Some streaming shows are easily forgettable for me. I enjoy watching an episode, but then it's out of my mind, pretty much. There's nothing truly meaningful that sticks with me.
Pachinko, on Apple TV, isn't like that. My wife and I find the series deeply meaningful. It's a tale of a Korean immigrant family that spans four generations. The depth of feeling in almost every scene is amazing.
Strong emotions seemingly would be difficult to take when they're so ubiquitous. Actually, I'm finding that the opposite is the case. The emotions displayed by the talented cast, who don't even appear to be acting, because the show is so realistic, make for marvelous TV watching, being so truthful.
Love. Hate. Fear. Hope. Despair. Joy. Warmth. Every episode is filled with a litany of feelings that capture my attention as I realize, "I've felt that way myself, even though otherwise I have little in common with these characters."
I can't stop thinking about a simple bit of dialog in an episode where Sunja, a young woman who has left Korea in the early 1930s to accompany her husband to Japan, is feeling homesick after a few weeks in an unfamiliar country where Koreans are looked down upon.
Sunja asks a female relative who has been in Japan for quite a while, "When does it get better?" Meaning, the feeling of not belonging. The response: "It doesn't." At least, that's my memory of the dialog, which I've gotten mostly correct, even if not perfectly remembered.
There's so much to digest in those seven simple words. When does it get better? It doesn't.
The way I see it, this is what life is all about. Sure, for most of us there's much pleasure in life. But there's also much pain, much dissatisfaction, much suffering, as the Buddha famously taught. For most of my 75 years, I've been wondering when life gets better.
It doesn't is my conclusion now also.
Sure, there's ups and downs, just as there is in Sunja's life. Yet an undercurrent of not-good lurks within every experience. Obviously, when an experience is unwelcome. Hidden, yet present, when an experience is welcome, since we come to learn that as good as things are now, it won't be long before that goodness is replaced with not-good.
During my religiously-minded days I felt there was something wrong with me when I was in the grip of a negative emotion such as anger, which the teaching I embraced back then viewed as a bad thing that needed replacing with positive emotions like love, peace of mind, forgiveness, and such.
It's refreshing to have realized that this sort of fundamentalism isn't realistic or desirable for most people, including me.
Now I enjoy watching shows like Pachinko where ordinary people are shown living their ordinary lives, experiencing their ordinary emotions truthfully and openly, no matter what the emotion may be. Sunja and other members of her family don't wallow in despair when they're feeling down.
They feel that feeling even as they're doing what needs to be done to make their imperfect lives as pleasant as possible.
I love how the characters in Pachinko find pleasure in small things. Since the Koreans in the early generations of the family had very little in the way of material possessions, a bowl of white rice (rather than another grain) was a great gift -- since the Japanese occupiers were keeping white rice for themselves.
A watch, or a single pearl, these were riches to those who were materially poor, though wealthy in regard to their family loyalty and closeness to each other.
Watching the show reminds me that an honest display of sadness is hugely preferable to an insincere display of happiness. Being genuine, whatever that entails, is better than being fake.
"During my religiously-minded days I felt there was something wrong with me when I was in the grip of a negative emotion such as anger, which the teaching I embraced back then viewed as a bad thing that needed replacing with positive emotions like love, peace of mind, forgiveness, and such."
I get what you're saying in this essay, and I agree that emotional honesty is a wholesome thing. But I can't agree there's anything of value in actual anger. I don't believe this because of religious fundamentalism, but through my own life experience. I can't think of one instance in my not quite as long as yours but pretty close life where my acting with anger resulted in a positive outcome to myself or others. Or mulling on angry thoughts led to anything good. I've found instead that anger in all its guises is an absolute poison to my or others' wellbeing.
A couple of weeks ago I was being "genuine" when dealing with a fellow library patron who'd tied her dog up at said library's entrance. After the dog lunged at me, I expressed my genuine feelings. It felt wonderful for a second, but as with all similar episodes, my moment of triumph was short-lived. I spent the rest of the day ruing my loss of self-control.
The Buddha too called anger a poison. So again, while I get what you're saying here (it brings to mind a stay in Satchidananda ashram, where everyone spoke in a sing-songy chipper false positivity that I found as fake as Disneyland), I think religions have much to teach us about the real perils of giving into our emotions.
Posted by: sant64 | June 26, 2024 at 11:27 AM