Chuang Stage, Boston, MA. **** out of 5. The title of Zoë Kim’s world-premiere memories of a Dickensian upbringing, Korean-style, is the catchall phrase by which her mother (her “Umma”) obliquely conveys affection. It’s her “love language,” we’re told, and we each have our own unique way to express feelings. Unfortunately for the young Zoë, the love language of her “Appa” is beatings with a golf club when his daughter fails to memorize enough SAT vocabulary words. Or, in a chilling set-piece, a journey into the desert with her murder seemingly imminent. Kim puts herself (and us) through quite the wringer in 75 minutes of acted-out reminiscence, told in second-person present tense as if to offer the author/performer a smidgin of remove yet with no loss of immediacy. Kim doesn’t prioritize details: She refers to encountering anti-Korean bigotry stateside, but provides no evidence and it’s summarily dropped. For that matter, we’re never quite sure who’s in Korea and who’s in America, or exactly where Kim is going to college to find herself. Then again, the fragility of her emotional state is such that defining the precise US state in which she resides doesn’t really matter. Whatever the actor may lack in vocal range she more than compensates for in physicality; guided by director Chris Yejin and choreographer Christopher Shin, hers is almost a Tai Chi performance of outstretched limbs and gut punches, fully expressive of the churning emotions she shares. Kim eventually pulls herself together with the help of two unexpected loved ones, but in the course of presenting her own “love language” – that is, the play itself – she goes through a good many Kleenex. You should bring your own. Lovely, varied projections by Michi Zaya complement the humor and heartbreak by turns. (Runs through Nov. 30 at the BCA Black Box, 539 Tremont St. www.chuangstage.org. Photo by Maggie Hall.)