I would have had updated were it not for a lack of an Internet connection. Storms and typhoons are ubiquitous around Manila, which is where I am located right now. This absence contributed, in no small part, to my lack of knowledge as regards the occurrences in anime fandom. With Internet cafes, however, I have tried to broaden my appreciation of media aside from anime.
On Korean and Japanese dramas
I have chanced upon a good Korean drama, Resurrection, and since then Iâ€™ve viewed (one of them still ongoing) roughly three Korean dramas. I find that although Korean dramas are relatively more emotional than their Japanese counterparts (at least from what I have had seen), theyâ€™re also more blessed with beautiful girls. The only lady I find to be beautiful in Japanese drama is Nakama Yukie; there is a replete of great-looking Korean ladies who can definitely act, however. In some dramas there may be bathos because of the emotional nature of Korean dramas, from what I have seen, but I still prefer the rawness of emotions in these dramas rather than the taut, constrained, and slow effusion of pathos from the Japanese dramas Iâ€™ve seen. This is, of course, is only a matter of taste, but the slow effusion of pathos and the piecemeal revelations I often see in Japanese drama belong more properly in books. Kawabata and his contemporaries evoke this kind of pathos, a brushlike suggestiveness, very well in their novels. Iâ€™m not saying that Japanese drama is inferior, though. Perhaps I just prefer ostentation more when it comes to drama.
These realizations have given me time to reflect upon myself. I guess Pessoa couldnâ€™t have said it better: from his words, Iâ€™m the observant yet detached aesthete. I like to see and perceive love; I love to see and observe beauty; but I prefer to only see them, for there is something in touching them that desecrates them. There is, actually, in my hands, a defiling filth that cannot be easily removed: I love to glance upon wonderful paintings, but there is something in me touching them that removes that perfection: perhaps it is humanity, I myself remain unsure.
Introspecting even further, I have always been fond of watching other peopleâ€™s relationships grow (as friends, lovers, or husband and wife), but I have been unable to exhort myself to try one. On the contrary, I have grown to be more and more apathetic regarding these things in relation to myself. I do not know if I am afraid: maybe I am, but I am sure that I am avoidant of such things because I believe that I will only defile them if I dip my hand into them. Or maybe I may not have found she who flutters my heart. Or maybe I may have had found her, but I keep denying my emotions. I am simply afraid that there will come a day when I am totally comfortable being only the observant aesthete.
I am scared: for if I grow content of simply observing, of simply loving the idea of love and not loving loving itself, I shall be alone sooner or later. Yet this contentment that bursts forth of simply watching other people be happy is enough for me, at least for now.