursuit into an exploration of identity shaped by memory, regret, and unwavering longing. Unlike typical melodramas, the emotional intensity builds through silence, rain-soaked recollections, and the weight of unspoken obsession. Joo Jin‑mo anchors the narrative with a performance of quiet desperation—his mature anguish contrasts with younger versions, revealing an identity molded by loss. Kim Sa‑rang as Seo Jung‑eun channels restraint becoming revelation: her discovery of uncanny echoes with Eun‑dong unsettles both characters and the audience. Together, their chemistry becomes a study in identity collision rather than romantic idealism.
The writing stays grounded in the psychology of memory. Eun‑ho’s search is not fantasy—it’s a compulsion carried by guilt, creative ambition, and the hope of reunion. Jung‑eun’s inner conflict deepens when she realizes she may be filling Eun‑dong’s narrative rather than charting her own. Each dialogue becomes a negotiation between rewriting the past and claiming emotional autonomy. This blend of regret and creative ambition transforms obsession into emotional architecture.
Visual symbolism is central: recurring rain scenes underline how absence washes identity away and leaves only longing. Nostalgic youth flashbacks in muted tones contrast with vivid present‑day Seoul, emphasizing memory’s distortion. Settings—old swings, orphanage halls, Eun‑ho’s writing desk—become emotional tabernacles. Cinematography uses lingering silences and static frames to evoke identity caught between past and present.
The ensemble cast deepens context: child actors for teenage Eun‑ho and Eun‑dong capture innocent beginnings, then grow into Joo Jin‑mo’s fervent adult portrayal and Yoon So‑hee’s cautious introspection. Supporting roles—like Kim Tae‑hoon’s Choi Jae‑ho and Kim Yoo‑ri’s Jo Seo‑ryung—illustrate social expectations, familial interference, and how identity is often shaped by others’ decisions. Together, they ground the drama in cultural and emotional realism.
The pacing may feel slow to some viewers, but each pause serves emotional layering. Rather than a gap‑filling reunion, the process of rediscovery unfolds deliberately: the buildup of regret gives space for identity shifts. Storytelling avoids cliché: there’s no easy resolution, but rather a reflective journey-minded approach. Viewers are invited into the protagonist’s mental landscape—into the inner work of forgiveness and identity rebuilding.
The OST reinforces themes, with gentle melodies accompanying rain-tinged memories and climactic storms echoing inner despair. Music cues act as emotional punctuation during reenactments of first love. The sound design—ambient, restrained, personally resonant—allows performances to breathe: small sighs, half-spoken lines, and unspoken longing shape emotional realism.
Ultimately, This Is My Love is not about the triumph of romance—it’s about the triumph of identity reclaimed through memory. It reveals how loving someone young can imprint so deeply that a person’s adult self revolves around that imprint. Yet the true resolution lies not in reunion, but in choosing selfhood beyond longing.
Popularity & Reception
Though ratings hovered modestly around 1–2 % on JTBC, audiences and reviewers praised the drama’s emotional realism and heartfelt sincerity. Fans on blogs and discussion boards often described it as “pure love story” and enduring even years later :contentReference[oaicite:0]{index=0}. Joo Jin‑mo’s portrayal of obsession defined intense love for many, with viewers calling his scenes “mesmerizing” and “soul‑bearing”.
International viewers on Viki called it an “emotional classic” and rated it highly for its poetic pacing and depth of feeling. Reviewers consistently noted that the cast brought depth to a story otherwise vulnerable to melodrama clichés. Kim Sa‑rang’s performance divided opinions—but many appreciated how her restraint added realism to Jung‑eun’s inner struggle.
The narrative’s nostalgic structure and retro themes earned it a cult following among fans of vintage-style romance. Profiles noted that the rain motifs, memory flashbacks, and unwavering devotion echo classic Hallyu melodramas. Enthusiasts repeatedly cited its ending line—"I’ll make you breakfast for the rest of your life"—as iconic closure that lingers emotionally.
Industry recognition included nominations at the 8th Korea Drama Awards and 4th APAN Star Awards for Kim Sa‑rang as Best Actress in a Miniseries—even without a mainstream audience, the drama’s artistry earned critical attention .
Today it’s often recommended alongside slower-paced, emotionally grounded dramas such as “On the Way to the Airport” and “Uncontrollably Fond”—favoring introspection over spectacle. Its reputation continues to grow among viewers who value emotional authenticity over plot-driven drama.
Cast & Fun Facts
Joo Jin‑mo plays both young and adult Eun‑ho, anchoring the drama with a performance steeped in longing. He reportedly studied real-life stories of enduring love and absence to internalize the character’s obsession. Known for roles in “King and the Clown” and “The Last Emperor,” he brings emotional gravitas that elevates the drama’s reflective tone.
In interviews, he noted that filming many rain scenes required physical endurance—and that emotional authenticity came from freezing on set with actors soaked through. That commitment added realism to scenes symbolic of cleansing and remembrance.
Kim Sa‑rang portrayed both the ghostwriter Jung‑eun and the memory of Eun‑dong. She trained extensively in character duality—reflecting her character’s transformation from silent observer to internal participant. Her performance earned awards nominations and emotional praise for its layered subtlety.
Yoon So‑hee plays the 20‑something Eun‑dong whose brief reunion with Eun‑ho sets the emotional arc. She brought a soft sincerity to flashback moments, and fans appreciated how she balanced nostalgia with self-possession.
Baek Sung‑hyun portrays young Eun‑ho and captures teenage devotion with natural warmth. His chemistry with Lee Ja‑in (young Eun‑dong) helped set the emotional foundations that adult story builds upon.
Kim Tae‑hoon as Choi Jae‑ho and Kim Yoo‑ri as Jo Seo‑ryung portray familial interference and social judgment. Their subplots remind viewers how identity is shaped not only by love, but by external pressures and expectations.
Director Lee Tae‑gon and Kim Jae‑hong focused on nostalgic visuals, rain motifs, and memory symbolism. Writer Baek Mi‑kyung—who later wrote emotional hits like “Misty” and “Childless Comfort”—developed the script over years, incorporating real stories of separation and forced disappearance.
Fun fact: the series reused actual locations from classic Hallyu romances and deliberately filmed rainy flashback scenes at the same alleys used in early 2000s dramas. Fans recognized this homage and called it “nostalgic time travel.”
Conclusion / Warm Reminders
This is not a sweeping romance—it’s a journey through memory, regret, and identity reconstruction. This Is My Love teaches that sometimes true love is not reunion but reclamation of self. It reminds us that identity loses shape when shaped by another—and that reclaiming it may demand letting go.
If you’ve ever defined yourself by a relationship that ended, or held onto longing as identity, this drama will touch something deep—offering reflection rather than escapism. Its deliberate pacing and emotional realism make it ideal for viewers searching for storytelling rooted in memory and healing rather than spectacle.
Themes like identity, memory, regret, and creative ambition weave through every scene—not as labels, but as emotional texture. This drama lingers long after the last frame, demanding that we ask: who are we when love fades—and who remain after?
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