Initial Impressions on the Nisekoi Manga as Someone Who Started With the Anime/Update

Today I completed reading volume 1 of the Nisekoi manga and am currently on the second volume. I wanted to offer some brief impressions. As someone who has seen the anime up to this point, I am familiar with most of the events that are occurring. I have noticed that the plot seems to have greater headway initially and then quickly subsides to focus on the characters. Generally, the plot is only slightly changed from the typical romance story of forced love, which does not really save the manga when it seems unclear or uninteresting. As a whole, it is so far too little and too late. That said, despite its use of cliches and seeming already done, the manga seems to still be its own unique entity somehow. I would credit this observation more to the characters - Ruri, Ichijo, Chitoge, and Kosaki in particular at this point in the manga - than to the plot. The characters tend to be entertaining and involved in interesting situations, even though the plot is not properly paced. I am also enjoying the mangaka's art - I am not sure if I can call it good (because I have such a deficient drawing background) but it paints the characters from varying perspectives. Mangaka Naoshi Komi in particular seems adept at providing intriguing facial expressions that are so exaggerated that they often strike me as hilarious. I have heard this manga starts to decline following a certain point but I hope that I can still enjoy it, even if it is flawed. Thus far, I've been able to think beyond the numerous faults and see the characters interact and potentially grow. Unfortunately, the manga does not have "Click" or "Step" (by ClariS).

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Take some italics, ye internet-dwellers! I am at work on varying blog posts. At the moment, I have established a new blog - focused on health policy and healthcare - that I will mention once I complete my first major post. However, simultaneously, I am working on a blog post related to From the New World (Shinsekai Yori) that will likely be rather substantial. Expect a separate blog post appearing within the next few days, though. I intend for this shorter blog post to be fundamentally different from what one would expect on Nighttrail. I will likely take another 'hiatus' from both of my blogs due to post-graduate burnout. (Hey, I need to burnout eventually, right?)

A Strategy She Never Expected: Unsolvable Locked Room Mystery*

 I am making some changes as to how I will handle this story. I intend to offer branching pathways in an experimental effort to improve my writing and to try out a more visual novel-esque format. I am no longer going to specify the part number. To make matters simple, I shall only have a few parts that offer an alternative ending, and these endings will all be "bad endings." Please note that "*" indicates that a piece is such a bad ending. This part will be the first bad ending, though I plan to have a few more. I will also ensure that there are not such bad endings in a row. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Then, as if waiting silently, pain erupted throughout her knee, causing her to drop the knife with a grimace. Torrential raining soared downwards, steadily drenching her knitted sweater. Collapsed on the ground on her back, she clutched her right knee carefully. Overwhelmed, she laid curled up, eyes closed – her hand opening and closing was the only strong suggestion that she was awake. She felt twitching in her leg, the kind that accompanies physical exertion. Tightness pervaded her lower half, centered in her calves, restraining her motion about her knees and ankles. Then, moments later, she rose gingerly to her feet and walked, feet spread apart and her steps becoming increasingly toe-first, as if she were dragging her self. She stumbled away, leaving the knife alone; by this point, the water had begun to seep into her clothes, chilling her skin. Before arriving home, she slid the folder she had taken from the detective under the door of the police sheriff. (Access to the police headquarters was not difficult, especially since she was recognized as the person who had sounded the alarm.) Once home, she collapsed onto the bed, legs spaced apart with beads of cold sweat and rain droplets. Waking up, Gillian rubbed her eyes and they opened widely: she had slept until purple had infiltrated the light blue, reflecting twilight. The rain had stopped, though she could still feel the moisture in her skin and clothes, refusing to offer her comfort.

Rising slowly, Gillian grabbed a tome devoted to anatomy from her desk drawer and lit her candle, casting a shell of shadows. The flames flickered scarcely for the wind was slight. Focusing on the upper body, she attempted to learn more about the posterior spine, an impact site on the murder victim’s body. Furrowed brows, and clenched hands – with a flick of her brown hair, she closed the book and set it aside. Gillian glanced out the window, even though her arboreal surroundings had become too difficult to be viewed. Tracing the knife in the air led to further frustration. If the detective could not decide, she thought, what chance would I have? And so the case was laid to rest in her mind.

The next day, Gillian tried a smaller book, one by a great philosopher, but in this town education was scarce; schooling, for children and adolescents, only happened two days a week, so for her free time she read. An effort at town hall had started to encourage more extensive education but was promptly dismissed: here only professionals needed to learn. Topics like anatomy or philosophy were never taught in school here. A professional could simply pick up necessary knowledge, asides from basic topics, from his work; thus, books were made available through the library even though the school itself carried few academic references. Finishing the anthology, Gillian set the book down neatly and went for a walk outside.

Even after a grisly murder, this town had faded away into oblivion, obstinately staying the same.   

B A D E N D

Land of the Rising Sun: Graduating from University with Becker's Muscular Dystrophy

A little over a week ago, I graduated from my university with an Honors Bachelors of Science in Bioengineering and Magna Cum Laude academic distinction. As an Honors College student, I completed a roughly seventy page Honors Thesis on specifying biocompatible materials for a forearm implant device to enhance patient grasping after a particular type of surgery. Somehow, I - garbed in a medieval cap and gown for commencement - ended up adorned with various colored items (cords, tassels). To everyone, graduation from university is a momentous occasion that is both unique and universal – a sense of accomplishment is seen, and even required, from those who graduated. Despite that, I felt that having Becker’s Muscular Dystrophy somehow, for better and for worse, altered my perceptions of my graduation. The adversity I faced and overcame adds a greater level of personal meaning to my graduation; I am grateful to the help I received during my journey and where I have ended up following obtaining my diploma. 

However, here I will diverge significantly from the typically lofty appreciation of graduation – in many ways, graduation represented a culmination of the adversity, not my overcoming it. Thus, I think the challenges, more so than simply the successes, should be illuminated; clearly, if I could graduate as an engineer in the Honors College and with a high GPA, many of these efforts were successful. Thus, I shall focus on these difficulties.

Waiting for my departmental graduation to commence, I became anxious and drew excessively close to crying as my heart collided with my chest rapidly. I had volunteered to be the speaker for my major – for there were speakers for all three majors represented at this graduation ceremony – despite my misgivings on writing a speech. For the other two majors, there were two speakers chosen by their class; in the case, of my major I simply was the only person to volunteer. Feeling tears almost welling up and my heart still pounding furiously, I had a brief but poignant reflection on my experiences: I felt, despite doing well in a difficult major, as if my having a physical disability overwrote my experiences. As if I was somehow a fake because I have difficulty with physical activities, especially those involving fine motor control, that comprise the hands-on lab-work considered the hallmark of true engineering. By being physically disabled, I felt transformed into a pseudo-engineer, one only capable of the theoretical, academic work but not true engineering. In this situation, even just my heart would fill me with anxiety, but here I grappled with a much more powerful foe: myself.  

Sinus tachycardia enveloping me, I realized it was my turn to speak, so I managed to suppress the sadness and walk to the podium. I spoke fast and nervously but passionately, eager to deliver both an empowering message and capture the department as I see it. Without the lofty sentimentality, but with the honesty that I felt was required. Then I returned to my seat, my heart beat still obviously above 100 BPM, and my work was then done. Following that speech, I somehow felt slightly resolved; the tension was present but the anxiety had become subdued.  A friend, after the ceremony, commented that my speech was quirky yet honest and that she had really liked it. She was not the only one – a couple professors of mine had similarly complimented the speech – and I felt much more at ease. These efforts did not counteract the years of adversity I had faced at my university but they framed the difficult in a different manner: the challenges became something I could handle even if I felt ready to give up. 

Despite starting to ride a mobility scooter in fall 2012, I felt that few people truly understood my experiences. As I felt weaker and began walking less, I became more detached from people around me; more pity than empathy was heaped upon me, or so I thought. As time went on, I revised my views and decided that there was empathy mixed with the pity. I became better with handling my physical condition and returned to performing well academically (by my standards) even as classes got harder. 

Throughout my physical and mental strengthening, there was seemingly one constant. During a midterm for an engineering test in fall 2012, I felt excruciating leg pain that forced me to stop before the test was over and take a break. As a junior taking a midterm in heat transfer in early 2014, I managed to inflict back pain upon myself due to the intensity of writing required by the test; for the next few days, my back was slightly weaker than normal. Earlier this year, in February 2015, I had to postpone a test by a day because I was feeling powerful heart palpitations that set my chest on fire with the high flow rate of my blood. And, lastly, during a test my last term at my university, I felt discomforting anterior foot pain near my right ankle, inhibiting any attempt to use my right foot to bear high loads. Despite working to improve my posture and leg strength among other goals, I still endured great amounts of pain, especially in my back and legs. The development of heart palpitations during the close (the Act 5, if you will) of my undergraduate experience reflected the high stress – physical and mental – that I was subjected to through this degree program. 

Because of having Becker’s, I felt cut off from having genuinely close friendships; I even felt that I was falling behind professionally, not able to pursue as many activities as my peers. The harrowing thought that my disability may somehow make me far less worthy of a candidate hit viscerally; I want to believe that my condition has allowed me to grow as a person and that I can overcome any limitations. However, this fear, which subconsciously led me to pursue few activities, made me feel completely separate from everyone else, even if we had shared many classes or were, at least, categorically friends. Despite being in a study-intensive major, I rarely studied with other people and when I did I often felt socially excluded. Even when I performed research as an undergraduate and penned my thesis, I still felt that I was somehow less worthy of an engineer and professional. I did not do hands-on work for my research, which fits into the notion that people with physical disabilities should not be allowed to perform tasks that required fine motor control. This perspective blended with my difficulty of making close friendships – ultimately, I felt separated in a plethora of ways. One of the major mechanisms by which I felt isolated was the notion that I am very smart but in a manner that removes me from emotional consideration; ultimately, acumen was my primary positive trait and that I was not truly relatable. At the same time, my cognition is quite different from my peers because of my condition both because my condition is neurological in nature and because I have to interact with the world very differently. 

In many ways, my graduation represented the continuation of my feelings of social exclusion, including my fears of how other people perceive me as a professional, throughout my university experiences. Furthermore, I felt great amounts of pain and other physical discomforts that fed into my sadness and anguish; combined, these woes made school excessively difficult for me, even though I performed well. The notion of my high intelligence managed to raise expectations on me without offering me any truly consolation. To be honest, I still worry that having my condition separates me from connections to other people and from a professional future…that someone would view me less because I have a neuromuscular condition that changes how I interact with the world. 

Graduation was itself adverse in that I had to transition from one set of obstacles to another; such obstacles do not value my happiness against my productivity, only my relative productivity without my condition factored in. However, such challenges are what I must face. Wishing to end on a happier note, sadness and anguish, despite very much existing, were buffered by a drive to achieve great things and a slightly new framing. My time pursuing counseling during my last term, despite being rushed, provided valuable insight into what I can do, even living with a physical disability. I told my counselor about some of my fears, which extend as deep as the Marianas Trench, of having my condition and how other people perceive me as a result. Through sharing these difficult experiences, I was able to recast my feelings and become more committed to the idea of moving forward, even if I regularly felt that I was being forced in the completely opposite direction. This time during which I pursued counseling allowed me to see myself in a different perspective and begin to accept myself and my condition. I saw graduation was much more enlightening yet difficult than empowering; a collection of hard-earned lessons that may possibly borrow from Taoist teachings. Having followed many teachers including myself, I gained momentum that can carry me to new heights even as I grapple with myself.

Fluffy Brown Hair

I wanted to mention that I've been trying to write poems, especially ones that focus on description. Many of these may be misses but I am okay with that, as long as these freewrites lead to growth.  This poem and previous one (for clearly they have related titles) may seem like they have a very particular purpose, but that is misleading - I simply wanted to try my hand at these topics. I hope to try and expand my blog writing styles to slow the tides of redundancy. 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brown hair –

Strands distant from each other

As if seeking to reduce density,

Creating fluffiness.

Grey-blue eyes
that are penetrating

And generous in wisdom.

Pale white skin

Meshing with her hair and eyes,

Creating an ensemble of features that fit together neatly,

Thus completing her image.

Her face is typically adorned

 By either a curious gaze or a friendly smile.

Capable of great determination,

She could be an armor-clad knight or an adventurer,

Like in a video game.

Consider as playing the role of a magical girl:
She is transformed,

Brunette hair floating in nonexistent wind.

She is a hero

Poised to destroy villains,

No matter what dark magic or thermodynamics they may use.

//                                                                                                 \\
A person of average height

But infinite stature,

She is welcoming

Of both people and ideas.

Upon first encounter,
I saw her as somehow scholarly,
beyond simply her physical appearance.

She took upon the role of game master,
heading the murder mystery game,
showering her detective aspirations.

Immersion in that enigmatic atmosphere
led smoothly to the hunt for clues of the murderer
but, feeling tired,
I had to rest.

I let her know,

And felt relieved that my fatigue would not somehow count against me -
so I sat near my apparent savior,
feeling protected from the specter of my weakness.

She is that being transformed into a knight or magical girl,
capable of using weaponry and magic to save the world,
all before returning to a normal state.

 

An Environmental Analysis of the Chozo Ghosts of Metroid Prime

I have decided to extend my series of short posts on the depictions of environmental issues in video games to other series, including the Metroid series. These posts are intended to be short without too much formality or detail. Any combination of these posts may be chosen for a more rigorous analysis but I hope that this series is interesting to read. 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Metroid Prime chronicles the descent of Samus onto Tallon IV to discover that her enemies, the Space Pirates, had already set to defile the land in search of the infamous Phazon; to this end, the Pirates hoped to defeat Samus. Phazon is a substance capable of causing mutation and even death - it is desired due to its potency in enhancing combat technology. The actions of the Space Pirates displace Phazon, allowing the substance to impact a greater array of organisms. The notorious Phazon Mines - best known for its save point that is far from the start of the area - are extensive, reaching far underground. The gamer through Samus gets to see the Phazon, mutated Metroids, and transformed Space Pirates - extensive degradation of the land (Tallon IV), the ecology (the Metroids), and even the perpetrators (Space Pirates) occurs.

Linked to the land are the Chozo Ghosts, intimidating in their pale white ghastly forms, who come from the remains of the Chozo interred on Tallon IV. The fate of the Chozo in this game is unknown - many died, though perhaps some escaped as well. In the game, the Chozo ghosts are a terrifying enemy, accompanied by darkness filling the room and their assuming a battle pose; they can turn enemy, obscuring efforts to fight and defeat them. Because the Chozo apparently strove to integrate with the planet, they are clearly in contrast to the Space Pirates: the Chozo created civilization where none existed but did not apparently destroy Tallon IV in the process.

The occurrence of Chozo ghosts can be explained in two ways: the ghosts are due to Phazon mutation or they arise due to Space Pirate actions. Either way, the Chozo ghosts seem to bear ill will towards Samus, opting to assume a battle position when they see Samus - clearly, Samus is seen as an enemy, even though she fights the Space Pirates. The Chozo ghosts are a living extension of the planet itself because they represent beings buried in the ground - literally, they arise from Tallon IV. This result suggests that the planet can feel the damage wrought by the Space Pirates. Yet they continued their mining and experiments, suggesting a technologically advanced but philosophical stunted perception of the land. Metroid Prime in that sense is a story of egotistical environmental degradation brought in a desire to advance in a bellicose manner to defeat one's foes with fancier weaponry.

Teary Red Eyes

 This poem is dedicated to Isla, the character from Dogakobo's Plastic Memories.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Snow white hair
drifting laterally
like a rather strange blizzard.

Her teary red eyes shine
as if flames bloomed in the sea,
doomed to an uncertain fate.

She is graceless,
tumbling over thin air,
allowing tea cups to shatter on the floor,
sending fluid snaking across.

Despite her clumsiness,
she never acquiesces,
and instead she perseveres
at the cost of her sanity.

Reserved and quiet,
like a light drizzle falling onto concrete,
she is far from others,
Desperate to transform into a more ideal being.

In all her imperfections,
she is admirable and noble
in her tearful efforts to help other people.