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.
"[H]e placed his hands on the desk and took one long, slow breath–'what I would like to do for a lovely young fairy such as you is to grant a wish you might have, to make your wish come true. Anything. Anything at all that you wish for–assuming that you do have such a wish.' "
Do you have a wish?
Most people do. Even if you are not willing to admit it easily, you secretly wish to alter something about this world. The world is filled to its brim with imperfections, misfortune, disagreement and tragedy that there must be something which, in anyone's eyes, would need improvement. It is the nature of humans to seek betterment, and wish-granting offers a shortcut from objective to results without resorting to the often overly complicated, arduous or simply impossible methods and steps to achievement. Thus, wish-granting is often considered a miracle, perhaps wished upon by many to be true in itself.
The beginning of this post features a quote from Birthday Girl, a short story by Haruki Murakami (numerous other quotes in previous posts here are from his short stories). The story revolves around a waitress girl, working part-time, and definitely not out of ordinary. She does not even have a name, as with many of the characters in Murakami's short stories. She probably represents any average person we know, or any stranger on the street. One day, the manager who takes care of the boss, residing in an office on top of the restaurant, was sick, and the waitress was called to deliver food to the boss. Perhaps surprised by the extra-ordinary arrangement, the boss invited the waitress into the office. Upon hearing that the waitress had her twentieth birthday on that day, he granted the waitress a present, a wish.
Perhaps, in an ordinary story, the focus would be put on whatever the waitress wished. After all, a wish is an instant method to gratification, as mentioned above, and an opportunity to make an arbitrary wish can possibly be the highlight of one's life, forever altering the course of one's fate and fortune. It could, to stretch it a bit, be a prime opportunity for humans to, for once, outsmart fate herself. So, what did the waitress wish for?
It seems that we would never know, because Murakami never tells us. It is simply revealed that it is not something a normal girl of her age would wish for. When her friend and she reminisced about this later in the story, it was also told that the wish takes time to come true. Other than these pieces of information, nothing concrete about the wish itself was described. And, though the waitress herself confessed that she was not taking the wish totally seriously, and that wish-granting is quite out of the premise of the realistic setting of the story, it is plausible that the wish was actually granted, since it is characteristic for Murakami's story to, in quite cliched words, "bring out the supernatural out of the natural".
So, was this a bad story? I had an inclination to this judgment, with the story being quite unfocused and blurry in its main message, until I read the last line:
"That's because you've already made your wish." said the waitress.
This was the response to her friend, who, when asked about how she would have made her decision in the waitress' place back in the boss' office, said she "can't think of anything". Thus, the "wish", under Murakami's pen, suddenly disappeared under everyone's close scrutiny to find out its true identity. Softly and thinly, it blended into the air, like the fading fragrance of perfume as the lady leaves. What is Murakami trying to say here, then?
Wish-granting, being the stuff of fantasy, is no stranger to anime, a rather fantastical genre. In Bakemonogatari by Nisio Isin, the Suruga Monkey arc features Kanbaru Suruga, a rather normal schoolgirl to start with. Being ridiculed by her inability to run fast in sports classes, she wished upon the monkey hand that her mother gave to her to be the fastest runner, and thus win a race against her classmates. In the end, she did win the race, but not the way she intended: She ended up being possessed by a "rainy devil", that assaulted other competitors during the night before the race. The new competitors were not as competent, but she was so guilty of the incident that she actually put effort into improving her speed. The rainy devil manifested itself again when Kanbaru was (subconsciously, or not) infatuated with Senjougahara, and saw Araragi as her rival.
One could dismiss this as the devil twisting the aspirations and dreams of people, being a Dionysian character after all by definition. Yet, Isin pointed us towards another viewpoint: that wishes themselves are inherently evil. After all, to fulfill a wish means a satisfaction of a certain condition that benefits a certain individual, from the said individual's viewpoint. What might be considered optimal for one person may vastly differ from others. More importantly, since humans are most connected with themselves, barring extreme cases, there is no other way to make a wish without a degree of greed and selfishness. To wish for a jackpot means to deprive it from the original "rightful" winner; to wish for a place in a prestigious university means to snatch it away from someone more capable and more deserving than you are. Running along the same thread, to wish for a victory in a race means to remove the possibility of others winning the race. What many might think is, idealistically, that the wisher would suddenly gain immense ability and win the race with such ability. Yet, this is not the wish: Kanbaru did not really wish for her to be fast; she wished for her be the fastest. In other words, if others were slowed down by some unfortunate incident, her wish would be granted. And how would you guarantee that she indeed wished for the former?
Perhaps this is why when a lot of people make a wish, say a birthday wish, they would wish for general, and rather all-encompassing wishes: World peace, healthy life (even with no apparent risk of sickness). I used to think that these wishes are quite meaningless, and is a huge waste of an opportunity to express for want of something: In any case, world peace might differ from person to person, and I do not foresee myself having any major illness any time soon. They might as well be branded as mannerisms, along with the countless other meaningless expressions that constitute the deadweight of language. However, after some thought, the only wish that one can possibly make without falling into the paradox above is to wish for nothing, for the world to stay the same as it is, to continue its path along the cosmos as it is intended to. After all, all wishes are either not a good idea, or malicious to others. Daily misfortunes are but another dot in the never ending timeline that the universe treads through, slowly but surely. Altering such path would just be foolish, leading to equally as many unfortunate outcomes, if not more. Rather fatalistic, but quite true.
OP Discussion 7: Bakemonogatari "Mayoi Snail" OP, Kaerimichi "Let's join our hands and return.
Together, let's return home.
I'm sure our destination is always there,
And with you, I'll discover it."
There is something about this show that is so enchanting, even though its plot is not very apparent at times and the animation is, should I say, alternative and unconventional. On one hand, it fits in some messages about the nature of humanity that leaves a lasting mark, while on the other hand it also unabashedly displays fan service of all characters. It is a digitally produced medium, specifically an anime, a medium which harnesses the power of novelty and fantasy, yet it stylizes itself as something like a staged performance, a play, with deliberate references to conventions of the genre (title cards, scripts, overabundance of dialogues and still shots etc.) and even employs real life shots occasionally. The feast of contradictions, however, did not cause cacophony, but rather amplifies the refreshing nature of this show, making it ever more attractive.
Anyway, there is also an abundance of OPs in this series. I picked this one up because of how much it initially resonated within me, and also how it, upon closer examination, brings up even more to think about. Hachikuji Mayoi (in Bakemonogatari at least) has only one simple wish: To return to her home. And indeed, the title of her theme reflects this clearly (Kaerimichi (帰り道) = path to home). However, the matter complicates as Araragi tries to help her, assuming she is just a lost child: Firstly, the destination is deliberately obscured from the viewers. Second, no matter how they dwell through the town, they could not find the address and the corresponding house that Hachikuji describes. What seems like a simple task of going home turns out to be another mystery that Araragi has to solve.
The feeling of returning home is something to behold. Upon returning home, I know that I have reached my destination, that I am free from the gazes of the public, that I can relax and gather my thoughts of what happened during the day. It is a relief from uncertainty, a sentiment that could be described as the diametric opposite of fear. Perhaps I have the mentality of a grade school student in this aspect, but going home is an important part of my day, which is probably why I do not like traveling. Being an international student simply boosts this feeling of homesickness to the extreme and, upon hearing this song, a strange feeling of acceptance and identification swept over me. At the end of the day, through the stresses of expectations and judgments, I only have a simple wish: My tummy is growling, let's go home.
The closer examination comes in the department of visuals for this OP. Maybe I am not very astute in my analysis initially, but the only character present in this OP is Hachikuji. Her schoolmates are herself, the teacher is herself, even the crying lost child that she "saves" is herself. Despite the cheerful and innocent tone of the song, the realization of this fact gave an overwhelming sense of loneliness. This could all as well be her own imagination: The fun times she had in school, the shenanigans with her friends, and having someone appear from the skies to save her from her plight. Indeed, being lost is the loneliest feeling: even the inanimate town, the buildings, the roads are conspiring against you. Nonetheless, the contrast between the audio, the surface of the visual (the fun times of her day) and the deeper layer of the visuals (her helplessness) brings up a spring of optimism, that even if the odds are against you, that even if everything seems to be going wrong, at the end of the day, it would be possible to return, that all roundabouts and detours will resolve themselves and yield a path to home.
" 'Like' and 'don't dislike' are millions of light-years apart, you know."
When my piano teacher told me I liked music, I was genuinely surprised.
First of all, having someone tell you what you really like is already a deviation from the norm. Supposedly, the person who knows me the best should really be myself. To have someone telling me what I like is probably considered a failure on my part by many, especially in this competitive globalized world where talent must not only be possessed but also presented aptly. Secondly, the statement comes off very strange to me since no one has mentioned it before. It is hard to get me interested in something, as I have figured out these years, let alone like something and actively display traits of an enthusiast subconsciously.
Throughout my earlier years, music has been rather like a burden. It was not that I despised music, somehow like a typical over-stressed Asian child under the influence of their parents would say, or how Kousei would cry in front of his mother in Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso. My parents put much greater emphasis on academics than extra-curriculars, which perhaps saved my already desolate interest in music slightly. Yet, I was more than glad when I got my grade 8 certification in violin, meaning that I do not have to partake in this extremely paranoia-inducing process of musical exams. The same feeling was produced when I was emancipated from the grasps of the primary school orchestra and, to some extent, the Chinese orchestra that plagued my time in junior secondary (cf. The Missing Beat). Many might think that because I study science and do relatively well academically, I must be very organized and determined. In fact it turns out I am quite impulsive and prone to giving up unless I am forced to stay in a particular activity, during which I will begrudgingly drag myself on, but that would fall wide of the area in which one would consider someone "interested in what he is doing".
To this apparent paradox, I turned towards the very root of the problem: What does it mean for someone to "like" something? First and foremost, it is important to distinguish between liking something and liking someone, a topic I do not wish to discuss at length here. However, there are some significant similarities between these concepts, some of which might appear here or in future posts.
It is often the case that when someone claims that he likes something, and keeps talking about it with flashy facts and dazzling enthusiasm, he would appear to be rather ill-informed and possibly will be ridiculed by real experts in the field. Indeed, some consider "liking" something to be fully encompassing the attractive aspects as well as the boring and tedious aspects of the thing of interest. This would not be a bad description of liking, somehow mirroring the commitment required for "loving" someone, and coincidentally would quite definitely put me in the camp of "not really liking music", since all I had in mind was to pursue music as a side hobby and not devote my entire attention to it (or even, the majority of my attention). I only wanted to be able to play something to entertain myself, not endure the hard practice to be an absolute expert.
You might be able to sense something wrong with the last sentences of the last paragraph already. If "liking" something means to be able to put up with the nastier attributes, does a hobbyist like what he is doing? Here, I refer to hobbyist as in someone who is not ready to give up his entire life, somehow opposed to "professional" or "die-hard fan" if you will. There is limited commitment, and the prime reason for this limitation would be, exactly, the unsavoury work that one has to overcome before reaching the results of enjoyment that one seeks in a hobby. This is why the description of hobbyist is often used to contrast that of an expert, because a hobbyist would not be able or willing to put in the efforts to train himself to be an expert. Given that the hard work required to be an expert vanishes, which hobbyist would not want to be one?
It is perhaps because of precisely this that I have been somehow avoiding over-commitment in music (running away, as Shinji would put it). I do not want to go into the circle of people who actually "like" music, as per described above, and find myself sticking out like a sore thumb, unable to fully commit to this cause. Also because of this, I was afraid to admit that I like anything, for fear that someone might have the impression that I am willing to commit my full attention to something, when in fact I am merely a hobbyist, and will come up as a disappointment when I fail to meet their expectations. This is perhaps why the statement that I like music caused such resounding feeling. It turns out that this feeling stems from fear of expectations, perhaps one of the most prevalent feelings in my life so far.
In this world of exhibitionism, a person with no interests, or who "likes" nothing, is often considered a deadweight to the society, since he cannot contribute to anything with his full enthusiasm, and someone more enthusiastic must take up all the hard work behind the eventual results. The hobbyist, therefore, is often deemed a lazy person and would attribute to nothing constructive. Along with the lack of creativity, the lack of interest is one of the things that this world would no longer accept in the face of globalization. Where would be the escape for the hobbyist? This is something I no longer know, and no longer bother to find.
OP Discussion 6: Suzumiya Haruhi no Yuuutsu OP, Bouken Desho Desho?
"The answer is always in my heart"
I suppose that around this time, the time for instrumentality and the Third Impact, I should really be discussing the OP/ED of NGE, but I feel that I have more to say about this piece instead, and after all this is also the OP of the movie (Disappearance), which occurs around the time of Christmas, so I would say that it is an apt and festive choice as well.
The OP starts off with a shooting star, a symbol of wish and fantasy, stuff of legends perhaps. Immediately we are thrown into an atmosphere that is mystical, magical almost, with a hand of god prhaps reaching out to grab Haruhi, who gladly accept the invitation to the mystical realm of the night skies, now brilliant, abreast with hopes and dreams of the supernatural. It mirrors the event which kicked Haruhi into motion, into her eccentric yet relentless search of the extraordinary, the night of the Tanabata detailed in Bamboo Leaf Rhapsody. It could be inferred that the hand is then Kyon's/John Smith's. Regardless, this short segment sets the entire tone of the adventures in the show, just as effectively as it serves as a foil of Kyon's opening monologue.
While a lot of non-action themed OP's serve us still shots of characters, or simply shots where the character is not in a great deal of motion (cf CLANNAD), this is not the case here. Haruhi is rather restless, as one might say, always walking or cheering, being active that is, while characters such as Nagato are not filled with motion at all. Not to mention the various visual cues of the characters' "real identities", the OP is a clear reflection of the characters we can expect in the show.
The most memorable part, and indeed what makes this OP one of my favourites, is from 0:48 onwards. With Haruhi waking through what seems to be the universe of her imagination, and various characters she manifests, it almost seems to revive a part of the innocence lost with these years, bringing back memories of the time when nothing seems to be hindering us from dreaming about impossibilities.
When I say that Haruhi saved me from the darkest moments I had last year around this period, I refer to the energetic optimism displayed in the show, and that is especially well encapsulated in this brief OP. This is why I would say it is this 10-year-old classic which brought me into the world of anime (and becoming a damn weeb).
"Once the mountain of records had disappeared from his house, Tony Takitani was really alone."
1. Seasons
"不以物喜, 不以己悲"
This is what the greats in ancient Chinese think that a truly dutiful and useful person would be: Abstained from emotions based on trivial matters. One of the most trivial matters that almost seems too easy to neglect is the weather, or the ever changing seasons around us. It is so easy to look up at the sky and utter a simple comment: The sky is clear. It is overcast. Bad day isn't it? It is the lowest form of discussion, a filler I suppose, when one fails to find something more meaningful to discuss but don't want to cease the conversation. Since I, as you should all know, am the most banal, seasons and weather do form a great part of my emotional well being. Therefore, I deem it quite strange that this topic has never appeared on this blog, and shall therefore right this anomaly here.
I had always hated spring in Hong Kong. It is perhaps the only season where rain never ceases to fall. Every time I looked up to expect some sunshine, I was greeted by miles and miles of grey misery. Unlike in the UK, rain always falls in torrents, always necessitating an umbrella. The stereotypical reawakening of all things bright and beautiful does not quite occur, for Hong Kong is a tropical city. There is no wilting and hibernation to start with, thus nullifying any meaning in blooming. The temperature is the most awkward, trapped in a limbo of the stifling summer and demoralizing winter. The lukewarm temperature, combined with the barely oxygenated air, makes me feel rather like a dumpling in a basket, ready to be steamed. I can find no motivation to work under this constant horrible weather, and hence this is a season of idling, or as I already remarked in an earlier post, a season of introversion and sorrow. This is accentuated by the fact that, again appealing to stereotypes, spring is a season of love. The sense of helplessness and loneliness simply overwhelms me.
If I say that I hate summer back home, I would be telling only a partial truth. The humidity and suffocating heat originating from spring becomes even worse here, and it is quite impossible to go out without necessitating a shower immediately afterwards. Thanks to air conditioning, all is not lost. Summer is also when my memories of the blue sky are most pronounced. Though horribly hot, the pure sky never ceases to calm me, and for whatever reason, the summer blue sky is the most romantic, allowing me for forget my worries, and imagine that I can relive my childhood without the psychological strains.
Autumn used to be my favourite: The misery of rain fades after the final storm around September, morphing into a crisp dry breeze that doesn't yet feel excessively chilly. The warmth encased within the refreshing air never fails to motivate me for another day of work. There might not be the exciting sight of a thoroughly covered crimson ground of maple leaves. Hong Kong, being the ever-running city, continues to be a rather underwhelming sight. Yet, such scenery does not need to manifest in front of me physically for me to be placed within the appropriate mood.
Recent years of climate change has raised the autumn temperature quite a lot, and I no longer feel the crispness of this wonderful season. In some sense it is regretful for me to have to shift my favourite season to winter, the time where I had to cope with increasing realization of loneliness again. Traditionally this is the case, and it is rather overtly emphasized as people attempt to compensate for this through the abundance of festivities: Christmas, Chinese New Year to say the least. In some cases, the lack of heating in my hometown brings out the momentary warmth when I cuddle up in a thick blanket. Therefore, it is safe to say that there are plenty of romantic traits about winter, despite its threatening to shut our warmth down.
Of course, moving to the UK has changed my perception of seasons quite a bit. However, no matter how long I stay here, or, in the future, wherever I shall wander to, I will be that boring guy who reminisces constantly about the sobering Novembers, the Decembers full of joy and illusions, the lazy summers. It doesn't take much for me to talk about my perception of these ever so common phenomena, and no one can object, doubt or question me for doing so, or my personal thoughts. It is reassuring to know there is something in the world you can talk about with no one being able to challenge or judge you, isn't it?
2. Re-encounter with the pixie fairy and her magic
Recently, he has encountered the pixie fairy that he had tried to forget again.
He has no idea whether this is good news. One thing is certain though: the fairy's charm has not ebbed anyhow: Same refreshing perfume, same luminous figure, same warm words. She is nothing less than perfect, at least to him. This re-encounter probably means nothing to her. He is simply a speck of dust in her life full of colours and joy. It is not that he annoys her, but that he is so insignificant and featureless.
Yet, for him and his grey-smeared life, she is the only colour he sees. Amongst the depressing cold hue of the lifeless deprecated buildings, the unspeakably dull walls of bricks that surround him every day, the thought of being with her provides a certain kind of relief, yet incites unlimited regret and anxiety, that one day the days of seeing her would cease, and he would no longer exist in her world, not even as a speck of dust.
What should he do? Should he simply wait it out, or should he upturn the universe, and wake up the slowly dying patient? There might be a chance, that if he fails, she would always notice him as a speck of dust, ever so annoying, and would try to get rid of him. This is something he would very much like to avoid, for obvious reasons.
He hates his falling into this trap called love again and again, but he is human after all, and it is all too human to have emotions. This he can understand, but can pixies understand this? Will there be time for this man to spend? Will he finally decide to eat a peach?
These are questions whose answers only exists with the fairy tales he grew up hearing about. After all, pixies are objects of such fantasies, right?
OP Discussion 5: CLANNAD OP, Megumeru ~cuckool mix 2007~
"Even on the day of a cold morning
I'll move forward unhesitatingly
While I turn pain and sorrow
Into my allies"
It certainly feels nice to finally be able to get around to one of my favourites.
To this day, I am still not sure what inspired me to like romance shows so much. It is definitely against the stereotype of what a male teenager should like (not that, in the current age, one should care about), or rather against my occasional disdain for humanity. It might simply be the amazement I feel that when the vices of humanity are temporarily put aside, all the selfishness, callousness, ignorance seem to fade when there is only another human in one's mind. It is an aesthetically pleasing subject, probably why it has been talked of so much in the past by the sentimental. This truly is a subject whose wonder escapes my tongue. But I digress.
The visuals of this OP is decidedly adequate for a visual novel (VN) adaptation. Being a very character centred show (another trait I appreciate greatly), an opening showcasing the characters is quite appropriate. Warm colours are used throughout, hence even though the OP shows a transition from the desolate winter (which represents the illusionary world aptly), the hope and growth that the coming spring promises is dominant, or rather, emphasized through contrast.
Despite appearing to be a rom-com at first glance, this show is heavily themed on the bitterness of life. The protagonist Okazaki Tomoya seems to be well aware of this, taking a jaded view of his present and indeed his future. Meeting Nagisa changed his view greatly, granting him maturity and a solid outlook to life, yet also simultaneously plunging him into much deeper despair as fate took what he now loves dearly, his sole bases of his meaning of life, one by one. This show is not a light hearted comedy at all, and touches on very sombre topics. Yet, the song played throughout is upbeat and hopeful. If I were Tomoya, this would be a difficult song to sing in the tides of tragedy that befell.
Is this OP a successful one then? Definitely. What I mentioned above neglects the fact that the true message of the show lies underneath the apparent themes. Many complained about the apparently contrived ending to the second season, as Nagisa revives in a rather Deus ex Machina fashion. However, symbolically it makes total sense. It is at this point that Tomoya recognizes the true nature of his life, which is to be ever optimistic and courageous in the face of adversity, to defy fate and create one's own meaning within the grey world of great tragedy. This is what the show is really about: To define the hallmark of maturity and resolve the paradox between the apparent optimism and the objective tragedy that seem to coexist harmoniously. The quote I mentioned above perfectly encapsulates this spirit, so I had to put it in even though it is not actually in the song for the OP (it is in the long version).
We live in a world of constant shock and disappointment. We believe that peace has descended upon us upon the cessation of the Cold War, that globalization will be smooth and war will never happen again. Yet we are proven gravely mistaken over and over again. Regardless, are we able to bravely face the future that is so uncertain, that might terminate humanity at any day without warning, like Tomoya does?
We are born alone. From the moment we leave the womb of our mother, we cry. We cry about how we must learn to be independent for the rest of our lives, unable to depend on someone else. In other words, we cry not because we are alone, but because we are lonely.
We are so used to the idea of society, that there is almost no chance that one morning, in the busiest of mornings, we would find ourselves isolated, with no one on the streets. Those are the subjects of movies, and do not think of them seriously. We rely on the fact that tomorrow, when we open the door, our friends would do the same, and we would meet each other, and be reassured that the mutual dependence of humanity has not waned.
This is indeed a strange thought. Everything we do eventually attributes to our own well being. We eat to sate our own hunger, work for our own money, study for our own results and knowledge. Intrinsically and physically, we are independent of each other. Except for the gravely ill, all of our survival requirements could very well be fulfilled on our own. In other words, the feeling of being isolated, or "loneliness", is indeed purely psychological. Then, does being alone, a state of being, not necessarily imply loneliness, an emotion pertaining to such state?
To have to depend on others is a form of weakness. Only when one achieves true autonomy can one think freely, without the need to appeal to anyone and fulfill any requirements or expectations from society. In this sense, loneliness is the source of such weakness, as one craves for companionship and someone to share their burden, even when such burden, ironically, stems from relationship with others and the society. Since loneliness is a psychological phenomenon, common sense would suggest that it is easier to rid such problem than actual physical problems. Yet, is this really the case?
In ecology, living things often depend on each other symbiotically. It is one of the natural driving forces for growth and evolution of species. One could then argue that loneliness is the manifestation of such a force within the human species. However, I believe that the human species has evolved to a level that exceeds the description purely based on ecological biology. We interact in much more sophisticated ways, necessitating subjects such as sociology to exist. Loneliness should, then, not be a hard-wired emotion in our bodies.
Society has sought to eradicate this negative emotion, yet in an escapist fashion: To provide more means to connect with one another. The idea is that once we are able to be within the vicinity, or feel so, we will no longer be lonely. Whether with real people, or with artificial intelligence, or fictional characters, we are immersed in a world of connections so that we stop feeling lonely. This is an industry that pays significantly, as seen from the explosion of social networks and entertainment industries.
Yet I describe such solutions as "escapist", mainly because they shun the real problem. The only solution that could solve this crisis would be us facing loneliness directly, and come to terms with it. This is not a trivial matter: Though loneliness is not hard-wired, it is a deeply ingrained reflex that would activate whenever one is alone, or thinks so. It manifests even harder when one encounter love, an attraction and yearning for the opposite sex (or same sex, in some cases). To immerse oneself in contrived connections is rather like taking psychedelic drugs, to dull the pain temporarily, only to wake up at night, sober, feeling lonely again.
One of the criteria for becoming an "Ubermensch" is elevation above external influences. In fact, it could possibly be said to be the only requirement. Yet, with loneliness plaguing humanity, few have the will to escalate to such status. As a result, we drone on our lives based on a predetermined meta-narrative, and perhaps die without ever having the experience of being truly independent. It is sometimes rather tragic to think about this.
At the end, we all die alone. People come, and people go. In our ephemeral lives we make a mark on some, but most people are doomed to fade into oblivion in a very short period after their deaths. Yet, is it not great if we can come to terms with our natural instincts, and fight back the urge of loneliness, just to be able to think, even for a split second, in a truly free manner? In my opinion, that is a person who has lived a worthy life, as his life is no one but his.
"Durum semolina, golden wheat wafting in Italian fields.
Can you imagine how astonished the Italians would be if they knew that what they were exporting in 1971 was really loneliness?"
ED Discussion 4: Byousoku 5 Centimeter ED, One more time, One more chance
"I am always looking for you wherever I go... though I don't expect you to be there."
If ramblings from German philosophers over a century ago sounds lofty, here is a much closer depiction of real people plagued by fate to be alone.
5 centimeters per second is not your run of the mill romance story. In an ideal world, when matched couples meet each other, they would fall in love, and live happily ever after. Even when faced with separation, their love would not diminish regardless of the distance between them, or circumstances that might change their accessibility to each other. This is not very far from what we believe, after all. Most believe in an everlasting relationship, and declare to one another that they will love forever.
I believe that this is an exception to the rule. To be fond of something for a prolonged period of time is a feat in itself, let alone being attached to a human, full of flaws and uncertain fluctuations. This is not meant to be derogatory to humans, though. This phenomenon is simply due to fate that toys around with humans always. A relationship that drifts apart is mostly not the fault of either side, but rather the intrinsically fragile state of love itself.
This ED constitutes a good four minutes out of the twenty of the last part of the entire movie. Remarkably, few words are uttered by the characters in the last part, exemplifying the intangible yet inevitable drifting away of passion and love. A sense of longing could perhaps be detected, as we see them awaiting for each others' messages on the phone, looking for each other in the vast city of Tokyo, or checking the mailbox, hoping there would be some letter, holding onto the last vestige of belief. What are they longing for? Apparently, not for each other, but for a chance to experience love again.
Such longing might manifest as sorrow, but there is no apparent cause of it. The visuals flashes from character to character, showing them individually. There is no sudden point of tragedy or revelation, as the movie ends with this rather anticlimactic ending. Yet, this ending is more than apt to demonstrate the main message. There is not a single quantifiable cause that they are now completely separated, yet only a few tens of miles away from each other physically. Sorrow of loneliness simply piles up along with stresses from daily routines, creating the wear that manifests in the appearance of Tohno towards the end.
Yet, Makoto did not leave us hanging. He ostensibly did, but upon closer inspection of the last ten seconds or so of the ED, Tohno leaves with a smile, even though the lady who just passed him was one whom he had yearned for so much. A split second is what it takes to rekindle their friendship at the very least, yet such an opportunity was brutally cut off by the passing train. Why would Tohno be smiling then? Precisely because he has come to terms with loneliness. Makoto shows us powerfully that there is no intrinsic link between sadness and the state of being alone. Once one has figured this out, there would be no need to keep dwelling in the past, to keep thinking about the passing of the cosmonaut, who can no longer be reached, but simply revel in the short yet potent burst of emotions that marked the past, the split seconds of bright light that the rocket shone in the dim evening sky.
The music here is also impeccable: the 1997 title by Yamazaki Masayoshi. The lyrics depict clearly what each of the characters, and indeed most of us think. To be able to live life once more is a dream of most. We seek our past companions so intently that we look in nooks and crannies of the massive city, hoping to simply see a trace of the other's presence. Yet, isn't it great to be able to exceed this stage of emotions and embrace what lies of us? Makoto's film deserves so much more discussion, yet I shall not go at length here, for I have run out of words. It sets me into so much thought, and this ED perfectly encapsulates the message conveyed, while maintaining the artistic elegance and power of the film itself, providing an unforgettable conclusion to this excellent work.
"If, ten thousand years from now, a society came into being that was exclusively populated by poor aunts, would they open the gates of their town to me?"
In this world, what place would a constant have, he wondered.
He is naturally good at painting. Whatever lays in front of him, be it a picturesque scenery, an attractive lady, an intricate mechanism, or the most mundane object, he could reproduce it with utmost precision, just like a camera. If cameras were to disappear from the planet, he would be the most valued possession one could have, I daresay.
A great deal of people have told him, while he was in his teenage years, that he should become a painter, or rather, an artist. They told him that he could create a whole new sensation in the scene of visual arts. It would be a waste of such a talent! they exclaimed. They even lamented how art schools would not accept prodigies such as him for early entry. He could not deny that these words were extremely flattering, and he, rather subconsciously, built his entire meaning of life around showcasing this ability to capture what is in front of him. It was a good reason to live, he said.
His parents asked him what he wanted to do often, and he would give it a second of thought before answering the obvious: Painter. He should not have to think about such obvious questions before answering, but it seem to him that something sounds dissonant when he put together himself with the notion of a painter, as if divine intervention would step in and paralyze his thoughts for a second before restoring his common sense.
When the time came for him to be at college, his parents asked him one last time whether he was sure he wanted to devote his life to art. The only sensible thing to say here would be yes, since the applications had already been sent out; his admittance into one of the best schools of art in the world was already confirmed. It would be both stupid and unfeasible for him to turn back now, not to mention irrational. He thought to himself: All the cards are now in his hands. He just needed to play them, and he would win the game. The game of life that is.
Whatever that means.
In college, he received the same praise from his peers and seniors initially. The degree to which the paintings resembled what was drawn was uncanny, almost alien to mankind, though his professors told him that they had seen better. Gradually, though, people got used to his photographic handcrafting skills. I mean, they still appreciated his mechanical precision, and would often ask him for advice on how to portray certain things to achieve greater realism, but that was all he could do, and that substituted his initial idea of a life that laid before him. To others, he was just a camera, except that you don't have to pay to use it, and it never runs out of battery.
He started to seek attention. He sought to create new scenery with his hands, perhaps an abstract painting that would shock the world with the avant garde style? or delving into new realms of art? There are a lot of things he wanted to achieve. He thought that he had some degree of curiosity, and indeed he did have some I suppose. Yet, that often is overwhelmed by his unwillingness to step out. Sometimes it really his mental stamina that is stopping him, something he considered out of his reach to improve upon. He is forever the camera, a camera.
So, what eventually happens to him? No one knows, not even me. This is a story with no end, no climax, nothing noteworthy, no message or themes behind. It just exists, just like him, the camera. No one knows why a replica (a faulty and slow one, to be honest) of a digital device would exist, or even should exist, or continue to exist. He might continue to live his life with some sprinkles of praise, and dabble on some meaningless odd jobs, or he might fall out of relevance, and decide he no longer has a place in this world. One thing is certain though: If this world had no intelligence and creativity, he might finally be relevant, and he would finally be recognized as a person.
ED discussion 3: Nagato Yuki-chan no Shoushitsu ED, Arigatou, Daisuki
"Thank you, I love you... Let me stay this way just a little longer"
To say that this show is a very good one would be lying, for it is not. The characters are not interesting and at times feel really dull. The themes are not apparent and the tone shifts too dramatically for me to clearly discern what this anime is really trying to convey. To approach this show with an expectation that it rivals or continues SuzumiyaHaruhi no Yuuutsu is simply wrong. However, I do feel that this particular ED is quite attractive.
There are actually two versions of this ED: one where the scene does not flip, and one where it does. The switch occurs when Nagato's alter ego came into play after the car crash, starting the disappearance arc. In addition, characters other than the alter ego Nagato (including real Nagato) become silhouettes while she observes them, reflecting alter ego Nagato being the observer of the real Nagato's memory, how she is actually the stranger here.
In the real world, real Nagato would likely have better friendships than her counterpart, being stoic, silent, often only replying in terse and unsympathetic phrases. One may think that this Nagato is, in fact, stealing the spotlight of the real Nagato's show, and her pursuit of love, that this Nagato is a defected version of the real Nagato everyone loved. However, the ED speaks otherwise. strikingly maintaining the same emotions and appearance for the alter ego Nagato. Most strikingly, upon observing the pleasant memories of Kyon and Nagato in the library, she smiles, exactly in the same fashion as the real Nagato upon receiving the library card from Kyon. She might seem like a robot, much like the Nagato in Haruhi, but deep within, just like the Haruhi Nagato, lie emotions that are expressed in much more complexity than that of the real Nagato.
For the song itself, I was simply fixated on the quote above. Connecting that sentence with the fading presence of the alter ego Nagato (or, more extensively, with the movie Nagato) exemplifies the theme of "tender oblivion" (cf. Suzumiya Haruhi no Shoushitsu) in a sublime way. Time is running out for this Nagato, yet the song is not rushed, nor sorrowful. It gives a fateful feeling, yet gives rise not hatred or complaint, but gentle acceptance, to embrace the short moments of love that would resound forever in her memory.
Needless to say, the disappearance arc was a decent part of the show. Yet, it still suffers from being placed in a bad context, ruining the flow of the show. In any case, listening to Chihara Minori for a minute after each episode warmed my heart a bit from the hectic and relentless demand of reality.
