Past Lives: Change and the Choices Destiny Allows

Programmer Venesya Ko ruminates on Past Lives (2023), and the tender manner it portrays the complexities of human relationships over time.

Celine Song’s directorial debut, Past Lives (2023), is a story that spans decades, as we follow Nora (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo), childhood sweethearts who were separated when Nora’s family emigrates from Korea, reuniting after years of missed chances and unspoken words. This honest, bittersweet story, which grapples with the idea of in-yeon (though there is no accurate English translation, the film describes it as “providence” or “fate”) was one of the most beloved movies of 2023, and its recent Academy Award nominations this year, have ignited a resurgence of well-deserved interest and discussion surrounding the film. 

I honestly never thought I’d watch Past Lives again. I loved it the first time, but I was satisfied enough with the ending that I didn’t think it warranted a rewatch. Yet, when I was flying back home during the break, I found myself bored and with nothing to do. I looked through the list of in-flight movies and was surprised that it included Past Lives. Realizing that I had missed the first ten minutes because I was late to the theater for my first viewing, I decided to play the film, curious about the scenes I missed, only to find that I couldn’t stop watching. In its quietly powerful manner, Past Lives crept itself into my mind and did not leave. I think being a semi-autobiographical film inspired by the director’s experiences plays a part in why the characters’ stories feel so real and moving. But beyond that, the movie also contains themes that speak to many of us, even if we’ve never been a Nora, or had a Hae Sung. This is because Past Lives is not so much about an ill-fated romance as it is about identity and change, and how both are almost, always, influenced by the people in our lives. In the film, this idea is explored mostly through all three of its characters – Nora (Greta Lee), Hae Sung (Teo Yoo), and Nora’s husband, Arthur (John Magaro).

I’ve stumbled upon many reviews that express their disbelief as to why Nora and Hae Sung feel such a deep connection with one another despite the years that have passed and because they have moved on with other people. But I think such outlooks disregard the multilayered loss that Nora experienced when she immigrated and lost her life as Na Young. One of the first pieces of herself that she had to surrender for her new life was her name. At the beginning of the film, a young Nora dispassionately chooses an English name, indicating her reluctance to migrate. The choice was never hers. Later, when she reconnects with Hae Sung in their twenties, he asks her if he can call her Na Young, and Nora mentions that nowadays, even her mom doesn’t call her by her Korean name. Her parents’ decision to emigrate their family from Korea has inadvertently resulted in the loss of her name, and in extension, her connection to her Korean identity. This loss is emphasized throughout the film. For instance, we see her consult a piece of paper filled with hangul – the Korean alphabet – when she types out a message to Hae Sung, suggesting an unfamiliarity with the language. Hae Sung himself remarks that Nora’s Korean has gotten rusty, to which Nora explains that she only speaks Korean with her mother and Hae Sung these days. Through these subtle moments, it is evident that Nora has lost so much of her connection to her heritage. Thus, when she says “I miss you,” while gazing sorrowfully at the view of the entirety of Seoul from Hae Sung’s camera, she is not only expressing a longing for her childhood crush, but also for Korea, and her youth (30:09). 

Like Nora, I technically have two names. One is my legal name, the one most people know. The other is my Chinese name, which only the most intimate members of my family use. My mother has called me by my Chinese name all my life, and so even though I am studying abroad and away from home, on bad days, I feel slightly more tethered when I hear it gently spoken through the phone. I cannot imagine if I were to suddenly lose one of my names the way Nora lost hers. And so when her childhood crush revives the name she had identified with for twelve years, that even her own mother no longer uses, it reminds her and us that Hae Sung is more than just her first love: he is also one of the last threads tying her to Korea. Yet, simultaneously, Nora cannot ignore the sacrifices she has made for her new identity to exist, so she leaves.

Hae Sung, who is left behind once again, never gets the closure he needs. Change, the film implies, like destiny, seems to be something that arrives, even if we aren’t ready to accept it yet. And it is perhaps why Hae Sung is always seemingly in denial that Nora is no longer the girl he remembers. This becomes most apparent when he asks her about the prizes she’d like to win, and Nora is taken aback, admitting that she hasn’t “thought of things like that recently” (1:16:36-38). This response marks a difference between the Nora now, and the Na Young he knew back in Korea, who dreamt of winning a Pulitzer, symbolizing that she stopped being that little girl a long time ago. Yet Hae Sung urges her to think of a prize, and when she says a Tony, he laughs and says, “You’re exactly the same as I remember”, satisfied that she’s played along (1:16:56). But the more time he spends with Nora – and later, Arthur – in New York, the more he is forced to understand that the little girl he loved at twelve no longer exists in front of him. The time they share in New York, not only shows us how Nora has changed, but also how Hae Sung has. When they parted for the second time in their twenties, we can infer from Hae Sung’s dismissal of Nora’s apology that he is bitter about her decision to break things off. Yet he doesn’t try anything, he just lets her leave. 

However, the Hae Sung that Nora reunites with later in the film, is not resentful or jealous. Unlike the Hae Sung twelve years prior, he can express his hurt and regrets to Nora about the path they could have taken. But, he can also see how much Nora and Arthur love each other, which he accepts wholly. In a heartfelt scene between the two, Hae Sung even apologizes to Arthur for the pain he has caused and promises to never contact Nora again, finally letting her go. Though it takes him a while, Hae Sung finally comes to accept change. This is visually represented through the parallels between their first and final goodbyes. During their first farewell, Nora stands on the stairs, distantly looking down at Hae Sung in broad daylight. When they part for the last time, the film again cuts to the goodbye they shared in their youth, except this time, it takes place at night and Nora is standing closer to Hae Sung than she originally had. I think the purpose of this scene is to indicate total closure: Hae Sung is no longer frozen at that moment; he finally lets the day come to an end. 

Interestingly, if Hae Sung represents the difficulty of accepting change, Arthur represents how change can enlarge our lives if we accept it. He tells Nora, “You make my life so much bigger”, reflecting how our lives are always unexpectedly being changed and broadened by the people we encounter (1:12:44-48). Isn’t it so weird that at one point in time, our best friends were strangers to us? Our lives would be so different had we never let them in. Without Nora, Arthur might’ve never known what Hwa-Tu – a Korean card game – is, and his favorite dish would probably not be Yukgaejang – a Korean soup-based dish with spicy beef and vegetables. He tells Nora that part of the reason why he decided to learn Korean was so he could understand her better, and it is his continuous attempts to feel closer to her, that allows him access to an entirely different culture and life other than his own. How many choices in our lives are made in the conscious effort to stay in the lives of the people we love? The reality of life is that sometimes you are destined to meet people who choose to walk away, and sometimes destiny is kind and you meet people who choose to stay. In a world where so many things are out of our control, we can only make choices where we can, and accept the result it brings about. 

This idea is again reinforced at the climax of the film, as Hae Sung admits that to Nora that he missed her when they parted ways the second time and asks her if she felt the same. Her reply is instant: of course, she missed him. Perhaps encouraged by her certainty, Hae Sung questions her, his tone accusatory, “But you met your husband then” (1:25:16). Unfazed, Nora simply replies that he “got a girlfriend then too” (1:25:16-18). Their conversation reveals that while remembering someone and missing them is not a choice, everything else, sort of is. Reaching out to each other after twelve years was an effort they made, unprompted by others. Nora’s decision to break off their friendship/relationship was her own, as was Hae Sung’s decision not to fight to maintain it. Being with other people instead of trying to reach out again, was a choice they both made. Hae Sung seems to realize this and apologizes, but Nora only laughs it off and says “It’s okay,” and we realize that it genuinely is (1:25:30). Past Lives acknowledges the sorrow of losing the things and people that made us who we are, but chooses instead to foreground the ordinary beauty of the present we have reached through our choices, rather than the romance of the what-ifs we relinquished. 

Hae Sung and Nora do have in-yeon; it’s just not the kind their twelve-year-old selves had envisioned. Just because the two of them never got a proper chance to date, however, doesn’t mean all the time they spent loving each other was meaningless. As Nora explains, “It’s an in-yeon if two strangers even walk past each other on the street and their clothes accidentally brush, because it means there must have been something between them in their past lives” (43:00-15). And despite the brevity and awkwardness of their meeting, Arthur and Hae Sung end their conversation with, “You and I are in-yeon too,” accepting that through their love for Nora, they were always meant to meet (1:31:07-09). Through the characters’ own reconciliation of what they gave up in the past and what they have in the present, Song delivers the core message of the film: that you don’t have to regret the encounters you have with people, even if it doesn’t end well, or you get nothing out of it. It is meaningful enough that you get to share an experience with someone when there are so many people in this world. Destiny could have led you to meet or be with anyone else, but it didn’t. So the choices you could’ve made on your part — to talk, to stay, to leave, to love — wasn't wasteful. I don’t think anything that involves love or joy at some point or another can ever truly be reduced to waste.