Of course, for anyone who upturns an entire universe, he would know what the outcome is, and what it really feels like. However, there seems to be a great amount of people who could achieve this without failure, without having to resort to such direct methods that hurts not only me, but to a large extent, her.
I grew to hate them. I had always disliked people who seemingly have no difficulty with this business. Out of jealousy, perhaps, but more prominently, out of the disconnection between me and them. It certainly feels that they are a different race of humans altogether, or, even, that I am the weird human, the mutation that should not have existed at all.
I had to say I expected nothing from this ordeal. I was simply set into motion when I realized that I could not bear the sight of her "interacting with others extensively", so to speak (I am such an evil being). The rational voice is completely muted by pure desire to possess, that I decided that this is the end of all uncertainty, that I must find out what the truth is.
How could one be disappointed when one expected nothing? This is a question I cannot answer. The most logical explanation would be that I had some expectation. I told myself to not care, but evidently that is a premise I violated blatantly. I would not put myself into such an outlandish situation, so uncharacteristic of my normal self, that would warrant words that could severely hurt someone. The truth is, I like her, and I would never do such a thing to someone I like.
Two weeks and counting have passed since, but it felt like an eternity, to put into cliched terms. Indeed, these kinds of situations are so often depicted in the media: A character, rather obtuse and foolish, seeks someone whom they love, and of course fails completely and miserably. We all laugh at these kinds of shows, thinking that there is no way a reasonable human would act like that.
Turns out I am quite foolish indeed.
I had come to terms that no one possibly gives a damn about my sadness. Humans abhor sadness, since it hinders their thoughts and actions, and is rather contagious in fact. They do not want to fall into melancholy, so being depressed is not considered a professional behaviour, not what a well behaved human should do. But there is a definite piece of me that is missing after this ordeal, and, whenever the gales of Cambridge starts to hit me, the gap widens, an endless chasm of nothingness opens up.
I wanted to cry, but no tears would come out. I suppose this is such a laughable matter that even my body would say it is not worth producing tears for.
But that is enough of me. This post will not be shared, and to those who stumble upon this, thank you for reading through. I know that I am pathetic, and I really deserve not much sympathy from having this selfish desire, but this is part of who I am, as a naive child stuck in time. This is the Hyde to the Jekyll you perhaps think I am.
And if you are reading, by some inconceivable chance,
Sorry. Since we may never meet again, I wish you a happy and successful life ahead.
"While I gazed, this fissure rapidly widened—there came a fierce breath of the whirlwind—the entire orb of the satellite burst at once upon my sight—my brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder—there was a long tumultuous shouting sound like the voice of a thousand waters—and the deep and dank tarn at my feet closed sullenly and silently over the fragments of the “House of Usher.”
There is a great emphasis on rationality in the study of almost every subject. Needless to say, the scientific method demands absolute rationality in the collection, processing and interpretation of results. Many disciplines have since adopted this successful protocol. Perhaps quite surprisingly though, I find that "art" subjects such as literature and music demanding a certain degree of reason, particularly in the interpretation and analysis of works, which, arguably, is the biggest component of the effort spent in the study or research within these fields.
A person who has a damaged faculty for reason is thus considered insane. Edgar Allan Poe describes this fact quite well in his short story The Fall of the House of Usher, where he details the downfall of Roderick Usher's sanity, using parallels to the slow collapse of his house. As hard as Usher tries to contain the secret of his sister's burial, he eventually is overcome by his subconscious guilt and loses his ability to control himself as his emotions flood out uncontrollably. The most memorable things that retained in my mind about this story, ever since I took an exam on it about one and a half years ago, is the ample imagery and rich atmosphere that gives a clear and unmistakable image of a haunted mansion. With the sickly residents and the dreary weather, it makes any living thing lose its will to live. To sum the "message" of the story up, I guess it is best to say that Poe is telling us that the loss of control over our emotions is a bad thing, certainly an unpleasant sight to most. (Wildly bastardizing the story here on multiple levels. Sorry Ms. Jessup)
When we look at the average human being, then, we know that they are not insane, simply because they exhibit traits of rationality. They interact with others with an aim in mind, and expect a reasonably apt response. In a sense, what we encounter on a day to day basis is quite ordinary, hence the enticement of adventure to some. And by ordinary, I mean rational, clearly tractable lines of thought that emanate from purpose, with style or method that conveys meaning, and anticipates reactions. All is rational. Yet, is rationality and irrationality so clearly distinguished from each other? Could it be that there are indispensable propensities for human to act so irrational? After all, throughout history, people who have contributed to the fine arts or literature are considered, for lack of a better word, heroic. Their works, however, could really barely be called rational: Most often full of symbolism and enigmas, or straight up stream-of-conscious journeys into their minds. Bar a few, we know that authors and artists are members of the society as well. What then drives some to act so irrational, yet still avoiding insanity?
For me, it is affection, also known as, probably, love. I hesitate because I, for one, know nothing of this mysterious feeling, despite claiming to like stories of romance (as I explained earlier, I like romance stories and shows simply because they show a less dark side of humanity. More in previous posts). The past week had me quite literally splitting into two: A rational me, and an irrational me, arguing whether confession is a good idea. Of course, the irrational self is more than willing: It craves attention, someone that could give me warmth in this world of cold reason and never ending labour. The rational self, however, actually also wishes to remove the uncertainty and, more importantly, the role of irrationality who is simply impeding all my work. It reached a conclusion: Just do it to get it over with.
Note how rationality agrees with irrationality here. This had me spinning in circles, wondering what went wrong.
There could be nothing wrong at all: This is indeed what I wanted, and is what I got eventually. However, there is also the possibility that everything is wrong here, that there is something my brain or body could not really comprehend: Is it really affection, or simply infatuation? I do not wish to hurt someone I like. How would she react? What would she actually think of me as a person if I decide to break the silence? These are all questions I could not find an answer, and, well, while some are answered empirically, some remain as mysteries forever.
After being taught in the scientific mindset for such an extended period of my life, I had considered myself a very rational person, that emotions are simply bursts of unnecessary anomalies in thought. But, perhaps this is another pair of duality I have discovered. This time, it exceeds beyond the fact the irrationality must exist to let rationality shine. It simply is another totally dominant system of thought, and could even be thought of as the driving force of rationality, who takes the back seat to the vessel of thought.
I eventually reached a decision. Whether it was a bad one or not, I do not care. What is more important is that I realize that when my rational self and irrational self agree, there is no stopping of an action. This is why the world is interesting, I suppose. After all, how boring is a world full of perfect decision makers! [1]
ED Discussion 8: Bakemonogatari ED, Kimino Shiranai Monogatari [2]
"Since when I wonder, Have I been chasing after you? Somehow, please, Don't be surprised and listen to these feelings of mine."
Since when, I do wonder, have I become so emotional? Indeed, truthfully, I have had some fantasies that could be classified as infatuation, but this time there is no mistake that an unprecedented wave of emotions hit me. The boundary between reality and dream blurred, as I barely rested over the past weeks over this... feeling.
This is perhaps, stretching the definitions a bit, somehow what it feels like to exist in the world of the Monogatari series. After all, the art style points towards a very dreary world, full of fantasy. We never see any other person except the main characters, and the surroundings are simply blended into a surreal world, with actual words representing objects, repetitive imagery of the same monotonous symbols over and over again (to good effect), where magical powers exist but are not questioned at all, and mysteries are resolved in the most bizarre fashion, by being wished away it seems. The visuals of this ED extends such technique to a world sketched by an artist, further driving in the effect of the dreamlike portrayal of the world.
The girl with her hands open, featured prominently in the ED, is most likely Hitagi Senjougahara, which essentially resonates perfectly to the story of episode 12.
"That's all I have. Being able to help you study, a cute junior and a brusque father. And this starry sky. That's all I have."
And of course, with her hands open, she is showing all she had to offer. Nothing sophisticated, flashy or particularly surprising. Is this truly what love manifests as? It seems so simple, yet the intricacy and force behind such sentiment is immense, enough to delude and corrupt. On one extreme, we have stories such as Miki Sayaka's, while on the other end is this seemingly simple occurrence. After all, emotions are subjective, by definition. They only affect directly those who feel it. For some, it may be a commonplace feeling. Yet, for some it is enough to take the all life out of a walking body.
I am glad I have yet to turn into Sayaka, or Nadeko. But I could not stop wondering whether I am treading the path of these characters, the stories of which are blatant warnings. This wound (for which I inflicted upon myself) will probably take a long time to heal. Or it may never at all, in which case I will never be able to get out of this trap I have set for myself. In any case, I am going to take solace in the fact that I am most likely not alone in this fight against the fundamental flaw of humans.
It is about time to wake up.
[1]: I have been jumping out of the distant stories of "him" and the deliberately obscured symbol-filled narrative style and started to talk about me as an actual person. That is to say, I feel that my emotions are becoming more and more concrete as I age. Is this a natural thing? Is it a good direction to head to? We will have to see.
[2]: I feel that I need to remind everyone that this section is not a review, nor an analysis, but a reflection, or discussion, as you may prefer.
