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*Monogatari will continue on growing in fidelity to time like the eternal vow Isin's characters promised to themselves*

~~

It's strange...A lengthy year post-Zoku hasn't even been shown yet, but the forward progress in reality's timeline being an indisputable verdict in the Monogatari Series henceforth casts a sense of inescapable obligation to be mindful of the years that have been, in looking over the year that is now. Nearing the end of the twelvemonth, I've dove into this new world outside the garden of the high school that we've known for so long through Araragi's eyes. And there's no more looking back, for the Fire Sisters have ... disassembled, operating with only Tsukihi as the sole agent of justice; Nadeko has begun to reconcile with her past, looking back on it hard to place more importance on looking onward; Kanbaru has retired from the basketball club and is attempting to make amends with the consequences of her generation strongly felt by her juniors; Shinobu had a reunion with Suicide-Master after six centuries; and Araragi found a new Maths friend in Meniko, being a full-fledged university student who has graduated from Naoetsu High. The gears have turned--they're turning and will continue to do so from now on as we've flipped past the chapter of Araragi's high school years. So it's strange, skipping through time with such finality specifically in this case. I was not expecting at all for Monogatari to be one with pure fidelity to the march of time so as to arrange a continuous affair with them and us after everything that's happened. It got to me only as of writing that it'll continue growing like the eternal vow Isin's characters promised to themselves.

!! Sentimental Drama Alert !!
In the face of a disciplined show with an unfading commitment to self-growth that does not avert its eye away from the philosophies that affect our reality, I once turned tail. Apart from the usual stress of university inhibiting a focused watch time, I was terrified of confronting the disappointment of knowing that the lessons I thought I'd learned from the past had been gradually neglected by me once again. To be honest, that sort of terror was present even dating back to the announcement--a surge of excitement for a new installment that preceded a gray sorrow. That was because I'll be watching a long-awaited entry to the series without a close friend anymore, the close friend that introduced me to it, who to this day perhaps has Monogatari as his favorite anime amidst all, the only friend whom I've made tryhard analytical discussions with and vice versa. The emptiness that comes with necessary growth so easily made me regress, and so I was placed in my most sorry state again, the same one I had years before, and watching the characters moving on from it (with huge emphasis on sweet Nadeko) was nothing short of exhausting. That battle of voices had me pause Off & Monster Season after Draw. Only now was I able to muster up the strength to confront myself through Monogatari once more. Though that friend was still on my mind all throughout, it seems the "Completed" tag slapped on this season in my profile shows a prevailing over what has been haunting the heart, albeit a victory not so overwhelming as I'm writing it to be.

Araragi's absence at the beginning of the new season formed the bedrock of its effective storytelling. Although the menace overtook the latter half (for better or for worse for the many), the established absence only made acute the ubiquity of his salvation spree's influence. I hate it but it's funny how Araragi's constant attendance on screen made it so that there's a degree of anxiety hovering around whenever the rest of the characters encounter major apparition-related issues without him, compared to Shinobu Mustard where it was a breeze to watch through without any sort of restlessness simply in virtue of his being involved. And he's not even a Deus Ex Machina; it's not even like everyone is overly dependent on the guy. I understand that this weird conception stems from my own weakness. I am a character in Monogatari who was helped by Araragi, but I am also a person who can help myself even without someone like him--or at the very least, after he has imparted the seedling from those noble deeds for me to nurture for myself, only if I take bravery into my arms.

See, Monogatari has a way of slithering into the more personal quarters of a person (and just like me, share my thoughts with vulnerable dramatism). Tsukihi Undo's colorful theatrics, led by the verbal deadpan queen Ononoki and Nadeko Draw's wild goose chase littered with the titular protagonist's humorously self-aware internal soliloquies were sure to be a fun ride in and of themselves, what with the flex on stylistic genius utilizing the medium in such a bizarre yet artistic manner so as to further reinforce its identity seamlessly through the ocean of dialogue, but in reflecting over the experience, it is the feeling of witnessing a Koyomi-less adventure that takes good care of the individuals now placed at the center that makes me wistful. The first fruits of change have shown themselves. And it's not like the series shoves it into your throat that significant ordeals should always turn the tables of your life around. Sodachi singlehandedly conveyed how the development of character does not indiscriminately follow a scripted evolution at the snap of a finger. Her inclusion in Off is a testament to the complementary relationship the cast of Monogatari possesses.

Well-written, most definitely, this entry is. The expected divide between Off and Monster felt nonexistent thanks to Shinobu Mustard integrating the function of time, change, and youthful angst to facilitate its respective plot very well, notably because it was Acerola bon Appetit that segues into it. So much thought was given at the outset to make it appear that common themes can be found across these different story arcs to make cohesiveness reign. This directly contributes to the easy feeling of enjoyment because there weren't any irritating tugs or scratches or pokes coming from indeterminate places, all of which can only manifest in places of disjointed storytelling.

I would just like to express, however, that the last pair was not up to the standard that Nadeko Draw set. Admittedly, the sentimental affinity was not shared as much as well. My connection with Shinobu has dwindled over the years, so the tale of the Beautiful Princess and portions of its continuation served like a casual museum visit to the halls where gothic portraits of historical figures are animated, where sheer visual aesthetics and dynamic (yet appropriate) style shifts please the beholder nonstop. The commanding aspect of Deathtopia Virtuoso Suicide-Master was nothing short of an achievement in character presentation. The mystery of the female high school mummies inflicted no boredom at all; it had the same Monogatari flavor and I was made to be eager to know the answer to this incident. Araragi has taken the wheel, too! You can never really know that you miss something so familiar until it's been gone for a while, huh? Perhaps I was simply leaning toward being unresponsive to this specific expansion of the lore and the intricacies of the vampire species--their moral systems, changes throughout longevity, conversion processes, and how they relate to the human side of things.

If I can describe those episodes leading to the ending, it would be...airy. Airy in the sense that I did not feel so anchored to the screen by the power of some seductive potion enchanting attachment to the drinker (and there was none), airy in that I did not perceive the gravity of the conflict to be as impactful as it seemed, airy--reason being that that conclusion which has flooded me over with enough appreciation for Araragi to be added to my favorites after all this time because of the more mature tone he's been treading on was insufficient to carry the "light" experience of the episodes leading up to those brief bits. I could not give much fixation about Harimaze and Suicide-Master, and the information that was communicated from the reunion between the purebred vampire and a regressed Kiss-shot does not hold so much weight to me; apart from that, it was just...nice to know.

However, the thematic point of Shinobu viewing humans as monsters from the cold-blooded vampiric lens of seeing them as food does provide a means for further discerning and direct participation in the story. To me, I understand it as Shinobu learning the special strength humanity contains; it takes assuming a more equal or slightly inferior position against the object at hand to refer to it as a monster. Other than that, it's Shinobu understanding that people have a depth that is difficult to fathom, for they are monsters that can take form into anything they wish due to powerful emotions and circumstances, hence the label that is fit for foreign beings. The vampire known as the Apparition Killer is now saying humans are monsters instead of food, and indeed, there's a monstrosity hiding within our dizzying numbers that could even affect the world with oddities at large. Of course, there is the literal route, case in point Harimaze Kie and her willingness to shed her humanity in the madness of it all, not to mention the crab, monkey, snake, and cat from the seasons way back when--not to mention Koyomi himself.

The overall reflection on what it means to be growing into an adult and processing the changes living beings go through in the flow of time still triumphs within, yet it is unfortunate for me to say that the latter half was not able to prop me up to greater heights. Nonetheless, this is the Monogatari Series we're talking about. This season would have been lovely to dissect with the close friend I've been mentioning as we did all those years, which does mix in downcast feelings within. Such a strike that pervades the personal life means Monogatari is continuing to be a most special piece of art.

*Entertainment brainwash pizzazz were insufficient and lackluster to cover its blemishes, simply put*

~~

!! SPOILER-FILLED !!

~~

With Sailor Moon R, the franchise has split itself into a sibling of younger age who, although shares characteristics with the elder we're familiar with, fails to fix her problem traits or dress it up with fresher blooms. Watching in an already worn out state (keyword: uni) wore me down further like wear and tear from its stagnant gait when hopes naturally lie on self-improvement in sequels. Instead, hackneyed performances beam glaringly in the eye as I look upon this tree branch so distant to its purpose of birth that the ... sheer sameness it has with its prequel became a disconnect to the forest of the Sailor Moon series, apart from the disconnect per se that comes from the feeling of this installment not necessarily linking with the expansion of the foundation of its universe. There does not seem to be an overarching narrative because of that; it's like they're slapping on a sibling show rather than evolving its own self. The only new things gathered are the advancement of Usagi and Mamoru's relationship, truly the biggest deal out of all, some additional abilities from the Sailor Soldiers which are still not used to their full potential, and knowledge of the future world which I sorely hope will be utilized in the following sequels for much-needed character development and worldbuilding intrigue. Within 43 long episodes, the positive impacts from what the anime is doing to itself can scarcely be felt, and the episodic runs of recyclable progressions weren't handled with enough entertainment brainwash pizzazz for the deficiencies of its framework to hide under the modern lens.

It could be argued that the cast, specifically the Sailor Soldiers apart from Usagi, have had their time for glory early on as they gain new special moves during the Makai Tree and the Ayakashi Sisters arcs, signifying a pivotal point, as well as during the final confrontation with the Sisters. However, how do these new colors of strength even manifest after that? Contrary to the tight dependence of Crystal Tokyo on the events of the present, the influence of these specific episodes doesn't really lead anywhere.

One major issue I had is how the other Senshi were more of a collection of background supports instead of outstanding characters of their own. Their personalities pretty much only stick out during banter and casual scenes. During the many conflicts, each person does not really play a "role" in battle, making the fighting elements much less interesting because of how they're melded into this one unit who have to fail to do their job and find out that nothing works against the enemy in order for the scenes to progress--for a while on Season 1 they did, such as Mercury acting as the brain, Venus being more of a precise fighter, Mars with identifying the enemies and contributing to firepower, and Jupiter being a powerhouse. Meanwhile, in R, all of that was lost, and they all simply used their forces in random succession to throw at enemies instead of being strategic about it, ultimately making it the job of Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask to wrap it all up.

Why couldn't Ami figure out the opponents' weaknesses? Why couldn't Minako use her extensive experience to navigate the situation on the spot? Why do Rei and Mako not deal as much damage to the stronger enemies anymore? Mamoru's rose has done so much more than literal thunder, fire, beams, and a surge of water combined. And I love Usagi a large deal. Elevating her position does me better than the opposite. But in seeing the bigger picture, the gulf is astounding. When the gap is not as wide as it normally is, their shine is a mere glimmer. I sound like a Battle Shounen meathead by focusing on this aspect, but I I believe these are elements that constitute a significant portion of the salient qualities that make combat series naturally entertaining--plus, this season is laden with a ton of combat. And about the Talk no Jutsu strewn all over, it does not really cause this season any further ruin. Although Usagi's final face-off with Prince Dimande and his death by Wiseman were a hot mess, like many other things, the fact that the Prince's mind was changed through (brief) dialogue about love and trust from Usagi's lips shows how the author did not forget to associate this integral moment to the division of ideals of the societal factions in the Neo era--there is justifiable meaning to the chosen conflict resolution method. With this, the clash between love and life and darkness and nothingness as children of humanity is progressed.

It is so lovely how, after the ordeal between the present and the future, Usagi's love for the world evolves because of her knowing Chibiusa, her own daughter. I've heard that her mere existence is divisive, but I found this little running ball of conflict to pose such an important reminder to Usagi about her own growth as a person. As a future all-powerful queen, as a future wife to a king, as a future creator of new life: as a mother, teenage Usagi needs to have a lot to go through all things considered. Throughout the season her patience and maturity are challenged. She is destined for perilous trials, and her breaking down from it, much like how she lost her will to fight back in Season 1 upon learning that she is Princess Serenity, is an honest portrayal of a realistic human, something which still gives me pleasant sentiments. While Neo-Queen Serenity exudes grace and self-togetherness, we are still stuck with a Serenity that cannot be as reliable yet. Presenting the journey of a protagonist as they did--placing destiny upon her chest and consequently subjecting her to the grueling path towards the eventual ascension of strength she rightfully deserves to be a figure of while falling here and there on the way--is a magic I find special in the Sailor Moon series, and a magic I could not help but cry out to be harmonized by its many other spells.

Sailor Moon R, for the most part, fundamentally does not feel as different as its prequel, which, in essence, turns itself into something significantly worse. Although it presented another facet of love, introduced Chibiusa into the picture, made villains who are a tad bit better, and made the main story conflict peer over timelines and dimensions on the sky's ceiling and walls with a piercing look, effecting as a true battle against hopelessness, the framework from which found not much improvement made Sailor Moon R appear to stand on an unsteady, crumbling structure. Only right now can I phrase the experience of watching older anime which have evident issues made clearer due to time: it is like arriving at a spot laden with nostalgia (though one you've never been to prior, i.e., armed with anemoia) and finding out overtime that that place is more of a relic than an antique treasure, and the mere wistful existence of the past in and of itself cannot always carry everything, cannot always make rosy the differences in conditions.

*Ordinary Schoolgirl Usagi does not need to be a Revolutionary Girl Utena*

~~

Love in Sailor Moon always has been hanging around the branch of romance people run up to with eager eyes. Teenage girls pass through days in a city dressed in the blessings of the pink and rosy, ribbon tied by hands who wish to hold those of the people they love--few fulfilled, most in yearning. The sailor soldiers of love and justice were only agents of romance and world peace through local service to me, as nothing else could overcome the sheer attachment of the series to the same subject. It was a pleasant ... surprise that through the final confrontation, Sailor Moon's love unlocked a more universal concept for itself to cleanly use the slice-of-life elements and the lack of heroic super abilities on a grandiose scale to its advantage. Initially, it gave a stale taste that the expected amount of "Magic" in "Magical Girl" was undetected, but indeed, it seems like older shows are masters of brainwashing right at the denouement, sweeping the floor with an explosive finish to compensate for the slow journey laden only with bread crumbs of refreshing lore and action.

Ordinary Schoolgirl Usagi does not need to be a Revolutionary Girl Utena. A protagonist who leads like Usagi--who leads with stellar incompetence, clumsiness, and easily-distracted near-sightedness--is surely to be a ticking time bomb at the mercy of character development (or lack thereof). Her irresponsible behavior contrasting the sober heroism of the other four, to me, sets her above the rest of the cast by miles not only because of colorful dynamics interplaying, but also because Sailor Moon makes a fictional life realistically filled with challenges one would rather want to opt out of in exchange for the simple days of going to school, being late, spending late nights at entertainment; hanging out with friends, talking about boys in turn, eating shortcakes and chocolate parfaits; finding love, giving love, and receiving love. It is the love for the ordinary life and everyone presiding within it that prevails by the end alongside, of course, the same old romance which will never fade away, and will continue to fill the Earth with tempting levels of energy foreign invaders would want to get their hands on and defile with their pessimistic ideals. I could tolerate the myriad of silliness everyone and their mother can fully enumerate by virtue of its time period, production conditions, supreme OP and EDs, and beauty one might attribute to nostalgia-related things, and though it has definitely affected my enjoyment, Sailor Moon still poses considerably in its landing.

There will be more to explore for four more seasons and extra content. I am hopeful for the future installments, and shall settle on this score for now, what with its problems that have left me sour much along the way, especially with the way our girls were treated like under-leveled players in terms of the administration of their personality and relevance aside from their powers being dead an episode after arrival. Toleration can really only do so much when the problems still lie at the back of the head.

*A clear vision for a wholesome piece of rough countryside beauty housing creative tales on life's value*

~~

Everyone knows everyone dies. Yes, this is going to be an existential reflection. For the sentimental ponderers this faintly lit ambiguity that occasionally bursts into a large glimpse of "the place past the veil" is an acquaintance they have long awaited for more interactions with. The heart truly seeks what can wrap one up warmly with the mysteries of life; the stories that are yet to be lived, inhibited by a shortage of liberated breaths, are keenly sought after. To be sensitive is to be imprisoned in indolence for ... the exploration of emotions in-depth and letting sentimentality dictate the nature of movement. Still, it's reasonable to get tired of being reminded of our fleeting stay on this land from all the pseudo-intellectual posts littered about and simply because of the sheer quantity of reminders. Instead of ruminating many can simply seize the day (carpe diem, that's the goal after all). As I learn to crawl towards actually living (and being allowed to do so), I'll have my shelf be in bulk with unspoken writings in the meantime.

Hanada Shounen-shi offers itself up for that purpose. The straightforward simplicity is the key to the anime's profound character as any perplexity that may distract the viewer from being showered by purity is shed away. With Ichiro being aged nine and all, it became more advantageous to reveal the wonders of conscious life in that manner, and through it we come to possess the eyes of a child and the weary soul of an older person both. As a result, Hanada Shounen-shi slithers its way through our tender affections more successfully, propped up by the rough, active beauty of the countryside.

What powers do children hold to be painted as light, proprietors of potential, beacons of hope, most precious among all? If thought about as little seedlings that are certain to become much like the great people of every present, or as the reason why the species can attain its instinct to be eternal, a portion of understanding is unlocked. One can view their innocence and feel a budding glow in the chest, or experience plaintive nostalgia as well, in being bridged to an animated past. I assume that the latter is more suitable within this show's environment, as it deals with the dead's final wishes, which stem from regret. These conditions immediately place Ichiro in a promising spot as a great medium to tell the story through his eyes.

It is the norm to write the protagonist to be the heart of one's creation, yet it is amusing that Ichiro is nowhere near the kind of kid that could start up the passion within, at the outset at least. His devilish misbehavior is wildly misplaced from the solemnity of my reflections. But that is especially why, that he remains an academic and household misfit even by the end despite the immense maturity of his empathy (which I'm glad to have been effected in an episodic anime) that Ichiro never lacks of charm and color, for if he were to become a completely new person within the span of a year then entertaining realism would kick itself out the door. He is so profoundly hard-headed that of course a (specifically) head injury from a vehicle accident couldn't crack his skull; him screaming agonizingly, "I hate you Mom!" after being separated from Rinko was undoubtedly distasteful at first, considering the whole point of his first love's arc (the longest of all), but as the days unfold I've come to understand more why it was met by a loving reply from Hisae to her child's curse. That is how her child operates, and the author intended to keep it that way, to keep Ichiro's trademark outward tarnish that shows his flaws and makes inconspicuous the care he has for his boisterous family.

Being the kid he is, Ichiro is undoubtedly yet to always end up thinking things through, so not all his actions are meant to be agreeable. Hanada Shounen-shi is definitely not child-friendly because of that. Additionally, around the wholesomeness, there are perverted elements (which, thank the Heavens, are not conducted by the nine-year-old protagonist) related to teenage lust and infidelity, which found no judgment from the narrative's jury. Someone with more life experience can consume the plot properly and find that those aspects may just be (understandably odious) comedy and a way to outline Ichiro's innocence to the temptations of the flesh. They were personally harmless and not too huge of a detractor. In the end, they contribute to the different kinds of wishes the departed have, in this case, absurd ones.

But where do those wishes come from? To reiterate, they originate from a place of deep regret, enough for people to stay in the realm of the living as ghosts. More often than not, these wishes spark profoundly tender stories that can hit you right in the heart, imparting the viewer with a renewed grasp on our ephemeral nature. There may be those who believe that the afterlife materializes in such a way that allows the peaceless dead to have a chance to be fulfilled, but for people like me who follow no such ideology, impermanence can be such a harrowing subject. The looming finality hovers like a shadowy cloud, ubiquitously felt yet undetectable. And consciousness after passing away does not turn microscopic the relevance of death, for Hanada Shounen-shi also shows the fiery drive of one close to visiting the other side.

Episodes 11 and 12 were the monumental arc. I don't even know where to begin with this. Haruhiko's story had the quintessential power of art surging through like tidal waves, moving me mind, body, and soul, not only because of what I'm about to yap on below, but also because it is here the author evinces Ichiro's extreme will to live through the hellish pain of a hospitalized body.

Love, and freedom. The marriage of both entities can manifest as countless equations, and all possess the celestial control to stir up the primal emotions humans are equipped with. I think, to be imprisoned from one's ultimate needs and wants is severely damaging, perhaps irreparably in the worst cases. Life stops becoming what it's supposed to be when that happens. Everybody dies, and how much despair is inflicted when thinking about a life that's not lived? To be able to pursue a love that's free to me is the greatest privilege, and having it is the greatest feeling. When it reaches the creation of a child (and it does not need to go so far), life becomes so much more than what it initially is. That is why Haruhiko's regret of being submissive to his parents and leaving Kana and their child after being so sheltered all throughout his brief lifetime was colossal, and a phenomenal cause for an utterly liberating sensation.

Introducing the body-switch mechanics at this point was also genius. There is so much thematic relevance in Haruhiko using Ichiro's body to interact with Kana and Natsu. For one, Ichiro lives every day to the fullest, a child that really refuses to be pinned down by external forces. A direct contrast to Haruhiko lights up. However, a child's body can only do so much, as shown when it struggles to carry the little Natsu. This directly points to Haruhiko being a young adult and the power he has to shoulder the burden, but most of all, to carry one of life's greatest blessings. This simple image of a physically and spiritually recovered Haruhiko carrying with him Natsu and the gifts he promised to give to her, saying oft-repeated "You only live once" quote, and following it with a vow to live his life fully not only for himself, but also for the beloved people he found within his lifetime, is an indescribable masterpiece.

Again, the simplicity sells it so well. The staff, under the direction of Kojima Masayuki (Made in Abyss, Monster), are fully aware of where the line stands. A clear vision of the appropriate approaches to take makes Hanada Shounen-shi a consistent piece of wholesome art that houses creative tales concentrated on the value of life, such as showcasing what it means to grieve the loss of a child, a father, or a stray cat, give marriage a second chance, keep promises, and take complete control of one's life. Though the series may present itself with noble depth, nevertheless Hanada Shounen-shi left with a shiny trail towards introspective contemplation.

*Romance traveling the human years, cleaning up the grime of one's inner houses*

~~

!!SPOILER-FILLED REVIEW!!

~~

Theoretically, romance traveling the human years begets an immediate reception perceiving it as more fetching than stories that feature compressed journeys of togetherness. Fiction following the footsteps of reality in slice-of-life romcom narratives always has incredible merits, for by scripting the march of everyday life to resemble the dull and dreary amidst the occasional spark of the hustle and bustle and furnishing it with the creative freedom of story-making, a person can create a reliable work for reflection, and allow others to experience a makeshift simulation of possible events.

I often take a ... retrospective approach when writing up my post-completion thoughts, and looking back on it, I think Maison Ikkoku truly was an enjoyable show whose length is quite justifiable. Two things make it so that the way it kills time stays within reason: Godai's graduation (then employment) and Kyoko's status as a widow living to move on.

As sadistic as it is to say, I gain enjoyment from Godai's miserable luck. This feeling might be similar to how the upper class derived amusement from colosseum gladiators fighting for their lives in desperation--but of course there is a galaxy-wide distinction between relishing real-life bloody spectacles and finding meaningful connection with a wimpy college kid near the same age as I fighting life's battles and always coming home tattered...yet inevitably evolving from the struggles albeit in such a staggering pace. Someone so pathetic, insecure, weak-willed; someone whose eyes constantly avert from their own priorities; someone without direction and is therefore prone to the whims of life; someone like Godai whose skillsets are subpar to even secure a comfortable livelihood for himself growing throughout the years holds a mirror to the viewer and asks them to comprehend the insanity of the non-linear personal development of someone without fate's favor, which covers a large portion of our population.

An author mercilessly flaunting their protagonist's flaws in appropriate settings such as in Maison Ikkoku is enduringly satisfying to see, especially when the object being sought after is nigh unreachable. Protagonists usually have an impossible dream ahead of them right? Godai's infuriating writing really escapes the screen, making it all the more rewarding once he's grown up much better by the end.

For much of the duration, we see the story through Godai's eyes. This approach lights up Kyoko as *the ideal goal* of the story. It didn't really help that she was locked behind the "manager" persona. Adding to that we had a long, dark age when it comes to her past apart from that she is a widow who names her dog after her late husband, goes to tennis classes, is being fought between Godai and Mitaka, and is one BEAUTIFULLY designed woman.

A goal, a character playing a role, and less of a character in a living story, Kyoko just didn't have much deeper to her going yet. Those times we are only being misled by how she is an ideal woman for possessing the traits of a traditional domestic house lady, when in reality she too had many things to process and has undesirable characteristics any normal human being would have.

Kyoko is the final piece of Maison Ikkoku, a messy story about messy people, and being so, naturally knowing her flaws open up the doors of the apartment--that is, her heart, for is not moving on a path that leads one to migrate to another world, and is not love about opening yourself up? Her surprising temper when dealing with her family especially, her severe indecisiveness mingling with unaware hypocrisy, her need for external validation--the need to be needed wraps up the feeling, for in her mourning state the loss of affection might have somehow influenced her to "like" receiving the thing that she now does not have, inhibiting her to decline either Mitaka or Godai's advances much sooner, warding the hungry dogs off with the "I'm a widow" card instead which she knows does not work on them at all. Grieving because "no one (general people) loves me" I think can go alongside grieving because "no one (late partner) can love me anymore". I don't know what being widowed feels like, and I also do not know what truly goes on deep in the mind of a person squeezed between two suitors, but given the context and the timing of her decisions, as well as a particular line, I'm led to think in that certain way.

Once again, it is merely an influence, not a deciding factor, because of course her being scared of entering a relationship with someone because she is scared he will die before her again is her whole deal. The assertive youth she once was, and the aggressive spirit of the high schooler Yagami, were buried under real fear due to a sudden, real experience. And also, it's perfectly human to want to be depended upon.

I like the dynamic of Godai and Kyoko a lot. She actually can be considered as no different than Godai with respect to skillset, for Kyoko never went to college due to marrying Soichiro after graduation. With no degree, her mother is scared of her future outside Maison Ikkoku (she says this to her child as she rattles off Kyoko's deficiencies in typical Asian style). This makes Kyoko so much more similar to Godai, whose will is constantly being tested by the tenants on the topic of his future, being a no-name in a third-rate university and all. I can go as far as to say they're close equals: Godai as a 20th-century man is duty-bound to secure financial stability for the person he wishes to take care of all his life, and Kyoko as a widow and a degree-less "damaged goods" has to stay in Ikkoku or else the future is pretty bleak. Both are pressured by societal expectations normalized during that time period and cultural conditions, making the story so much more realistic and immersive.

And then, we have the dreaded abuse of ***misunderstandings***. There have been a few tasteful meals Takahashi Rumiko made from it, such as Mitaka's wedding being wrapped up because of McEnroe (here Mitaka's conquered fear bit him in the butt, and a dog sealing his loyalty to a woman was super suitable when thinking about his fright against the species a jab at his faithlessness, being a known player and all). But overall, the best I could do was just grin and bear it. If we could take away two-thirds of it then the loss would still be negligible--it simply lacks creativity. That technique is not Maison Ikkoku's charm at all. With Godai, sometimes it makes sense for him to misunderstand the situation due to his weak-willed character, but even then he could just man up a little bit and say one measly sentence. This goes to everyone else in the cast too, who have less excuse to act as such. I took less mind against it during the last quarter of the series due to the extreme boost in quality allowing a bit of breathing room for the stain to make its way with the plot, with the series taking itself more seriously, but man was it downright tasteless so many times before.

On a related note, the tenants overdid their act. Although not outright despising them for outstandingly despicable behavior, during the midgame they can only gain a couple of silent laughs from me, and not even that, but a small number of slight air-pushing through the nose. When I'm not poked at optimistically, my reactions were dismissive of their existence, as if they were inconsequential obstacles when they try so hard to be so, as if this feeling of annoyance they strive to bait from me is unneeded and therefore cannot rise up when it has surfaced once already. Yeah, they're a fun little crew indispensable in smearing the atmosphere as it should be and being challengers of Godai's plans, and Yotsuya is pure amusement, but instead of the group's actions per se I focus more on their abstract relevance (even if at times it has to be scraped to be seen), and sitting on the idea that they could be imaginary people, just the personification of the messy rooms within Godai and Kyoko's inner houses.

To continue with the topic of complaints, Kentaro should have more screentime! The child is too adorable not to be given more focus. I need to see him and his villain arc from being stuck in the apartment whose noise pierces through dimensions. Being a kid with a mother like Ichinose-san has gotta be absurdly stressful. I wholeheartedly believe he suffers equally with Godai, just because of the frequent negligence by Ichinose-san and the indirect stain to the environment the party trio brings. That one episode where the tenants went on a rare vacation together, and instead of having the luxury of comfortable accommodation and a refreshing new assortment of meals, Yotsuya, Ichinose-san, and Akemi instead used the financial funds for drinks! Poor Kentaro had the excitement stolen away by selfish adults.

And oh yeah, whatever happened to the apartment itself having a rich history during the attic episode early in the series? It was a good spot to step foot on because of the place being the very title of the show. They didn't do anything to expound upon that ever again apart from the filler episode where the apartment was at risk of being taken down, which is a shame. Maison Ikkoku, "The House of One-Moment", whose every energetic day adds to its long legacy, filled with tenants who appreciate the present. Such a shame.

~~

What a fun romantic story Maison Ikkoku is. The premise upheld itself to the end, and resisted the antagonizing elements, the societal norms which I was anxious would be surrendered to by Godai succumbing to a corporate job and Kyoko pressuring Godai to go for it (which I know at that point was already improbable considering the time they've spent together so transparently in one apartment). I'm genuinely elated that the length didn't dilute my care for the main characters to a sad degree, partly owing to the anime team's prowess and partly due to me just wanting to have a chill time whenever I play an episode randomly, a mindset that has sort of faded within considerably. After all, entertainment media is meant to intake simple pleasures.

The greatest benefit of watching: unlocking rightful access to 80s anime aesthetics!

*A one-of-a-kind stylistic powerhouse, visionary yet sometimes (personally) counterproductively labyrinthine*

~~

Some creative works lead as the definition themselves, incomparable in numerous respects and the basis for its class. At the hands of the oft-praised unorthodox mind of Yuasa, overflowing with his distinctive direction has a brimful anime called Kaiba spawned that challenges the limits of the medium. One can say it is a significant hallmark for animation simply for its visionary maneuver of movement, the heart of the storytelling vehicle, and its partnership with volatile plot progressions both in the episodic portions and the primary tale for how the narrative is unfolded by its world and its ... characters. Complete the puzzle pieces together, and it simply is "one-of-a-kind".

Now to be quite honest, as of this section I'm still unsure of what I feel about Kaiba in the realm of "liking" and "not liking (enough)". In engaging myself with writing I'm seeking out the truth in the process. It's fun to find a definitive answer by navigating through a sea of unpolished thoughts by means of writing it all out. But of course, I already have preliminary impressions.

!! SPOILER REVIEW !!

Yuasa and team have created a stylistic powerhouse to be sure, but I personally encountered a degree of difficulty in following the scenes and piecing two and two together due to a feeling of being lost in the marathon.

Kaiba is fundamentally a show which aims to shower the viewer with existential acceptance and ease through emphasizing the importance of memories, that is the continuous past that creates the present which powers the future, acceptance of the many versions of one's self (Kaiba accepting his being Warp--a distinguished copy of it--and the Final Warp at the end), maintaining harmony with the body as a vessel, and making efforts to be vulnerable and honest and faithful to the virtue in interpersonal relationships. Detailing the path towards the nucleus is the presence of societal and moral ills namely discrimination, objectification, the stark divide between different economical classes, power struggles, and even one under the umbrella of child labor, as the sources of conflict and a way to condense a statement which tells of the state of such a large entity as the world heavily affecting one's sense of self as well, elbowing at the political sphere.

Packed with many things to say, no doubt. But its container as a 12-episode-long anime I believe has made it fall victim to the common problem of compressed content with airy depths. This is where the animation further fills the gaps, but in some moments, it becomes the purveyor of confusion.

For instance, this clip (https://imgur.com/AHXOJNy) from episode 8 shows Kichi, the one Popo slandered as a "degenerate memory merchant" way back in episode 1, in his moving chair collecting the body of Kaiba. It was the first time his name was revealed, and his unnanounced entrance, alongside the speed of his exit without clearly showing his overall image, puzzled me as to who that person is and why he seems important to the scene and to Popo and Sate. It didn't help that the previous sequences between Mantle, Evil Warp, and Hal was heated and crowded with action, and it also didn't help that Kichi's screentime was very brief to register his character with utmost clarity amidst the bustling episodes in between. What's more, the events that followed with Sate pointing her gun at the defenseless Evil Warp's head which she noticed from a large distance, yet not shooting her enemy, was quite unreasonable. Popo noticed it too, but none of them reacted over seeing a Warp copy, feeling urgent instead a certain Kichi's involvement. It felt really awkward. There must be a reason for this, and indeed one point was raised a minute or so later when Sate said in an amazed tone how there are multiple Warps existing, but shouldn't seeing one firsthand opt a resistance group to at least immobilize their foe on sight? That portion always bugged me.

Another one was in episode 11 (https://imgur.com/jW6MazA), with Mantle suddenly revived after Evil Warp made him pop in episode 8. It took several revisits of the scene of his supposed death to have an inkling on how he survived.

From what I understood, it had something to do with the violet substance he bit with his teeth, since after liquefying, the pool was of the same color, unlike the rest of the instances of being shot turning the body into yellow (except the Warp line which bleed green). What that substance was, it is quite unsure. I couldn't find any other explanation to defend it from being a major plot discrepancy, since he didn't collaborate with anyone other than Dada (and even then he was betrayed); that whole feud with Evil Warp couldn't have been scripted. Perhaps that Mantle who got popped was an exact copy using Patch's bio-copy technology; still it bleeding purple wouldn't make sense, and no one else other than Patch can avail of the factory I think. Although a sort-of logical answer is found, the many neglected details tarnish it, and the process in achieving it isn't intuitive for such a revelation very late into the game.

Speaking of neglected details, has this "Meiri" object Mantle brought to Evil Warp ever been explained? I might have missed it out.

One last thing in the department of difficult to understand: Kaiba's motives in willingly removing his memory by falling from Heaven through the electrolytic cloud. There are things which should be discussed before reaching that point.

Warp's reputation as king betrays him due to converting memories into chips which can be exploited and putting up memory tanks for its operations. But did that Warp who had been a vile king for many years also include Kaiba? It probably did, since Kichi did say in episode 10 that Kaiba was like that before meeting Neiro and falling in love with her.

So why did he willingly forfeit his memories to be reborn underground?

Possibility 1: He wanted to save the underground world. This claims that he already possessed sympathy despite being Warp. He saw the state of the world and wished to change its condition. Vanilla did remark that Warp wouldn't want a town like Abipa, and the last episode showed the grievances of Kaiba regarding the thick evils of the world. But why did he need to go through the cloud and remove his memories? Wouldn't it be more optimal to use his powers to abolish the system as the omnipotent being that he is? And not in a way that he should threaten--rather, participate in rebuilding the laws and recalibrating the culture towards a more conducive society. Maybe he didn't trust himself due to being a part of the Warp line, and willingly subjected himself to be shaped by the consciousness of his impoverished citizens, so he calculated his descent to crack straight through the old palace which contains the memories of his previous brethren to eventually return there after gaining new insights, go back to Heaven, and fight from there again? Then his reply to Neiro that he is fighting the best he can rings solidly. Still, I'm not sold in the cause of his actions being strong distrust of his own self, when he apparently already has gained empathy by that time. And that same possession of empathy conflicts Kichi's comment regarding his tyranny in the past.

Possibility 2: He was still a vile king who schemed to be an insider threat to destroy Issoudan's resistance. We bring back the idea that he calculated his fall from the cloud to breach the old palace and eventually regain memories. His preliminary plan would be to get rid of Issoudan by learning about it as much as he can, but he didn't take into account that he would be someone else after being fed with new memories. Additionally, upon Kaiba's return to Heaven, the Computer relayed this specific line: "The mission is complete." The "mission" must be Kaiba's invasion of Issoudan headquarters, especially since a Warp figure exclaimed its danger for defying the government. Therefore Kaiba's vileness is as Kichi has stated, but it refutes Vanilla's and Final Warp's thoughts on the matter. I understand, however, that Kichi does not personally know Kaiba, whereas Final Warp does, so his voice should probably place him in a less reliable position as an observer. I'm disinclined to put my belief on this possibility; I've become more forgiving of the former.

Before moving on, who was that Warp which was delivering death sentences to reported criminals and said that Issoudan is dangerous? It couldn't have been Kaiba, since this Warp's chest has no hole. It couldn't have been Evil Warp because he was born only after Neiro was reborn, and this scene came way before that. Was this another Warp before them? A very out-of-place move if it were. So maybe it is Kaiba? I found another moment where Kaiba had no hole where he should've, which might just be an error. (https://imgur.com/dXeSlsP) This wouldn't be the only time this happens, because the finale proved that such things could occur. A blood-filled Neiro, after one short cut, suddenly became clean (https://imgur.com/jW6MazA). In and of itself, such a thing shouldn't be anything more than awkward. But when made as a reference for earlier errors, it only fortifies the credibility of a personal headache-inducing experience. The small details present themselves to be important, such as Hyo-Hyo's disappearance from the capsule and Kichi's clenched fist in episode 1 and Quilt being recurrent, which when thinking about possibly Neiro inhabiting the scientist's body to shut down Patch, and Quilt's design being an important stuffed for her from childhood, adds more tragedy to Neiro's manipulated fate. It makes a few brief scenes of Kaiba not having a hole for some reason become catastrophic and a turn away from its own virtues.

Kaiba is a heavily dense show, with non-stop movement and relevant lore drop until the end. More often than not, every minute part of it serves towards a complete tale. The merits of a packed story were unfortunately heavily obstructed by a tad bit too loose direction which forsakes an intuitive experience and a room to breathe amidst the boisterous and all the same intriguing events, not to mention what seemed to be technical inconsistencies.

What a long errand that section of relieving my stress was. All in the name of propriety; it's usually best to first leave the baggage behind.

Although I couldn't say that finally knowing what I needed to know provided orgasmic satisfaction in being emancipated from bogging questions since it was more of a relief than a revelation which cleanses me from lingering reservations and purifies me to be of apostolic devotion, it would be remiss of me not to appreciate what Kaiba stands for in a more thematic standpoint.

Any theme around the matters of the soul can easily find their way through my sensibilities and repose from the warm reception and service. Kaiba is no exception with its indulging in memories, something very much a prey under my fixated gaze. It's a whirlwind to try to expound upon it due to the compact link it has on everything else, but I'll do my best.

The past is what created us, each present is meant for us to create something for our future: A back-and-forth dance between creator and creation that will inevitably land on the castle of memories. A poetic idea to think about. Since memories from what Kaiba asserts are practically what composes our soul and what gives substance to our existence, dabbling on the concept already touches on our overall humanity in every movement of the pen.

Yuasa in candid and creative fashion criticizes the raw objectification of the flesh which has spawned like a swarm due to the memory chip innovation that can extract memories from the body, leaving it to be a mere toy for the people in power's pleasure, such as Chroniko's buyer and many other pedophiles. Another good example of misusing technological advancements is the town of Abipa becoming a "Land of Paradise" in a manner that defiles itself, where they cast off their original essences to become nothing but delectable snacks for one another through Patch's bio-copy technology. It mirrors the recent trends of AI as a tool for generating pornographic material which can even tarnish the bodies of real-life human beings. One interesting character which practices the same criticized behavior is Vanilla, who throughout the episodes was set up to achieve a sort of redemption by sacrificing himself to save Kaiba (in Chroniko's body), fully knowing his feelings, whether sexually motivated or romantically nurtured, were unrequited. His journey was interesting for being a vessel to present the distinction (or maybe harmony) between sex and romance, especially when taking into consideration the characteristics of his masculinity; I made a separate brief writeup for it. It was simply interesting how he becomes a more sympathized figure with glorified sequences by the conclusion of his screentime.

The commodification of memory is the commodification of the body. In treating either and each as mere resource that can be exploited, both victim and perpetrator become more deviated from humanity.

What becomes of the King of Memories then? This is the perfect segue to talk about Kaiba.

Protagonists are written to be the embodiment of a story's main theme. That is a given. I gotta say, it still doesn't hinder awe and appreciation of Kaiba's concept as a copy of the Warp line of memory kings.

Despite being a copy, Kaiba eventually achieves a more comfortable sense of individuality--he becomes his own person. What he does with his endless ocean of memories separates him from every other Warp that came before him as well as the last two after him. Although he didn't live the life of the First Warp who was poisoned by his mother, he was still as affected, amplifying the impact of external influences. By the help of Neiro shedding light to the truth of his past, Kaiba and the world were saved from complete eradication.

In having the mother become Warp's greatest grievance, he becomes a figure that symbolizes a dissonance from the natural state of being. We are brought into this world by our mothers, and Warp's creator handing out an attempt of mercy killing started the madness.

I believe the existence of memory tanks, the memory chip, the authentic Warp copying technology, and the dynasty was for civilization not to suffer what the first Warp had via inheritance issues. Normalizing absurdity also lessens discrimination to the outliers like Warp. There will be no siblings fighting each other, no mothers and fathers killing their children over the continuation of rule, if Warp rules by himself throughout the generation.

Things went out of control with society's misuse of the invention, with the electrolytic cloud allowing Warp to escape from the bad memories of the Old Palace (which caused a ripple effect dividing the rich and the poor), with Evil Warp cursing his fellow Warp as if mirroring his progenitors' act, with the Final Warp advocating unequivocal escape to the land of death, and this makes Warp's and by extension Kaiba's tragedy a colossal one. That every Warp stays infantile (with their age appearance sometimes an indication of their mental state, mostly for the Final Warp) speaks loudly of how they couldn't move on from the past and have stunted their growth because of it. Not to mention Kaiba's hole in the chest, an overt sign of his despair.

Funny enough, the word Kaiba is more famous for being the legendary plant who swallows memories to grow. Neiro gave it to the protagonist for a reason contrary to that entity, being like a reborn baby (due to the amnesia) who has sharp memory that can instead swallow Neiro's pain and has the neverending possibility to grow.

On that note, let's talk about parallels. Kaiba and Neiro's first meeting resembles so much like a mother and her child. The resemblance becomes uncanny by Kaiba's behavior of someone who just got birthed, being rather wordless at the start, rather curious, uninhibited, and even imitating some of Neiro's mannerisms. Episode 10 henceforth changed my view of their relationship to something attaching...Freudian suggestions. The parallels continue with Neiro twice preventing Kaiba from being poisoned via drink, both times with her as the instrument to deliver the toxic potion, whereas the First Warp's mother let her son drink it by herself. Uncanny positioning and framing at episode 12 fortifies the comparison, which is appropriate because now a mother-like figure has given this child a more optimistic view of life as a whole, now being able to reconcile with his memories due to the truth discovered by Neiro. And for Neiro, who is parentless, now is in the position of a nurturer (I apologize for the mother-child relating for anyone who has reached this portion of the reflection and sees them as partners, can't help it, I see their relationship in a less romantic way). (https://imgur.com/UOZiTak)

Kaiba has come a long way from his many past lives, and from changing bodies in order to survive. The episodic content were highly entertaining segments to build the interesting fantasia world, but each also hold contributions to the overarching plot. The stuffed toy era signifies Kaiba after the removal of his memories, unable to talk, with Hyo-Hyo in the same avenue of lackluster communication. Chroniko and Negi's relationship is a reflection of First Warp and his mother's, but the daughter, with memories sold, remained fond of her mother despite the sacrifices she herself needed to make for her brothers; Negi's lamentations symbolize Hal's regrets over trying to end the misery of her son, left with nothing but deep-seated emptiness and a gaping reminder that the past had been paradise. Patch's doctor inhabiting a non-human creation in the form of Quilt is much like Hal with the body of a chicken; Patch is a leader of the ingenious bio-copy technology much like Warp invented the memory manipulation idea. The tower episode further demonstrates appreciation of one another, and the preservation of treasured memories. Although the rather standalone episodes offered the better experience to me personally, realizing their significance to the main plot starting at episode 8 remedies many of my gripes.

After a tumultuous series of occurrences (I never even touched Popo specifically, but well he already blends with parts of the reflection as a manipulated individual who was made to mistake becoming great from simply being a healthy person due to her mother's words being edited by Dada, the latter turning into a robot scrapped by her son, and ending with the on-the-spot acceptance of complete universal destruction with only his and Cheki's memories stored), we are left with an empty slate: strangers without recollection of who they are reaching out to grasp another person's hand as if by instinct so as to concentrate the importance of harmony from the very start of birth, the electrolytic cloud diffused, the legendary plant Kaiba warded off, and Neiro and Kaiba finally able to live together.

It begs the question: What will happen next? Will Kaiba and Neiro become eternal beings by preserving their existence through constantly transferring their memories into different bodies? Or will they accept the equal sentence of the Reaper with open arms? I believe they will, knowing the repercussions of memory transfer in history. And now that they have both accepted what they have done wrong, perhaps they will together herald a new beginning of society, which now safeguards dignity and free will, and pass on their legacy to suitable souls.

I really don't want to rate this series, but posting things here necessitates it. Still, no matter what quantified value sticks out like a thumb amidst this wall of text, I cherish this one-of-a-kind experience watching Kaiba through the episodes and thoroughly eliciting my realizations upon finishing the show, and no number can win over this fruitful journey.

*Begin in the future*

~~

Modern animation for a story almost 40 years old already, and a prequel at that. One can't help but be in awe at the longevity seemingly exhaustless for the Gundam franchise. I get spawning shows casting different characters from different timelines or Sides, or another sort of universe if there are (I wouldn't put it past them) across the years due to the inherent expanse of the series, but revisiting the origins from such a long time ago and amassing more important details so as to increase its breadth is quite simply a power move. A fresh new look for the ancestral ... narrative, The Origin offers vibrance (at times coming off as comical, thus out-of-place) and clarity for the fleshed-out history of the One-Year War.

The Principality of Zeon always had that air of intrigue around them solely for the sinister halo encircling the Zabi family. That Char and Sayla both also hail from Zeon adds further substance to that party. Of course, not to forget Ramba Ral and Hamon, too, who were both blessed by elucidation. That is to say, Zeon has been far more interesting than the Earth Federation, and I am glad that they were given special focus here. It is proper as well to approach the prequel like that, for it makes more sense to present the origin of the conflict in the eyes of the antagonistic element, so to speak.

The Origin made it clearer that even the common people of Side 3 disagrees with the colonizers; there is always a different perspective in conflicts. Succeeding then were the plans of the Zabi family to ascend as rulers utilizing the voices of the masses, winning their hearts with resistance, though not without underlying motives of their own. Tides have stirred and we're made witness to political dramas during sensitive times.

One thing that had me satisfied with this season is the inclusion of "war guilt". As Vice Admiral, Dozle assumes one of the authoritative positions commanding a large population of soldiers. I always thought he had the purest heart among his family of snakes and glory-blind immatures, like the trope of a large brute with a soft heart. Indeed, sentimentality was in him when he was the only one who had shown vulnerability enough to have a family of his own amongst his siblings. As a sort of climax to his character was his guilt after carrying out Gihren's plan, that Side 2 catastrophe which killed half of the population. He showed extreme signs of regret, hesitance, doubt in the humanity of the plan. But right after that breakdown, in the majesty of his kid, he was made to be convinced that war is about protecting families by crushing others, that fault shall not be found in the blood of his hands but in the blood of the fallen. Somehow or another, he had to reconcile with the fact that he was also responsible for the greatest disaster of mankind to date, and his brain distorted his views to block out feelings of guilt by equipping such a mindset.

See, I am glad for that showcase of guilt. It was something so essential within the Zabi family, for it shows that there is still that common humanity found somewhere from at least one person in that unit, though it did become inevitably spoiled. The theme of how family must be conserved is evocative in Gundam, more so it must be in the Zabi family. To Dozle, this war is to protect his family, thus he abides in the theme in a twisted way. It is quite the same with Zeon's Sovereign; he treats his children with love, especially Garma as the youngest, and laments at the unfolding of Gihren's sullied heart endangering the country with his god-complex-powered whims, Zeon being deemed as Degwin's family himself too. Kycilia, well, she's still enigmatic to me. Though she's in cahoots with Gihren in many schemes, and presumably instigated the murder of Sasro their brother, she deemed it the pits of despicableness that Gihren had no care for the life of their father, moving her to kill her eldest brother in Season 1. Lastly, Garma, well he wants to be validated as a child of nobility, taking tunnel-vision means outside morality to childishly preserve his family's honor.

Outside the Zabis, there is natural love for one's family in the likes of the Deikuns. It extends to found affectations for Teabolo, the Aznables, and even one's own pet. The relationship of Amuro and Tem, too, was given emphasis as one sort of rough in quality time. There is warmth, then there is loss, opting Sayla to eventually realize that Zeon and the Earth Federation are madmen no different from one another. Everyone is taking away something important to them.

On the topic of the Deikuns I should finally talk about Char, who is actually not Char because Char was only someone else that looks like him. Casval Rem Deikun, Edouard Mass, Char Aznable--many identities for a standout character.

I want to highlight his character arc as a soldier of Zeon. It makes Char more mysterious when we aren't granted access to his inner thoughts in his interactions with the Zabi family, specifically Dozle and Garma (and for that matter I don't think the creators ever showed what was going on inside his mind explicitly). Especially during the times he was close with Garma, there were snippets radiating suspense, the tension felt by the viewers unaware for the prey. Such direction heightens intrigue on the true motivations of Casval. What did he feel being under the command of Dozle, being praised as the hero of Zeon? His countenance showed no sign at all of the deep-seated hatred he must have on his family. Instead, he was obedient, no fang bared.

About that, I just had some misgivings when as young Casval he declared to Kycilia that he'll make the Zabis bow down to him, but he himself was absent in the deaths of Degwin, Gihren, and Dozle. He seemed less of a vengeful spirit because of that. Well, though he offed Kycilia and Garma in one way or another through his involvement, "letting them bow down" is different from taking their lives, for the former preserves the objects' existences only for the sake of subjugation. I guess I'll need to watch Zeta and the following UC seasons first to truly understand his actions. I guess Newtypes really are first and foremost for him.

Some other things I want to write out just in bullets.

- I mentioned earlier that sometimes the anime was comical, making it out-of-place. The attitude of character movement seemed out of a slice-of-life comedy which made victim even lieutenants of the army. I'm just more used to the army being rigid that this fluidity unnerved me to the end. We have high-ranking officials acting like caricatures, and the majority of others following suit in almost cartoony fashion. I don't know, I just couldn't get used to this in Gundam. It's like it didn't take itself seriously. The vibrance permeates throughout, which I'm glad of as it makes it an easier watch--I mean everything is lively and expressive in times of joy and grief, making it a more emotional show giving a breath of fresh air to the dreariness of Season 1, and adding grandiosity to the likes of Gihren sells him out surely, but still I can't justify for the team need of its affixing to the general cast.

Another gripe from a passing thought: why does the EFSF not have a Char, or someone similar to him? I get that he's a prodigious Newtype, and we have Amuro, sure, but really they have no other notable pilots. Zeon has the Tri-Black Star at the very least. Earth has Amuro of course, then I guess Hayato, Kai, and Sayla? Maybe they should count. Tianem and Revil aren't pilots, so I'm excluding them. That is to say, names are more glorified on the other side. The sheer number of the EFSF must harbor some big names. Eh, it doesn't really matter.

These don’t really take away a lot of my enjoyment, just a bugging discomfort.

- There is much implication of spirituality in the series. Deikun was spouting a lot of arcane things in his first appearance, and he really is treated as if he had a divine possession. He mentioned Gaia, which is a primordial god in mythology. There is Gihren and his god complex. There is Degwin mentioning Cain and Abel. There is Char saying that the second act of the war after Revil intervened in the Antarctic peace talks is one without God. Newtypes have a very transcendental hue to them. I'm interested in what they have in store for this.

Sayla's consecutive losses was just sad. She's such a strong girl, more than she is given credit for.
And I guess that's it.

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Origin fulfilled its duties decently. There were no plotholes I have noticed--the team truly was meticulous in seamlessly threading together the narrative despite the large gulf between the years. Due respect was given indeed. I had fun with this, it is always a joy knowing how the story unfolded in reverse chronology. I got answers, the civilians were given focus, and still some questions, though they serve as magnetic entities luring me to the next phases of my watch experience.

*Mishaps Upon Misguided Minds: The Zero-Sum Game*

~~

!! SPOILER-FILLED REVIEW !!

~~

It’s Christmas season and harmony is what it’s all about. The jolly holidays pull away the wreckage sites orchestrated by the vices of war to give more notice to the child-like air, playful despite the mischief. War in the Pocket took many steps away from the endless show of carnage of 0079 to bond with other avenues covered during war times. A refreshing change of pace in aesthetics, setting, character motivations, and musical motif exposed the creativity contained within the Gundam universe.

I can imagine that at that time, the Gundam fad had reached significant heights considering ... how undeniably awesome the very idea and look of mecha is, especially back then in the relatively early phases of its conception. Plenty of mobile suit designs should have been materialized into merchandise figurines. It would not be surprising to assume that the flashy fights and cool-ass robots and futuristic technology had its anti-war nature flow away over many people’s heads (and at the very least, the first season didn’t take as much liberties to place consistent spotlights on the disastrous effects of full-blown feuds).

In comes this 6-episode OVA having kids glorify war, perhaps a consequence to the peace of Side 6, the 10-year-old half of the dual protagonists cast directly, actively, willingly participating on excursions for Zeon’s cause due to its being the peak of entertainment and nothing else (a dream come true for a boy playing shooting games). Why, it must be play at its finest for children! The show retains Al’s engaged positive spirits by intentionally detracting away from the aftereffects of death until the very last episodes, merely reducing casualties into plain numbers, while merry and lighthearts blanket snuggly. The townspeople carry on about their days and it seems like unrest was non-existent at the infliction of the neutral Side’s battle scars. OP and ED work in tandem to grip the watcher within smothering leisure.

And yes, it does not serve to be against the show’s quality. Rather, it builds to the conviction towards a state of life untouched by ruin. While it does that, it is cheeky in presenting the misguided views of people towards the golden sheen of steel. The subdued yet warm flames within the hearth that is War in the Pocket manifests as a call to foster such environments and denounce the zero-sum game adults forced everyone to play.

Staging characters of opposing factions become obliviously attracted to one another simply because of human nature activating was brilliant to prove the point. In the end, authorities dictate the flow of conflict, and underlings can’t help but go against people they could have had amiable relationships with, fighting each other to the death just to survive. Running away and fighting head-on both incur casualties, Chris said. Therein lies a woeful struggle in this sort of societal conflict. The hammer to the nail was the ending when Chris and Bernie no longer had to fight in order to protect their loved ones. Result: the admired unknowingly killed her admirer, bereaving her neighbor who must have been too young to even properly process what has happened. Now Al knows how devastating war must be, and how it is a different kind of game adults play like every human life is but a chess piece and every weapon is a toy, something his close friends still have not been made to understand. A crying Al does not need a continuation of spectacles and buried treasures. What he needs is the nightmare of children his age: the mundane, ordinary life.

A rather short piece, yet a satisfying one within the Gundam universe. War in the Pocket is a most relevant story which has energized my interest in the franchise, sat me beside the simplicity of media wonderfully, and blessed me with ✨ 80s anime vibes ✨. Indeed, an enjoyable show.

Say, are you a traveler?

Do you drift between little worlds, are you a creature set in open motion? Are you an outsider, a mere observer unfettered by the obligatory laws of attachment? How must it feel to be unbound and dictating your own freedom grounded by a sturdy principle of self-preservation? Please, tell me your stories.

I am like a citizen of some country at some corner susceptible to intake the chronicles of every outsider as indelible imprints to my meager life. Perhaps you feel the same instead; our kind who shoulders the sanctity of community through settlement make up the brunt of the population. Thankfully ... we can be like travelers now, within the world of fiction.

Included in the package is the right to insert ourselves as the main character themselves. Intriguing, however, that pomposity does not hold the greatest sway. But we are backdrops with a telescope and withheld visitors with the same capacity of change, and by consequence victims to philosophical musings, by choice to the beauty of the world.

~~

Primarily a dive-in to assorted hypotheticals playing around human ideals, tradition, and general way of life, Kino's Journey is a first-person walkthrough in a quest-less, seemingly endless adventure on the road. I say "first-person" because of how the titular character is intentionally arranged to be inclined against participation of any sort of town-(re)building by her being rather devoid of attachment to societal concerns unless forced to act or through caprice (and having caprice means she has her moral systems, too).

Many times she is unpredictable. Some of her actions (and inactions) were questionable. But this works for the engagement of the audience as we could easily fit into the vessel of the main character who has a quiet reactionary expression and an ambiguous judgment such that varying opinions or the lack thereof are welcomed. And as she acts on self-preservation, policing becomes futile. The last episode shows that chance practically saved her life when the citizens of The Kind Land threw away theirs out of ego. Attachment to the country almost killed Kino, and from then on it was her principle to not stay anywhere for more than 3 days in fear that she might cease to be a traveler. Her best advice to any adventure then boiled down to caution in order to not lose their own lives, therefore self-preserving. In that sense, many watchers can be the traveler and Hermes by extension.

I must admit, taking in the mindset of an observer without obligation to anyone aside from respect was a refreshing sort of feeling: just witnessing the various countries be, having a jolt at Kino's few interventions, perhaps being pulled to certain judgmental emotions as values must be inclined to ask of us, although letting it flow to the oceanic conclusion that "the world just is, therefore it is beautiful" as is the brave assertion of the series.

And why is it beautiful when most episodes comprise of tragedy? Why, with all the massacre, the conflicts, the sorrows that breed the ugly thoughts which drive human beings to a winding road towards devastation, can it be considered beautiful? Kino's Journey does not hesitate providing instances wherein the usual notion of beauty is seemingly desecrated to end up claiming that its slogan still holds true, and that it can only achieve greater heights of truth in so doing.

We're descending into ruminative realms with this one. Kino's Journey appeals to the viewers that beauty is inherently attached to existence. And because the world exists, so it is "beautiful", and no terrible thing can find faults against that claim. It is a wonder that such a complicated thing exists to home billions of equally complex lives and non-lives with an innate ability for cohesion and cohabitation. Maybe that the world offers an endless stream of sensation, an endless road of experience, and an endless diversity of thought and action, where anything can happen, constitutes the sanctity of Beauty as wife to Being. And Kino, in her many travels permitting her closest audience to the workings of the world that is housing society and nature and the in-betweens, with the clearest look on the bigger picture with all its ornamental blemishes and decencies, can be a carrier of story's core theme. The journey allows for achievement of the self's reconciliation to the unpredictability of existence by anchoring oneself to a claim that resides within the spectrum of optimism. This may be one of the reasons why Kino continues traveling. It is appealing to the recalibration of perspective which is more hospitable to the "good" than the "bad" and accepting to what "is". The message becomes more resonating when Kino is also at most risk of letting the "bad things" get to her, but she all the same remained on the road.

~~

Traveling takes you to many places. Kino sometimes has a clear decision on where she wants to go (like if Hermes needed a fixer, or if hearsays in the wind caught her attention). Other times her voyage is spontaneous (episode 5's ending with Kino and Hermes choosing either the left or right road). Either way, direction is essential and having it derailed can be upsetting. Now of course detours are not reduced in grace through this, but the series doesn't really talk about that concept, so we'll leave that for now. I brought this up because in the beginning of episode 5, Kino says that she doesn't like riding in the forest as it makes it easy to go in the wrong direction.

I find that interesting. Well, I found the whole episode among the most interesting ones, especially with this specific question being repeatedly asked to Kino: "Traveler, where are you headed to?"

Directions make destinations reachable. In not wanting to be led to wrong directions, it must then mean that Kino wants to reach her destination. The destination being, the next country. But inevitably, confrontations occur through simple yet striking questions that step above a few or so levels from base thought and action to reach a degree apt to be donned as "ultimate". It was so penetrating that it rendered Kino speechless with a look that screams drowning in a sea of realizations and uncertainties.

So really, where is Kino headed to? Where do travelers end up being? Everyone knows the answer, really, that the journey itself is the destination.

Unlike those three old men working on the rails due to external employment, eternally waiting for the call of the authorities on the conclusive verdict, Kino acts upon her own self's affinity towards traveling which led her away from the doom that was being physically wired to be a robotic adult in her hometown. There is strong emphasis on the significance of doing what you want to do and being where you want to be. Indeed, the three workers did what they needed to do, which can also be categorized as a want since it brings them satisfaction working at the expense of their loved ones. In that we cannot reduce their quality as human beings (and who are we to be official judges of such?), though we cannot deny that utter submission leaves a blind spot. But what we may extract if we compare them to Kino is the agency she is lucky to have seized for herself. As much as they will never stop undoing each other's hard work, so too will Kino never stop living to travel.

Thus, going to the wrong direction, i.e., not being where she wants to be, not doing what she wants to do, is irksome. The forest will pose to be a challenge for the traveler. I go back, however, that I was interested in such notion, and I was gloriously satisfied holding on to that bit of statement when that bomb of a last episode dropped.

Recontextualizations abounded with the trip to The Kind Land. It brought a brand new layer of depth to Kino's life from birth. It was a most transformative experience for Kino, one which had her firmly stick to her principle of self-preservation.

What that episode did was a trick of inspired similarity and opposition. Basically it portrays Kino's life in another angle, making the direct comparison potently enriching especially being situated at the end of the anime's journey. Things we can relate to and draw comparisons from our lives become that much more connecting, don't they?

I say these because it is important that The Kind Land is what it is after knowing its origin as a country built upon the forest. The people's customs even render service to nature as a form of respect to their roots. Whereas the forest is the community of the citizens, where they settled upon even after knowing the catastrophe, the forest for Kino is an element misleading direction. The forest is where those people decided to set their whole life's chart on; Sakura even declined her parents' telling her to travel with Kino, but in the same end result as her them, she was determined to stay, for it is her dream to tour travelers around her country and give them moments most unforgettable. The forest is the direction which leads her to her destination: still within the forest. But for Kino it is different and her world resides elsewhere.

One other detail which played a part on this idea's stage is the gunsmith's passing onto Kino his prized gun named "Person of the Forest" (or "Woodsman" in other translations). It serves as a remembrance of Kino's time with the people of the forest, and as she now is transferred ownership with it, also, as it were, bestows upon her the same denomination. As a person of the forest, she must take the endless challenge of being swayed towards directions she doesn't want to be thrown into. The dichotomy of her occupation and her metaphoric citizenship marks the beautiful duality of the world being not beautiful at times yet consequently leading itself to beauty. With this, we have Kino, a traveler of endless forests filled with uncertain obstacles, unfettered by obligation yet bounded still by the afflictions of suffering, commonly unparticipative but life-changing all the same, journeying for the sake of it to experience at its personal fullest the sights of the beautiful world, alive and functional despite the chaos it is fraught with, accompanied by her trusty sentient motorrad (it is no use to question why it can talk, for it simply can, and the world, again, just is). It takes two to create a world. Creators can't live without each other. The symbiosis of Kino and Hermes carries on the memory of the country built on that forest, and together they become keepers of the lives that once were.

...or at least, that was my interpretation powered mainly by poetic motivation.

~~

At the last parts of this review/reflection I should dedicate it to a sort of wrap-up of my thoughts. Kino's Journey is solid to the core with its intention, never going astray from its own convictions. It creatively utilizes the potentials of fiction by leading us through vignettes of hypothetical countries and encounters which always have something to say or at least open up for self-reflection. I should never forget that its storytelling methods were very refreshing, notably the episode in The Land of Books. With a distinct feel delivered through enigmatic and nostalgic music as well as complementarily muted "vibes" and sepia-dominant tones to its visuals, and a present-centric mindset, Kino's Journey stunts you with newfound or resurfacing thoughts as travelers take stops to take in foreign or sometimes familiar air.

*Progenitors walk so their descendants can run (I hope they'll run)*

~~

All due respect is given to this revolutionary title without second thought. One would basically be living under a rock were they unknowing of the breadth and depth of its success. No matter what I say here, it wouldn't ever touch its reputation. These are merely ramblings of a random person who thinks the very origin of the franchise feels inadequate in and of itself (final opinion should never be cemented in individual seasons comprising a whole, and it should never be taken too seriously when someone finds faults predominant in a certain part; practicing ... giving the benefit of the doubt while acknowledging the current state of affairs is the way to go), and I would be hard-pressed to believe otherwise when things are only getting started in the grand scheme of things, at least I hope it is.

Mobile Suit Gundam's length and its neverending series of battles actually finds strong defense against people who find it dragging and repetitive: it shares to the viewers the weariness of the White Base crew. As a type of war which has seen skyrocketing casualties in the span of around nine months, the first of it already having cut the global population in half, it is an essential step to dedicate time in staying put in the battlefield. Especially effective is the fatigue felt when our crew is filled with teenagers, unseasoned soldiers, regular civilians, or a mixture of the three, who have little idea on what they are doing. Not to mention that their victories rewarded them with more work. It was something else feeling like the episodes were a drag and yet being aware that this is but a drop of the exhaustion the main cast has been undergoing through.

What I perceived it has done, however, in focusing on the wasting of human lives instantaneously like a flicker, is neglect the worlds under and above the surface of human life itself.

Although it fulfilled its job of presenting the aftereffects of a world war: in causing the death of loved ones (Frau Bow's); providing vision to a widow's emotions; displaying the complete eradication of natural habitats; showing the existence of refugee camps; soldiers blinded by pursuit of valor and forsaking morality; generating loss and separation (Kai, Mirai, and Ryu); conflicting the relationship of once innocent people (Char and Sayla); sourcing the desire to retire and repay one's debts (Cucuruz Doan); the despondence of a mother upon witnessing her son participating in the cold war (Amuro and his mother); perpetuating the cycle of hatred (Amuro and Icelina); among few more things, it fails to hammer me with the hopelessness, the unkindness, the utter evil of human nature that it implied was the universal impression from the replayed recitations summarizing Universal Century 0079.

Zeon's condescension is an appropriate response to the burgeoning population as the antagonistic faction, yes. At the very least their ideology foils, making it thematically relevant. But I am yet to be convinced of their fervor to enact domination and superseding this model of mankind for superior ones without any reason for it--a "just-is" action cannot work for me here. A promising premise turns empty without support. By that same logic, the presentations I mentioned on the above paragraph lack profound substance if not used to install weight upon the gravity of the global crisis.

After fleeing Side 7 after its devastation, I understand that the people were suspended in tension enough to go through the first battles. However, it seemed so disturbing that Frau Bow did not so much as exhibit reactions one would be forced to show in response to such grievous loss. She lost her family, but she, an ordinary human being, seemed just fine after all of it, save the short instance of paralysis? She had the children and Amuro to cope up with the loss, but even then, it felt psychologically impairing were I to be in her shoes.

What was the purpose of Kai having his own little arc if he still remained the same as before? More eagerness to bring down Zeon shown in his better combat performance? The effect seemed minute and insubstantial that it can just be traced to his common behavior before the ordeal, rather than a concrete reason for some sort of development.

The same holds true with Amuro after he left his mother on Earth. What were the consequences of that event? His mother was not even mentioned after that, and there were more than a half of the anime left. One would have thought something so depressing as that would have left its mark to be frequently remembered, but Amuro was as coarse, as inept to sensibility like always. Pity when the imagery during the farewell was verily striking. I insert that episode on Cucuruz Doan's island where they talked about the beauty of transience in the midst of an era where the world is a graveyard. Keen notice of ephemera is indeed a movement to sit upon; such a beautiful inclusion!...until it's left to dust like the others. It's like the team felt that they have done their job to impact the audience and did not find the need to re-acknowledge it by layering it with more substance thereafter.

External elements away from the White Base crew, including the widow, the destruction of habitats, the refugee camp, the retired soldier, lacked a jarring element as a stimuli to elicit dread. Pieces were placed on the puzzle, but it felt so little in comparison to the magnification of metal battles. Through Gundam's establishment of 0079's state of humankind as something at the pits of favorability due to the massive scale of the war, it is a must to fortify the claim by making it so abundantly evident that people really are suffering. As it is, it lacked the emotional manipulation which would have made it believable. Maybe the foremost intent is the showcasing of choreographic mecha battles--I'm sold on that, for sure. I'm just left to want something more.

Moving outside the confines of battle once again, we find drama strutting through the grounds. How wonky everything regarding Mirai was. I thought her and Bright had a thing together. Then in a beat she was smitten by the lieutenant? Nothing short of cheesy was the four-way romance centering Mirai, and I really wished they didn't include that at all, or at least took the lieutenant from the equation.

Speaking of Bright, there were hints that he likes Sayla after all. Really, what was him and Mirai all about?

In relation to abrupt surprises we have Lala risking her life for Char for reasons that he was her savior...But how did he save her, is the question that was never answered at all. A gaping hole precludes the holistic formation of her character, which is sad because she indeed was the most intriguing addition to the story as a newtype.

Ah, yes, newtypes. It's a perfect segue to discuss about it. I'm actually quite invested in this major turning plot point because it explains Amuro's miraculous stand-off against Char in his first battle. We were led to believe it was all the Gundam's computer doing all the work, elevating its innovation to the highest highs when it could even carry an amateur fighting against one of the best pilots, and it was great in order to concentrate on mecha as an evolved weapon, as well as its connection to the pilots deploying it (the age old sentiment being man is humanity's best tool). And it turns out, Amuro had the potential to be superhuman from the beginning. Char, too, but his awakening is more delayed.

Not much detail is published on newtypes. The first season properly built up on it though despite announcing it on the final stretches. It achieved a level of excitement for Zeta. Indeed I little qualms at its addition. Lack of foreshadowing was an issue. The first Gihren speech was wrought with pretense of Zeon being the "good" nation in painting the Earth Federation as an oppressor. The second and final one, in raising morale before the siege against A Baoa Qu, exclaimed his true goal to the public: to only retain the superior breed of mankind. I don't think it helps the Zabi sovereignty when Gihren switches standing like that, from it being a justified war against evil to straight-up sweeping the planets off unwanted species. As such, that really wasn't a smart thing to do, but in the end the soldiers were all in for it for some reason. Of course the civilians never had their time to be in the spotlight.

These were the problems I've been riddled with in my watching experience. There is a lot to want; I haven't even touched Casval and Artesia's siblinghood. As for the positives, I actually have enjoyed both music and visuals. I did not feel production was an issue when the anime didn't play itself as so deficient in those departments given the era of its creation. Most noteworthy is that one image of Amuro's fierce face infused by the waves of Lala's influence, with her on the center. Such creative presentation which would have made me an instant faithful apostle of the franchise were I to see it in times prior to this version of how I look media, and were I not already hooked by the mobile suit fights. Those episodes were fitting of its cosmic setting, having reach throughout the edges of its scope. Mobile Suit Gundam would have been remiss to forego involvement of good ol' fate and destiny in the spiritual conversation between Amuro and Lala. Enough said, I was all in for it, and I will most certainly carry this sentiment as I continue through this dense franchise.