I started watching Lena Dunham’s Girls on HBO for the first time after moving into my apartment two years ago. I unpacked boxes and held my new, fuzzy kitten, her skin still smelling of humane society, and loosely paid attention to what I guess I deemed as a less glamorous Sex and the City.

There I was, watching the downpour through my window, stuck in quarantine in the height of the pandemic. I was daydreaming of a summer romance in Cousins Beach, entertaining the idea of camaraderie and burgers at Luke’s Diner, wishing to be as cool as characters in K-Dramas.