Salvation

-- from an atheist point of view...

I feel like the subtitle is rather crucial to understanding what you should expect. "Salvation" to me almost has a necessarily religious tone, and as you may know by now that I consider the concept of God rather unnecessarily, personally. In Christianity, the hypothesis is that humans have an "original sin" attached to them, and through God, the embodiment of good, and the sacrifice of Jesus, Christians receive redemption and forgiveness. I for one find the concept that someone is born being sinful a bit unconvincing and at worst detrimental to how we view ourselves. However, without the hypothesis of original sin, we must confront the question of why we need "salvation" -- what do we need saving from?

"To live is a sin in itself," I quote from some chuunibyou infested song lyrics. Indeed, even when one consciously avoid bringing harm to others, it is often the case that inadvertently do so. A lot of what we have is built at the expense of others, but it would be foolish to renounce everything we have. This is because imperfection marks our presence without exception, and this manifests as a "weight of conscience", that we are not the saints (gods?) we wish for ourselves to be. In addition, a kind of suffering arises from our realization of our limitation. The salvation that I mention will also refer to the alleviation from this weight once we realize this. How do we stop our own ruination from this incredible burden we bear from realizing our imperfection?

In ef: a Tale of Melodies, Himura Yuu failed to save his family in an earthquake. This earthquake struck when they were asleep in one night, causing a great fire, separating him from them. His guilt towards his decision to save himself instead of sacrificing himself in an attempt to save his family weighed on him throughout his life, and made him reject the invitation of friendship from Amamiya Yuuko from the orphanage. "I don't have a sister" exclaimed Yuu when Yuuko attempts to seek a companion from Yuu, leaving her alone to face the domestic violence from Akira.

Yuu closed himself away from salvation, which plunged Yuuko into tragedy, despair and eventually hatred, and a desire for revenge. In an almost self-fulfilling prophecy, Yuu has plunged into sin. 

On the other hand, Shuichi Kuze suffers from a coronary disease that he has kept barely under control with medicine. However, as the heart attacks become more frequent and intense, he learns that his life will end soon. What is the thought process of a man who straddles on death's boundary? Does what he do have any meaning left? Throughout his life, he has chosen to only face problems he can solve easily. He socializes with lots of females, but never falls in love, for he know that was something he cannot control. However, upon death's door, who can control one's own inevitable demise? Against death itself, he has no option but to lose, and to minimize his loss, he puts on the mask of nonchalance, and never come into close contact with anyone anymore.

He declares himself the winner by not playing this high risk game of falling in love, but at the same time, has he lost what is human about himself in the process? His fear for death has paralyzed him, forcing him into hurting the people he loved, and who loved him.

And then, there is the case of Reki and Rakka from Haibane Renmei. Due to mysterious reasons, the Haibanes, with their light grey feathers, may turn "sin-bound", causing the wings to grow black patches, which may turn the wing fully black. Is simply being different than the others, and being labeled as "sin-bound" enough to plunge one into guilt? In Reki's case, her being different actually threw her off, and -- coupled with grief from Kuramori's passing -- she commits actual sin against the community by trying to escape the walls surrounding the town housing the Haibanes.

It seems a bit mysterious as to who needs salvation. Interpreted in an atheist sense, perhaps it is the mundane daily happenstances that would accumulate guilt, isolation and inadequacy in our lives that pile up as something which we need to save ourselves from. It could also be something dramatic such as the experience of the protagonists of ef, or simply some form of uncontrollable, innate irregularity as in the case of Haibane Renmei. (It is difficult to detach this case from the concept of "original sin" I feel)

Is it enough to simply apply a psychological fix, i.e. to adopt a different point of view of life, just to alleviate this sense of frustration, and achieve salvation? It almost seems too easy, doesn't it? We would not expect the punishment of a sinner, a criminal, to simply be forgiven by declaring that they have found a new perspective in life. Then again, I should divorce salvation from justice -- salvation is a very personal process, including forgiving ourselves, but not necessarily stops there. Then, perhaps the salvation I will talk about should be for those who realize their own sins or imperfections, and is a cure for the feeling of frustration that results. In this framework, a psychological remedy makes complete sense -- we are talking about a psychological problem here.

"Those who realizes that they have sin are no longer sinners." says the communicator, a wise figure that stands above the Haibane. Keeping the premise we established in the previous paragraph, how do we interpret this statement? Reki, frustrated about her sin-bound body, acts kind to the weak and nurses the children in the Old Home, in the hope of achieving forgiveness for the sins bound onto her. Was the fact that Kuramori left her because of her sins? Reki realizes her sins, and in the wake of this realization attempts to atone. Does this alleviate her of her frustration? Apparently not. One by one the Haibane in Old Home take flight towards their next life, yet she stays, unable to relieve the burden from her mind.

It was not until she acknowledged the help from Rakka that she was relieved from her suffering. Yet again, she closed herself off from others -- though rather indirectly: on the surface she displays affection for others, in reality she shuts her desire for love and reassurance away. Ironically, this causes others around her to suffer from worry.

It seems that the cure leading to salvation is found not inwards, but comes from the external world: Yuu and Yuuko saved themselves by abandoning their hatred and loving each other; Kuze saved himself by believing in love again, and devoting his care to Mizuki; and Reki achieved salvation by letting go of her stubborn isolation from others. Perhaps the connection of "sin" and "imperfection" with the external is key here: Sin leads to suffering of others, and imperfection is defined via an external standard, a desire to fit in with others and not stand out as weird.

This conclusion reflects the fundamental fact that humans must be social, because we have evolved to be so. I know not whether we really have "original sin"? But for sure, I know that we are imperfect. In this society that is ironically growing further and further apart despite technology that connects us faster and faster, where can we find our salvation?

OP for ef: the latter tale , the visual novel from minori. Doesn't really have a direct connection to this piece but I thought it is quite cool.

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ED Discussion 27: Bloom into You OP: Kimi ni Furete by Azuna Riko 

"Within that locked glass box,

what are you hiding?"

Koito Yuu was confessed to before she started high school, by someone she thought of as a good friend. However, despite being familiar with many romance stories, she has never actually experienced such an intense feeling, perhaps called "love". As such, she delayed her response, eventually to reject him, which turned out to be a relieving closure. Whenever friends around her bring up "love", she feels like hearing distant voices way above, muffled by the depths of water that is above her while she sits alone in the vast ocean of silence. However, as she met Nanami Touko, who out of the blue confessed her love for Yuu, she feels like she is starting to change...

Touko loves Yuu because she can find comfort around her. It is unintuitive to think that being treated as an ordinary person is a blessing, but that is what Touko desperately seeks. She is a person with intensely conflicting thoughts: on one hand, she feels obligated to follow the footsteps of her sister, to become who she thought her sister was -- respected, confident, charismatic and perfect in every way; on the other hand, this is not her, and she seeks comfort in someone who she thinks will be able to appreciate her for who "she really is", who will lend a shoulder to someone who is absolutely defenseless. When Yuu mentioned how she fails to fall in love with anyone because she does not think of anyone as special, she immediately latches on.

One friend of mine remarked on how "messed up" (an alternative choice of words from what he mentioned IIRC) he thinks the relationship between Yuu and Touko is. Let's examine this statement through the motif of "masks".

Touko puts on a mask in front of everyone, in order to "become" her sister. "Putting on a mask" is perhaps more natural than one might think. Symbolically, it is analogous to us putting on clothes. Not only have humans evolved to not be able to live off not wearing any, but also have clothes developed into an instrument that is akin to a "face" we show to others. For instance, we are obligated to wear a uniform in school, to control what we can present ourselves as, to promote a proper sense of uniformity. This act is so embedded within us that it has perhaps become one aspect that differentiates humans from beasts.

Touko does not want Yuu to love her as she is in front of her, because she hates that "self" of hers. Surely, as viewers we are in support of Yuu, who wants to gradually bring out this side of Touko -- Not only because we (and Yuu) think that this is who Touko truly is and hence she would suffer much less when she becomes honest with herself, but also partially because it is more entertaining than a perfect student model in front of everyone. Or, it is because of a love for imperfection, because perfection is not human.

Indeed, what Touko wants to become is eventually revealed to not resemble her sister Mio at all. It was but a face she subjectively perceive, perhaps from the meticulous effort from Mio to appear that way.

Another interpretation of the pity for Touko comes from the fact that we know she could not truly love the self she puts in front of others. We pity her being a person who cannot love herself, and also for her insistence to be something non-human.

Yuu is also an interesting case. The theme for Touko is easy to see, but it is a bit more subtle to come to the conclusion that Yuu also has a mask on. Yuu has always been quite upfront with what she says and how she acts -- it is how Touko discovers her to be "special" in her eyes. She exposes her thoughts to the audience often through internal monologues, or does she?

Perhaps it alludes to how she attempts to blend in with people who "can love": being around people of the age to develop romantic feelings for each other, she finds herself frustratingly deficient, that she cannot but wonder if there is something lacking in her.

Another possibility is that it alludes to how she puts on a mask in front of Touko. Towards the end, she arguably has developed feelings for Touko, yet she cannot break her promise to Touko, that she would never love her back. She must keep her feelings to herself. An interesting case indeed: Responding to an openly unrequited love with a secretly unrequited love...

A more overarching interpretation is that she hides her "sentimental" self from others she interacts with. She appears as a very matter-of-fact, down-to-earth person. Even when faced with upfront advances from Touko, she responds to them rather nonchalantly. Partly for the cause explained above, but also somehow to hide how she in fact places "love" on a pedestal. She would not settle for anything less than perfect, less than the dreamy feeling described in the fiction she reads and songs she listens to. [1]

At the end, can they take their masks off? What I have tried to explain is that the masks are put on because of some very fundamental, very human reasons on both sides. It is how we live in the present age, and to remove them is akin to living without clothes. The question that remains is whether "love" can break through this barrier, and allow us to show "our true self", completely naked, in front of someone else, or does it require a complete memory wipe, like the protagonist of the play within the plot, for one to finally realize her true self?

---

[1]: And for that I respect her.

Release

Thoughts on "Liz and the Blue Bird"

"The blue bird wishes nothing but happiness for Liz -- this I am sure."

Although featured rather prominently in the beginning of season two of Hibike! Euphonium, their characters always felt rather weak. It feels that their arc is resolved through a simple misunderstanding. Mizore has always had her eyes on Nozomi, and Nozomi alone. It seems that they are now able to happily live ever after, is that the ending that we should expect? Is Mizore able to to hang onto Nozomi forever?

Liz and the Blue Bird takes a noticeably different style to the main series. The change in visuals is a clear clue to this, but the whole story is also told in a substantially different manner. In the main series, Kumiko, initially keeping to herself, slowly engages with the orchestra as a whole, as we see the team get together, resolve their differences and fight in high spirits towards the national championship. However, this film is a story told from Mizore's perspective. It is slow, pensive and personal, told in parallel with the story of Liz and the Blue Bird in a fairy tale setting. In Mizore's arc in H! E S2, we along with Kumiko attempt to decipher Mizore's actions from a third person point of view. In this film, this sort of competitive spirit is no longer present. 

"If I were Liz, I would keep the bird in the cage forever."

The blue bird loves Liz, and turns into a human to be with her -- Yet, she is a bird, and has to migrate for the winter. How could Liz deny the blue bird of her freedom to soar the skies? Nozomi is much more social and popular than Mizore, so how could Mizore trap Nozomi in a cage? Yet, love is possessive: with the desire to get closer comes the inevitable need for exclusivity. Nozomi is everything to her. If playing the oboe was her destiny, then Nozomi created her destiny single-handedly by a simple, unwitting invitation to join the wind orchestra. This internal conflict drives the majority of the film. The guilt of trapping Nozomi in a cage weighs on her psyche, but without Nozomi, she felt like she would lose everything.

Nozomi does not seem to be able to understand this. She lives a carefree life, perhaps a bit too carefree. Sure, the ending to the fairy tale Liz and the Blue Bird is sad, but can't the blue bird simply go visit Liz every now and then? Seeing Mizore's pamphlet to Ondai (a prestigious music university I assume), she casually decides to apply to there as well.

Mostly narrated from Mizore's perspective, Nozomi initially takes a slightly more distant position, but through some key moments, we foresee that Nozomi takes a role almost as central as Mizore. When she saw Mizore's pamphlet, she fell silent briefly; when Mizore told Nozomi that she wanted to bring Kanzaki to the pool trip, Nozomi fell silent. Though brief, these moments are key: they are the only moments we observe who Nozomi really was, what she was actually thinking. She reinforces an image of cheerfulness in front of Mizore, somehow as a leading role for Mizore. Mizore being so psychologically dependent on Nozomi reinforces this: Nozomi subconsciously has assumed a strictly superior role to Mizore. This feeling is addictive: she wants Mizore to depend on her; she wants to come to her for psychological comfort.

Thus, when she saw Mizore's ability earning respect from Niiyama, when she saw Mizore independently making a friend outside of her circle, and eventually witness the true abilities of Mizore in her performance of the third movement (see below), Nozomi was stunned. In her mind, this should not have been possible. At one point, she started to turn away from Mizore, because she was no longer able to rationalize the situation. In this sense, Nozomi assumes the role of Liz, trapping the blue bird, Mizore, in a cage. Thus, we see a positive feedback cycle, where two hearts intertwine with each other, unable to let go.

At the end, only when Liz musters up the will to release the blue bird, will it be able to fly, to regain its freedom, to realize its potential. In the -- in my opinion -- most beautiful part of the film, this action is encapsulated by the performance of the third movement of the piece (you guessed it) Liz and the Blue Bird. I cannot find a version with the visuals, but in any case let's give the movement itself a listen:


The name of the movement is Determination from Love. At this point, Mizore realizes that she has been wrong about what it means to love. Precisely because of love, Liz must bring up the courage to set the blue bird free. The oboe stands out clearly from the orchestra, and echoes through the music room. It expresses unfettered longing: the parting is immensely painful for Liz, yet there is no uncertainty Through her oboe, she expresses an unequivocal sense of determination, that was never present in the prequel coming from Mizore. It contrasts significantly with her previous It is especially apparent in her second solo part from 4:19 onwards, leading up to the majestic climax. This internal conflict of love is powerfully demonstrated, and not a single word was uttered.

At this point, Nozomi clearly sees where both of them stand, and how she has been imprisoning Mizore for the entire time. Witnessing Mizore's abilities and her resounding determination moves her to tears. Explaining her breakdown as simply realization that she cannot match Mizore's skills is plausible, but misses the point. Clearly hearing Mizore's call to farewell, Nozomi has no other choice but take flight, while simultaneously letting go of Mizore. Thus, the two blue birds take flight, regaining their freedom.

Finally, two brief general comments:

Use of Fairy Tales

I have always liked it when fairy tales are used as plot devices [1]. They usually describe a fictional situation, so far from reality that it doesn't take an adult to tell that it is imaginary. They are simple and deliver a clear moral. However, deeper pondering into why they are classics will reveal a much deeper trove of knowledge than being simple didactic vessels, and a large degree of freedom in spinning a twist into these tales. In anime, some examples include Princess Tutu, Darling in the FranXX, and of course the present consideration. In my brief journey into literature in my high school years, I have also come across Angela Carter's works (The Bloody Chamber etc.). In some works, the fairy tale is treated as tragic destiny for the characters in the greater work, and eventually they will come to fight against this fate, a heroic act of subversion. Darling in the FranXX is an example of this, and so is Princess Tutu, but that is an oversimplification considering that the whole theme revolves around thinking about the nature of storytelling.

Liz and the Blue Bird takes a more interesting point of view. The characters fulfill their roles in the story, and eventually set the blue bird free, but the twist comes in when we see that both of them assume each other's role. Both of them adopt a version of the story, and eventually, through the climax unite back together. Indeed, the power of a good story comes in the ability to leave enough space for the reader to fill the rest in, adopting the story to their own version, learning their own lesson from it which is distinct across every person. The proper way to approach a story is therefore not to fixate on a particular "correct" interpretation, but to step back and reflect -- personally and intimately -- like Mizore and Nozomi did. Perhaps you were the blue bird all along.

Distance

Another thing I always liked is the discussion of distance between people. It was why I liked 5 Centimetres per Second and White Album so much. Rather than lamenting on the inevitable drifting apart of lovers, Liz and the Blue Bird asserts that we should respect this distance. Somehow like the hedgehog's dilemma, Mizore and Nozomi cannot coexist intimately without mutual hurting. While trying to get close to each other, they subconsciously recognize this inherent barrier, which distanced them.

"Even to the closest, we cannot speak freely."

This feature is so intimate to the properties of being a human that to break this means that we give up humanity all in itself. I have repeatedly heard that some define love as the desire to know more about the other. If the highest form of love then therefore imply the complete breakdown of this inter-personal barrier, to absolutely fuse into one mentally, is it even possible to find such a thing in this world?

Conclusion

I had high hopes for this film to fill in the weakness in the main TV series, and it does so beyond my expectations. It does not trivialize the conflict between the main characters, yet convincingly tell us it is a matter of the state of mind: to psychologically prepare to release the vice-like grip on people we treasure is not a trivial task, but it must be done, because as this film argues, this is the definition of love.

---

[1]: Even when the fairy tale is made up for the greater story in question.

---

ED Discussion 26: Darling in the FranXX ED 1: Torikago by XX:me

"Looking absentmindedly outside the classroom window, I asked the sky
for what purpose am I alive?"

This song feels much like Gomenne, Iiko ja irarenai (Kill la Kill ED1) which I reviewed here. Indeed, the two anime appear to be in a similar genre -- young fighters go in power suits and fight to save the day. Both songs describe a dissatisfaction with the world around. There, we see a frustration with the expectation placed on teenagers to grow to be monotonic, prim-and-proper adults; here, we see the longing of freedom from the brainwash-like education, which has stripped off their ability to self-realize. In both cases, it is a crying out against the world of grown-ups.

The 13th Squadron are actually children, in a rather literal sense, even when left the Garden hosting them. Initially, they could not take care of themselves when left to their own devices, and they only know that their purpose is to fight klaxosaurs, with a vague sense of justice gained by defending the "adults". They are innocent, but apart from Hiro and possibly Kokoro, they have little sense of curiosity outside of their duties. What are these klaxosaurs they are fighting? What makes them our enemies? Who is "Papa"? Why do we need to defend the "adults"? Why do they dream of being an "adult"? What is an "adult"?

What is freedom? Compared to the other squadrons, the 13th squadron enjoys more freedom. In the earlier episodes, compared to the other children of the 13th squadron, Zero Two and Hiro are free, because they recognize that there is more to life than "fighting for adults". When the VIRM argue that by freeing the soul from the confines of flesh and becoming integrated as one (like instrumentality in NGE), are they right? Indeed, "freedom" is a matter of perception, or a mental state. This is why I always think that freedom of thought precedes any other type of freedoms: the freedom to decide what you want to wear, the freedom to go wherever we want, the freedom to self-realize. The most oppressive of times often produce the freest thinkers, but when the ability to even retain memories of thoughts is taken away, such as the case of Kokoro and Mitsuru, then freedom is truly taken completely away from them. 

What does the future hold for us? Looking from the lens of people living in the present age, we obviously find the treatment of the children in the show to be abhorrent and ironically backwards. In a similar vein, we see the practices of ancient (or not-so-ancient, of the past century) civilizations to be barbaric, inhumane and unacceptable. However, how will the people of the future generation think of our practices? Will there be another "paradigm shift" in our understanding of how a human should achieve maximum satisfaction in the society? With the newfound abilities to pry into every individual's privacy with machine learning and the ability to massively destroy on a whim using nuclear weapons, how will the governance of this world change? Will we be able to use these powers for "good", or is what we think of being "good" merely an artifact to the future generation?

While watching FranXX, I am constantly reminded of the fact that there characters are extremely distant from who we are today; not only in the fact that they live in a completely different physical environment, but also the fact that their minds are shaped so differently than ours. The show makes many stumbles, but at the end perhaps one primary message is that though these children are different to us, and though klaxosaurs are completely alien, perhaps we all are driven by a primal instinct to be human -- to love, to hate, to raise a family, and to be confined in the flesh, because this range of irrational, illogical behaviour is what makes us human, and eventually that is all we really have.

Random Reflections on "White Album"

[OP/OST Discussion 25]

"In this sleepless night, I can feel the scent of winter outside
Looking up, I see a sky coloured with love."

Overview of Some Overarching Features

The ferocity with which Morikawa Yuki sang out, in front of the massive crowd chanting out her name is a rare occurrence, and indeed really a strange one in this show. This show, White Album (WA), feels cold, the coldest show I have ever watched. In WA2, you have Setsuna Ogiso being the cheerful character (at least on the outside), and Touma Kazusa gradually warming up, before plunging down into an abyss inevitably. However, this show starts off with premonitions of disaster, and just never really recovers. The gap between Yuki and Fuuji Touya just never resolves itself, only ever getting wider and wider. [1]

Prominently shown in this anime are parallel thoughts of Touya. Instead of assuming a narrative voice (signaled by italic subtitles usually) to showcase inner thoughts, Touya's thoughts are just shown as text on the screen. 

Source: https://blog.lhyeung.net/2009/01/18/white-album-03/

This made me feel much more distant to Touya. Intimate thoughts are vocal: at least for me, I like to speak to myself sometimes about deeper thoughts, and even if not, I imagine an inner voice talking to me. Putting the thought merely in text distances the audience. 

Indeed, Touya is a distant fellow. Perhaps on a fundamental level, having so many women attracted to him at once is a bit unrealistic. Furthermore, not treasuring a good girl such as Yuki is a bit unimaginable as well... One would kill to be in that situation. But on second thought, is what he was doing so unbelievable? It is natural for a person outside of the idol industry to misunderstand the work of these people. Performance arts do seem much easier on the surface than it really is.

A lot of the characters appear confusing, much thanks to the "sparsity" of dialogue. Unlike Monogatari which blasts the audience endlessly with flashy imagery and rapid-fire speeches, WA is eerily silent. Perhaps not particularly because the raw measure of time when any character speaks is small, but rather the rarity of the character actually saying what they are indeed thinking. In this sense, it is quite realistic: A lot of people I know almost never seem to speak directly what is on their mind. It certainly feels like a lot of blanks are left to the audience's imagination. This proved to be quite a point of attraction for me.

A motif here is the unanswered phone messages. Initially, Yuki and Touya are connected through the (landline) telephone. Bearing in mind this is the 1980s, this was the best they could do. Out of all interview options, I have come to hate the telephone interview the most, much because of the opacity of the entire process. Only working on voice almost makes the conversation direct, but at the same time it precludes any possibility of transmission using visual cues. It somehow falls into the "uncanny valley" of communications: It seems intimate, but at the same time very distant. So much is lost that I would rather trade in the instant nature with more time to craft a message, the case of using email (or heck, letters). The unanswered rings are frustrating and chilling, almost like a death toll to the relationship.

Let's talk about the characters:

Fuuji Touya

The "protagonist" of the story. Perhaps some would say the anti-hero, but I would disagree that he is a villain. Somehow, not only does he look like Satou Tatsuhiro from Welcome to the NHK, he somehow reminds me of Satou. I felt his powerlessness in controlling himself, his weakness in front of his own vices.

Touya receives much flak for his actions, which I believe is well-deserved. Perhaps it is so easy now to argue sort of vaguely defending him that it has turned finding fault in him the non-mainstream idea. In any case, a hate-able main character is not something you see in anime every day.

According to the ending of the show, Touya seeks comfort from other women external to his relationship, in an attempt to compensate for his guilt to Yuki, the so-called "goddess" mentality. In this critical segment we see that Touya is a weak person. He was made fun of by the already weak Haruka, but he wanted to defend Yuki from the bullies around her. He was so scared that he dirtied his pants, but decided to soak his hands in it to repel the bullies. Perhaps Touya has a strong desire to help others, but at the same time he is pathetic, and he knows this. Yuki, who genuinely sees the helpful person within Touya, gave him a paper medal for his help, but he immediately threw it away into the grass. One must -- deep down -- be hurt to be hurting others, and Touya is a good example for this.

Does he give in to carnal desires, the desire for comfort in others' physical, tangible company? Of course -- this is the major reason he fell for Yayoi Shinozuka's temptations. He was hesitant to accept Yayoi's request to replace Yuki at first, but at the end he gave in, and it would be ridiculous to deny any connection to the distance between him and Yuki. However, his actions are not entirely defined by desperation for sex. I see his attraction to e.g. Rina, Haruka and Misaki to be out of pity, the desire to help someone in trouble...

The interpretation then should be that he was attracted to Yuki at the first place because he saw the helplessness and delicacy in her. Yuki has a frail voice and an innocent personality, and in the context of high school, dreaming to be an idol is indeed a rather pure and "girly" thought. However, as Touya discovered how she was indeed serious about being an idol, and how her dream has empowered her, obviating her need for affirmation and company from others (which was not actually true...), she no longer seemed weak in Touya's eyes. Thus, coupled with the convenient physical and temporal separation between them thanks to Yuki's obligations, they grew apart.

A key scene here is Yuki's first concert on Christmas night:

I think the initial portrayal of Touya is clever, even if unintentional. Placed in the dark, his expression is just blank, overwhelmed by awe. I like to think of it as surprise which led to his blank stare -- surprise at how much she has gone forward, leaving him behind, and more importantly, his perpetual lingering image of Yuki being the weak, fragile self she is. She is singlehandedly beating the Sakura-dan, a well trained, well funded idol group as an amateur.

"純白のアルバムのページ染めてくれ" (Dye the pages of this pure white album)... Who will be this person to do so?

Morikawa Yuki

"She wants to sing, and not even stop for a second. She would die without music. Isn't she now the lover of Music itself?"

Perhaps the character that stands out absolutely from all others, playing the role purely of a victim in this complicated web of adulterous relations, Yuki is an amateur idol who always seeks to improve herself.

As the main character, I always feel that she had a frustrating lack of screentime. Again, this might be intentional to give the effect of isolation of the audience from her, just as Touya was in the plot. She unwillingly distanced herself from Touya, restricting herself to 5 minutes to call him every day to focus on her idol career, but this created a sense of loneliness not only in Touya but also within herself, and it seems, at some point, that Yuki really is working to dull her own pain from missing Touya; thus, she throws herself into a vicious cycle.

There was a rather long segment towards the end of the series where Yuki had extended conversations with Touya's father, whom Touya had always been lukewarm towards (to the point where she had more contact with the father than Touya...) He always pleaded for Yuki to take care of his son, which completely contrasted with Touya's attitude towards her. From the front of the fourth wall, is Yuki the only pure/sane person in this anime?

There are three themes associated with her: White Album, 恋色空 (koiiro sora) and Powder Snow. What is interesting is the latter two. Koiiro Sora is perhaps my favourite anisong of all time:



Its slow, melancholic rhythm contrasted with that of White Album; and the more I listen to it, the more I felt the immense pressure Yuki was feeling towards the end. Having discovered the illicit relationship between her respected senpai, Rina Ogata, and her lover, what should be her reaction? Is he having even more relationships behind her back? She was close to succumbing to just give up on Touya, as she initially did not resist upon being kissed by Eiji Ogata. Yet, she insisted:

"どんなに多くの人が、ほほえみを分けてくれてももだ
なぜか一人でいるような、気持ちが消えなくて”
(No matter how many people shared their smiles with me
I could not dismiss that feeling of loneliness)

However, at the end of the final episode, when she was supposed to be performing Koiiro Sora in a prestigious competition, this happened:



The transition from Koiiro Sora to Powder Snow absolutely caught me by surprise. The frustration that kept building up to the final moment suddenly resolved itself, with this smooth, almost undetectable transition, with Rina Ogata joining in as well. Rather than a resentful longing towards the "true one", in Powder Snow the lyrics allude to memories -- happy memories of watching the gentle snowfall.

"今でも覚えている、あの日みた白い世界
あの時触れた指先の冷たさも忘れない
I still love you..."

(Even to this day, I still remember that pure white world
I could not forget how cold your fingers were
I still love you...)

She still loves him, but she has clearly made the choice. The Yuki in the Christmas concert was still rather innocent looking, childlike even; but here it is clear that she has chosen her path. She is an idol first, and as an idol, she could not possibly belong to one person only. I guess this is where people come from when they argue that both Yuki and Touya were to blame for the broken relationship. In this ending we see a new light, like a sunbeam through the thick clouds on this perpetually snowy world -- it is still freezing, but somehow it is relieving. Yuki and Touya's relationship is not resolved, but somehow, it is a nice wrapping up.

Ogata Rina 



The choice of Mizuki Nana as Rina's voice actor was so apt, to the point where I suspect that some of Rina's character must be modeled after Mizuki's career. The themes of Rina -- Sound of Destiny, and the opening themes (Shin Ai and Mugen) (and arguably Powder Snow) -- are all strong and forceful, perfectly fitting into Mizuki's singing style.

Rina appears as the senpai to Yuki, as mentioned, but through Yuki she found not fond memories of her younger self, but a latent jealousy. She had to play the role of a senior to Yuki, but at the same time the dedication shown by Yuki was frustrating. Rina never explicitly/consciously did or said anything harmful to Yuki, but it was apparent that she could not stand how Yuki replaced her central role in Ogata Productions. This is much worsened by the fact that her own brother runs the agency. It was understandable how Rina tried to recruit Touya as her manager, and even kissed him before a performance.

Rina is not to be thought of as a rival, or an antagonist to Yuki though. I like to think of Rina's actions being all subconscious. She repeatedly emphasizes how there is no one she loves more in the world than Yuki (perhaps not in a romantic sense) -- she wants to see Yuki succeed, and would be angry at anyone who hurts Yuki. Initially, her intention of recruiting Touya was to create time for him to see Yuki (Yuki already has a manager). Thus, her relation to Touya is two-fold: On one hand, upon discovering his intimacy with Yayoi, she antagonizes him; but on the other hand she cannot help but be attracted, because he was Yuki's property, and thanks to Touya's "goddess" mentality.

I suppose though the senpai role is often portrayed in anime, but I like to feel that Rina is a bit different. Rina never got a resolved ending. Her attraction towards Touya eventually turned into true love, stemming from -- you guessed it -- an intense loneliness. She has always been alone, partly because she forges herself to be a sentinel defending Yuki from bad influences such as Matsuyama Menou, but who is there to protect her? Even her own brother forsakes her in favour of Yuki. Her character further reinforces another major message of this anime -- the true loneliness of an idol, despite "liked" by so many.

Mugen talks about falling asleep in the arms of a lover, but it is sung with such force, it induces anything but sleep in the listener. It describes being trapped in a web:

"柔らな吐息に　心さえも震える
絡まる美しい蜘蛛の糸のよう
動けないの・・・私を許して"
(As you let out a soft sigh, my heart aches
as if intertwined in this beautiful spider web
I am paralyzed... so forgive me)

Who has spun up this web, that traps everyone in this anime?

Others

The rest of the cast was very interesting as well.

Misaki is apparently more of a victim than anyone else in this show, by definition. She was plagued by the guilt from rejecting Tamaru's confession throughout the show, even long after, when it is clear that Tamaru is clearly abusing her sympathy and making her do unreasonable tasks. While "officially" going out with Akira, she cannot stop thinking about Touya (this makes me think whether we are actually told much about Touya's recent past...) Misaki feels like a weight in this already rather depressing show. While Touya runs free with the burden he should have to bear, Misaki forms a good contrast. They are what I like to call "fundamentally different", two people who have such a different thought on life in general that they can never be compatible.

The storyline of Misaki concludes with a letter -- quite appropriate for an arts student -- addressed to Touya's father, in which she describes how it is impossible to forget about someone she has loved; the only possible manner of recovery is to let time dilute this infatuation. Yet, with Touya being who he is, with his "goddess" mentality, poking into the business of every woman he comes across, Misaki's wounds will never really heal.

It was quite interesting why she would be talking to his father out of all people. Indeed, perhaps Touya's father is the only person who is not utterly confused throughout this anime. Seeing right through the thoughts of Touya, yet helplessly bedridden, he cements the fact that Touya bears a heavy sin. Touya refusing to realize how his actions harms everyone manifests as hostility towards his father, right until his death.

I don't have much to say about the rest of the characters (Haruka, Yayoi, Menou, Mana, Eiji, Akira...). I guess I have to properly rewatch this anime to make more sense out of them. Plus, this piece is already long enough.

Confusion

I will conclude with the motif of confusion. Perhaps an artifact of the anime contemporary to this, the visuals always appeared rather hazy to me. It is also safe to say that none of the characters really know clearly what they want. Dragged on by a vague longing of companionship, the characters stumble on, hurting each other in the process, willingly or not. It is appropriate then for this show to be a bit confusing to the audience as well (or at least, to me).

"And thus we sit together now,
       And all night long we have not stirred,
       And yet God has not said a word! " - R. Browning, Porphyria's Lover

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[1]: This show is a split cour, deliberately arranged such that all the episodes fall in winter. It is all these minute details which really appealed to me.

Some rambling about "mathematics"

Both of Sodachi's OPs are excellent.

For being the "primary thing I do", mathematics is perhaps enjoying a much undeserved absence in this blog. I would say that it is the only thing that I really dedicated myself to study across these years. I have been trying to pick up different topics outside of mathematics, such as physics (QM, statistical physics, relativity and beyond...), philosophy and even some literature, and when I get actual work I would abandon my pursuits in favour of sleep. But out of all I would come back to mathematics most often.

I will start with an anecdote: My first foray into "proper" mathematics, outside of calculus, was real analysis, when I attended an enrichment programme in CUHK. Needless to say, the completely different way of looking at math was a shock. The regular high school textbook could perhaps be sprinkled with proofs here and there, but an actually serious university level pure math text would not be able to deviate from the defintion-theorem-proof (and -example if generous!) approach. It was the first time that I genuinely felt difficulty in math, trying to keep track of so many definitions and logical trickery, as opposed to the plug-and-chug style of computation expected from high school, where once you do enough exercises to be able to memorize the algorithms behind each problem type you are basically guaranteed success.

As such, I have been relentlessly trying to get myself to conquer real analysis, but every time I would frustrate myself over some elementary exercises, or, in an attempt to replicate some proofs, get bogged down on even the seemingly obvious. Maybe I really don't "do math"...

As a subject, math really get a lot of bad press, moreso in the (relatively) olden days, thanks to the decidedly uncreative (yet frustratingly apparently necessary) way of education in the elementary levels. These days, STEM cannot be more of a buzzword, testament to the fact that even my parents, sworn to avoid anything science and technology related know of it, so math is now associated strongly with the other three players in the field. Rightfully so indeed: there is no science without math, and surely no engineering without math. However, this kind of math is "applied", and once we bring out the actual "math" that is being taught in an undergraduate course (analysis, algebra, number theory, geometry etc.), the same old tale of "what is this useful for?" returns.

I must add that I myself is very guilty of asking the aforementioned question, all of the time. Analysis is indeed the foundation of much of the more serious attempts at computational engineering, and codes the language of papers I have yet to read, but such kinds of motivation, while motivating, is insufficient to cause an interest in the subject in itself, just like money is a motivation to work but not a motivation to be interested in working.

I was promised of a sense of "beauty" in mathematics by my high school teacher, who dedicated an hour to talk enthusiastically about the construction of real numbers from natural numbers. As anyone who has a modicum of knowledge about analysis would know, this is the foundation of any attempts at analysis. He also encouraged us to think about what math really is, what numbers really are. Do they live on some imaginary plane in another world, like what Plato thought, or are they actual, tangible (perhaps not!) objects as real as an apple and a person? Thus began my endless desire to "learn some actual math", despite how bad I am at it, all the while pondering about where exactly does this beauty lie?

Some say that the rigour of math is where its beauty lies. The relentless pursuit of exactness, unforgiving of any errors in any step of a proof is where the sense of admiration comes from. One counterexample is enough to disprove an entire theory. At the same time, anyone, regardless of social status, can contribute to mathematics. It is a subject composed only of cold hard truths, logically deduced from axioms in an absolutely watertight manner.

Is this really the nature of mathematics though? The media loves to portray mathematicians as borderline autistic savants, who always thinks about a seasonal unsolved problem of choice and forget his/her basic human necessities such as socializing. Well, to begin with, I have begun to understand that research is not something one can do while shut in a cubicle. It must involve openness to new ideas, criticism and peer review. Moreover, the majority of science involves incremental improvements over current ideas, famously termed "normal science" by Kuhn. The actual lives of mathematicians is thus probably quite far from what is portrayed in movies. (as always...)

I find myself repeatedly returning to a speech made by Francis Su, former president of the Mathematical Association of America. In it, Su made comments on not only why he thinks math is beautiful, but also the firm link between humans and math. Mathematics is indeed a human subject, not something for computers. It is surprisingly close to the visual arts. In one sense, both are almost obsessive pursuits towards elegance, something most would relate to the faculty of emotion in our mind. As much as there are good art and bad art, there are good mathematics and bad mathematics, and good mathematics do much more than being correct, much like good art doing more than being realistic. For example, a "proof" that basically lists out all of the possibilities is less elegant than one which leverages subtleties in logic to reduce the problem (simple and direct). Both are valid proofs, but clearly one is better than the other. Mathematics is as much about the communication of this kind of elegance as the appreciation of such elegance. In addition, most mathematicians would attest to the fact that the beginning of a proof is intuition, to find the right door into the path of light. Many personal characteristics of a successful mathematician -- perseverance, sagacity, conviction -- all refer to emotional qualities, rather than having hard knowledge.

Su also makes a connection towards justice. In front of mathematics, there should be no discrimination, as I mentioned earlier. In a sense, this is inextricably linked towards the topic of social justice. Should we adopt the mathematician's stance in governing a state, analogous to the philosopher's state of Plato?

Inevitably, the mention of higher mathematics would link towards "competitions" when in a high school setting. Indeed, the olympiads are the first chances of a high schooler to dabble in mathematics that is more than computations [1]. I have gained a rather strange, ambivalent attitude towards competitions (it is the reason why I am where I am today), but at the end of the day, we should all recognize that mathematics is not a competitive sport, and solving the most problems in a limited time is rather meaningless.

Perhaps I should make a final, passing remark about applied mathematics. I might have given a false impression that pure mathematics is in some sense superior to applied mathematics, but that is not true. We are fortunate that the laws of nature is crafted in a language that is consistent and well observable, something which makes mathematics a good tool for analysis. Is this necessarily the case, or have we reversed the logic here -- mathematics is a systematic and elegant way (not the only way) of understanding nature? We could also interpret reality as a representation of the elegance of mathematics. The appearance of the golden spiral, the carefully constructed structures around us, the elegance of renaissance paintings etc. are all examples of such.

Mathematics is a pursuit of elegance and order, even from the chaotic (chaos theory, turbulence modeling...). It is demanding, powerful and sublime (in the philosophical sense...). This is perhaps why so many are enchanted by this subject.

Convenient plug: For anyone interested in me talking about actual mathematics, among other more technical babble, I have a new "professional" website...

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[1]: I am giving an overly unfair criticism of high school mathematics... There is a certain focus on proofs and rigour in high school mathematics, but it is indeed nowhere as important as in higher mathematics, where all we do revolves around building provable systems.

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ED Discussion 24: Kizumonogatari II ED, Étoile et Toi by Clémentine

"Everything I see,
Everything I feel,
You are my universe."

One thing I really did not understand from the Monogatari series was Araragi's devotion to Oshino Shinobu, or rather should I say Kiss-shot Acerola-orion Heart-under-blade [1]. Why is Araragi a vampire (or rather, half vampire?) ? What truly is the nature of the bond between these characters? I am glad this series did clear things up, in a way that did not require me to remember much about the previously aired arcs.

The main question I kept returning to throughout the movies is the reason why Araragi decided to help Kiss-shot. While we see that the hallmark of Araragi's personality is his tendency to self-sacrifice, he begins the series with a lukewarm-at-best response to Hanekawa's reach for friendship, declaring friendships as burdens, or "weaknesses" in human character.

One clear difference these movies have with the other arcs is the step-up in somberness of tone, evident in not only the clear change in colour palette, but also the frequent portrayal of violence and bloody scenes, rivaling the most extreme moments in the main series. Clearly, this highlights the supernatural powers of Kiss-shot, that she is a vampire, an iron-blooded, hot-blooded, cold-blooded vampire that will devour humans for satiation. This begs the question raised further: why would Araragi sacrifice his body to help something clearly an enemy of mankind?

Perhaps it is to do with Kiss-shot's human appearance. Despite being non-human, she looks human, acts (rather) human, speaks a human language (conveniently, Japanese), and --- as we find out --- has human feelings of loneliness, joy, remorse and empathy. This is a large thematic point in the last movie though. As Araragi discovers Kiss-shot's appetite for human flesh, he is immediately repulsed extremely, wondering whether his actions in fact doomed his kin, whether he has helped the devil achieve the extinction of humanity. Yet, even after learning this fact, he decided not to completely exterminate Kiss-shot to restore his humanity, even when she explicitly threatens Araragi to do so. I would argue that Kiss-shot's human demeanor helped the audience sympathize with her easier, but evidently not much to convince Araragi plotwise.

Was it Kiss-shot's helplessness (she exclaimed that she didn't want to die, with crying noises of infants being played in parallel with her screams) which evoked pity in Araragi? I feel like this is very logical to a point of obviousness: The reason why one helps others is really out of pity, a feeling that the receiver deserves help because of belief that the receiver is in a dire situation. The "converse" is usually not true: Even when someone is in a dire situation, it does not mean that he/she will receive help. In fact it is quite rarely true; we turn blind eyes to people in need most of the time, understandably and reasonably so. There was a bit of hesitation on Araragi's side; he did run away initially, only to return with his offer. Araragi was described to be in sort of a trance when he returned (even more stream-of-conscious like than other parts), questioning himself in the process: "why did it have to turn out like this?" The desire to help is built into Araragi, even when it seems very dangerous for him to do so. He innately puts his life in an inferior position, as he promised to live a better life next time around. Is that so for the general person? (or, is Araragi a realistic person?) Do we need more Araragi's in the real world?

It is at this point that I started to wonder whether it was Araragi's lack of self esteem which motivated his actions. He didn't want friends because he did not think he deserved them, only masquerading this self-loath as egoism in front of others. He is willing to sacrifice himself because his self is of no worth; hence nothing is lost by his sacrificing himself. However, why does he want to return to being a human, when he can realize his image by being the villain to humanity?

Hanekawa played a major role here. He realized how he loved humanity. He may not have self-worth, but he thinks of others highly, all the more contributing to trigger his actions to annihilate himself (worthless) to save others (worth much more).

This series also made me ponder what I would feel if I were suddenly not human one day. What if I discovered that I am a human-devouring vampire? What if I found myself to be a cat one day? Is there a strong drive for me to return to being a human? Will I throw up in disgust at the thought of eating a human? (the present me would, but that is because I am not a vampire!) Even understanding the limitations of being human (the strong regenerative powers of vampires could be very useful), is there a fundamental will for us to be human? We do not know about Araragi's past, but would his past have influenced his decision and desire to be human?

As an afterthought, his tendency to self-sacrifice conflicted with his desire to be human throughout, and it is this tension which drove the conflicts in the movie. The one thing about Monogatari is that it is very savvy of its own... arguments and its weaknesses (shall we say). In Owarimonogatari, his "heroism" is subverted, but that is a story for another day.

I also found out that I love the bossa nova jazz style.

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[1]: Haato andaa bleedo

Chance; Transience

or, "Midway discussion of 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' (Kundera) because I am too lazy to finish the whole thing (for now)".

Chance

"Chance and Chance alone has a message for us. Everything that occurs out of necessity, everything expected, repeated day in and day out, is mute."

As I alluded to my previous post on "Probability and Determinism", the fundamental reason we think things (on a non-quantum scale) are uncertain is because of ignorance. We can model ignorance using probability and call it uncertainty, but really it is a shortcut to give some quantification on phenomena we cannot explain fully. We want to be certain about uncertainties, and be able to make sensible decisions based on what we can infer, and not what we don't know, or cannot infer.

Then we should read Kundera's statement as a realization that the unknown speaks more than the known. What is known is obvious, while the unknown is valuable and educational. I cannot but feel slightly dissatisfied with this statement. Does this mean that learning, a process converting the unknown to known, is a process of devaluation, to make something interesting into something common and dull? While some knowledge I do consider as dull, such as methodical, instructional  and formulaic knowledge, I do consider learning one of the (few) things I truly enjoy.

Perhaps we should reconsider what it means to "know". As a collective society, we "know" that objects fall when dropped. In fact we also "know" how fast it will drop to a good accuracy. Individually, we can claim to "know" this by choosing to believe, examining the theoretical formalism behind why such claims are "true", and even going ahead to perform experiments to confirm such claims. There is a subtle difference between the collective "knowing" and the individual "knowing", because inherently a collection of minds is different from a single mind. And, perhaps for some subjects, the meaning of "true" also suffers from ambiguity, or should not exist at all, even when we expect some "truth" to exist. A good example is economics.

All of these are, by definition, day in and day out occurrences (We hope that they'd better be!). Are they not interesting in itself? Practically, certainly they are interesting. We apply what we know, consistently and certainly, to design and build in engineering, for example. Theoretically, or rather, spiritually, I can confirm at least one person would find such things interesting. Perhaps that person is a bit weird.

I am by no means dismissing the statement, however. Certainly, the unknown is much more thrilling. Only from unknown can the known be born, and only from surprises can theories be formulated. Willingness to take chances is why people travel, why we want to meet new people and make new connections, even if such connections are really instrumental or ephemeral.

I am dissatisfied because it seems that we should subject ourselves to the mercy of fate, and be swept along by chance encounters, chance occurrences. I used to adopt this sort of Taoist (at huge risk of butchering this word here) stance, but I believe I have changed much since then. 

Then again, this interpretation could be completely wrong. Really, to experience chance means that we should defy fate, which tends to iron out creases and confine people to routines. "We are fated to stay with what we have when we are born: our talents, our personalities, our background." is the sort of attitude that someone who subjects himself to fate would say. We need to go and explore the unknown, explore what fate does not have in her journals, to form our own path. I feel that this is the message Kundera is going for, if we consider the actions of Tereza in the novel.

To conclude, perhaps I will just note how brilliant it is that this short statement alludes to such the primordial, yet intense conflicts of multiple sets of dichotomies, always in tension with each other.

Transience

"Einmal ist keinmal, says Tomas to himself. What happens but once, says the German adage, might as well not have happened at all. If we have only one life to live, we might as well not have lived at all."

I have been quite recently reminded of the transience of life.

Humans have achieved much throughout history, and in the process also extended their lifespan by a great degree. Yet, even if we understand the phenomenon of the transience of life — that one day we must depart from the world — we cannot internalize this fact. It is surprising, to say the least, but we invent theories, hypotheses and fantasies about how the "afterlife" should be. Perhaps out of curiosity, we explore the yet unknown, as to where our souls go after we die, but more so out of a strong sense of fear, for we grow attached to what we have achieved and do not wish to terminate our lives, despite all the imperfections and suffering in the physical world we live in.

If transience is scary, is eternity reassurance? Maquia in Maquia: When the Promised Flower Blooms belongs to the Iorphs, a tribe that lives much longer than humans. The film touches on multiple themes, including motherhood, love, racism etc. but one of the major thread that connects the thematic fabric woven by the film is this specific detail about the Iorphs. Racine, the leader of the Iorphs, warns Maquia to not ever fall in love, for then she will truly know loneliness [1]. A scene with the family dog at Maquia's host family dying forebodes this thematic thread: witnessing the aging and passing of others. The same could be said about the young witnessing the inevitable leaving of those senior to them. One may imagine the same repeated over and over to people who one comes across, and the degree of tragedy that really is.

Perhaps as a coping mechanism, we do feel that the life we have is a reasonably long one. In a sense, we feel that a second or minute is short, while a decade is quite long. Our perception of time is much affected by our lifespan. A dog's life is transient to us, and our lives are transient compared to someone such as Maquia, which in turn is also transient on the scale of the universe. The oft raised example of "the pale blue dot" description of the Earth by Carl Sagan really brings out our incapability to comprehend the incredible insignificance of our lives compared to the grand universe. In this brief and transient life, we, collectively as humans, really do not matter; yet we are far from capable of dealing with this fact, somehow like our difficulty in getting up from the bed despite having slept every day.

Kundera mentions the idea of recurrence, almost as a necessary consequence of eternity. Maquia will find another person to love, and they will spend their life with her, from birth to death, and back again. Kundera argues that a recurrent idea is a much stronger one. "There is an infinite difference between a Robespierre who occurs only once in history and a Robespierre who eternally returns, chopping off French heads." Influential as a dictator, romantic as a poet, ingenious as a scientist, one must eventually perish, and have his influence gradually fade. We are not recurrent, thus we are weak. We embody lightness, an unbearable lightness.

Implicitly assumed here is the inability for humans to be, in a sense, creative with our lives. Our lives are bound to be recurrent, visiting the same point more than once, if we extend our lifespan to infinity, unless we also experience infinitely many things. Even in our pitifully finite lifespan, we are doomed to repeat a routine: get up in the morning, commute to work, perform more or less the same tasks, go home, and rest. It appears that we are used to transience, though it is a concept we cannot grasp, and refuse to admit.

There is no preparing for the moment we succumb to transience. Even if we fully acknowledge its existence scientifically, we are simply not equipped emotionally to do so. This in itself is quite scary.

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[1]: This love extends beyond the "romantic" sort of love. Captivated by this quote in the teaser I thought the film was about something else entirely but I am pleasantly surprised by the depth; it goes beyond what I expected.

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ED Discussion 23: Uchiage Hanabi [Fireworks, Should We See It from the Side or the Bottom?] by DAOKO/Kenshi Yonezu

"We watched the fireworks bloom in a flash;
Surely this summer is far from over.
When it unraveled and tied our uncertain hearts,
I wished that night would go on forever."

If this night would go on forever, we could go to the beach, a faraway place through that train route we never dared to explore. We could go and watch the fireworks, and we could watch it again: from the ground, from atop a tower. Surely, in this infinitely recurring world, we would see the fireworks erupting in a planar circle.

The question whether fireworks should be viewed from the bottom, like we always do, or from a level plane, all up in the sky, is pointless. We know for a fact that the view will not change. However, if we allow for an infinite number of viewings, and ask what if the fireworks indeed spread in a plane, we will eventually see it. The particles from within the shell would arrange themselves so perfectly, it so happens to find a physical moment to accommodate this. 

This is the nature of infinity.

This film does not really contain much, but it does tie three important concepts together: Infinity, possibilities, and recurrence. The film is admittedly mediocre in terms of its presentation: The characters are forgettable, and the narrative is a bit of a mess; but in terms of atmosphere and tone, which are the main players in bringing together the message of the film, I can say that this film is worth a watch.

Spontaneity defines the direction of the plot. The serendipitous discovery of the power of the crystal ball, on the exact day that Nazuna is leaving the town, sets forth the desire to rebel: Nazuna against her family, Norimichi against his friends, and both in terms of fate itself. The ball catalyzes this stand off against the most fundamental law, time itself. Only if one rebels against the routine will one find the traces of infinity, that which enables possibilities.

In a meta-narrative sense, the artists behind this film embody spontaneity by taking much liberty in presentation, prompting the general dismissal of this film for its roughness. I find it very fitting though; I for one am used to abstracting away from minute details (which are often times important, really) and embracing a film/show for its ambiance. The somewhat unclear and muddled story brings a desire to ponder; the wild fantastical arthouse-esque presentation prompts the want of an answer, somewhere hidden within the rough shell that is this film.

Two revolving objects are prominent in this film: the round staircase and the turning wind turbines. They lurk around without explicitly being mentioned, but appear repeatedly. They come back again and again to encourage exactly a sense of recurrence. The crystal ball enables Norimichi to repeat the past, and realize the what-if's. Though repetitive, no two instances are technically the same, as we get to traverse different paths in each iteration. I suppose then we should call them restarts, but the scope of possibilities is so infinite that no two settings are really the same, even if the previous history is identical: we are bound to make different choices (no matter how infinitesimally different), which then causes the tree-like timeline to bifurcates, springing onto a totally different future. This is how recurrence connects with infinity.

The film is not one to be scrutinized, for it suffers much if we insist on doing so. Rather, if we look into the metaphorical crystal ball, as it shatters into countless shards, we can truly see what we would have thought to be impossible, and on top of that, much more where we would not even begin to imagine. The key to tying all this together is not solely a magical item, but the bravery to ask what if, to dive deep into the unknown waters. Who knows, on a depressingly ordinary summer day, you might be able to leap into a world that belongs only to yourself, where even something so transient as fireworks could manifest in an infinite number of amazing forms.

After the End

"It's been said that the world is already at its end. But I like this world."

I suppose post-apocalyptic worlds are a common setting in fiction, or at least not a rarity. It is a world that allows for a great area of imagination, yet also very grounded in reality. With the advent of nuclear weapons, the world has virtually been holding its breath for the moment when one slip of judgment would tumble the first domino piece and end the world, as we know it, in mere minutes. Indeed, when these worlds are portrayed in movies and such, I cannot but remind myself that such a fate may well be within my lifetime. It seems so far, yet so close.

Perhaps it is precisely because of this sense of "intimacy" that I find such stories inspiring, and in some sense romantic. In this post I will be examining two examples I have recently encountered: Shoujo Shuumatsu Ryokou (Girls' Last Tour, SSR) and So Ra No Wo To (Sound of the Sky, SnW). As I am in general averse to horror and violence, I find these two rather "mild" depictions of the post-apocalyptic world more amenable to my viewing: If anything the post apocalyptic world will surely be more akin to the world of, say, Fallout than what is seen here. Despite the apparent optimism, perhaps the "romantic" aspect of the message is more clearly expressed, and not obscured by the dismal violence for the sake of shock value.

SSR is, as its name suggests, a tale of a pair of girls' journey. Rather than a day trip over the weekend, the girls travel over the post-apocalyptic wasteland, scavenging for food and fuel while trying to reach the highest level of the city. SnW, on the other hand, tells the story of the 1121st platoon in Helvetia, one of the nation states that exist after a great war that destroyed most of the present civilization. It is centred on Sorami Kanata, a new recruit that joined the army to learn to play the trumpet, but should more appropriately be described as a collection of the stories of Seize, the border of Helvetia. The two worlds differ quite a bit, in terms of the degree of destruction, the amount of futurism, the remaining population etc., but nonetheless both share some similarities in themes and motifs related to the post-apocalyptic setting. (and also being great anime)

Motif: Regression of Technology

A prominent feature of the post-apocalyptic world in these two shows is the description of "technology": The Takemikazuchi in SnW, and various examples in SSR from sentient AI-armed robots, tanks, weapons, down to cameras and radios. 

This is more prominent in SSR, as a major feature of the show is the viewing of the world from the girls. To us, the post-apocalyptic world is a strange one, a mix between lifestyle long ago and remnants of the technology we see today. This leads onto another recurring motif, the process of "re-learning." Whether it be the girls in SSR revisiting technology we are used to today, or glass workers trying to reconstruct the height of optical technology in SnW, somehow a feeling of nostalgia strikes soundly, even though we witness a world in the future.

A large amount of depiction revolves around instruments of war, technology that were used to kill. The irony behind how humans, even at the brink of destruction, cling onto the technology that brought about this waste is shown clearly in this setting. The last bit of technology we want to hold onto is not something that helps us survive, but to make surviving harder. Even in the world where there are only a handful of humans left, a gun is a necessity. Perhaps this addiction to mutual destruction is why our world is doomed to end.

Motif: Beauty in the Desolate

I remarked on how contrast plays a pivotal role in the narrative in Planetarian, another anime set in the post-apocalyptic world. Indeed, contrast is so fundamental to this very setting, that it basically is the reason why we bother with fantasizing within this setting at all, dare I say. And in the desolate, lifeless, utterly destroyed world, the little bits of beauty shines bright as a jewel.

Every being to some extent must be attracted to beauty. This is especially true for me who considers truth as a pursuit of beauty. The task of surviving in the wasteland does not stop Yuuri and Chito to stop and appreciate a bit of music from the rain hitting their helmets, or marvel at the artwork of the past they know so little about. In a sense, the curiosity of Chito is a pursuit of beauty unto itself: the quest for a unifying, ordered theory for how people existed. How did people use to feed themselves? How did they communicate with each other? How did they honour the deceased?

The obvious example of beauty used within SnW is obviously music, but I will leave that to the next section. Another example would be the overarching legendary tale of the relic buried underwater, the story of the fire maidens. Surely upon seeing a giant fossil of the remains underwater, one would have a reaction similar to Kanata's: What stories have been told about this mysterious relic? The festivities surrounding the very tale, the reenactment of the tale through the real-life bastion maidens, the pious gratitude towards these figures of legend... all point towards the beauty, that of having a simpler mind, to put down suspicion and doubt, to enjoy a time of festivities with each other and thank the protectors of the town. 

In the brink of humanity, in a desolate wasteland, perhaps there is beauty to be found.

Motif: "Lost"

The girls in SSR are on a journey with a destination, but without a route. Their short term goal is to find food to sustain themselves, but they are in an eternal state of search. SnW dedicates a segment to Rio wandering around the town, in addition to the entire exposition linked by Kanata being lost on her way to the bastion.

Where are we headed? We are no oracles, and predicting the future is such a non-trivial task you could earn a handsome amount to be able to do something like that. Imagine then a world such as the one pertaining to this discussion. Perhaps then the answer is "to ruins," a rather obvious one. But is that the whole story? Can we find a way out of the barrenness? Despite seeming to have no other path in front of them, with nothing but destruction and lifeless empty land, the main characters keep on treading though, hoping that some other path will show.

Motif: Music

Some say that music is a language. Certainly, it is an art that transcends simple scientific analysis of patterns. That certain sounds can evoke certain emotions is one thing we take for granted, but explicitly discovered by Chito in SSR. It turns out that having raindrops hit their helmets produces specific vibrations, and for some reason, a relaxing feeling is generated.

The trumpet was used as an instrument to send signals between comrades in SnW. Thus, it is an instrument of war, a call to arms. However, can we even call that music? Some assembly of sounds are regarded as music, and some are not. Even if the sound comes from a musical instrument, it might not be regarded as music, or at least good music. Good music is human. It carries emotions common to everyone, fundamental to human nature, crystallizing non-verbal expressions into tractable, concrete sensations. It is beautiful, and I feel that the performance of Amazing Grace within this show is the zenith of this definition. In a battlefield filled with clamorous noises, the clashing of metal weapons, the screams of agony, the cries of mourning... the melody of Amazing Grace resonates, far beyond the horizon, signalling that the war shall continue no more. Princess Ilyia, the ambassador of peace from Helvetia to Roma, played this over the battlefield, just as Kanata played this just in time to stop the sides from breaking the unstable armistice, until Rio came with the message of peace.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me!"

This song is more than a Christian hymn. In the post-apocalyptic world, in a war-torn wasteland, survival often means hurting others, even if we don't know them at all. Upon hearing these phrases, could one still hold his weapon so dearly?

Where we are going

Where do we go from here, with all these symbols? Do they have any meaning at all? Indeed, in a post-apocalyptic world, is there a meaning to music? Is there a meaning to technology? Is there a meaning to go to war?

Does it mean anything to live?

This is a world of despair, hopelessness (絶望). Humanity has declined, and the zenith of civilization is no more. We no longer understood what we had discovered before, and have been reverted to scavengers of the remaining little resources, especially evident in SSR. Just as a discovered traitorous spy would commit suicide before his being caught, the motivation to simply leave the world is very strong. Yet why does Chito and Yuuri keep on journeying until they find the highest level? Why is Chito interested in recording and learning about history at all? Why does the 1121st platoon feel that it is important to stand between the gunfire from both sides, risking their safety to protect the peace of this world about to end? Why does Rio want to journey into the wasteland, to dream of the unknown?

Maybe there isn't a meaning, and that is the point. I have always sourced my inspiration from absurdist philosophy: to find a meaning out of the nihilistic mess that is the world, to define oneself alone, to create one's own world. That is the goal of life. That is the meaning, and this setting really challenges the extreme of this tenet. Kanazawa in SSR attempted to define his life by mapping out all of the wasteland, level by level; Ishii constructed an airplane from rediscovered knowledge on aerospace engineering, and that was her life. Yet, in one feel swoop, fate herself snatched both of their meanings right away. In one split second, all of what they had was gone. This is the true nature of the post-apocalyptic world.

Yet, Ishii smiled as she descended, feeling content.

"Let's get along with despair!"

An immortal quote from Yuuri indeed. It may not mean anything to construct anything, knowing it could collapse spontaneously in any moment, but perhaps the meaning lies not in the results of the construction, but the process.

"Let's go, to the place where our dreams lie, even if the world ends. Until that time, our future lies ahead."

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Insert Song Discussion 22: Watashi no Koe [Kokoro ga Sakebitagattterunda (Anthem of the Heart)] by Jun Naruse (Inori Minase) [1]

" 'Good morning', 'Hello'
'Greetings', 'How are you?'.
All these exchanges
I now realized how much I loved them."

As humans, we are granted with the most advanced brain out of all living things, the ability to think. Coupled with that is the power to express ourselves, through speech, and numerous sophisticated languages to help us achieve that. Yet, does this power come with a cost? Do we always want to speak out what we think?

For most, it is so easy to speak: to just open our mouth and let our thoughts pour out. Even people who never learnt to write or read must have learnt how to speak since early childhood. Yet, it is so difficult to take what we spoke back. Perhaps we can say that we didn't really mean what we said, but the very words that came out, in fractions of a second, have already made an unmistakably permanent mark on the listener's mind. Things written down can be erased, or covered by correction tape; things printed out can be destroyed, yet every individual possesses such a unique voice, that is virtually impossible to completely erase what is spoken, for every word is engraved, with a clear signature, on whoever heard it. Mere sentences, depending on context, could hurt, ruin, or even kill.

Given the dangers of speech, should we still speak? Is the blessing of speech really a curse?

Jun Naruse decided that she would never speak ever again, following her revealing an affair of her father, unintentionally causing her parents' divorce. Her decision manifested as an imaginary "egg" which literally zipped her mouth shut, inflicting a curse on her such that she cannot speak without serious stomach cramps. Even when insulted, or having strong emotions to express, she refrained from speaking, and internalized all sorts of damage silently. Stubbornly refusing to speak, she caused plenty of distress to her mother, who gradually became frustrated with Jun due to her shame from the rumours of neighbours.

Jun knows all the reasons not to speak, better than everyone else. She blamed herself for tearing her family apart (reinforced by her mother's blames), and thus, when the baseball team insulted Tasaki, having injured himself at the heat of the competitive season yet still bossing around the team as a captain, Jun screamed out to stop them, for you can never take words back.

Not being able to speak does not mean that no thoughts are generated. On the contrary, so much unspoken words get stuck in the brain that it starts to suffocate, desperately wanting to be expressed. Perhaps this is why, upon hearing about the ability for music to convey meaning, Jun jumped onto the idea of composing a musical for the community performance, and miraculously singing did not cause her stomach to cramp. Indeed, we don't speak like we normally do in songs, or poems. Rather, we use a great deal of artistic devices, to create euphemisms, yet in the process elucidating the matter at hand even better than plain words. However, having shut herself in for years, eventually she became aware of herself, and abandoned the crew on the day of the performance.

For she knew, once she expresses what she thinks, she will just hurt more people. She knew this so well, that she decided to shut her voice deep within her heart forever.

If speech is such potent of a poison, should we speak at all? Or should we just well up all the feelings we have, all the dark secrets we hold?

"Every being cries out silently to be read differently," wrote Simone Weil in Gravity and Grace, and indeed, as it turns out, even if we stop speaking out loud, we somehow find a need, a primitive urge, to express ourselves, because speech is our best way to change how people view us. I really like the contrast established in this quote, the desperate loudness of "crying out", yet qualified immediately afterwards by the word "silently".

Every being cries out, to be read differently. Not "whisper", "argue", "persuade", but "cry out". Indeed, the process of expressing oneself is sometimes ugly, even offensive, violent and rude. It is an outburst, but isn't this exactly the nature of emotions? It is exactly this violence, spontaneity and lack of logic that defines emotions such as happiness, melancholy, appreciation, disgust, hatred, and, most importantly, love. From this births the beauty that is art and music.

So speak out earnestly. Even if the words turn out to be embarrassing, even if they may hurt others. Because if these are your true feelings, somehow something beautiful will spawn from it.

“I had agonized so much over [this] project, but in the end it saved me.” -Mari Okada, script writer of  Kokosake. [2]

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[1]: As anyone (most, apparently) with a British background should be able to tell, this song is based on Greensleeves, also known as "the song that plays in the listening part of the local examination of Hong Kong", which is why it is also dubbed "the nightmare of Hong Kong students."
[2]: https://www.animenewsnetwork.com/feature/2017-09-06/how-mari-okada-went-from-shut-in-to-anime-director/.120417