Ah, what a thrilling adventure! Three "muda-muda" girls, meaning a mix of Aborigine and white, escape their government captors and embark on a dangerous 1000 mile journey back to their homes and families they were taken from. Between the ages of 8 and 14, the trio fight for survival in the wilds of Australia while being pursued by search parties and planes. The book starts off with backstory on how the Aboriginal peoples once lived before whalers, pirates, the British military and white settlers arrived. It greatly mirrors the plight of the Native Americans. Per the references page at the back of the book this would seem to be thoroughly informed by historical texts and research; for example, the parts involving Major Edmund Lockyer and other real historical figures. To what degree these events are portrayed in a fictionalized manner is hard for me to say, because I genuinely don't know. Similarly, the story of Molly, Daisy, and Grace, comes from author Doris Pilkington's own mother and aunt (Molly and Daisy respectively). So there's not much doubt that these are real people. In fact, the tale of their escape from the Moore River Native Settlement appears to be confirmed via newspaper clippings and other documents such as telegrams which are shown or quoted throughout the text itself. Again, it may not be possible to fully ascertain how accurate the memories of Pilkington's mother and aunt are. Generally speaking though, I don't have any concerns about how true this depiction is. Any discrepancies would appear to be quite minor in terms of the whole. I thought it was well-written, and had me engaged to the point that I finished the ~125 page book in about 5-6 hours, with a couple breaks during that span. I'm not a particularly fast reader either, as I find myself easily distracted. What I wanted to comment on is the political baggage that surrounds not just this book, but the real-world historical events on which it is based. The first two chapters covers the list of grievances of *both* sides, Aborigines and the colonizers. Naturally, being told from the perspective of the Aborigines, the rhetoric picks a side with phrases like "evil white invaders". And yeah, pirates showing up on your shore like "modern"-day vikings, murdering, kidnapping, raping, I find "evil" pretty accurate. As well, seeing as this land was called home by the Aborigines for tens of thousands of years, when they found out that these new people were here to stay and were claiming the land for themselves, "invader" is appropriate. I honestly can't tell if the use of "white" here is meant to transmit a racist message, or if it is merely being used as a descriptor for those who they initially saw as "gengas", or spirits of the ancestors, which coincidentally reminds me of things I've heard about the colonizing of South America. Either way, this is how stereotyping, blanket-blame, and collective guilt begin. With careless, ill-defined adjectives. On the other hand, you have military men who approach the world in their "might makes right" way. They come to a place where there are no means of land-claims that they themselves are familiar with (i.e. no flags, no walls, lines in the sand), so they treat it as unoccupied. The nomadic way of life is likely quite foreign to them, I'd imagine, seeing as the Western world more or less had stopped living that way for thousands of years by that point. More to that point, this is when you hear that argument about "civilizing the savages". Then back home in London or wherever, you have businessmen who see profits to be made, no matter the cost, convincing themselves that these Aborigines are beneath them in the same way as we might see animals as something to subjugate or push aside. Then for years and years these two groups betray, fight, and murder one another, each tallying up lists of grievances. Like a bitch of a woman and a total, waste-of-space dick of a man visiting the same therapist separately, they're both convinced of their own righteousness and that the *other* person was the primary mover of fault. If you look throughout history, only two things have ever, ever happened in this scenario: rarely divorce, and almost always winner-takes-all. I guess it's a matter of perspective. These kinds of arguments go nowhere, and they get there fast. The asian sphere of the world has their share of never-ending arguments, whether that's between North and South Koreans, Vietnamese; the Chinese and the Japanese, the Japanese and the Koreans. The middle east is much the same thing. What usually results of these matters is stoking the flames. But not stoking the flames of profound knowledge, or of anything constructive. Rather, stoking the flames to a movie theater and barring the doors from the outside. It's a pointlessly destructive project, which only people who have been duped into thinking Western society is absolutely corrupt and possesses no redeeming qualities or anything of value could participate in. Perhaps some believe they are stoking the flames of a train, Progressivism. I always ask: progress toward what? And at what cost? I don't know when the word "progress" became an inherently unassailable word. Progress is only as good as what it's in relation to, and I'm talking about the destination, not only what intentions a path is paved with. Anybody who has watched Jurassic Park should know this. The story is powerful. You can either see it as director Philip Noyce says: a celebration of "courage and resilience of the human heart". Or you can try to preach from it like a pastor with a Bible. The story itself is actually much more centered on the human elements, the people. Except for the most zealous activists among us, it's actually quite difficult to use this story to push an agenda; it spends a page describing how the black Aborigines make-fun-of and exclude Molly and the other light-skinned muda-mudas; other muda-mudas are often just as much of an obstacle to their escape as any of the white people in the story; many of the muda-mudas at the Moore River Native Settlement have come to terms with their new life, at least insofar as how Molly and Daisy describe their experiences. And many of the white constables who are looking for the girls cite concern for their well-being. Now, you can believe that concern is just a disguise. Or you can believe the constables and take them at their word. Or, you can do this truly revolutionary thing and entertain both possibilities simultaneously and with humility admit that we can't say for certain. Every step of the way, Pilkington seems to maintain a separation between the subjective Aboriginal point-of-view, and a more nuanced and balanced one where little is sugar-coated and little is deceptively biased. I was pleasantly surprised by this avoidance of diatribe. There was only one instance in the entire novel where I thought editorializing occurred, and that was when the Moore River Native Settlement was being described as a concentration camp. The kids describe it as a jail ("gaol"), so I therefore admittedly assume editorializing when it is outright referred to as a concentration camp, and alluding to this comparison again with a couple sentences that said (paraphrasing) "if only there had been a sign above the entrance on the way in, but they were illiterate anyway and it wouldn't have made much difference". The Moore River Native Settlement as it is described in this account is closer to a Japanese internment camp than it is to anything remotely like Nazi concentration camps or Soviet gulags lol. Regarding timeline, this imagery could only have been attributed many years after their experience, as this is all taking place in the 1930s. There is no question that much of what occurred, in the same vein as Japanese internment, the Chinese building the railroads out west, Native American re-location, was terrible. I don't know what good an apology would do, from a government that is only the same in name, not in people or policy. It would seem, to me, little more than a weak attempt to bake social brownie points, and not even from scratch. Maybe the Australian government that did not commit these horrible acts has already apologized for them, I honestly don't know. I'm no expert. And technically what counts is whether or not it would matter to remaining Aborigines or those of Aboriginal descent, and whether or not people want to take responsibility for things they didn't even do, and whether or not Aborigines would take such a pseudo-apology seriously. If there is one thing I do not do, it is apologize for something I didn't do, because I do not take responsibility for what I didn't do. That defeats the whole purpose of apologizing and of responsibility. It literally, fundamentally undermines the concepts. In abusive relationships, this is exactly how guilt works. It's called gas-lighting. Make them feel guilty and responsible for things that they did not do, for motives that they do not even have, and you are a psychological abuser. And the idea that you can just pay-off a wrong-doing of that magnitude is hilariously insulting. What are you going to do, calculate the damages? How? How do you calculate the emotional, psychological traumatic damage caused by having your own child forcibly taken from you? Or for the murder and taking of a human life? By what measurements, and who will crunch the numbers? A disinterested third-party? And then who will pay for it? Asian, black, latino naturalised Australian citizens? By logical consistency, is anybody entitled to reparations for any past wrong-doing, whether that be a Hatfield & McCoy scenario, or what? If not, why? What standard do they have to meet? How do you measure what level of suffering is sufficient to be recognized? If you ask me, Israel shouldn't exist unless you want to do that for every wronged group there has ever been, at which point your game is unwinnable and...
Ohayou-gozaimasu! Ohayou! Hajimemashite. Onamae wa nan desu ka? Fox desu. (I guess "Watashi no namae wa Fox desu." would be a bit unnatural, although still correct. My understanding is that it's similar to how in English we usually just say "I'm x." or "I'm y." rather than the full "Greetings fellow earthling; my name is blank.") Sorry, I only know the romaji. I haven't learned anything like hiragana since I learned my ABCs about two decades ago, so that's been a struggle. German spoiled me with an alphabet that's more or less the same as English. This phonetic lettering system is brand new to me. There is still much, much to be learned. Language learning is a process that never stops, not even in your own native tongue. Perhaps you have your own experience in learning a new language. I know that some of us here on the forums are actually ESL learners, which is very cool; that's what I'm minoring in. All throughout high-school, I had German language classes. Sadly, I didn't retain a whole lot of it... if you don't use it, you lose it. As I've done a bit more of my own research I've discovered that there is a significant, and very important distinction between learning a language and *acquiring* language. The ideal form is to acquire language, as we all acquired our native language since we were just a baby. I didn't find it appealing to take German in university, because it seemed to me like English was becoming so common over there that it didn't make a whole lot of sense. And I guess I also ended up finding Japanese culture and their ways of life to be of greater interest. It's easier for me to say that Japan is Japanese whereas I can't say that Germany is very German anymore. (Please note that I do *not* intend anything racist by that; I'm speaking in terms of culture and tradition, not irrelevant melanin levels, you dope.) So here I am, taking Japanese 101 next semester, which starts in just a matter of days. It's a bit daunting, but also exciting. I think it's cool that cultural norms are so ingrained into the language, especially when it comes to honorifics, being polite, etc. No doubt this adds its own level of difficulty; nobody likes committing a faux pas. But I find it cool, since in English we don't really seem to give a shit anymore. If you're not in the military, it seems exceedingly rare to use "sir". Nobody really knows how or when to use it in daily life, so old people are called "dude" or "bro" and somehow me, in my early 20s, get called fucking "sir". I also feel like there's just a general lack of respect or politeness which society could otherwise benefit from. Of course, taking this too far is an issue that seems particular to Japan. So you've got to find a balance. And my research also suggests that this varies from place to place in Japan, and it somewhat changes between generations. Generalizations to be taken with a grain of salt and all that. "Just not giving a shit" seems to be an increasingly recurring trend as time goes on. I'd find it weird to call my parents by their first names. They're not my equals, my "dawg", my "girl". It's just odd. Now, if they were such terrible parents that I no longer respect them, then maybe calling them on a first name basis would feel more appropriate to me. What's your experience been like in learning a new language? Which language(s) is it, and what did you find most helpful? At the moment, I'm focusing on natural acquisition. To best acquire a new language, you've got to immerse yourself in it. Yes, there is a place for a more traditional classroom approach still, and more standardized forms of learning and retention. But acquisition is where the vast majority of the power is. Of my own volition, I am taking the autodidactic approach. I already enjoy anime as it is, so that's good. I'm looking forward to reading some stories and light novels that are in Japanese. I don't know how successful my endeavor will be, but the books are intended for brand-new beginners like myself, and the stories are simple Japanese folk-tales that have both the Japanese as well as the English translation. Similarly, I want to try reading some light novels, buying two copies of each one: an English translation, and the original Japanese version. Starting with the Monogatari series, since I have elitist tastes and I only watch high-brow, quality content. I'm quite cultured. In addition to that is listening and speaking! There are a few Japanese bands that I like, for example: Jyocho, Uchu Conbini, and the cabs. Unlike a podcast, listening to the same favorite songs over and over can help me get familiar with certain words, phrases. I can then progress to podcasts. I already feel more comfortable discerning the sounds of the language. It's a wonderful feeling when the language stopssoundinglikethiswhereitsallrunningtogether and instead becomes something you can breakdown. Singing along to a song, even just a verse or part of a verse or a single word, is all part of the process. Likewise with anime that I've already seen, I sometimes like to sit there and repeat lines or words that the characters say, and I can try to use the subtitles to discover the meaning of the Japanese. Now, it wouldn't be good to become over-reliant on the subtitles, but I think for where I'm at it's a totally appropriate strategy. And it's fun. That's a big key right there. Actually enjoying the process. It helps that I'm already inclined to be fascinated by language. It helps that I think there's a lot of beauty and interesting things to discover by exploring the Japanese language and culture, regardless of whether those "things" are good or bad. Just routinely watching YouTube vloggers like Abroad In Japan or Dogen have given me *real* insight into what it's really like in Japan. Obviously, the only true way is to go there and live there myself. To check my expectations at the baggage check. But I'm glad I've found vloggers who not only share what they love about Japan, but also the challenges that come with living there, and the things that maybe aren't so great. Well. Time for some classical music.
Sirens are wailing. People in lab coats, construction outfits and security uniforms rush about in the red flashing lights. My brain's reactors are at their limits for processing knowledge. Aside from the reading I'm about to discuss, I've been watching a lecture series on Carl Jung's "Aion", Nietzsche's "Beyond Good and Evil", and watching Monogatari because I'm trying to figure out where and how to start with some video essays. Should I think of them less as super-duper-serious essays, and more like vlogs? I've already read two of my books for one of my upcoming university courses. Last semester was really tough on me, and this coming semester I am taking Japanese as well as a lot of reading intensive classes, so I'm trying to make it easy on myself. The two aforementioned books are "Book Love" by Penny Kittle and "The Book Whisperer" by Donalyn Miller, both of whom are secondary English educators here in the US. This being a writing forum, I'm sure you can remember well the awful required texts we had to trudge through in school. Or as both authors correctly point out, the texts that we faked reading, using Sparknotes or whatever pre-Sparknotes methods of cheating were available (back in my day, we had to pass notes back and forth without getting caught, etc. etc.) Cheating, even though we may have even been capable of reading the assigned text. The result? Kittle and Miller suggest, with data and evidence pulled from studies and other renowned professionals, that this is why reading is becoming more and more rare here in the US. Basically it's been associated as an unenjoyable, boring chore, with no value beyond getting at least a passing grade. The case they make is pretty convincing. In great detail, with use of many an anecdote, they tell a story of how changing their approach to teaching English has not only produced as-good-or-better final grades, but that their students all read more. Their focus is on developing reading as a habit, and the facts suggest that this is the most effective way to maintain and improve literacy. More important, to maintain and improve literacy outside of school. I'll admit it felt a little redundant, and I wonder if I couldn't have just read one of these two books. But there are some differences between them that I suppose justify reading both; Miller actually goes as far as to include examples of forms that she uses in her teaching, and both provide somewhat different recommended reading lists. Of course, the number one recommendation is to listen to what the students are interested in. As somebody who is a (not very prolific, and certainly very haunted) writer, and for somebody who wants to teach English in high-school, I admit that I don't read much. That isn't to say I don't have a profound appreciation for story, and I hate the fact that I'm not very good at telling stories. Not as good as I want or think I ought to be, anyway. But I watch a lot of anime, and soon I'm going to be tying that love for anime back to reading, starting with the Monogatari light novels. And of course there are fantastic examples of storytelling in the realm of video games. I believe in the power of art and so these books really resonated with me. However, I do have some reservations. The methods and practices of Kittle and Miller fundamentally go against what the "teaching industry" views as valuable instruction. They're the antithesis to drill-and-kill learning, rote memorization, testing and so on. Miller makes the keen observation that the US education system took pages out of the corporate America playbook in terms of worrying about numbers, dollar signs, and competition. Some of that is out of a genuine need to survive. But it is accurate to say that the actual students, real people, are forgotten about in the midst of this cold-calculated decision making. And unfortunately it's difficult to take such a big risk in bucking that system entirely. I would assume even more difficult for a brand new teacher like myself. Well, I don't want to get ahead of myself. I'm not graduated just yet. Still have some odd years left. I can at least say that it's nice to be introduced to these ideas now, to think about and hold onto for later. I may not be able to incorporate all of it right off the bat, and maybe I shouldn't regardless. Yet there may be some elements I can fit into the inflexible structure that makes up our education system right now. And I do have some hesitations. I would indeed rather have students reading texts that are tailored-appropriate to them, rather than classwide units where 90% of the students couldn't give a single shit about what's being read. The thing is however, I think that there are times in life, and in one's educational career, where it is necessary to put your nose to the grindstone and do the work. Not everything is going to be fun or enjoyable or immediately rewarding. There is also value in finding ways to make work less of a burden, of making it easier on oneself and learning the lesson that life won't always be a blast. Sometimes it's going to be dry and serious. I guess to that the authors might say "well, there's plenty of THAT already!" Fair enough. In addition, if the dry and serious work is so off-putting that the students are learning next to NOTHING, then what good is it really? The case that Kittle makes is that students first need to develop strong skills with reading that is more enjoyable for them (not to mention appropriate for their skill level), so that when they *do* get to that "dry and serious" reading, it will be less taxing. They will have built their "endurance" she calls it. There were some other minor nitpicks as well, from Miller's book. A similar criticism is her treatment of the embarrassing and anxiety-inducing popcorn reading. I understand the truth of this; I silently resented when the kid with the stutter was forced to read a small paragraph that took about as long as it took me to read War And Peace. And the kid with the stutter isn't stupid. They know the kids around them are getting impatient, especially because there's going to be that much less time to get started on the homework. However, how is a kid going to get better at reading aloud, let alone doing so in front of others? On a later page she does address this point, which is good. She says that reading aloud is by no means an automatic issue, but rather some preparatory work should be done to save time and help all the students. Then again, this is all assuming that one is teaching a unit-novel for the whole class... and didn't we spend ~150 pages establishing why we should do independent reading instead? So I guess this must be her covering the bases, figuring, "Well. If I can't change the system completely, maybe I can slightly re-work how we currently do things." I also thought that she contradicts herself once in the same section, saying that the less-apt readers may not be able to keep-up and will get lost or frustrated and quit when a hyperfluent "Susie" breezes through two pages in two minutes. Sure, I can see that, but earlier in the book Miller says that to improve the class-time spent reading aloud, she leads the reading. How is Miller reading any different than Susie? I'm not suggesting this is a major problem that undermines the entire book. Far from it. But my cynical inclinations cannot help noticing these things, and I feel obligated by honesty to point them out. I would assume that Miller, being the teacher, would be more mindful of these issues than a student like Susie who wants to flex in front of the cute boy next to her or something. Another obvious issue is that not everybody has the money, or can acquire the funds, for a personal classroom library. In these cases, regular trips to the school library (hopefully the school has a library lol) would need to be worked into the week. Likewise, time would need to be made for silent reading. My middle school had dedicated silent reading time every day which was pretty great, although I definitely didn't appreciate it as much then as I would now! I'm very thankful I went to such good schools. Anyway, if you're an English teacher or know somebody who is, or if you're confused why your child hates fucking reading when you tried your hardest to help them, one (or both) of these books would enlighten you. Since this forum is primarily made up of adults, I'm curious: do you still read for pleasure? Did school ruin reading for you, how or why? How much do you read? The Monogatari series will never cease to enchant me with that special magic. Everything, from the characters to the direction to the story to the animation to the soundtrack, is other-wordly. A devastatingly beautiful work of art. And that's life.
Once again, thou hast been baited into a blog post that has very little to do with its title. For over four months now I have been nicotine free! I'm thinking about quitting alcohol too, as I have some concerns about my vision (recent sudden onset of floaters following some flashes one morning, which all seems to coincide with the copious amount I've been drinking since the holiday season started). I'm already completely blind in one eye because I had a tumor on one of my retinal nerves when I was barely a year old. So, gotta' be extra careful. I saved the New Years party. The wifi wasn't working on the TV, and it was looking like we weren't going to be able to watch the countdown. But I had my laptop and a mobile hotspot. We hooked it up to the TV via HDMI and presto majesto! Got a headstart on next semester. Already finished a couple of the assigned books. Wondering why I've never done this before. Just trying to make things easier on myself. Finding Nietzsche of great interest because his philosophy seems much more active rather than passive. After all, what I want is power. But not the kind to hold over the heads of others. Rather, empowerment. From within.
Click-bait title. The rest of this has nothing to do with Christmas. Just sayin'. Been on a dive into Jung lately. It's enrapturing; I feel like I'm understanding some things in my life in a more intuitive, deeper way. But beyond myself and others, it's also unlocking some insights into anime that I watch or other forms of storytelling. Every now and again some thing comes along that integrates with whatever it is that filters all of your experience. And if you integrate it correctly, it can add to your understanding. I don't have a very good relationship with the inner anima. An even worse relationship with females as a whole. I've more or less accepted I'm not desirable enough to procreate. But I'm thankful that I've had a couple girlfriends so that when I die I can be at peace: "At least I didn't die a virgin!" In fact, one might say that the collective anima and animus are in unusual conflict in the society I have to live in. I find it interesting to think about, though you may beg to differ. Some people have a knee-jerk reaction when you suggest that men and women may have pre-wired (note: I didn't say *hard* wired) natures, and that there could even be reasons for this. I guess as somebody who's struggled with depression, self-image, self-worth and all the rest for the better part of a decade, I just can't put myself in a position to have my worth put on trial by Judge Judys. It takes a lot out of me. Like, "Oh. I see. I'm only worth that much because I lack the confidence necessary for arrogance." If I cared less about what other people thought, I could probably bounce-back from rejection much more quickly, or even have rejection bounce off of me. But, taken to the extreme, that path leads to delusion. As in: nah brah, the problem isn't me, it's all them! The truth of the matter is that the value other people place on us does have a profound impact on us. It determines whether you have children or not. It influences the jobs you get, and so much more. More often than not, other people can give just a good read on you, if not better, than you can on yourself. If you're just a negative drain on somebody else, obviously they're not going to respect you, want to spend time with you, or really have anything to do with you. Pretty reasonable and understandable to me. I guess, like most things, it's mainly about finding a balance. It's not that you should never care what others think, but if maybe somebody like myself could benefit from caring less. But I am who I am. I'm not exceptionally funny except among my close guy-friends; I'm not particularly interesting or alluring and yet I enjoy my solitary activities of reading and playing video games... sooo am I supposed to apologize that I don't go on exotic Instagram extravaganzas in exotic places across the globe? I find making conversation with guys easy and fun, but I've rarely ever felt that way with women—usually it's a "bore chore"—and I wouldn't be surprised if that feeling was mutual. I do think I could take better care of my health though! I could try to eat better, and I'm going to join a gym that's only a couple minutes away from my apartment. The thing is, I have to do this for myself than to try and get women. I don't know, I've never liked feeling as if I'm putting my entire sense of worth as a fucking person up for judgment by people that sometimes give me the impression they'd have to look up self-improvement in a dictionary. I guess all I'm trying to say is that I'm getting closer to fully embracing and accepting the fact, emotionally speaking, that this whole rodeo isn't fair. I'm oh-so-high-and-mighty, ready to accept that in our economy there are winners and losers, in life there are winners and losers. So I freely admit, you're damn right that it's a tough pill to swallow when you're a loser at something, especially when it assaults your entire worth as a being. You've got to have a strong sense of *self* worth to weather that, unless you're going to ask the government to arrange a marriage for you. Just work for the rest of your life at a fast food joint bro. Just settle for an unattractive and unromantic relationship; you're lucky if you're a 7 on the guy scale, and there's lots of 3's who will settle for you. Just go to college or start a business dude. Just stop being conservative, religious... anything that kills your chances, even if that means you stop being true to yourself. So, I guess I can't ask for sympathy. I've just gotta' come to terms with my situation, who I am, and that there's conflict between that and what's around me. There's a few different ways to go about resolving that conflict: there's some ways I can improve myself both health-wise and socially-wise (for lack of better words), and then there's some things I can't change without being disingenuous. That's just the way things are sometimes. I've still got some resentment, some envy, some jealousy, and I wonder how long I'll have to hide that and fake being happy. I guess that's an improvement over not keeping my negativity to myself. One good answer lies in attention. I really feel like I can't change the way things are regarding this. I can't change the way society approaches dating now. I can't change what I see as widespread degeneracy. I can't change the fact that if I do end-up in a relationship, I would have to settle for being somebody's 5th, 6th option. I'd have to accept the fact that if they'd known me in high-school or even in college, they would've gone for some other dudes, for God knows what reason. I'd have to accept that it's all about them, *I* had to wait for *them*, and *I* have to count my blessings that they would stoop to my level after 10 or 20 years of fucking around. I don't know if I'd have to swallow my pride to be okay with that scenario, or if it's not a matter of pride at all, but just a feeling of being some unvalued after-thought, and having feminism constantly try to gaslight me into being thankful for that. Nothing I can do about any of that stupid bullshit. Therefore I've got to start focusing on what I can change. There's a lot more to life than relationships; I guess I'll always feel like part of me is missing (out), but there's no good reason why I need to let that hurt the rest of my life. Maybe I can lead a 75% fulfilling life, and that's more than some can say. Similarly, I'm working on discovering more meaning and purpose to life that isn't dependent on relationships. For a while I was working inside this model of the world where everything was ultimately dependent on a relationship, but that was dysfunctional and not reflective of reality. A great relationship can add meaning to your life, but it isn't everything. I'm glad that I found teaching, I'm glad to have the family and friends that I still do, and I think going to Japan would be a cool life experience regardless of whether I stay there for any significant length of time. Faith and hope. Hard to come by for me, because I hate people who say "it will just work out". Are you some kind of fucking genie or something? I can appreciate that that's a much more soothing thought, but I know plenty of old women with cats and bitter old codgers for whom it didn't "just work out". Yet, over the course of my short life and even shorter dating experience, women have had a way of showing interest in me as soon as I *finally*, at long last, give-up on them and move on. It's like they've got some kind of radar that detects those who wake-up and escape their torment or something. Guess I'm just a target for use and abuse. I'm sure adding value in other ways to my life, like having a strong career and owning some nice things, won't make that any worse. I'm sure I won't find myself lying about what I do, like a general insisting on not being saluted because there are snipers lurking. Still, I can't deny faith and hope have been so important. They've really been the antidote to a lot of the suffering I've put myself through. I think that's a decent spirit to have for this time of year. Be thankful for what you've got. Some things have been improving. It's been a tough year but I made it, and you made it too. So, Merry Christmas.
This is an idea that randomly struck me as lightning seems wont to do. Whether it fried my brains or it's actually something worth sharing, I'm not sure. Do you sacrifice one person to save the many? Or do you sacrifice the many to save the one? In Your Name, Mitsuha could technically use her time-traveling body-switching ability to just save herself, her family, and her closest friends. It's never an option that's directly discussed, but it exists within the realm of what could possibly happen in the movie. Perhaps you could even view it as a powerful statement about her character, the fact that she decides to save everybody in her town from being killed by a comet impact, and never even stops to consider an alternative. In part, she's able to do this thanks to Taki, as they sometimes inhabit one another's bodies. I won't get into it here but there's actually a lot of things going on thematically in terms of anima and animus. The point is that it can be said of Taki that he not only saw Mitsuha and somebody worth saving, but the entire town of 300+ people. He goes through quite the journey with the help of some friends to find her (and with the help of some magic sake). In the end, we see that the trolley problem in Your Name is a bit different. The choice is an all-or-nothing, not the few versus the many. We see what failure looks like; the time-traveling second chance shows us what happens when you derail the trolley. Another of director Makoto Shinkai's works is the anime film Weathering With You. Here we find the trolley problem in a familiar form, but an unexpected answer with unexpected implications. Hina is a "sunshine girl". Tokyo and the surrounding region of Japan have been experiencing terrible rainfall practically every day. Strange weather all around. Yes, it's obviously alluding to real life global climate change. The weather is something that we still cannot fully understand, because if we did then we could perfectly predict it. Beyond that, in the anime weather is portrayed as a mythical world. Until the sunshine girl is returned to the spirit world where she belongs, this terrible weather will continue. Once again, we have the theme about saving oneself, which I discussed in a previous blog post. Mitsuha saves herself, and the town, but she's got Taki to thank for the opportunity. We still need each other to save ourselves. Instead of praying for the rain to stop, Hina prays for herself, and it's thanks to Hodaka in this case for the opportunity. He goes into the spirit world after her and brings her back to ours, and as they're falling together toward earth Hina prays for herself and their lives are saved. However, the prophecy holds true. Tokyo is flooded and becomes largely uninhabitable. Hodaka sacrificed the many for the one. And it has me asking the question: if I was the one person on the left-track, or if you were, would you be so brave and cavalier to demand the operator flip the switch? Or would I, would you, beg for your life and hate yourself for it? This has had me thinking also about the pandemic. How much do you sacrifice, and what, and who, for the 1%? Some people cannot accept sacrificing their lives in working for the 1%. But they're quick to sacrifice their lives, and force others to do the same, for a different 1%. The trolley "problem" is actually more like an ethical formula. The answer to the trolley problem depends on who you're asking and who or what's on the track. And if it's all up to you, God speed, because you won't please everybody. But go your entire life shirking the responsibility of the lever when it comes to you, and you'll regret it. The real solution, by the way, is to derail the trolley.
I'm happy to announce that I've made my first AMV (anime music video) and uploaded it to YouTube! This was a really fun learning experience, and a refresher course on Sony Vegas Pro 13. Boy is there so much to learn about editing... I wish I had a new super-computer so I could use the most updated software. It'd also save me a lot of time rendering videos. Unfortunately my current PC is too old to use the Adobe Creative suites. And it's difficult saving a lot of money when you're in college. Maybe I'll be able to afford a new one next year. For now, I'm going to have to make the most of what I've got. There's a couple things I'd already change now that I've watched it a few times; a couple spots where I think I should have picked different clips or arranged / edited them differently. But I'm still happy with the finished product, and onto the next thing. For the first time I'm sharing something I've made (by borrowing content that belongs to other artists, of course), and not somebody else's AMV. If you like it, please drop a like.
Learned how to use MakeMKV and Handbrake. It would appear that I can have the Adobe Creative Suites registered to a max of two computers at any given time, which means there will be no problem registering them on my current PC thanks to my free college student access. I can register them to my new PC in the future; maybe next summer if I work and save enough money. I'm eating out pretty much every day though so... Some recent events transpired, and through talking with somebody on here, I've come to some realizations about what happened. Then I went off on a (albeit related) tangent about Monogatari and one of its staple-themes: "People have to save themselves. One person saving another is impossible." - Meme Oshino The sentiment is echoed by various characters, perhaps even majority of the cast. Here is one such example. "People save themselves on their own. Nobody can ever save anyone else." - Koyomi Araragi Yes, yes, I know I've mentioned this several times before. At first, this seems like a stupid, pseudo-philosophical phrase to make the show seem smarter than it is. I don't think this is the case though. But we have to unpack what it means to be saved. The way I see it, is like the story of teaching the man to fish. If we define "saved" to include a state of dependency—that is to say, if you call yourself the man's savior—then so long as you live and provide for him, he will be saved in those terms. Sure, he does not know how to fish and feed himself, but thanks to you he won't go hungry. Of course, this is when we get into the tiresomely obvious point that this is not the most stable of relationships. What happens if you get sick? You disown the man? You die? Then he must fend for himself, something he has never done. Therefore the man finds himself in the exact same theoretical predicament in which you found him. So he was only ever saved as long as you were in the picture. Let us change the story a bit. Imagine the man is actually your father, and the roles are reversed. You are safe as long as he fishes for the family. But at some point there will come a time when he can no longer provide. Maybe he gets sick. Or he simply becomes too old. If he didn't raise you to fill his shoes, and show you how to take care of yourself and the family, then there is a crisis. You should have known he couldn't take care of you forever. Now you are nothing more than a slave searching for a new master. But let's say you are equipped to step into those shoes, and you lace them up. Not only have you saved yourself, but you have saved your father as well. He taught you how to do those things, and since he can no longer fish, you do it. Jordan Peterson talks about rescuing your father from the belly of the whale. It's a lesson he derives out of the classic movie Pinnochio. Peterson's lesson makes much more sense to me now than it did at first. When your father is sick, if he is too old, if he's dying, if he's dead, then it falls to the son(s) and/or daughter(s) to take care of him, the funeral, the estate and especially the rest of the family. So we see a scenario in which the father has actually saved himself, and also much more than himself, by not making everything dependent upon himself. I admit that this is tenuous, and such is the nature of armchair-philosophical musings on an internet blog from some dufus with an anime chick as his profile picture. But I digress: in at least a surface-scratch sense, I can see the relation to a tyranny, or a nanny-state. Megalomaniacs rule with their own moral justification over the "saved", their populace of dependents. Children, or adult-children, who either didn't want to fish for themselves, wanted to fish for themselves but were undermined and discouraged from doing so at every turn (don't take matters into your own hands; go to your nearest authority figure), or the paltry few who genuinely cannot fish for themselves due to clear medical reasons (and the possibility of their rehabilitation was never given any consideration because it defies the natural order of "I am your God-given savior"). Things tend to go very awry when this "master" figure is removed from the equation. He doesn't want you to know this, but the master cannot be every where at once, despite how he pretends to be God. He is not all seeing, all knowing, everywhere at all times. You live in a bad part of the city and somebody is breaking into your home? The police will see you in two hours. As in, they'll see "you", your dead body. A true leader, a true savior, relinquishes some of his control. At first that might seem completely antithetical. But it's about as anti-thetical as "If you love her, let her go." Love is a willing, freely made commitment. It is a choice to stay. As long as you keep the bird caged, you'll never know if it really wants to have a God damned thing to do with you or not. Likewise with tyrannies: as long as you continue jailing or murdering those who publicly speak or act out in defiance, you'll never know who has a knife behind their back, who speaks with their tongue in their cheek, who secretly plots against you; the paranoia then builds on itself like a feedback loop. The point then, is this. To help somebody, you can lend them a hand, but do everything in your power to not make them unnecessarily dependent on yourself. What would be the point of teaching if I go into school every day, sit there and do 30 copies of the homework for each of my five classes while they all watch me in silence (or more likely descend into disinterested chaos), and then take the test for all 150 students on top of it so that they go onto the next grade with perfect scores? That defeats the entire purpose of education. In fact, that isn't education at all. That's just a complete mockery. Likewise, practically all life is learning. We call it experience, or a journey, or life lessons, but the desired trend is *growth*. You handicap and hinder people by not freeing them. They might make mistakes, and some might fail, but that is how success works. Of course, we need to be realistic about our expectations. We need to be flexible in our methods of teaching. Many might learn better by doing, some might be exceptional at watching and mimicking, and others may be great at following verbal or written instruction. You can't save other people. There is a reason why Virgil can only be with Dante on part of his journey. There is a reason why Kierkegaard says you must take the leap of faith but doesn't push you off the edge himself. He is evil, who preys on the weak, the disadvantaged, or the foolish, saying "Sell yourself to me, and you will be saved." He is all that is good, who says "Become like me, and you will be saved." And then He offers to show you how, leaving it up to you to willingly follow or not.
Been talking to a girl lately and watching toradora! with her (not together; over-text kinda' thing). This isn't a major spoiler. In one of the episodes, Minori is talking with Ryuji and compares love to ghosts. She really wants to believe, and that's why she likes horror movies and being scared so much: she wants to be convinced that it's real. In a roundabout way she is saying that she'd like to think that love is real, because other people have claimed to be in it, kind of like how some people have claimed to have been haunted or seen ghosts when you yourself haven't. What took me 5 years to work-through was encapsulated so wonderfully in 5 minutes. Not even. Later, Ryuji basically says to her that just because you haven't seen something or experienced something, doesn't necessarily mean you shouldn't believe in it. It took me years to even reach anywhere approximately close to that emotionally. To have a modicum of faith. In part thanks to Your Name, and thanks to anime. So talking to this girl from school a lot lately and playing video games together, I wonder... if I really saw a ghost, would I be able to handle it? I think so.
High-school is when my depression got really bad. Before classes, between classes, after classes, I almost always had my earbuds in. Listening to some stuff that I'm sure would make me cringe now. I kept my eyes to the desk, or the carpet, or the shiny hallway floors. Not everybody is as lucky as I was, I realize. I still had friends who always kept the door open for me. Most of my classmates were nice, or nice enough, or at least would leave you alone. Unlike some schools, I was fortunate to have some really great teachers. I'm also glad that my counselor and the principal and so many other people were as understanding as they were. I think if they hadn't been, I might've turned out a lot worse. But it's hard to say for sure. I can only remember so much, and memories are imperfect. But I remember being a bit out-of-touch with my own emotions when I was much younger. Maybe I wasn't socialized as well I should've been or something, I don't know. I was angry about something, that's for sure. And I think when I realized that I'd hurt other people—like tearing up a note that a girl wrote for me right in front of her because she liked me and I didn't like her, or turning down another girl a few years later in a pretty crass way—I must've turned all that inward. By the time I realized that I kind of just... fucking sucked as a person, it was too late to apologize to a lot of those people. I'd made up all kinds of lies about who I was because I didn't like my actual self or my life. I'm not quite sure where I got those ideas from. Maybe it was my parents fighting. Maybe it was the way that their frustration with each other would sometimes get taken out on me, not physically but verbally. I didn't have anybody to talk to about these things. I was too young to be able to understand it on my own yet. Instead, I figured that it'd all simply go away eventually. If I kept it bottled-up long enough, I'd forget. But forgetting isn't the same as going away. In middle-school I fell in love for the first time, if you can call it that. I call it that because I think it might be the only time I really fell for somebody and it had nothing to do with how they looked, but who they were. She had a radiant personality. I was too wrapped-up in myself to do anything about it. The chance came, and it went. But oh, in high-school I still tried. And failed. And embarrassed myself, and probably embarrassed her. I said some hateful things that I'll always regret, and that I apologized to her profusely about. Then eventually I did what I always do, and that's isolate myself. For the first time I really hated myself. While other people were having other kinds of firsts, I was learning what it felt like to not feel anything at all. I was having suicidal thoughts for the first time. Life isn't fair. It just is. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with the things I've done. It's tempting to say "it was just stupid stuff that happened when we were kids". I have adults say that kind of thing to me, and it doesn't make me feel any better. It doesn't seem to appreciate that, in reality, the stupid things we do or that happen to us when we are kids can significantly shape us. I don't think change is impossible, but the shame from the things I did to other people, and my completely toxic self-image, are why I struggle with looking people in the eye. I look down a lot; I don't mean sad, but literally. It took a lot of constant effort to change my posture to one that's more respectable, so at least I come across as shy and not as a total loser. No offense meant to anybody who feels like a total loser. I still feel like one every now and again. I merely put on appearances. A Silent Voice is a movie I needed when I was a freshman in high-school. In my senior year I think it's safe to say I'd hit rockbottom. At least, it was the worst I'd ever known, and it could only go up from there right? I was coming to terms with some things, and it didn't feel like I had to let my past define me. I went on isolating myself a lot, but I also played varsity soccer, a return to the sport that I'd quit a few years before that. That made me open up to people a little more; on occasion people would be talking about me, out of curiosity. I made a name for myself but even still, I kept being avoidant. Somehow my avoidant nature, my skipping classes, and some of my other antics had people thinking I was "cool" or that I was baked all the time. People actually thought me, the kid who can't take a puff of weed without having a panic attack, was the biggest class stoner. I got attention from girls who I believed would never give the real me the time of day. I got attention from the girls I'd wanted attention from, and yet there was something wrong: it only served to further ruin my outlook, and leave me with more misgivings about women and what they want. What they wanted is not only something that I wasn't, not only somebody that I couldn't be, but somebody I didn't want to be. I don't mean to make it sound like I got a lot of attention. Nobody asked me out in high-school. But girls made efforts to talk to me and inquired about who I was going to prom with and so on. They'd ask me to study and stuff like that. I didn't really get it, because I wasn't trying to attract them, and I didn't figure any of this out until years after I'd graduated. And it's possible that most of them just wanted to be friends. Whatever. It's safer solo. And by that time I'd embarrassed myself numerous times on social media when I'd go on a drunken bender, claiming that I identified as an anime girl on Instagram, loosely implying that I'd kill myself, etc. Sometime I wasn't even drunk, but not thinking-straight because emotionally and internally I was such a mess. The last I saw anybody from high-school except my closest friends, was at an unofficial reunion. I got shitfaced drunk, threw-up in the bathroom, and left without saying goodbye to anybody when it wasn't even midnight yet. I wished I'd had somebody to talk to all those years ago before I learned to live in sadness. I wished I'd known even just some of the things I know now; I wished I'd had a bit more perspective. I wished I wasn't a coward who ran from the bad things I did, instead of confronting them and asking for forgiveness and trying to be better. I wish somebody would have stopped me from emotionally and mentally lashing myself for more than half a decade. But, I've accepted that that's the way things went. They could've gone differently, but it can't be changed now. At least, maybe being able to put all this into words is a sign of making good progress. I think taking some gap years was the best decision I could've made before going to college, even though it was unintentional. In some ways turning that anger inward, beating myself down, tearing myself apart, it taught me some things, even though they may have been lessons I could've learned the easy way rather than the hard way. I think it made me nicer to people who feel the same things that I've felt so strongly, especially if they don't deserve them. I don't know if I deserved the things that happened to me, that I did to myself or not, but I can't change the past. The past still haunts me. Echoes of it, or sometimes face-to-face, but the past all the same. Since then I've tried to be a better person, and I've tried to not repeat the same mistakes that got me in such a terrible place to begin with. I've slowly figured out how to forgive myself, how to identify what was my fault and what wasn't, and that maybe I'm not quite as shitty of a person as I once believed. Emotional scars are like any other scar, in that they don't go away. There will always be reminders. Phantom pains. But, I do know that I don't have to let it define me. I'm not doomed to repeat the past, although habits can indeed be hard to change. And maybe I'll have to carry on with some of the damage, like how a person has to live to learn with a limp, or the loss of their hearing or something else. I've come to accept that struggling to meet the eyes of people is just that: a struggle that started somewhere back-when. It's something I can get better at, but it will take time.
Oh, how it is to be Too fast. Too slow. Caught standing still. Caught jumping the gun. A puzzle piece in the wrong box. A gift you didn't want for Christmas. A stranger in a stranger land. Look but you can't touch. Look but you can't have what so many have. Oh how much easier it is to accept Christ's love. Purist unconditional. And maybe it will be easier to love Him back for his acceptance and understanding. I have finally found the middle ground that no other so far could give to me, in between the heights of hope and the depths of disappointment. Don't have expectations. But don't be walked on, they say. Don't get ahead of yourself. But don't let it pass you by, they say. The grass is as green here as it was over there. I am done listening to these riddles. Win stupid prizes, in a stupid game where every move you make is at once a wrong one and a right one. God's love has no such contradiction. No such capricion. You needn't fear where it leads you. You needn't worry it will burn you, or will leave you out in the cold. It is and it is so. He does not make me feel as if there is something wrong with me, or that there's something I'm missing, like Bumblebee without his translating device. He does not "settle" for me. He doesn't let Himself go. He does not cheat. Maybe the only love I'll ever get, is the only love I'll ever need, and all these years it's been right there. Waiting for me to let go and accept a walk of solitude. I shall shamefully gaze upon no other again, for every time I have it hasn't worked out in the end. I have tasted the fruits, and they were never worth the labor. Though certainly I'd be singing a different tune if by luck I'd been one of the men born to be fed grapes. But "life just didn't work out that way" has become a popular saying as of late. One man's pain is another man's pleasure. One man's fun is another man's misery. What comes freely to one man, will never come to another no matter how hard he tries. If I must carry a burden, I would sooner carry a cross than that wretched ball-and-chain that my heart and mind have been dragging for half a decade. And all of a sudden the noise stops. The voices wondering why I'm not good enough. Why I'm different. Why I suck. Why I'm not man enough. Why I'm not a man at all. Why I'm not desired. Why I'm catch-and-release. Why I expire unopened. What's wrong with me? What am I doing? What do I even want? Why is all of this happening? Just silence. None of it matters anymore. All the comparing and contrasting, everything. The Gordion Knot of my own weaknesses, deficiencies, it's all gone. It's finally stopped. Of course, I can't just erase it from my head. The scars remain. My addiction remains. And when a guy tells me they're in love, I keep it to myself, but I cannot help but feel the same way an atheist must feel when they hear "I'll pray for you". I may not be good enough for anybody, or I may not be right for anybody, but I'm good enough for God. Maybe I can learn to love God, and perhaps his ultimate patience will be enough to teach me to love myself, and to find my own happiness while walking this path before me alone. God is the only one who will not run, no matter how ugly or damaged I might be, or how obscene my own wants may be; though I am so terrible, so superficial, that I know I am undeserving of any one's affections, still He does not turn his back. He does not run. It is true that people can only save themselves: I had to let God in. He knocks, but he doesn't let Himself in.
Ryan's fairly boring university life is disrupted when his roommates unexpectedly move out of the apartment. He comes face to face with a problem he hasn't had since his freshman year of high school, now six years ago: making new friends. More than that, he will struggle to hold onto the people he thought he'd never lose, and try to unravel his misgivings about the mysteries of love and relationships. He'll fight to keep his sanity together when old demons return, as Ryan finds himself alone in his political views, religion, and life in general. Like a leaf in the wind, blown far from the tree where he grew up when everything still made sense, Ryan isn't sure where, or how, his life is going to land. --- A fellow forumer encouraged me a while back to buy a stack of note-cards and begin story-boarding my novel. So I did. I'm not done, I'm stuck after having finished card 15, and I'm sure some re-ordering will be... in order. But what I've got so far, and also general idea of the story's end, helped me draft this rough summary.
With the final week of the semester approaching, I am in the preliminary stages of putting together a script for my first video essay, tentatively titled: Your Name | the anime that changed my life Aside from some minor research I've done on here, I've found some great video essays on how to make video essays on YouTube. I intend on getting a Blue Yeti microphone and one of those foam-boxes to put it in for better sound quality. I'd like to lay down a lot of dough for Adobe Premiere Pro, but I've already got Sony Vegas Pro 13... I can't spend a whole lot of money (I'm a college student after all), so I think a nice new microphone will more than suffice. Plus, if this doesn't work out for whatever reason, I don't want to be stuck with another multi-hundred-dollar software that will hardly ever be used again, on an aging PC no less. One step at a time. (By "work out", I more or less mean if I don't enjoy making video essays. I don't have any intentions of monetizing the videos, or doing this with some grandeur scheme of building a following or some brand bullshit.) Maybe further down the line I can think about dabbling in Adobe Premiere Pro. I was wondering what I will make the channel name. I'm thinking just Foxxx will do. Especially given that I'm not overly concerned with marketing my videos or anything. But now the big question is... lower-case or upper-case? Self-doubt creeped in and asked me what the Hell I think I'm doing. Not that I don't think I'm capable of making video essays. Rather, it wanted to know why am I doing this? I don't intend on doing overly technical video essays; I don't know enough about cinematography to make a whole video on it, for example. So I thought about the video essays that have inspired me to try my hand at it. Is Kaiki a Good Person? | Monogatari Character Analysis (by Under the Scope) The Genuine Cost of Oregairu's Biggest Lie (by Hiding in Public) (And there's this one from the WashingtonPost, even though it's not a video essay.) And it's reassuring to know that I think there is a space for what I want to do. There's already a great video essay on Your Name that talks about how it was a life-changing experience for the video essayist (you can watch it here) and yeah, at first there was a kind of discouraging feeling... like, oh, it's already been done. But it's also encouraging. Nobody has my perspective at the very least. Nobody will do it the way that I do it. And this other person's video essay is fantastic, inspiring, and it's making me think of what I want to say with mine and how I want it to effect the audience. Even though I want it to be about that personal connection, I want to make it accessible, and I want it to end on a high, positive note. I'm already sure that a lot of my talking points will be different. The connections that I make will be different. For instance, I think my approach might be more focused on my individual experience... like following my journey through it? In other words, I don't think I'll spend any time on things that aren't more immediately relevant to my personal experience of the film. But if there's a little overlap, that's okay too. If anything, that's good in it's own way, because judging from how this other person's video was received, there are people out there who share similar feelings about this film. And I think that's one of the things I want to create with this video essay. Maybe with my video essays in general. A space where people from all over the world can share their own experiences, reflect on the video, and find a sense of community through that art that has moved us. Oh, I'm so emo, I say with a self-aware look. I want to make an AMV of this song. Music makes me think in such vivid memories and imagined images. This one's been on repeat especially.
(This is going to be a rough draft for a video essay script. My intention is mainly to try and get down some main ideas and points from memory / off-the-cuff, even if the result is disorganized. Another day I'll watch the movie and take notes.) --- Your Name, or Kimi no Na wa in Japanese, is a 2016 sci-fi romance anime film directed by Makoto Shinkai. As one might imagine, this is going to contain some spoilers for those who haven't seen the movie. This video is a personal essay and reflection that I will not monetize; any and all credit will be given to the respective holders in the credits, as well as in the description below. Before jumping headlong into a summary of the plot, I want to do some set-up. I saw the film roughly a year after graduating from high-school. I still have the tickets [display picture]: April 25th, 2017. April 26th. April 27th. May 2nd. May 4th. Five times in two weeks, I saw my first ever anime. The first viewing was on a cold, rainy April night. From a list of two-dozen movies I went to an AMC and decided to see Your Name, placed alphabetically at the very bottom of that list. Strange or dramatic as it may sound, I sometimes wonder how different my life would be today if I'd seen something else. Because something in me changed after seeing Your Name in a theater completely by myself. Not a single other person had bought a ticket. I was just... alone. I was somehow more immersed in this beautifully drawn world, more invested in the lives of Taki and Mitsuha than I would've been if I were watching a movie with real actors, filmed out in the real world. I think the fact that I said "lives" rather than "characters" says a lot. I'm paraphrasing, but Ernest Hemingway once said that one thing all great stories have in common is "that they are truer than if they had really happened", and that after it ends "you will feel that all that happened to you" and "afterwards it all belongs to you: the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse and sorrow, the people and the places and how the weather was." [display quote and picture] That's how it was for me. It was like I'd been through the experience myself, and I hadn't yet come to grips with it. So I went back again and again to confront those emotions, trying to work through them. I'm 22 now, and since my freshman year of high-school I've struggled with depression. I remember getting back in my car and sitting there for a moment, rain drumming steadily on the windshield, and a light in the parking lot shining down through the sunroof. And I cried. It was the weirdest thing, but I guess I'd just been numb for so long that everything came out in a flood. It's hard to talk about because it's such a vulnerable moment, and even though I've got a wall of anonymity I can hide behind, I'm still hesitant to share this. But depression isn't always feeling sad. Like Dante's circles of Hell, it goes deeper, to this deadly kind of emptiness that makes you miss feeling anything at all. The movie came full circle for me in that moment. At the beginning of the film, Taki and Mitsuha go back and forth in a shared soliloquy: "Some mornings, I wake up crying without knowing why. That sort of thing happens now and again. Whatever the dream was I had, I can never remember it, but... But the only thing that does last when I wake up, is a sense of loss." At that time in my life, not even a year out of high-school without a clue as to what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go, and still recovering from the end of what was my first real relationship, this message really resonated with me. The way that the story is told out of order here is also important. There's the set-up in the opening scene, where the characters are trying to come to terms with having lost each other. Then we go back and are taken through that journey. As Hemingway says, it happens to us. Then in the final act of the film we return to the present, and with a full understanding of Taki and Mitsuha's relationship, we want them to do that soul-searching. They go about their new adult lives with this sense that something is missing, and we're hoping that somehow, someway they're going to realize it's one another. I think that what's important for me when it comes to depression is to get out of my own head. Your Name forced me to do that in a very surreal way. Kind of like how reading a good book requires a lot of active imagination on behalf of the reader; you have to throw yourself into the story for it to fully come to life. I noticed that depression had turned me into an incredibly self-centered person. I was taking and taking and taking but I wasn't giving. I was just this black hole. So Your Name was a really great practice in empathy. When I couldn't cry anymore and pulled myself together so I could drive home, I realized something. I wasn't just feeling sorry for myself. In a bizarre way, I was actually so happy for Taki and Mitsuha. I was so relieved. And it was more than just rediscovering how to be happy for somebody else. After my last break-up I was pretty devastated. With all of the other big changes and uncertainty I had in my life, I was in a pretty bad mental space. I'd lost all hope. So Your Name was this beautiful reminder to dare to hope, and to have faith. Art reflects life, and life reflects art, around and around we go. And once again I think Hemingway got it right. "That is what we [meaning storytellers] are supposed to do when we are at our best—make it all up—but make it up so truly that later it will happen that way." In my human development course at university, one thing I've learned is that humans are wired for intimacy. That intimacy may look different for different people, obviously, and some may value intimacy more than others. But still, to some extent there is a basic, fundamental need for it. That is part of what is dramatized in the relationship between Taki and Mitsuha: their connection. I'm not going to try and suggest that Your Name cured my depression, or anything as ridiculous as that. But it definitely shined a light on the importance of having hope in the future. Of having faith in myself. And also it broke down those walls I'd built around myself, and showed me that the way forward was not dwelling further and further in my own sickness, but in staying connected with other people. With good people. Intimacy doesn't necessarily have to be romantic. Sure, I'd love for something 1/100th as magical as the relationship that Taki and Mitsuha have. But each of them also have a solid bunch of friends who support them. I'm lucky to have that. It makes a huge difference having even just one person whom you can share your struggles with, who won't let you give up and who wants to see you succeed. And it will transform your life if you can be that kind of a friend for another person. At least, that's how it's been for me. Like I said, I still struggle with my mental health today. But Your Name, in the most unexpected way, helped me onto a path toward getting better. That path is going to be one that I'll have to walk for the rest of my life. There is no end to it, because there is no limit to how great we can be. And sometimes I'm just happy to have found that path. Since then I've watched all kinds of anime, incredibly entertaining stories and characters that have made me think a lot about everything in life you could imagine. Those are the things I want to cover in the videos on this channel, and I'm hoping that we can all share our own journeys and experiences in the comments below. After seeing Your Name, after sorting through the emotional whirlwind that followed, I wanted my life to have even just one atom of that magic. And over these past few years, because my heart is looking for it, every now and again there's a moment where I capture that magic. It could just be the way that the sun lands on the farmfields out in the country where I live, after a summer rain. It could be the silent snow falling on a still night. A polaroid of you and your friends or family. Our lives will never be quite as magical as a movie. They're too messy, and it's up to us to try and pull-out meaning from the cacophony. To salvage the extra from the wreckage of the ordinary. If you dare to live with an open heart, then maybe catching enough of those crystalline moments, maybe collecting enough of them in our memories, will let us piece together an honest, wonderful life that was worth living.
I'm never getting better. Well, my body is going places; it used to be located about 2 hours south-east of where it now resides. But mentally I've been in the same place for 5-6 years now. Around and around we go. Yeah, cover that up with some soma, the White Coats say. Drink it for the rest of your life. Nothing will change, except that you won't care anymore. Way to dodge the issue. We've got your back, people I know through video games say to me. I'm part of a clan, and I recently submitted an ELOA (extended leave of absence) for "mental health". The sentiment about my back is respected, but beyond that it possesses little value. It's just "what you're supposed to say", like thanking somebody for holding a door for you even though both of your hands are free. Maybe they wish they could have my back. They wish me well, at least that much is clear. But there's nothing they can do for me. The sentiment is only gold on the surface. A fake egg. "People have to save themselves. One person saving another is impossible." - Meme Oshino ^This sentiment may not be gold or silver at all, but it's as real and apathetic as solid ground. Not without value, but invaluable. I really don't want to talk about my problems anymore. You get tired of talking about them for over half a decade. What I really want is for them to change. To go away. Or even to kill me. But enough of the limbo, purgatory bullshit. I've cut nicotine for nearly a month. I'll be cutting alcohol the same. I'll be cutting visual stimulation. For that reason, I do not look at women except when social custom dictates I ought. The gym near me has reopened. They have a deal with the apartment complex I live at, so I get to go there for free. Their hours are a little weird now but other than that, it's how it was ~12 months ago. As of late, most of the time I oscillate between being irritable and dead inside. I take the disappointment of life personally, and I think, "Oh yeah? If you're going to shit on me, God, then let me do a better job." And I do something self-destructive. Generally speaking, I don't enjoy life. It's either a bore, or a chore. I became addicted to video games because they're better than real life in every way. Has that story idea been done already? Not that it matters. Even if it hadn't, I don't have the discipline or dedication to write it. I lack all the necessary characteristics to be a successful person, it would seem. I am a failure because of me, and my emotions that are beyond my control. I liked it better when I was narcissistic and egotistical enough to believe I was a failure because of anybody or anything other than me. Now every day all I can think of are my unchangeable deficiencies that permanently hold me back. That remind me of the increasing gap between where I am, and where I want to be. Between who I am, and who I wish I could have been, if only I hadn't been born me. Out of steam at the end of something yet again: the semester. Motivation is a myth. It does not scientifically exist. Just an illusion. Time to go lay in bed again for the next couple days. I liked life more when I was young and delusional. Let sleeping dogs lie? I say let the blind remain blind. Lucifer, the light-bringer, is the truth after all. For I would have preferred to have stayed in the dark, rather than see things as they really are, in jaded cynicism. I've toyed with the idea of just how far I can take video games. I'd still eat well enough, and try to make healthy decisions for my body. And occasionally I might socialize with people in the "real" world. But you can't blame a man for preferring to play video games, where it is actually fucking possible to achieve the things you want to achieve, unlike the real world. Even if I can only achieve the shadows, rather than the thing itself. Because even the shadows of the things I want feel forever out of reach. I can be somebody who matters. Who belongs. Who makes a difference. A hero. A consistent person. I can make progress and keep track of that progress. I can experience things that the real world has failed to provide me, some fantastical, and some, like having a family, of a more mundane nature. I can be whoever I want, instead of being the worse-than-underwhelming "me". And in the 2020 Skyrim election, the Stormcloaks won. As it should've been. I can't think of a single way how my real life is better. Real life will just be some annoying thing I have to do on a daily basis so I can get back to the better ones.