#after a decade of being blamed every year for their relationship strife

[herawell]

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[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter Ten

Title: Past, Present, Future

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @tragiclyhip​

It’s been a productive morning. Breakfast had turned into an enormous affair; seemingly endless supplies of pancakes, french toast and eggs and bacon being shared amongst the ten people gathered. Although much more reserved and quiet than Millie, Alannah had held her own in the midst of the chaos and chatter; the only child initially nervous and withdrawn but quickly and seemingly getting accustomed to the level of noise and activity that comes with so many children in one house. She’s a lovely little girl. Smart and witty; always offering to help out with food prep and dishes whenever she’s over for a meal, full of compliments in regards to food and decor and possessing remarkable manners and social graces for someone so close to their teenage years. In a way she reminds Esme of the younger version of herself; shunned by her own family and desperately searching for people that will both accept and love her. Perhaps that’s why she’d been so willing and eager to bring the eleven year old into the fold; remembering what it was like to be surrounded by family yet feel so alone at the same time. It’s a horrible feeling; knowing that you’re not what your mother -or both parents in Alannah’s case- wanted and never allowed to forget it. It’s isolating and soul destroying. Causing problems that deeply imbed themselves in your psyche; battling with the destruction and never still weeping and sore wounds that hang around even as a an adult. She hadn't been as fortunate as Alannah; no one else that had been willing to embrace her as ‘one of their own’ and give her what she had so desperately needed AND wanted. And there’d be no way she’d wanted another kid going through that same thing; feeling alienated and lost as a kid and then having your adult years just as messed up and troubled.

So many bad decisions could be directly blamed on the behaviour she had witnessed growing up. Able to make friends yet unable to form real bonds with them. Growing tired of romantic partners; annoyed by the sounds of their voices and agitated by the touch of their hands and winding up feeling physically ill at the thought of them even touching her in an intimate way. The idea of being that close to someone had always turned her off instead of the opposite; a handful of brief and non intimate relationships throughout her entire high school career before trying her hand at the ‘real deal’ in college. Even then it had been too much work; long battles with her own brain and her own hang ups before she would even let her first REAL boyfriend get anywhere past second base. And she’d gotten married solely because she’d been convinced that Mark could be the one to get her past her issues; she’d learn how to tolerate someone being around all the time and she’d learn how to be a normally functioning adult when it came to having a serious and long term relationship with someone. That had been a disaster; confusing being in love with exactly just settling for someone and convincing yourself that you couldn’t possibly do better, so why even try? And even though she hadn’t loved him, she’d still desperately held on even when he became abusive and turned her life into a living hell. Suddenly afraid to be alone and terrified that his words were true: no one else would ever want her. That she was damaged and crazy and no one in their right mind would ever put up with THAT. And he’d constantly remind her that she couldn’t do better. That she should count her lucky stars that he even stuck around in the first place. No other man would, after all.

“That’s how much I love you, Esme. I put up with you. No other guy would. But I do. Because I love you THAT much.”

It’s weird how things evolve. Or don’t, for that matter. How your past has such an impact on your future. Fifteen years after Mark and she still struggles; moments of extremely low self esteem, lingering mental health problems, an unhealthy and twisted relationship with her own family, a constant worry that -despite being relatively healthy and somehow surviving the most horrible and terrifying of moments- her marriage is only two seconds away from imploding. The latter is irrational and she knows that. Despite Mark’s words, she had managed to find someone that loves her -truly and wholly loves her- despite all of her issues. Who sees past her messiness and busts his ass to help her finally move on and heal from her past. Who looks at her like she’s the most amazing and beautiful woman in the world; who would remind her of that until his very last breath and who -regardless how much it DOES annoy him- always tries to reassure her that things are just fine. He doesn’t care about the other women that check him out or show him attention or even the balls to try and get close. Always finding ways to assure her that he only has eyes for her; a man of few words that never shies away from pledging his unwavering love and faithfulness. No matter how many times she needs to hear it.

Her mother. She’s the one to truly blame for how fucked up her brain is. That lack of maternal instincts and the pure hatred she’d often shown. She had never let Esme forget that she was a mistake; a ‘change of life’ baby that never should have happened in the first place. On the worst of days, she’d often say that she’d wished she’d never even had her. That she should have ignored Esme’s father’s begging and pleadings to keep the baby. They hadn’t needed another mouth to feed; five boys was more than enough and another kid only caused financial strain and emotional strife. Her mother had always refused to acknowledge her own issues that had caused so many problems; her constant cheating, her lack of maternal instincts, her own biases when it came to her children. Even decades later she refuses to accept any responsibility; laughing off any mention of parental neglect or favouritism and shunning any and all suggestion that she was -and still is- emotionally abusive and an expert at psychological warfare.

While there’s no proof that those exact same things exist in Alannah’s home, Esme does hang onto an old adage passed down by Doctor Klein: “if things are that bad out in the open, they’re even worse behind closed doors.” If Alannah’s parents are so ‘out there’ with their distaste for each other and with their roles as parents, things are probably much darker and direr at home. And if she can give the kid a glimpse of a somewhat normal family and the experience of having siblings and people around her that do value her and appreciate her and show her attention and affection, it’s the least she can do. It’s too late to mend her own issues and it’s not possible to go back and time to change things, but she CAN alter Alannah’s present AND future.

Desi arrived at ten. Quite the baker and chef himself, he had offered to help Tanner in his culinary pursuits; bringing over his most expensive pots, pans and baking sheets and a stash of both exotic and common ingredients for the ten year old to experiment with. And with Millie the only other child left in the house, it had given her the opportunity for a little ‘me time’; the rest of the kids having gone with their father to assist in his pursuit for last minute Christmas gifts and the items she’d jotted down a list prepared right before he stepped out the front door. Some time in the gym had done her a world of good. Forty five minutes on both the treadmill and the rowing machine, followed by some time with the weights and working up a sweat punching and kicking at the heavy bag; the latter successfully enabling her to shed the anger and bitterness towards Mark, her own mother, and Alannah’s parents.

While she isn’t quite nearly as devoted and motivated as her husband is -often working out twice a day, two to three hours at a time- when it comes to fitness, she find it DOES help; getting her heart rate up and her adrenaline flowing a rather successful combination when it comes to her battle with her mental health woes and her ongoing battle with her self esteem. The latter becoming worse with the arrival of the last set of twins and her inability to shed the remaining twenty pounds -out of forty five- that she’d gained while pregnant with them. She’s nowhere near who and what she’d been before she’d begun having children; missing how skinny yet fit she’d been and how every piece of clothing she’d owned or tried on had seemed to fit so perfectly.

Tyler always rolls his eyes when she brings it up.Quick to remind her that a lot has changed since they first met; he doesn’t expect her to be the same person, in the same way she doesn’t expect him to be either. And that’s a good thing, he’d point out, and then thoroughly list all the ways they’ve both evolved for the better. He’d get that mischievous glitter to his eyes and he’d give that cheeky grin and he’d talk about how much he enjoys her body now; all that ‘extra cushioning’ in all the right places. And then he’d kiss her and embrace her as tight as her body would allow him to and everything would seem right and perfect in the world once again. Those big, strong arms never failing to make her feel safe and protected. In a way no one else has ever been able to.

******

After a long bubble bath- complete with scented candles and a glass of wine- she finally heads downstairs; braiding her still damp hair and securing it with an elastic and letting it dangle over the front of her shoulder. Desi is in the living room; surrounded by plastic tote boxes filled to the brim with various Christmas ornaments that he’s in the middle of organizing. The tree had arrived earlier and now sits in its stand in front of the living room window; seven feet tall and wide and full and filling the house with the fresh and unmistakable scent of pine. The kids are already excited to decorate. Even the normally quick to bore Millie looking forward to what has turned into quite the year event; Chinese take out and hot chocolate stirred with candy canes and the fireplace on while Christmas carols play on the stereo. It’s just a little ‘something’; a simple and silly little tradition that they’d adopted when they’d first moved back to Australia and have been indulging in ever since. There’s been many more adopted; both trying to give their kids the experiences they never had growing up.

“Thought maybe you fell asleep,” Desi says in a way of greeting. “Not that I’d blame you. Isn’t often you get time away from all the kiddos.”

“As nice as a nap sounds, the bath hit the spot. I may or may not have refilled the tub with hot water three times. Just to drag it out a bit. You’ve been busy. You don’t have to organize and clean my house every time you come over. I’m more than happy just to spend time with YOU.”

“A little help here and there is a good thing. Little T was helping me go through things and make them a little easier for you to find. We’ve got shortbread and sugar cookies in one oven, brownies and squares in the other. He’s in his glory that kid. Quite the little baker, ain’t he? He’s got skills. A mighty keen palate.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me at all if he becomes rich and famous for his cooking and baking one day. He’s a talent. In many ways.”

“He’s a good kid. A damn good kid. Reminds me of you in a lot of ways. Got quite a bit of momma in him. And he sure thinks the world of her, too.”

“He’s always been close to me. Since we lived in Colorado. He became quite the momma’s boy when things…” her voice trails off and she reaches into one of the boxes and pulls out a strand of rose gold garland. “...when things weren’t so good between Tyler and I.”

“That bad?”

“Bad enough. We split up. For six months.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. He went through some things. That were totally out of his control. And he made some decisions that weren’t the best. I had to kick him out.”

“You kicked him out? You? As madly and crazily in love as you are?”

“I did. He got back into the booze and the pain meds and he became a totally different person and I didn’t want that around the kids. So I told him to go. That once he got his shit together and could put us before his issues and his job, he could come back. Took him half a year, but…” she shrugs and tosses the garland onto the couch. “...it all worked out in the end. We got back together and we fought like hell to make things work. And here we are. Twelve years into things. And a hell of a lot better and stronger than we’ve ever been. He’s changed. We both have. We’ve come a long way.”

“And Little T?”

“He picked sides. He was three years old. Just a baby still. But he’d seen and heard enough and it affected him way more than it did TJ and Millie. He was scared of his dad. For a long time. Not that Tyler ever did anything to scare him; he never yelled at the kids or hit them or did anything to frighten them. We fought. A lot. And those fights got pretty bad. A lot of yelling and a lot of really horrible things said to each other. Things we can’t take back, unfortunately.”

“But you got past all that. Obviously.”

“We did. I mean, we didn’t MEAN the things we said. They were said out of anger and hurt; none of it was ever intentional. But that sticks with you, you know? You didn’t mean what you said and you hate yourself for saying any of it, but you still did it. And you can’t go back and erase it. Those words existed. Sadly.”

“You can’t dwell on it, Big E. You just can’t. Y’all got past it, am I right? You got back together, you said yourself you’re better and stronger than ever. And I highly doubt he holds all that against you; shit that happened years ago.”

“I know he doesn’t. But I also know he holds it against himself.”

“Well, that’s the bipolar part of things. Keeps the bad shit in his head and reminds him of it during the down moments. He’s doing okay with that? All that shit in his head?”

“He is. He’s been remarkably...well..for someone with the diagnosis he has. I’m proud of him. For handling things like he has. He just copes with it all. Way better than I thought he would. It’s been five years and there’s been no real issues. He takes his meds and he goes to therapy and he manages it all well. I’m proud of him. So proud. He’s done really well. He’s a tough shit, that’s for sure. Probably the toughest person I’ve ever known.”

“You mean when you’re NOT looking in the mirror?”

Esme laughs. “I am not THAT tough. I put on a good front.”

“You’re a tough cookie for a tiny little thing. All the things you’ve told me? That you’ve been through over the past twelve and a bit years? You shouldn’t underestimate yourself like you do.”

“It’s been...interesting...to say the least.”

It isn’t something she speaks so openly and honestly about; how she and Tyler met and everything that had happened in Dhaka and the decisions she’d made on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. It isn’t exactly a topic you’re comfortable discussing with just anyone; your husband being a mercenary and a former alcoholic and painkiller addict with mental health issues. But Desi is trustworthy; kind and compassionate with a heart even bigger than his already enormous body. And it helps to have a confidant; someone to spill even your deepest and darkest secrets to without the worry of being judged.

“I found these,” Desi snags a shoebox off the coffee table and opens the lid as he presents it to her. “Look homemade.”

She peels back the layer of tissue paper and smiles at the contents revealed. “Salt dough ornaments. I remember making them with Millie. We were still in Telluride. Our third Christmas there. I hadn’t even gotten pregnant with Declan yet. God, that seems like a long time ago.”

“There’s four there, though. If you hadn’t had Declan yet, there’d only be three, would there not?”

“That’s not Declan’s.” She carefully plucks out the fourth ornament in question; gingerly turning it over in her palm as she inspects it. The same size and shape as the others, but with the added ‘extra’ of a halo that a then three year old Millie had decorated with gold glitter. It had been her idea; an ornament for the brother that she’d never get to meet but insisted was still very much part of their family. “That’s Austin’s.”

“Austin? Who is Austin? You have another kid I don’t know about? A baby you lost or…”

“Austin wasn’t mine. He was Tyler’s son. From his first marriage.”

“Excuse me….what?”

“He was married. Before me. In the same way I was married before him.”

“You never told me about that. You being the second Missus Rake.”

“There was never really a reason to talk about it. She was his high school sweetheart. They got married pretty much right after graduation. Then he joined the military. Austin arrived a little while later. When he was twenty five.”

“What happened between them? Things went bad or…?”

“It wasn’t the healthiest of marriages. They were young. Probably rushed into things. He was gone a lot and she wasn’t happy being an army wife.”

“And the kid? Does he see him? Do they live in Australia too or…?”

“Austin died.” She finds herself both fighting back a flood of threatening tears and speaking around a lump of emotion sitting square in her throat. “When he was six. Long before I ever knew Tyler.”

“I’m sorry,” Desi lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if…”

“It’s okay. It’s good to talk about it. About HIM. We’ve never hidden it from the kids. We’ve always been open and honest about things. Our past lives, the fact we were both married before, how they’d have another sibling if things had gone differently. There’s never been a reason NOT to tell about those things. It’s all part of who we are. All plays a role in how we got to where we are now. In one way or another.”

“Was he sick? Was there an accident or….?”

“He had lymphoma. It was very aggressive and pretty far along when the doctors finally caught it. The kid didn’t stand a chance. He didn’t last long. Even with chemo and radiation. It was bad. Very, very bad. Just a horrible thing for a kid to go through.”

“And for his folks to see.”

“It was a really bad time. For them. As a family. And Tyler…” she swipes at the tears that manage to escape. “...he was never the same after that. It really did a number on him. I know he seems all big and bad and fearless and intimidating but he’s got such a huge heart. He loves big and he loves deep. You see how he is; with the kids.”

“Definitely loves being a daddy. And they definitely love him.”

“He’s an amazing dad. I couldn’t have asked or wished for a better father for my children. And in a way, losing Austin made him the dad that he is. It was rough. On him. It still is.”

“It’s a hell of a thing. Losing a kid. Can’t imagine what it’s like seeing your own flesh and blood suffer like that. It was bad enough for me; seeing my husband go through what he did. I can’t imagine watching a kid go through that.”

“I often wonder what would happen if one of the kids got sick. If he could even handle it. I mean, once is enough. Imagine having to deal with that AGAIN? And I hate that my brain even goes there. That I immediately think of something like that. He’s tough and he’s strong and he’s resilient. But I don’t think he could handle that. If anything happened to one of the kids or me…”

“He’d deal with it. It’s what we do. When we love someone. But you need to get out of your head, Big E. I mean, it’s beautiful nine times out of ten. But that last remaining bit…”

“It’s a mess. I’m the first to admit that. I can’t believe I’m this emotional over this. It’s a Christmas ornament, for crying out loud.”

“It’s what it represents. It’s your husband’s pain. So it’s your pain too.”

“For years we never even put the ornament on the tree. Tyler couldn’t handle seeing it. So I just put it away. Until he was ready for it to be out. And then one year, he did it himself; got it out of the box and hung it on the tree and that was that. We’ve been putting it up since.”

“Is that why their marriage broke up? The kid getting sick?”

“There were other problems. It wasn’t a good marriage. For many reasons.” She lays the ornament back in the box and carefully covers it with the layer of tissue paper. “But I guess in the end, it worked out okay. For me anyway. We wouldn’t have met. Had things NOT fallen apart. I can’t say I wish I could go back and change things. Because if I could do it…”

“Change one thing, change everything. The butterfly effect.”

“Whatever you do, do not bring that up to Tyler. Not the butterfly effect itself. The movie. Don’t talk about Ashton Kutcher to him. He’s got this deep rooted and unexplainable hate for him.”

“I feel the same way about Justin Timberlake. You know what I call him? Just to be an asshole? Justin Tenderbottom.”

Esme laughs at that, then sets the shoebox down on the cluttered coffee table and allows herself to be pulled into a tight hug; one of Desi’s enormous hands on the back of her head and his arm curled around her waist. She rests her forehead against his chest; the tears coming easily and effortlessly now. It’s a hurt she’s never been quite able to explain; a painful and long lasting mourning for a child that she never knew.

“You’re a good little wife, Big E. I know for a fact that he thinks the sun rises and sets on you. That you’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him.”

“He said that?” Esme sniffles noisily and looks up at her friend. “He admitted that to you?”

“He did. And he’s said a lot about you. All good things, too. You are definitely the center of his entire universe. And you know what? It’s a horrible thing that happened. To his son. To him. But if it hadn’t? Well you wouldn’t have what you have now. Those seven kids you got? None of them would exist. And if you ask me? This world is a better place because they do.”

“Mum!” Tanner calls, as he slowly makes his way from the kitchen; oven mitts on his hands as he carefully carries a mug of tea. “I made you a drink! I knew you’d want one. You always have tea right after a bath.”

Smiling, she pulls away from Desi and uses the bottom of her t-shirt to wipe away the tears that stain her cheeks. “You know me very well, sweet boy. You didn’t use the stove though, did you? To boil the water? You know you’re not supposed to do that if there isn’t an adult with you.”

“I used the coffee maker. Daddy showed me how. I know what I’m doing. And it’s safe. I can’t hurt myself. Three milk and no sugar,” he presents her with the mug, a proud smile plastered from ear to ear. “Just like you like it.”

“It’s perfect,” she says, and takes his face in her hands and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “And so are you. The most perfect and precious Nugget EVER.”

****

Two hours later she finds herself lounging in the sunroom; legs stretched out and socked feet against the window, laptop opened and resting on her thighs. It’s a double helping of work; two businesses to keep running smoothly even when thousands of miles away. Scheduling and payroll and Christmas bonuses to take care of for the bookshop employees, emails from potential clients needing fast and efficient ‘solutions’ to serious problems in areas all over the world. Word travels in the mercenary life; a rather tight knit yet extremely competitive circle that moves fast. People with money want the best; someone that chooses a life of relative secrecy yet possesses an astounding and well respected reputation. The list of ‘regulars’ is long and plentiful, and each brings more people into the game; word of mouth making or breaking a company such as theirs. There’s never a lack of work; over forty guys -some with years of experience that had bailed from competitors- employed and constantly climbing. But Christmas is the one holiday where they DO take a break; referring anyone that needs a job done to Anil. He doesn’t take his role of a husband and a father as seriously; dedicated to his work and refusing to let anyone -even his own wife and children- get in the way.. He’s a good man and treats Nik and the girls well; providing for them and protecting them and making sure they never go without. But his loyalties remain with his business, and he is never shy when it comes to admitting or defending it.

She forwards him the emails and then focuses her attention on the bookstore; balancing the books and checking the profits and sending out payroll and bonuses. It’s been a quiet end to the morning; Milie and Alannah upstairs in her bedroom playing on the computer and watching movies, Tanner and Desi finishing their first round of baking and using their break to head outside to play in the snow. She watches them now; Desi’s big body lumbering around the yard as he chases Tanner, who occasionally allows himself to be scooped up and tossed into the nearest snow pile. That high pitched and giggle makes her smile; picturing Tanner’s enormous smile that crinkles the bridge of his nose and the corners of those brilliant blue eyes. He doesn’t form bonds easily; leery of new people and finding it difficult to make friends. But he’d taken easily to Desi. Once saying that it was the man’s deep yet soothing voice that won him over. Along with a gentle smile and warm brown eyes that let Tanner know that their neighbour was a good person with a good heart.

The doorbell sounds just as she finishes and sends off the store’s schedule for January. The melodic chime setting off a flurry of activity and noises; both dogs -stirred for their naps in front of the front room fireplace- now barking in unison, paws sliding across hardwood flooring as they scramble for the door. It’s soon followed by Millie’s footsteps; seeming unusually thunderous and heavy as they rush down the stairs. Accompanied by that thick Aussie accent she’s adopted within the last five years; yelling at Saju and Mac to lie down and shut up and behave or she’ll throw them out in the snow. It’s hardly a threat; both preferring the sun and the sand and their romps in the ocean, but quite accustomed to the cold weather and snow beneath their feet.

“Mum!” Millie bellows in an effort to be heard over the continued barking. “Some lady’s at the door! She wants to see dad!”

“He’s not home!”

“I know that! But she wants to talk to someone! And I don’t want it to be me!”

Smirking, she snaps the lid closed on the laptop and sets it on the coffee table; grimacing at the tightness in her lower back as she gets to her feet. The pain and discomfort is new over the course of the last five years; a small mistake made during the epidural while in labour with the twins resulting in long term damage. It sucks; your body betraying you when you’ve been so selfless and willing to keep other human beings alive inside of you. Pulling the sides of her cardigan sweater tighter around her body, she crosses her arms over her chest as she heads for the front of the house; soles of her UGG slippers lightly squeaking against the wood flooring. They’d been yet another one of her husband’s surprise gifts; a neatly wrapped package accompanied by a bouquet of Australian wildflowers that had shown up a day after he’d left for Cambodia. He’s become a master at it; showering both her and the kids with both simple and elaborate gifts. Claiming that it makes him happy to do it; spending his own childhood going without while his father used their money for booze. And it’s a way of making up for all his past mistakes as well; doing whatever he can to be a good husband and father and erase the mistakes of the past that continue to haunt him.

The woman at the door is tall and blond; clad in a disgustingly expensive leather coat with fur trim, the ends of her wavy platinum hair tumbling out from under the edge of a burgundy wool beret that perfectly matches her heavily painted lips. The smile she gives is phony; the look of dismay and disgust readily apparent as her eyes take in Esme’s more casual and relaxed look. It isn’t the first time she’s seen a look like THAT; the housewives on the school yard and at the soccer park have long perfected it, along with their snide comments about how ‘boring and plain Jane’ she is and how they can’t fathom how someone like Tyler could stand being with someone like her.

“She’s here to see dad,” Millie says. “I said he wasn’t home, but…”

“It’s okay,” Esme assures her, then nods down at the curious and rambunctious dogs now gathered at her feet. “Can you put these guys outside? Before they give me a migraine?”

Nodding, Millie slaps her hand against her thigh; a well used sign that dogs have learned means they should follow her. And they happily cooperate; their tails wagging energetically and their bodies pressed against the eleven year old’s legs as she leads the way through the house.

“She’s very…charming.”

Esme glances up at the woman standing in front of her, and manages a polite yet terse smile of her own. “Well, what can I say? She’s her father’s daughter. Can I help you?”

“You must be Emily.”

“Esme. My name is Esme. Not Emily.”

“That’s a very unusual name. A little...odd...in this day and age.”

“It’s actually quite common. Very old and classic. I was named after my great, great grandmother. And she was born in the eighteen hundreds, so…”

“I’m Natalie.” She doesn’t bother to offer a hand, electing instead to keep a firm hold on the plastic container she tightly clutches.

“That’s very plain. Natalie. Kind of boring. Guess you didn’t have any unusual and odd relatives to be named after.”

The corners of the woman’s turn up in a slight smirk.

“Can I help you? Is there a reason you’re here? Asking for my husband?”

“I’m here to see Tyler.”

“And our daughter told you he isn’t home. Which wasn’t an invite to stick around. I’m sure whatever you want to talk to him about, can wait until he IS here. Or, I could just give him a message and then he can decide whether he wants to talk to you or not. I wouldn’t hold your breath; he isn’t the chattiest person on the block. Why ARE you here? Is there something I can help you with or…?”

“I was hoping to speak to him.”

“And for the third time, you’re being told he’s not home. So sorry, Tyler can’t come out to play right now. And unless there’s something you want to say to me….”

“We met yesterday. He was at the park. With your son. The handicapped one.”

Once more crossing her arms over her chest, she cocks her head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“Your son. With the problems. Travis, Thomas….”

“His name is Tanner. And he doesn’t have ‘problems’. He has Autism. Don’t talk about my son like that. You can come here calling on my husband all you want, but when you bring my kid into this…”

“We had a nice little chat. At the park. We just moved here. My daughter and I. It’s been hard meeting people.”

Esme smirks. “I can’t possibly imagine why.”

“He was very friendly. Welcoming. Tyler. Not Tanner. Just to be clear.”

“And…”

“And I just wanted to thank him for that. For being so nice. For making us feel like part of the neighbourhood.”

“Well I’ll be sure to tell him that. I’m sure he’ll appreciate hearing it. Is that everything or….?”

“These are for him.” Natalie offers the plastic container. “I made them myself. They’re award winning. Used to get lots of compliments on those.”

“Oh how nice. You’re offering him your cookie. I mean, cookies. That’s very sweet. I will let him know that you stopped by with your generous offer. But just so you know, he doesn’t accept...goodies...from other women. So if you’re thinking about offering him any in the future, you might want to stop while you’re ahead. I’m sure there’s other married men out there who would gladly accept. But my husband? You’re pissing in the wrong front yard.”

Natalie’s eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just making it clear that he doesn’t accept goodies from other women. Ever. And he never will. So if you’ve got something brewing up in that head of yours, you might want to put an end to it now. He’s not interested. And believe me, I think you’d rather hear that from me. He won’t let you down as politely and easily.”

“I don’t know what you think I’m up to, but…”

“This isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve come across plenty of women like you. And I’m just cutting to the chase. He’s not interested. Find someone else. Go after someone else’s husband. Stay away from mine.”

“I’m not after your husband. I’m just here doing something neighbourly and…”

“If it WAS something neighbourly, you would have come here to introduce yourself to ALL of us. Not just ask for him. I have to admit though, that’s pretty ballsy; showing up like this and having the nerve to talk to the wife. Most would have just left once they found out the husband wasn’t home. I’ll hand it to you; you’ve got some nerve.”

“I’m just here to be friendly. That’s it. No ulterior motive. You know, I was surprised to hear you have SEVEN kids. When I saw you the other day out in the snow with them, I thought there was no way they could all be yours. You just seemed so fresh faced and young. No way did you look like someone with THAT many children. But now up close? Well, let’s just say I’d look tired and downtrodden too if I got pregnant that many times.”

“My husband prefers the fresh faced and natural look. You know, as opposed to looking like Sephora threw up on your face. He also prefers brunettes. So that’s two strikes against you. Is there anything else? Other than your cookie. Sorry,” Esme laughs. “I did it again. I meant ‘cookies’. Is there more or…?”

“No. I think we’re done here.”

“You know what? I think we are too. And as lovely and sweet as you are, I hope this is the first and last little visit. I hope you fully understood what I told you. About keeping your goodies out of my yard. I think I made it pretty clear.”

“You did. As a matter of fact, you…”

“Have a good day,” Esme manages a smile, then shuts the door in the woman’s face, giving a small jump when she discovers her daughter sitting in the middle of the stairs; her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face.

“What a bitch,” Millie grumbles.

“Normally I’d give you hell for the language, but right? She was, wasn’t she?”

“Huge. A huge bitch. You should have throat punched her, mum. She deserved it.”

“You can’t just go around throat punching everyone that pisses you off. If you could, I’d be exhausted. Or in jail.”

“I can’t believe she’d come here asking for dad,” Millie says, as she stands and takes the stairs two at a time, following her mother towards the back of the house. “How rude is that? Asking for another woman’s husband? That’s some goddamn nerve.”

“She’s probably used to getting what she wants. And WHO she wants.”

“Well she can’t have dad. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want anyone. Just you. Think she got the point? That she better not try and mess with him? I think you went way too easy on her. I think you should have thrown down. You could have taken her. For sure.”

“Some women don’t care, Millie. They’ll continue to mess around with married guys no matter how times they’ve been warned to back off. Maybe she’s one of them. Maybe this isn’t the last we’ve seen of her. Who knows.”

“If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stay away. You were tame. Dad won’t be. He won’t be nice.”

“Maybe that’s what she needs. She needs a man to tell her where to go and how to get there. If there’s one thing your dad is a professional at, it’s telling people off. Don’t worry about her ; she’s harmless. Your dad wouldn’t touch her anyway. He’s not the type. To do things like that.”

“I think it would be hilarious to see him tell her off and really embarrass her. And what are those supposed to be?” Millie nods at the container Esme drops on the island.

“Cookies. She made them for him. Isn’t that so sweet?”

The eleven year old makes a dramatic gagging noise. “She probably poisoned them. In hopes you’d eat them. Probably wants to kill you off and become our step mother. They look like shit anyway. Throw them out. I would.”

“I’ll let your dad decide what he wants to do with them. And her. The ball is in his court now. He can decide what to do from here.”

“I hope he tells her to piss off. That’s just plain weird; coming over to some married guy's house and asking for him. On what planet is that okay to do?”

“None. It’s very unusual. To say the least. But like I said, don’t worry about her. Your dad wouldn’t do something like that. He’s a lot of things, but a cheater isn’t one of them. That is the last thing I’m worried about.”

“Good. Because she has nothing on you. She’s all phoney looking. But that fur wasn’t. On her coat. I bet she’s obnoxious enough to wear real fur. What a cow. She should have been throat punched for that alone. Don’t worry, mum. You’re way better than she is. You’re real and you’re cute and tiny. And dad loves you. ONLY you.”

“Your dad is the last person I worry about. Other women? I definitely worry about them. Your dad? Never. I trust him. A hundred percent. And speaking of your father, I hope Alannah likes Mexican. Dad’s bringing some home for lunch.”

“She loves it. She loves all the same things I do.” Picking the container of cookies up off the counter, she peels back one of the corners and sniffs at the contents; frowning and making a gagging noise before setting them back down. “They’re not even good cookies. Oatmeal raisin! The abomination of cookies! Dad HATES oatmeal raisin. He says there’s nothing worse than biting into one and expecting it to be chocolate chip, only to discover it’s oatmeal raisin.”

“Your dad loves Vegemite. So excuse me if I don’t take his taste in food seriously.”

“Vegemite is awesome, mom. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Yes. I do. Which is why I don’t eat it. If I wanted to eat shit, I would. Everything okay? You and Alannah getting along alright?”

“She’s my best friend. In the whole world. I love her. And we always have an awesome time and we never get tired of each other. But there’s something I need to ask you. About her.”

“Okay…” Esme slides onto one of the bar stools at the island. “...what’s up?”

“I’m worried about her. The way things are at home. Her parents are horrible. They don’t even want her around. And when she is around them, they just ignore her. They don’t even talk to her. They don’t ask about her day at school or about her friends or anything like that. They don’t even know what her favourite movie or tv show is or what celebrity she has her crush on. What parent doesn’t know that stuff? You and dad know that stuff about us.”

“Dad and I care. We like knowing about you guys. You’re our kids. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well Alannah’s their kid and they don’t give a crap about her. I mean, they’re leaving her at Christmas! How horrible is that? Who just dumps their kid off on someone at Christmas?”

“Millie, not everyone has the life you do. Not everyone has parents that love them. Not everyone has a mom and dad that wants to be involved in their lives. I didn’t have it. Your dad didn’t have it. And unfortunately, Laney doesn’t have it. It sucks. Believe me, I know.”

“But what if we could give her a family? A real family? Like you and dad did with Ovi.”

“I’m not sure if I like where this is heading…”

“She loves being here. Spending time with all of us. I mean, she was scared of dad at first. Because of how big he is and all his tattoos and scars and stuff. But she got to know him and now she loves him. And she really loves you. She always goes on and on about you. About how cool and fun you are. And tiny. Like her.”

“We love having her here. She’s a great kid. I hope she realizes she’s welcome here. Anytime.”

“She does. Which is why I want to ask you what I’m about to ask you.”

“Okay. Something tells me this is serious. What’s going on?”

"I want her to come back with us. When we go home."

“Millie, we can’t just…”

“She’s part of the family already. You and dad love her like she’s one of us. And you guys treat her great. She’d fit right in. And she’d love it there. She’d love being so close to the beach and the ocean. I know she would. And she’s not a bad kid. She’s a really good kid. You said it yourself; how great she is.”

“She IS great. She’s an awesome kid. But we can’t just take her with us.”

“Why not? Don’t you want her there?”

“Of course I want her there. But she has a mom and dad. Not very good ones, but she still has them. We can’t just take her with us. There’s this little thing called kidnapping. We can’t just take someone else’s child.”

“You took Ovi. When I was a baby.”

“We didn’t just TAKE him. We had to jump through a lot of hoops. Legally. Your dad had to go and talk to Ovi’s father and try and convince him to let us have him. It wasn’t just as simple as bringing Ovi along.”

“Dad could talk to Alannah’s parents. Talk them into letting her come with us. They’d let her. They don’t care about her anyway. We’d be taking her off their hands. They’d probably be happy about it.”

“Amelia, it just isn’t that simple. There’s a lot of red tape and legal stuff. I wish it was easier, but it’s not.”

“But would you consider it? IF her parents said okay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I suppose? I’d need time to think about it. I already have seven kids. Taking on an eighth?”

“It’s not like she’s a baby. All the hard work has already been done. Please, mum? Would you at least think about it?”

“If it was just as simple as talking to her parents and taking her with us, I’d say yes. In a heartbeat. But it’s NOT that easy.”

“I just want you to think about it. We’d be giving her a good life. Like you and dad gave Ovi. Will you at least think about it?”

“It’s not a decision I can make on my own, sweet pea. I’m not in this alone. I’d have to talk to your dad. I can’t just tell him we’re taking on another kid. It doesn’t work that way. He has to be on board with it.”

“Will you talk to him at least? Bring it up? Just see what he says?”

Esme nods. “I will talk to your dad. But I’m not promising anything, Millie. We have a crazy life. Your dad has his business and I have the bookstore. And there’s seven of you. Taking Alannah? That’s a big deal. That’s serious. And it’s something your dad and I would really, really have to talk about it. That’s all I can promise you. That I’ll talk to him. That’s the best I can do.” She reaches out and tucks some of the wayward strands of blond hair behind Millie’s ears. “Okay?”

“Okay, mum. And I’m sorry. For how I’ve been acting. I’m kinda bitchy lately.”

“Kinda?” Esme grins. “Just kinda?”

.“Okay, maybe A LOT. But I do love you. And I AM sorry.”

“You’re forgiven. I was your age once. I know what it was like. And it was brutal. VERY brutal. You know what that means? The mood swings, the attitude, the skin issues?”

“Aunt Flow is going to be paying a visit soon.”

Esme laughs.”Yeah, unfortunately. The joys of being a girl. You'll be alright, though. It’s a change. You’re growing up. Even I’m having a hard time with it. I still remember finding out about you. And telling your dad we were having you. Seems like forever ago now. We were so happy.”

“Dad was a little spooked. At first.”

“He was. And for good reason. He’d lost Austin and he didn't think he’d ever get to be a dad again. And then I told him about you and we hadn’t known each other that long and it was kinda scary. For both of us. But once we saw you? On that first ultrasound? And we got to hear your heartbeat? We loved you right away.”

“Dad’s miracle baby.”

“He will never, EVER, stop calling you that. He loves you so much, Millie. More than you could ever comprehend. And he’s pretty good, huh? At the whole daddy thing?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t trade him for another dad, that’s for sure. And I wouldn’t trade you either, mum. Just so you know. I know sometimes we don’t get along well. We don’t always see eye to eye on stuff.”

“Well, you are your father’s daughter. Through and through. And your dad and I disagree a lot too. But I love you. Beyond all comprehension You’re my first. My baby girl. How could I not?”

Smiling, Millie stands behind the stool Esme’s perched on and wraps her arms around her mother’s neck. “I love you, mummy. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

“I love you too, Amelia.” She pushes her fingers through her daughter’s, then presses a kiss to one of the forearms resting across her collarbone. “And I always will.”

[dippedanddripped]

In his 2018 skit on Supreme, Hasan Minaj, the patron comic of hype culture, said, “Without objects that make me stand out, what am I? Then I just have to be myself, and that’s terrifying, because I am insecure and I need things to make me feel better about myself.” In a couple of sentences, he deftly drilled to the core of the fuccboi psyche: a deep-seated insecurity about one’s own worth and an equally deep-seated desire to prove that worth to others.

Both the clinical and the cultural term for this state is Narcissism.

Narcissism is often confused with egotism or mere selfishness, but while it may contain elements of both, it’s driven not by an outsized sense of self-respect but by self-loathing, which leads to inexorable desire and strife for approval from others. “It’s a very insecure personality, and all the stuff on the outside – the grandiosity, the arrogance, the entitlement – is a suit of armor to buttress a weak interior core, because on the subconscious level narcissists think that others will see that they are not all that,” Dr. Ramani Durvasula, a best-selling author and an expert on narcissism, told me.

Narcissism is nothing new, but the level of narcissism on display in our culture is unprecedented – Dr. Ramani calls it the disease of our time. In his prophetic 1979 bestseller The Culture of Narcissism, the sociologist Christopher Lasch dissected a milieu of mass media that gave more and more coverage to celebrities, narcissistic role models whose behavior was increasingly beginning to be condoned, excused, and explained away. He blamed the rise of the narcissistic personality on “proliferation of images” and “the cult of consumption,” among other things. Fast-forward to 2020, and 1979 looks positively quaint in the age of social media, for there is no bigger driving engine of narcissism than social media platforms such as Instagram.

In the decade since its launch, much has been said about how Instagram has democratized media, but it simultaneously open-sourced Narcissism that was formerly reserved for a celebrity elite. Today, with the rise of Gen Z, this tendency reaches another dimension on TikTok. “Everybody on the app has some form of narcissism,” TikTokker Liv Huffman told Highsnobiety in our special zine about the platform’s stars. “You kind of have to in order to put yourself on the Internet like that.”

Having unleashed the technological means of disseminating narcissism with the one hand, contemporary culture has continued to manufacture models for narcissistic behavior in ever increasing numbers with the other. Contemporary pop music is filled to the brim with rappers whose lyrics are all about the display of their possessions. What began as a legitimate hip-hop lyrical device for expressing a sense of pride in lifting oneself up by attaining markers of American success previously possessed only by its white ruling class, has by now devolved into an exhibitionist trope. And just like the generations before them, today’s youth seeks to emulate the behavior of their favorite musicians. Every middle-schooler knows what it means to “flex” and there is no shortage of eleven-year-olds begging their mommies for the next pair of Travis Scott Dunks.

Hype culture is uniquely positioned to tap into the narcissistic world order by creating artificial scarcity and equating the possession of limited edition goods with self-worth. Conspicuous consumption is the defining consumer behavior of the day, but underneath its hood purrs the motor of narcissism turbocharged by a culture that has given us Donald Trump and Kanye West, two narcissists par excellence. Both are incredibly insecure and both – despite being on top of the world – constantly crave adulation and approval of others (West’s narcissism may be further complicated by his alleged bipolar disorder). And both are aided and abetted by their respective fan bases that readily forgive their transgressions thereby enabling them further. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that hip-hop fans seem to be especially tolerant towards narcissistic behavior of musicians, even when it’s misogynistic or generally sadistic.

Before you roll your eyes at my perceived alarmism that Grailed is poisoning the minds of a generation, consider that in this state of affairs no one is innocent. Study after study shows that despite economic progress and general increase in quality of life, members of contemporary society feel more and more unhappy. Other studies show that social media, Instagram in particular, have a negative effect on self-esteem that stems from the permeating feeling of anxiety and envy. Simply put, you can flex all you want, but there will always be someone with a bigger flex. And once you are on the hype treadmill, its very nature makes it hard to get off.

“In [the hype] world narcissists festoon themselves with the latest sneakers, or the latest streetwear, and in that moment they are safe. But then that moment when the world is telling you that you are great, which for the narcissist is better than drugs, is gone and you continue chasing the high,” said Dr. Ramani. On top of this, the culture of narcissism makes one feel inadequate for not owning something. “The entire way fashion is marketed is that if you don’t have that latest something, you are lacking,” continued Dr. Ramani.

Likes don’t make you happy. Not only that, it increasingly seems that possessions in themselves don’t make you happy either, as evidenced by rampant reselling in the streetwear world. Hypebeasts no longer seem to be able to experience the gratifying sense of ownership that comes with purchasing something meaningful and actually keeping it. Resell culture itself is a product of narcissism, because each sale subsidizes the next purchase and creates the social media illusion that one owns more than one actually does. This practice strips the product down only to being fodder for a fit pic, and essentially creates a short-term rental culture driven by Instagram and Stockx. As Lasch put it, late capitalism “subordinates possession itself to appearance and measures exchange value as a commodity’s capacity to confer prestige – the illusion of prosperity and well-being.”

The antidote to narcissism is authenticity, which is a deeper sense of self that provides an anchoring of one’s character that doesn’t change with trends. In matters of taste, authenticity also furnishes one with a clear sense of style. Authenticity forms over time through a series of experiences and experimentations, which is why we probably see the new fashion fans bought forth by hype culture getting younger and younger.

As productive conversations about mental health grow, so too are we now coming to terms with how we as a society are less and less happy. Narcissism has a large role to play here. As our sense of self-gratification keeps on infinitely expanding, our capacity to form lasting, meaningful relationships with other humans is degrading. The millennial marketing world’s incessant calls to “live your best life” are misguided in pegging our sense of self-worth to wrong types of rewards, fleeting and material. Underneath all the talk about inspiration, community, and culture sits a basic set of transactional relationships, whose real message is not “love yourself,” but “treat yourself.”

When Covid-19 hit, some predicted a return to a more substantive world, in which our collective narcissistic drive would be diminished. In fact, in a study done by Highsnobiety in the wake of the shelter in place orders, the readers interviewed overwhelmingly denounced their interest in logos and other markers of conspicuous consumption, instead claiming a newfound interest in minimalism and quality-oriented purchase decisions. Two-thirds of those polled that they actively felt bad about flexing outwardly with their purchases during a time when millions were tightening their belts.

However, long-term this could be more wishful thinking rather than a real change, and we continue to see the same pre-Covid behavior with each hyped release. Less than two weeks ago the new Off-White x Jordan drop caused yet another mad dash. The Atlanta streetwear store Wish received over 60,000 hits to its website within the first couple of seconds after the 10 a.m. scheduled release. Its website crashed, as did the websites of Nike and Off-White. “We would’ve needed servers the size of Coca-Cola’s to handle that much traffic,” said Wish’s representative.

We often talk about streetwear in terms of “the culture.” But in the last decade this term went from describing subcultural movements and their values to excusing run-of-the-mill consumerist behavior. Brands, many of which are the ones screaming loudest about “the culture,” don’t mind this state of affairs at all because it propels the hype bullet train, enriching them along the way. The thing is, happy people are not good for the system. Dr. Ramani sums it up best: “Capitalism would fall apart tomorrow if everyone on the planet was secure in themselves.”

[worldpolitics2017-blog]

NATO's Cautious Role in the Ukraine Dilemma

After the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991, the relationship between NATO and Eastern Europe has been a contentious one. The 1999 NATO bombing of Yugoslavia didn’t help persuade violence-weary, newly-liberated Eastern Bloc nations to join the military pact. Eventually, some countries (Bulgaria and Romania), fearing the antagonistic actions of Russia, entered the alliance. Others (Belarus), preferred to maintain a cordial connection with the Kremlin and distrust Western interference. Recent hostile operations conducted by Russia in Ukraine and NATO’s reaction further muddy the water, causing the organization’s identity to be more scrutinized than ever.

In 2014, Russia initiated several incursions into Ukrainian territory. In response to the illegal annexation of Crimea, NATO drafted The Readiness Action Plan, which consists of two parts: Assurance and Adaptive measures (none of which are offensive by nature). The Assurance measures aimed to reassure members of the alliance that border Russia by strengthening air surveillance and heightening military drills in the Baltics and along NATO’s eastern side. The Adaptive measures aimed to reinforce the capability of the alliance to react to any conflict that may occur. It formed a new ‘spearhead’ unit of around 5,000 soldiers and provided advanced military technology to member states situated across the eastern flank.

Although no combative policies were implemented against Russia, Vladimir Putin accused NATO of escalating the situation and warned that increased activities near his country’s borders would be met with fierce backlash. Putin’s threat is rather ironic seeing as he was the one who violated Ukrainian sovereignty by sending troops over and arming separatist rebel groups. But does he have a case? Russia says it’s in Ukraine to protect the human rights of its citizens. Killings of innocent civilians and attacks against pro-Ukrainian activists committed by Russian soldiers disprove this claim.

NATO has dealt with the strife in a protective but firm manner, launching funds for the Ukrainian army and sending care packages, while punishing Russia through support of EU-imposed economic sanctions. No direct military operations were carried out, so Russia doesn’t have a leg to stand on when berating NATO for acting overly belligerent, considering its own hostilities. In fact, NATO has been criticized by some leaders for being too passive. Malcolm Rifkind, veteran British ex-foreign minister, described the disregard for military exploits as “very disturbing”, since the Ukrainian crisis is such a grave issue.

Given Rifkind’s passionate response, one would expect Britain to be increasingly involved in NATO today. Instead, the UK’s exit from the EU has led some foreign policy experts to predict that Brexit will negatively affect its commitment to NATO. Britain encourages continued sanctions on Russia and was among the first nations to criticize Russia’s intrusion in Ukraine. However, the International Institute for Strategic Studies announced, in early 2017, that Britain was no longer meeting the alliance’s spending target. If the UK fails to hit the 2% target, NATO will weaken and find it difficult to maintain defenses, let alone launch an offensive strategy. Britain praised NATO for standing up against Soviet aggression in the Cold War, but now seems to treat the organization as a financial burden.

The main reason Britain is hesitant to increase NATO spending is the current political divide between MPs who agree with the principle of collective defense and MPs who shun military engagement. When asked about a hypothetical Russian attack on a NATO member, Jeremy Corbyn stated he “doesn’t wish to go to war". Although, his supporters regard NATO as defensive, they believe the organization is poking the bear by aiding Ukraine. Conversely, his rival candidate, Owen Smith, expressed “[Britain] shouldn’t be anything other than robust in facing up to Putin", implying that NATO must be more assertive. It’s apparent that Britain’s view of NATO as an aggressive or defensive pact is more conflicted than Russia’s.

Even with Britain’s total backing, NATO would prefer to avoid aggressive use of force, as its last major led intervention was 18 years ago in Kosovo. The controversial wars in Afghanistan and Iraq dissuaded NATO from exerting brute might when handling volatile engagements, especially those that involve Russia. In 2008, Moscow invaded Georgia, and NATO stood aside because Georgia was never formally adopted as a member, a grim sign for Ukrainians hoping to receive direct NATO assistance.

The one development that could be defined as being antagonistic from Russia’s perspective is NATO’s enlargement. In 1990, US leaders promised that in exchange for Germany’s inclusion in NATO, the organization would not expand “one inch eastward.” The Soviets agreed, but realized that America wasn’t willing to keep its end of the bargain when, a few years later, Poland, Hungary, the Czech Republic, and the Baltic States joined NATO. What Russia’s government fails to mention are the reasons why its former allies chose to unify with the ‘enemy’. No coercion or aggressive pressure was employed. Instead, decades of oppression under Soviet rule during the Cold War left a bitter taste in the mouths of many Eastern Europeans. Even though they were apprehensive about NATO’s motives, the built-up resentment made it impossible for them to side with Russia. Thus, it’s difficult to blame NATO for expanding, since countries afraid of Russia’s clout are naturally drawn to the security it offers.

Ukraine is a good example of a nation that opposed NATO membership until struck with Russian aggression. The 2006 anti-NATO protests in Feodosia demonstrated that numerous Ukrainians believed NATO posed a significant threat. Russia’s invasion quickly changed their views, as polls from the middle of 2014 till 2016 revealed that the majority of Ukrainians support NATO consolidation. According to Petro Poroshenko, the president of Ukraine, the primary goal is to obtain help from NATO in shoring up the country’s defense system. Again, the focus is solely on protection, not retaliation. The shift in public sentiment reflects a glaring reality: when forced to choose between domination by Russia and reluctant association with NATO, the latter option is more appealing for many Eastern European nations. 

One area that is hotly contested by Russia is Crimea, an autonomous republic and gateway to the Black Sea. An ethnic Russian majority resides in Crimea, but it’s still unclear whether citizens there want independence or want secession. Results from a 2014 referendum on the status of Crimea indicate that 96.77% of people favor integration of the region into the Russian Federation. NATO deemed the referendum illegitimate and unrepresentative of true public opinion. Video recordings of thugs, backed by Russian troops, intimidating voters and reports that Russia transported large numbers of native Russians to swing the ballot, support NATO’s assertion. The Constitution of Ukraine, Article 2, also affirms that the territory of Ukraine is “indivisible and inviolable”, so a referendum held only in Crimea cannot legally alter the entire country’s borders. 

Overall, NATO cannot allow Russia to take over Crimea without doing anything, as it creates a dangerous precedent for future territory takeovers. Hence, the increased military presence near Russia’s borders, which may appear hostile, isn't to provoke Putin, but rather to show that the weak will not be pushed around by the strong. Regardless of Russia’s historical claim on Ukraine, it ignited the conflict, and every step that NATO has taken so far is to prevent the war from spreading, revealing its inherent defensive essence.

- Jeff Zhou and Aldo Gonzalez 

[ressarioth]

Hearts and Flowers

Amidst a field of flowers filled with memories, two strangers meet as if by chance. One of them doesn't want to forget, the other is trying to remember. In the end they find that what connects them is more solid than fate: a past that transcends a lifetime.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, Other

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Relationship: Aerith Gainsborough & Cloud Strife

Characters: Cloud Strife, Original Character

Additional Tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet, Closure, Reincarnation, Canon Universe, Canon Compliant,Post-Canon, Post Advent Children, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Original Character(s)

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 9258

Notes: I felt like the lifestream lore screams reincarnation, so here you go. I'm aware that's not a thing established in canon, but the divergence seemed too small to tag. This is heavy with the memory of Aerith (sorry for dragging up those feelings?), but she doesn't make an active appearance. Cloud's relationship with her prior to her death is relevant though and you're free to interpret it however like. I didn't spell it out so far, but by now you might be guessing what this is about. Anyway, I'll shut up now and let you read.

AO3

The old church in Sector 5 is as quiet as ever but it has started to feel less peaceful. It has been a decade since Cloud encountered Aerith here and the building has become increasingly unstable since then. One stone wall crumbled during the catastrophe that nearly wiped out Midgar and would have destroyed the entire planet. Two years later a large part of the floor was torn up along with most remaining benches and since then the roof has become even more desolate. Pieces of wooden beams and roof tiles have fallen down from it and lie scattered across the place.

Once filled with water which sprouted from a crater where Kadaj's magic hit, the depression spanning across two thirds of the interior is now covered in flowers. They're even growing on top of debris, though some of them get crushed every time another piece comes tumbling down from above. The signs of destruction are never covered up completely, leaving Cloud with a sense of disturbance. It's an unpleasant reminder that nothing lasts forever while simultaneously serving as proof that from something old and broken new things can grow. A circle of life and death, ever repeating in front of his eyes as he stops by to reminisce his late friends.

The memories are no longer haunting as he stands in the doorway every other week, dedicating a few moments of silence to those he lost before returning home to his family. Tifa joined him once, when he stuck the Buster Sword into the top of the stone altar, but hasn't been back here since. To her this place doesn't have the same meaning as to him and she has her own ways of remembering Aerith.

A couple of times he let Marlene accompany him, because she wanted to see the flowers again. Once the roof started to dissemble and parts of it came raining down more frequently however, he decided it was too dangerous for her. As compensation he promised to pick her a small bouquet every time he went. (He still does even though Marlene is sixteen now and has grown out of the need for the ritual. But she always smells the blossoms with a smile when she receives them.)

To Cloud visiting the church is a routine he doesn't want to give up on. He hasn't heard Aerith's voice in years, so this is all he has left. It's where he allows himself to dwell on the memories of her and Zack without them taking over his life. They come up as soon as the ruined building comes into sight and he pays little attention to his surroundings as he walks up to the entrance. Once he's two steps through the doorway however, he realises he's not the only one who has come here tonight.

Cloud stops in his tracks, his eyes on the figure kneeling at the edge of the concave flower bed ahead. It appears to be a young girl in a light blue dress, humming over rustling noises which he suspects are her fingers brushing through the leaves. Since she has her back to him, he can only see her dark curls part at her nape and fall left and right over her tanned shoulders. Preoccupied with the flowers in front of her, she doesn't seem to have noticed his arrival.

Uncertain about how to respond to the situation, Cloud lingers near the entrance. At first he's surprised to find anyone else here, let alone a girl all by herself. Then he feels like he's intruding upon a personal moment, though it might be because that's what he comes here for. The only thing that keeps him from walking back out is worry about the girl. While for now she remains in the relatively safe area near the door, nothing is here to stop her from going further in. He may not know her, but he isn't going to push aside the responsibility of keeping her from walking into harm's way.

As if on cue, the humming stops and Cloud's alertness rises. The girl gets onto her feet and steps into the flower bed, carefully as if to make sure she doesn't trample the blossoms. Panic surges up inside him. Interrupting or scaring her is no longer his concern as he calls out.

"Stop!"

The words echo between stone walls and the girl freezes just three steps down the slope which was once filled to the brim with water. When she whirls around, the flowers rustle around her legs and a few petals fall off. Her brown eyes are wide in surprise as she takes in the company she wasn't aware of having. Though initially startled, she's recovering rather quickly.

"The roof has been coming down," Cloud hastens to explain. "It's dangerous to go any further."

Her gaze wanders upwards as she leans back her head and takes in the wooden beams and roof riddled with holes above her. Cloud isn't sure she grasps the actual danger of it collapsing onto her, but at least she isn't walking any further into the nave. She looks back to him and blinks at him in curiosity.

"Who are you?" the girl inquires.

Cloud doesn't think it will mean much to her, still he answers: "I'm Cloud."

"Cloud," she echoes. "That's a nice name."

The thought never occurred to him. It's his name, a part of his identity. He came to treasure it after thinking that he was an empty puppet, a failed experiment begging to be numbered just to have something to keep him from being no one at all. But he'd never attribute anything to it beyond what it means to him to have a name. So he doesn't know how to respond to the girl's remark. It might be polite to give his thanks, but he feels far too weird about it to actually do so.

"My name's Aurora," the girl introduces herself. Then she quickly adds: "It's a bit of a mouth full, I know."

"Is it?" Cloud questions, because he doesn't get that impression.

"A friend of mine says that it's too long," Aurora explains and tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear. "He calls me Aura for short, though I keep telling him that's not how nicknames work."

It's hard to tell if she's upset about the fact, but she's complaining, so it seems to have some relevance. Cloud doesn't feel like he's good at giving advice, especially to children. Tifa was always way better at handling the kids than him, so he didn't get much practice in the matter over the past decade either. But Tifa is not around right now, so he feels like he should at least give it a shot.

"If you don't like him calling you that you should tell him to stop until he does," he suggests.

Talking things over is something he's been practicing himself. It didn't come naturally, but as he tried he found that it helped him and Tifa a lot to come together. He worked at it with Marlene and Denzel as well, though when they were still younger he wasn't always sure how much he could say or how he should explain things.

"I didn't say I don't like it," Aurora clarifies, "it just makes little sense."

That seems like a strange thing to get hung up on — to Cloud at least. But he reminds himself that things that may seem negligible to him can be of importance to others. Kids in particular seem to have peculiar priorities sometimes, going by what he has learned from Marlene in her younger years. So he tries to level with Aurora as best he can.

"Nicknames don't always make sense," he tells her. "I've been called 'Spiky' more often than I can count."

Aurora gives him a thorough look before pointing out: "You have spiky hair though."

"Okay, bad example," Cloud admits, since he can't argue with her there.

His thoughts drift off, wondering if he can come up with a better example to make his point, but never reaching a conclusion. In the end he isn't really sure if Aurora needs him to pursue the topic further.

A look at her shows him that she seems unconcerned with the matter already. She has turned her back on him once again and lets her gaze wander over the flowers who are filling out most of the building. It's almost like she already forgot about him being there, because the growing vegetation in the ruin is more interesting than him. (If it were so, he couldn't blame her for taking more interest in a flower bed than in a stranger.) But it's not long before she twirls around, her dress swaying over her knees with movement, and gives him another curious look.

"So." Aurora tilts her head to the side a little. "Why did you come?"

There's a strange familiarity about those words which leaves Cloud taken aback, but he can't put his finger on what it is. It can't be the question by itself, because it is far too common in its wording to stick out. Yet something about the way Aurora paused after the "so", something about the intonation she used gives him a strange sense of déjà vu. He blinks twice and misses the moment to give a response.

Aurora is still eying him with interest, but instead of awaiting his answer or reminding him that he still owes her one, she adds another question. "Did you hear the call, too?"

"What call?"

Cloud hasn't heard anything and yet he doesn't perceive her question as strange. His thoughts immediately turn to the few times Aerith spoke to him eight years ago. Did Aerith reach out to Aurora from the lifestream? He doesn't know how it works or why she would speak to an unfamiliar girl rather than him, but it would at least mean that she's still there even though he hasn't heard from her in so long. Reason tells him it's unlikely and yet a part of his heart immediately clings to the possibility while another corner of it stings because Aerith may have spoken to someone else while staying silent on him.

"I don't know." Aurora shrugs. "I was just going for a walk when I felt like something was telling me to come here."

"Oh," Cloud says, the explanation leaving him a little disappointed. His thoughts wander off for a moment before he remembers to answer her question. "No, I didn't hear anything."

My friend though, I've heard her voice a few times after she returned to the lifestream. Cloud doesn't add that. He cannot think of a reason why he should tell Aurora about Aerith. In this place with someone who didn't know her it feels like summoning a ghost he thought he had put to rest. Besides, he's not one to share personal stories with strangers, kids or not.

Aurora casts a look at the flowers surrounding her, a few of them now trampled beneath her feet from her sudden turns. She appears to be around seven years old and curious about the world the way Marlene used to be at that age. Cloud figures it's a part of childish nature to be like that until it gets crushed by reality. That's a bleak notion however and he wants to chase it from his mind. (Marlene is growing into a cheerful young woman, Tifa has regained a lot more of her optimism than she had five years after the destruction of Nibelheim, Aerith was always full of kindness… It might just be him who lingers on some of the dark thoughts of the past.)

"Did you come here for the flowers then?" Aurora wants to know.

It's a close enough assumption. "Yeah."

She turns her back on him and crouches down where she's standing, her attention captured by the white and yellow blossoms once more. They're growing further apart than they used to back in the day when they only occupied the patch between the broken up tiles in front of the altar. The light of the setting sun is falling through the open wall, dying the scenery in a yellow glow.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Aurora comments on the flowers.

Since she's keeping up the conversation, Cloud figures she's not bothered by his presence. Slowly he walks over to the edge of the flower bed, while ensuring to keep what seems like an appropriate distance. He wouldn't want Aurora to feel crowded by him standing directly behind him, but it's also for his own comfort. Even though it's something that got better over time, he still can't help feeling a little self-conscious around new people. (Like his motion sickness it was suppressed while he believed himself to be an ex-SOLDIER but resurfaced once he sorted out his own delusions.)

Now that he's looking at her from another angle, he notices her hands moving between the stems, picking out drying leaves and scattering them on the ground. He's gripped by a vague sense of déjà vu again. Aerith did the same thing during their first meeting, though he never asked her what that was about. Back then he didn't care, now he thinks he should have.

"Yeah," Cloud agrees, his thoughts staying with Aerith as he watches Aurora tending to the flowers. (How often has he stared at the blossoms in his lifetime now?) "A friend of mine planted them here — or maybe they grew here by themselves and she was just looking after them. I…forgot."

It's one of those times when he wonders if memories can become as elusive for anyone or if it's just him that sometimes still struggles to put the pieces together. At first he thinks that he should know, that Aerith told him at some point — she must have! Then he starts questioning whether she ever did. He may have just assumed that she planted them because she was tending to them. She talked about this being the only place in Midgar where the flowers would grow, but beyond that he cannot remember.

Whenever something like this happens he's filled with a weird sense of uncertainty. It's a small reminder of the time when all he thought he was came crumbling down while he was trying so hard to hold himself together by the seems. Back then he lost himself and if it hadn't been for Tifa helping him through he may have never recovered. (He suspects that a part of him never did and it flares up in panic every time something escapes his memory, ready to doubt everything again.)

"Where's your friend now?"

Aurora's voice calls Cloud back from his thoughts and he wonders why she would ask about Aerith's whereabouts. "What?"

"You said your friend was looking after the flowers, but she isn't here now." She has turned in his direction as she's tending to the flowers, but pauses to look up at him with probing eyes. "So where is she?"

"Oh." He stares down, avoiding her gaze, then up as if to find the right words to formulate his answer floating between the rotting beams. "She...returned to the lifestream."

"Returned...to the lifestream? You mean she died?"

Cloud takes a breath and looks at Aurora again. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry," she offers quietly and lowers her head.

Silence spreads as Cloud's gaze wanders. At first he thinks that he doesn't know how to respond to her sympathy, then it slips his mind that he should answer at all. His eyes land on the pool towards the front of the nave where the water once healed him from the geostigma. He heard Aerith's voice as he was ready to chase after Kadaj again and he got the feeling she was watching over him then.

After a moment or two, Aurora inquires: "Do you miss your friend?"

"I guess I do." Cloud crouches down by the flower bed and reaches out a finger to brush over a yellow petal. "It's been ten years. I come here to check on these flowers even though they grow by themselves, because they remind me of her and…I don't want to forget."

Aurora straightens up, barely any taller while standing than he is in his crouched position. Crossing her arms behind her back, she leans forward a bit as if to get a closer look at his face. It reminds him of the way Aerith sometimes used to look at him, but the association must come easy in a place that is filled with memories of her. It seems like a lot about Aurora is reminding him of Aerith and that can only be him projecting.

"Are you sad that she's gone?" Aurora wants to know.

Cloud takes a moment to consider whether he has actually stopped being sad or whether life is just distracting enough for him to not feel it most of the time. When Aerith died in front of his eyes it felt like a wound had been ripped open that could never heal. Yet time has more healing abilities than he would've given it credit for — once he was ready to give it a chance.

"Not anymore, not really," he tells Aurora.

"Really?" She turns away and looks to the front of the nave where Zack's sword is presiding over the water. "I don't think I could ever stop being sad if I lost someone."

The answer that comes to mind probably won't comfort her, but he says it anyway. "It's part of life. None of us can walk this planet forever."

"Then what comes after?" Aurora is still staring at the sword, though he isn't sure if she's actually taking it in or if her eyes went out of focus. "The lifestream?"

"So it would seem," Cloud confirms, putting a hand to the floor to balance himself.

She turns her head slightly in his direction, but her eyes stay trained ahead. "How does that work?"

"I'm not sure," he admits. "Someone once told me that all living things come from the lifestream and also return to it again, but I don't know the details."

"Can people come back?"

The words resound in Cloud's head and he's trying to think of a definite answer, but realises he can't come up with anything. When Bugenhagen explained the lifestream to him and how its energy forms new life and merges with its main current again in a never ending cycle it didn't occur to him that it could include people's lives. So what if they can come back, if they're born and die over and over — is it a blessing or a curse?

It's hard to imagine. He feels like he's lived two lives, but one was comprised of altered memories and a false persona he had created. It was only in his head and it didn't last long before it shattered and he had to pick up the pieces, trying to figure out who he really was. An eternal circle of life and death, like the flowers in this church — it seems possible, almost comforting. Looking at Aurora who can't take her eyes off the Buster Sword he'd liked to think so — maybe.

A new life for Aerith, a happier life even — something like Aurora seems to have. Something where she doesn't have to face hardships as a child. Something where her biggest concern is what to wear or that the nickname her friend uses for her doesn't make sense. No Shinra company to hunt her, no sorrow over her dead mother, nothing that forces her to grow up too soon. Harsh life can wait a little longer before it comes for her, until she's older and stronger. He likes the idea of that though the skeptical voice in his head is telling him that he's getting carried away with unrealistic daydreaming.

"I don't know," Cloud answers Aurora's question. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." She shrugs and he doesn't know her well enough to judge if her carefree tone is genuine this time. Then there's a shift in her as she turns and looks at him while pointing ahead. "What's the matter with that sword?"

He knows before following the direction of her finger with his eyes that she's indicating the Buster Sword sticking out of the altar. The water used to almost completely engulf the stone table and he had to wade all the way over to place the sword there. Now that the water has long since retreated, moss is growing over the stone where it used to reach.

Feeling his legs getting tense in his current position, Cloud stands back up before he answers: "It belonged to a friend of mine."

"The same friend that tended to the flowers?"

A smile crosses Cloud's face as he tries to imagine Aerith wielding the heavy broadsword. It sure would've been something to watch her beat up monsters with that instead of her staff. But then his thoughts return to Zack who carried the sword with great pride and his amusement dissolves.

"No, another friend." Cloud pauses for a moment, debating whether he should say it. But somehow it seems relevant enough not to keep it from Aurora. "He…died protecting me."

"Protecting you…," Aurora echoes and for a moment her face goes blank as she stares at the sword. But then she snaps out of her thoughts and turns to him with renewed enthusiasm. "Hey, I want to have a closer look at it, can we go?"

"I told you it's dangerous to go beyond this point," Cloud objects. He doesn't know what her sudden fascination with the sword is, but he's not her guardian or anything, so it doesn't feel comfortable letting her take the risk.

"But you're with me," she argues and comes running up to him. "You can protect me, right?" She grabs his hand and pulls at it as she adds: "Let's go together."

Cloud looks down at her in silence, unsure what he should do. Saying no would make him feel bad at this point. But protecting someone from falling debris is harder than guarding someone from monsters. Yet her expectant brown eyes are melting his resolve. He looks up at the broken ceiling as if to gauge what the chances of raining wood are. At the moment it upholds the illusion of stability, almost as if nothing would come down from it ever again. He sighs, because he knows he lost this argument.

"Fine," he relents. "But stay close to me."

Her face lightens up with a smile and she nods. "Okay!"

Cloud keeps his pace slow so Aurora can follow along with ease and guides her around any remains of wooden beams and roof tiles to minimise the chances of her stumbling over them. The whole time she holds on to his hand as if he wasn't a complete stranger to her still. It's like a sign of her trust and she makes it seem natural.

Once they arrive in front of the altar Aurora releases her grip and reaches up to the sword. Her hand barely touches the wide side of the blade sticking out of the stone even as she stands on her tiptoes. Cloud takes a gamble and lifts her up onto the altar, making sure to place her at the right side of the sword where the blade is blunt.

Her expression seems to be a mixture of awed and thoughtful as she takes in the weapon from up close. She touches the metal, singed by rust and with moss crawling up here and there. (Cloud gave up on cleaning it once the roof started coming down. It functions more like a gravestone now and not like a weapon that needs to be kept in shape.) It's hard to guess what she's thinking or why she seems so drawn to the sword.

"Sometimes I have these strange dreams," Aurora begins without prompt, her attention for the weapon still undistracted. "They go away the moment I wake up and I can only remember random images. But there's a sword like this one and I think it's protecting me."

Cloud listens, not sure where this is going. It's hard to imagine that Aurora would be dreaming of this exact sword though, so he figures it may have been some kind of broadsword and she just hasn't seen many of the likes for it to make a difference to her. It catches his interest regardless.

"Hey Cloud." Aurora interrupts her inspection of the Buster Sword and gives him a curious look. The familiarity with which she addresses him makes him feel like they've known each other for longer than this brief encounter. The impression gets brushed aside however as she voices her question: "Would your friend have protected me the way he protected you?"

Though he can't see what she's getting at with this, he answers: "Yeah probably."

His memories of Zack are still muddy. He spent a couple of months not even remembering that Zack existed and instead taking on Zack's place in several of his memories. Though he sorted out the events revolving around the mission to Nibelheim, a lot of his past is still fuzzy. The time he was held captive in the Shinra mansion remains a blank slate which he was never able to fill while his escape with Zack is a collection of random moments. The time he was part of the infantry is somewhere in between. He isn't even sure when and how he met Zack for the first time.

If what Zack did for Cloud is anything to go by though, then he wouldn't ignore anyone who needed help. So Cloud adds: "Zack was the type to do that."

"Zack…" Aurora mumbles as she turns back to the sword, yet her eyes are lowered to the ground in thought. "Zack…" She pauses for a moment before shaking her head with definiteness. "No, it wasn't Zack. He was like Zack, but different."

Surprise, shock, wonder. A sense of reality rippling around him and threatening to slip away like in a dream. Aurora can't possibly know Zack, she is far too young to have ever met him. Still, in this moment Cloud feels like she knows exactly who Zack was. Reason tells him that it can't be. He's imagining things, interpreting meaning into her words that she didn't put there, tying them up with his own memories. It must be some kind of coincidence, that the person she's thinking of happens to have the same name or that she's mixing up the names entirely.

"Aurora," Cloud starts, the thought too pressing to dismiss despite its improbability. "Do you remember Zack?"

"Mhh." Aurora puts her loose fist to her chin in thought. (It's just a gesture, Cloud reminds himself to fight off the familiarity, Aerith wasn't the only person in the world to use it.) "Dark hair, goofy grin, thought he could do anything." She chuckles at the thought before she digresses. "Emil reminds me a bit of him sometimes. But he's not who I'm looking for."

The description matches, yet it's also too vague to say for sure. What catches Cloud's attention though is her mentioning the fact that she's looking for someone. It seems to be the reason why she took interest in Zack and the Buster Sword. At least that is the impression he's getting. He still isn't entirely sure how it's all supposed to tie together — or if it ties together at all.

"Who are you looking for?" Cloud inquires.

"I can't remember what he looked like." Aurora gazes into the air for a moment and sways her upper body in thought, her dress swinging along with the movement. "At first he reminded me of Zack somehow, but there was something else about him." She looks back at the weapon, though her eyes seem to stare through it as her face turns somber. "I think he was lost, but he still tried to move forward."

A strange feeling fills Cloud's stomach. Aurora's descriptions still aren't anything concrete, but it's starting to fit together too well to be a coincidence. As impossible as it may seem, these could be Aerith's words describing him. She once said he reminded her of Zack and though she never made a comment about him seeming lost, maybe that was actually the feeling she got from him. In a way he had lost himself when he met her and maybe she sensed it.

"I wanted to help him but…" Aurora's voice drifts off and he can see her face fall, her eyes still staring ahead. "He came for me — but I couldn't stay. I couldn't help him."

With every word she sounds more upset, but that's not the only reason Cloud's stomach is starting to twist. It's like the past is catching up to him in a way he never expected. You came for me — that's all that mattered. Aerith's words echo in his head as if he'd heard them only yesterday. They were part of what led him to forgive himself for not being able to prevent her death. Learning that she never blamed him was taking one step away from blaming himself.

With his lingering attachment to Aerith it was hard to move on, but eventually he was able to do it — in part through her intervention. He never considered the other side of it. He never thought that Aerith would be the one left with unresolved feelings. Yet Aurora sounds like the ghost of her and he feels less and less like he can shake it off as his imagination going wild. He would never claim to have seen it all, but after everything that he has come across he doesn't believe in coincidences as big as this one would have to be.

These thoughts take a backseat however when Aurora turns to him and he notices the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Why couldn't I help him?"

Cloud's heart stings in his chest as he sees her like that. Whatever her dreams mean — whether she's somehow connected to Aerith's consciousness in her sleep or something else is at play here — he doesn't want her to have to be upset. Without thinking about it, he reaches out and rests his hand against the side of her head.

"Hey, it's okay," he tries to sooth her.

"It's not okay!" Aurora objects and stomps her foot, the outburst causing him to retrieve his hand as suddenly as she moved.

She's right, it isn't. For her it clearly isn't okay. Cloud cannot change that by simply saying that it is. In his experience with Marlene and Denzel as kids they always responded best when he acknowledged their feelings, regardless of whether he could understand the extent of them or not. It seems like the best approach for Aurora here as well.

"You're sad, I get that," Cloud makes another attempt to comfort Aurora. "But maybe you don't have to be. Maybe there's another way to look at it and you'll see that things aren't as bad as you think."

He wants to bite his tongue. Without thinking he addressed her as if Aerith was the one in front of him, upset that she couldn't help him while he just wanted her to see how much she did for him. But she can't be — this girl, Aurora, isn't Aerith and he's doing her wrong by not seeing her as who she is. Troubled and ashamed, he lowers his gaze, his eyes landing where the Buster Sword pierces the stone altar.

Can people come back? Aurora's words pop into his mind and Cloud scolds himself for clinging onto them. But what if people could come back, what if they did? A circle of life and death, starting over again, a soul transformed into someone new. It would explain why Aurora dreams of a life that isn't her own. It would explain why she took such interest in the Buster Sword, why she remembers Zack, why Cloud can't shake the feeling that the one she's looking for is him. It would even explain why she found her way here in the first place, as if a good-willed soul from the lifestream had guided her here so that she could meet him.

It sounds incredible, even to Cloud as he's going over everything in his head. Yet inside him a conviction grows that it's the truth — as much as a fear that in his realisation of this he may cause harm. It's like everything he knows about life and death and the lifestream is coming together and making sense. But even if he's right, even if he's in the middle of discovering something not even a wise man like Bugenhagen seems to know, he can't get carried away with it. As much as Aurora reminds him of Aerith, as much as she seems to have at least some of Aerith's memories, he mustn't forget that she's her own person.

Who knows, maybe she isn't even supposed to remember. It could be Aerith's strong attachment to him that is keeping her trapped in this state. If so, then Aurora might have been guided here so he could help her move on. The thought conjures mixed feelings in him. It's almost like now that he has accepted he cannot be with Aerith, the image of her is presented before him, almost close enough to touch but obscured and already drifting away from him again. Yet a part of him is thankful for the chance to get to be the one helping her for once.

"Are you going to tell me it was just a dream, too?"

Aurora's voice has Cloud look up to meet her gaze. It's challenging just like her tone, despite her being hoarse from crying. He was so caught up in his own head he didn't even notice her sobs subsiding, but she seems to have stopped crying and calmed herself a little. The tears are gone from her face — rubbed dry, he would guess — and her lips are pursed.

"My mum says that's all it was," she continues, "but I know it was more. It was real!"

It would be easy to deny it, to deny that he has any idea of what she might be talking about or any theory as to what is going on. But that's not the answer Aurora is looking for. Whether he's right or not, he feels like he owes it to her for even suspecting that she could've been reborn from Aerith's consciousness: a chance to figure out for herself what this is about.

"I know," Cloud assures her, almost forgetting about caution. "I know it was real."

I know why you're here. I know what your dreams are about. I have lived it after all. He stops himself short from saying it. It wouldn't feel right, as if he was pushing Aurora into a role that may not even fit her. He wants to help her but not by burdening her with his own expectations. That would be selfish. If he's going to do this then it has to be about Aurora and not his own attachment to the person he suspects she used to be.

So instead he asks: "What else do you remember?"

Cloud isn't really sure how this will go. Maybe he'll be able to confirm what his gut is telling him. But he also cannot ignore the possibility that Aurora has access to Aerith's memories for some other reason. All he can say for now is that Aurora seems to be haunted by them. So he hopes that by guiding her along to figure out why she has this connection to Aerith's past he can find a way to release her from it.

While considering his question, Aurora lets her eyes wander around the inside of the building. Then a smile touches her lips and she exclaims: "The flowers."

Looking over his shoulder, Cloud finds her gaze has stopped on a spot in the flower bed near the pool of water.

"This is the only place they would grow and I loved it here. I looked after them, I sold them." With every word she cheers up a little more and his heart grows heavier. Her identification with Aerith is becoming more and more apparent and he isn't sure it's a good sign. "He bought one from me. Then he came crashing through the roof and nearly fell on top of me — gave me a bit of a scare."

Aurora laughs at the mention of it, but it fades when something occurs to her. "Your friend…you said she looked after the flowers here."

It's like Cloud can see the pieces fall into place in her head and the realisation dawn on her face. Something inside him recoils. He doesn't want this for her. She's just a kid, why does she have to remember that life which was filled with so much pain and trouble? Aerith may have seemed like she was handling it well, but thinking back, deep down he sensed that things were weighing her down more than she let on.

"Was I…her?"

Cloud closes his eyes, his face twisting in pain. The answer is yes, he's sure of that now. When he fabricated memories of himself in Zack's shoes a lot of the feelings he attached to them were still his own: the admiration he held for Sephiroth, the pride he certainly would've felt had he made SOLDIER, the anger and grief about his hometown burning. Besides, he was there during it all, he just altered the role he played in it. Yet Aurora only seems to know the events from Aerith's perspective and her accounts felt so authentic in reflecting what must have been Aerith's emotions.

He was like Zack but different. Aerith had said he reminded her of her first boyfriend and only gradually did he learn that she was talking about Zack and that he'd known Zack himself. But despite meeting Cloud only when he was holding the fake persona reminiscent of how Zack used to be, she caught onto something being amiss. I'm searching for you. When she said those words during the gondola ride at the Golden Saucer he didn't understand what she meant. Only after her death when he had rediscovered himself did it start to make sense.

Part of him thinks he should be happy to have found Aerith again, but it doesn't feel right. For all she remembers, for all she knows, Aurora isn't the young woman who asked him to be her bodyguard in exchange for a date. She isn't the last of the Cetra who used her heritage to summon Holy. Aurora is a girl who was born into this world after Cloud fought Sephiroth twice to stop him from destroying the planet. It's not fair that Aurora should have to be burdened by the past like this. Why couldn't she just have a simple childhood for once? After all Aerith has been through, why should Aurora have to suffer for it as well?

"Cloud…you…," Aurora's voice trails off. "Are you the one I'm looking for?"

As Cloud opens his eyes he finds Aurora looking at him with a mixture of wonder and recognition. He doesn't know what to say. Her words up until now leave no doubt: she was searching for him and now she found him — or he found her, whichever it is. If it's true, if she somehow is Aerith or was Aerith, then he thinks he should be happy to get to meet her. But for however much his heart clung to the memory of Aerith, he can't feel joy about recognising her in Aurora. Aurora was crying, because Aerith cared so much for him that even in a new life she couldn't let him go. The thought leaves him with guilt, because it means that indirectly he caused Aurora pain.

"You are, aren't you?" Her words come faster in her excitement. "Yes, of course! Cloud — I remember now!" She tilts her head to the side and studies his face. "You seem kind of different, I almost didn't recognise you."

His tongue is tied. There's so much to say — Cloud thinks there has to be — but not one fitting word comes to mind. Aurora is looking at him expectantly and he cannot guess what she's hoping for, but it worries him. He never thought about the concept of reincarnation before or how it might work, but he knows how hard it is to start over when the past is clinging to one's bones. That's not what a child should have to deal with.

"Cloud, it's me, Aerith."

Frozen to the spot, unable to move. She said the name, he never gave it. It's her, of course it's her. Was there ever any doubt? Part of him knew early on, but he thought he was projecting because he couldn't let go. Now that she has confirmed his suspicion it feels more amiss than ever.

"I can come with you," Aurora suggests with hope in her voice. "This time I can stay."

Cloud shakes his head. A part of him is selfish enough to want to take Aurora up on her offer, but he shuts it down. It's wrong. She's just a kid, filled with a desire she probably doesn't understand herself. If anything, they're Aerith's feelings and they belong to the past, a past that ended years ago.

"You're not Aerith."

Aurora's face falls and he can see the tears well up again. "But I remember it! The time we spent together!"

Her eyes are imploring him, her lips are begging. She is a child indeed and none of Aerith's lifetime can negate that — a child that doesn't want to get left behind. It breaks his heart to tell her no, because he knows it can never work, not like this. He couldn't forgive himself if he allowed for her to get dragged under by those memories he nearly drowned in himself. It caused him to lose touch with his family and friends for awhile — everyone who was there with him but he couldn't see because Aerith's death and his guilt were blinding him. He doesn't want that for her.

"I know you remember." Cloud reaches out and takes hold of her hands. Her cheeks are wet with tears again. "But you're Aurora now. You've got friends and family of your own that have nothing to do with who you used to be. Don't throw that away for a past that can never come back to life. Trust me with this, I know all about it."

"But I…I have to help you," she sniffs, a tear dripping down her chin. "I have to make you happy!"

It hurts how much she clings to him, her small fingers digging into his palms. Still Cloud manages a smile for her, albeit filled with a little sadness.

"I am happy — I'm okay," he assures her. "So now it's your turn. Don't forget to find your own happiness just because of me. I couldn't bear it."

Aurora shakes her head. Her eyes dart upwards as if in search for a response, her mouth is sealed in confusion. Cloud pulls her into a hug and she presses into him. Her face easily rests against his shoulder, the altar upon which she is standing making up for the difference in height. The sobs are rocking through her body and he gently strokes her back.

"You helped me years ago, you just couldn't see it. You helped me to help myself."

Her hands squeeze into the fabric of his shirt and he holds onto her while she's letting it all out. It takes some time but eventually he thinks her breath is calming down. Her tears are going silent or maybe even drying up — he cannot tell, because her face is pressed against his shoulder and way out of his sight.

"It's alright. I'm not alone and neither are you." Cloud references the last conversation they had when he caught a final glimpse of Aerith here in this church. He doesn't know if Aurora remembers that part as well, but even if she doesn't she should be able to understand. That's why he can tell her gently: "You can let go now."

Aurora clings to him tightly. If possible, she wraps her arms around him a little harder.

"It hurts," she says, her voice quiet with a hint of her pain. "It hurts to let go."

"I know."

So he doesn't force her, he doesn't break away from the embrace. She has to be ready to release him. She needs the time to do it at her own pace, that way the pain heals the best. It took him two years, but he wants to have faith that Aurora can do better. Getting to say goodbye makes all the difference.

Cloud doesn't count the seconds, he doesn't guess the minutes. His focus is on holding Aurora and giving her comfort until she breaks away. Once she lets go of him she does it slowly and he deliberately doesn't try to speed up the process. When they're facing each other again, she wipes away the remnants of her tears even though they seem dried up for the most part.

"Better?" Cloud wants to know and she nods. They exchange a small smile, both still recovering from the load of the emotions they just worked through.

It is getting late, the light outside dimming as the sun closes in on the horizon and the air cooling off. Soon it will be dark and no parent likes for their child to be out alone at night, not even in summer. If Aurora's parents haven't been wondering where she's gone off to yet, then they sure must be starting to worry about now.

"I should take you home," Cloud notes, remembering his responsibility as an adult. "Your parents must be worried."

Aurora nods and he stretches out his arms in a silent offer to lift her from the altar. As she leans in and supports herself on his shoulders, he picks her up and puts her gently on the uneven ground. Without question she slips her hand into his and lets him leads the way back towards the entrance. Once they reach the end of the flower bed however, she slows her steps and comes to a halt. Noticing that she's no longer following, he stops and turns around to check on her.

"Can we stay just a moment longer?" Aurora requests and Cloud notices not for the first time that he finds it hard to resist the pleading eyes of a child.

With concern he looks at the darkening sky through the open wall, the last glimmer of sunlight no longer reaching into the nave. He shouldn't allow any more delays, he's the adult and Aurora should get back to her family as soon as possible. But when he looks at her again he finds his resolve melt. After all he wanted to give her the time that she needs to let go, maybe she wants to say goodbye to this place as well.

"Alright," Cloud agrees, though the word leaves his lips with an audible breath. "But really just for a bit."

Aurora nods in affirmation and releases his hand so that she can sit down at the edge of the floorboards, her feet sticking into the flower bed. He watches her with scepticism at first, thinking that the floor is dirty enough to ruin her dress, but she doesn't seem to mind. Then he smiles. It's a little thing like that which makes him think that the carefree days of childhood aren't completely lost on her yet, even if memories of her past life have been on her mind.

Oblivious of his thoughts Aurora looks at him over her shoulder and pats the floor beside her. "Come, sit down."

Cloud wasn't going to, but like this he can hardly refuse. So he settles in beside her and takes in the view of the semi-dark interior of the church. When she leans against his arm, he looks down at her, startled yet again by how familiar she acts with him. But he's willing to let her have this as well.

The shadows have stretched throughout the entire ruin. Cloud decides that once he cannot see any silver lining on the horizon from where he's sitting the time is up. It won't be long before then, but it's the most he feels comfortable to allow at this point. He knows someone must be waiting for Aurora to return home.

Cloud remembers that he couldn't look at Elmyra when bringing her the news of Aerith's death. Tifa did most of the talking and when the tears started to flow he felt dizzy and claustrophobic around everyone in the small living room. Though the worst was probably explaining it to Marlene who asked about the nice lady who protected her from the bad men. Once again he felt tongue tied and had to leave things to Tifa.

It was a strange feeling, like he needed to apologise to them both for letting Aerith die but the words never came over his lips. In the end his guilt was something that couldn't be absolved by anyone but himself. It was Aerith that helped him see that, but it seems she never realised that she succeeded. Maybe that's why Aurora was drawn here, so that she could meet him and let go of the past herself.

Cloud looks down at Aurora who is gazing into the semi-darkness as if it didn't bother her. Her face is shrouded in shadows so he can't make out her expression, but he thinks her sorrow has subsided. He's not sure what's going to happen once he has brought her home. Should he ask her to forget about him, to ignore that he lives in the same city so she can focus on the people in her new life? Could he even do that? He cannot shake the thought that it might be for the better, he cannot shake the feeling that he doesn't really want to.

There's a wish to see Aurora grow up, to watch over her. It stings a little to acknowledge that maybe this wouldn't be in her best interest. After all, how can he expect her to move on from the past when he's around to remind her of it? That wouldn't be fair, as much as he already finds himself attached to her. (He's not sure how much of that is tied to knowing that she used to be Aerith. While his head acknowledges that she's her own person, his heart may not have gotten the memo.)

Closing his eyes, Cloud suppresses a sigh. He'll just have to go with it. When it comes to kids he's doing his best not to be selfish. He told Aurora not to throw away the people in her life for Aerith's past and he's going to stand by it. So if keeping away from her helps with that then he's going to do it. It's not his responsibility to stick around and ensure her happiness, like it isn't her responsibility to do the same for him. He'll have to trust that she will find her way without him.

"Hey Cloud?" Aurora interrupts his musings.

Cloud opens his eyes to find the horizon has gone completely dark. He pushes it aside for the sake of responding to Aurora who seems to have something on her mind. With a low humming sound he indicates that he's listening while he stares ahead, letting his eyes adapt to the dark.

"Can I see you again?"

There's little point in trying to read Aurora's expression, still he turns his head towards her. It's ironic she should ask him this just as he was trying to strengthen his resolve to say goodbye forever. Now she threatens to make it all crumble again with one question.

Cloud needs to buy time to think. There's no prior knowledge he can fall back on about people being reborn. No one can tell him if one is ever supposed to be able to remember one's past life or if that is a dilemma in itself. He can only guess if continued contact to elements of one's previous life did more harm than good. It makes him feel like his choice now carries so much more weight.

"Do you really want to?" Cloud asks in return.

It's hard to tell in the dark engulfing them, but he thinks Aurora gives a nod.

"I want to," she insists. "I promise I won't ignore my family and friends like you said, but that doesn't mean I have to ignore you instead, does it?"

"I suppose it doesn't," Cloud agrees without making any promises.

He wants to say yes. As much as he tells himself to trust in Aurora growing up well and leading a good life, he'd like to be around and see it happen. There are no guarantees it will work out, but he tells himself that if he would turn out to be a disturbing factor then he could still explain to Aurora that it's better if he stays out of her life. Like that he at least would have tried to make it work.

"Alright," Cloud concludes. "Let's give it a shot."

"Yay!" Aurora leans in and gives him a hug from the side, squashing his arm between their bodies. In her excitement she starts babbling: "I'm going to introduce you to my parents. And the baby. Well, it isn't born yet but you can feel it kick in mommy's tummy. And wait till you meet Emil! He's a bit silly sometimes but it's kind of cute."

Cloud smiles at her enthusiasm and lets her lean into him as Aurora rambles. There's a mental image he gets of her introducing him to everyone as her friend from her past life. He should probably ask her to stick to having met him by chance and letting him take her home. The whole truth would probably be a bit too much for most people.

"Okay." Aurora releases him and gets to her feet. "I'm ready to leave now."

His nod is probably lost on her in the dark, but once he stands up beside her, she finds his hand with her own again.

"Let's get you home then," Cloud announces and carefully leads her towards the open door.

Neither of them is looking back as they head out, the near undisturbed scenery inside the church covered in darkness and only interrupted by their footsteps on the wooden tiles. Not even the beams remaining beneath the roof are creaking in the wind tonight. Cloud figures he worried a bit too much about Aurora's safety, but better safe than sorry aside, it was what got them to talk in the first place.

It may have been coincidence or fate which brought them together in this place — he isn't sure how much influence he ascribes to the former and how much he believes in the latter — but it doesn't really matter. Aurora found what she was looking for and he got to return a kindness which was offered to him long ago. What will come of it now, only time will tell.

[honeygrip]

Let it go.

 For a greater part of the last few years I had been miserable. For a myriad of reasons. My job made me miserable, my love life made me miserable; my finances, my relationships overall. Everything, it ALL contributed.

 To depression, to addictions, to abuse, to unhappiness, to mistrust, to misanthropy. All of that. I had so many expectations of what my life was suppose to look like by this point that I was angry and frustrated by the unexpected circumstances that were put before me. I was working so hard for all these things in my life that weren’t working for me.

I started to take stock in a lot of shit and studied my own actions and behaviors. Funny thing about being around- stuck with yourself- for 4 decades. After a while, if you’re paying attention to yourself for real- the patterns emerge.

I realized that I had approached life like a perpetual victim. Treating life as if everything was happening TO me instead of understanding that life was happening FOR me.

Adversity in life is not meant to make you a perpetual victim- it’s meant to make you a stronger person. If you are experiencing the same episodes of heartbreak, misfortune or drama- at some point you have to stop blaming those around you and start acknowledging that YOU are ultimately in control of YOURSELF.

If you feel you are being taken advantage of- ask YOURSELF why you keep allowing people to take advantage of you.

If you feel people are always disrespecting you or the boundaries you set for yourself- I’d ask you why you are allowing yourself to constantly interact with said people?

If it’s not making you happy or making you better, why work so hard to hold onto it?

 I’ve learned that a lot of us love drama because drama gives us something to do with ourselves. It gives us PURPOSE- and without purpose- who are we really?

Most of us believe we are nothing. And knowing that we are nothing- crushes our fragile egos. So we invent drama in order to help ourselves feel important- And that’s okay- if that’s your bag. But for me, I don’t want to be the nucleus of drama anymore. I’m tired of being exhausted by it and I’m tired of merely complaining about it. I don’t even want to be where the drama is.

I took stock in all the things in my life that were making me miserable and began to work on how I could change them.

I knew at the start of 2016 that I was at my wit’s end with my job. I knew that no matter how hard I worked there, I was never going to be really recognized for my efforts. I was tired of paying the “black tax”, tired of working in a nepotistic borderline racist environment. I was tired of living in fear that I couldn’t go out there and find a job that would at least leave me feeling more fulfilled. So I continued to work, because I had believed that was what I HAD to do. I was complacent there and complicit-and that was a dangerous combination.

Then one day- it all came to head; the moment I had fantasized about and prayed for and feared came: I got laid off. After 9 years of working at a job I absolutely HATED- I finally got escorted to a conference room, got handed a folder with a severance package that suddenly became the keys to my freedom. A moment I had dreamed of and prayed for- was suddenly my reality.

OH SHIT.

I had never been so scared in my life. But I was scared for the less obvious reasons. It wasn’t just the questions like: What was my next move going to be? It was: can I finally be happy?

I knew I wasn’t going to be able to last another year there but I wasn’t really ready to walk out at that moment. Or was I?

Ya know, I had never had a dream come true before and now that it had happened, I felt an awakening. I had finally had a dream fulfilled, yet I was too afraid to be grateful and too afraid to celebrate my victory.

This had been all I wanted but I couldn’t see the forest for the trees…

I plastered a “this is great” smile on my face and pretended to be happily unemployed for the first time in 9 years. I tried to stay upbeat, but it wasn’t long before anxiety set in and the truth is I was already exhausted from being miserably stuck at a job that had made me so unhappy in the first place.

I had let misery take up a permanent residency in my life. I didn’t know how to pack it up and move it out.

So, instead of enjoying my new-found freedom, I worried about going broke. Worried about having to go back to work in ANY environment. Worried about getting rusty. Worried about growing bored, growing despondent. Worried about giving up.

I was even afraid to burden my friends with the pressure.

I realized I was tired of complaining about the state of my life and more importantly, I was tired of never having a positive update.

I was desperately ready to change the narrative.

For the first time in my life, I had the opportunity to create a brand new reality. To start from scratch, I had time to rewrite everything.

I tried to change my perception. Change my energy. Change the people I interacted with. Limit my social media intake. Meditate. Focus on what I wanted out of my existence and what was positively working in my life.

I began to count each and every blessing and I slowly began to understand that I didn’t have to live in strife or struggle.

For more than 7 months I was blessed to be able to maintain my lifestyle, take care of myself and my children financially and never once “lost it” (all the things I feared) It was then that I realized that I truly did have the power to change what wasn’t working in my life. I got to do things that made me happy. I had the freedom to work on things that would work for me.

I realized that I didn’t have to be miserable but I also recognized that misery IS my comfort zone. It WAS so because it was consistent, it was predictable, I KNEW misery well. I knew pain. I knew depression. I knew struggle and I knew drama- so much so I let these things define me.

I thought about how often, we as black women feel we have to go through struggles to be defined. We’re told we have to go through some thangs in order to get to some sacred promised land. We’re told that we have do the necessary “work”.

We’re told that the struggle makes us “strong” and we (especially as black women) are often measured by our strength. This belief is the by-product of generational curses, passed down from our mommas and grandmommas. Somewhere along the lines, it became our “birthright”. It’s how we earn our stripes. It proves you’re tough, it validates a lot of us, but none of us have to own the patent on pain. None of us have to corner that market.

Do you know how many Beckys are out here living happily and not struggling? Not making shit harder on themselves that it has to be?

So why do we as WOC feel so compelled to be in the struggle and the drama that has become our day to day?

For a lot of us, anger is our go to emotional reaction to LIFE. Instead of admitting hurt or disappointment or fear- we get angry, and we use our anger as our conflict management style.

For some of us, It gives us definition, it gives a lot of us motivation, it gives a lot of us- purpose. It fuels our aggression and it’s corrupting us.

So I wanted to come here today and say: 

Girl. Whatever it is you are going through, please know- It’s okay to be happy. I want to stress that it’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to make peace. It’s perfectly fine to forgive, let it hurt and then let it go and move on.

We don’t have to stay in a miserable situation, no matter how familiar it feels. No matter what our elders taught us by their examples. No matter how comfortable we are there, no matter how much we’ve been programmed to believe we deserve it or we must go through it or how much we’ve been told it’s apart of our makeup.

We don’t have to accept heartbreak, misfortune or drama as our norm. We don’t have to take perfectly normal situations and create chaos in order to make ourselves feel validated or important.

If anything in your life is not working- please remember that you can change your narrative. And you don’t have to use anger and destruction to do it. You don’t have to burn down all the bridges that surround you, you don’t have to give everyone a piece of your mind on your way out.

Sometimes you can just walk away with your peace of mind in tact.

Yes, it will be scary, yes it will be challenging but YES, you can change your approach. You don’t have to do it the same way, you don’t have to use the same tactics of pain, anger, resentment or pettiness. You don’t have to react the way you’ve always done.

You can walk away from anything that no longer serves you. THAT is your birthright. You don’t have to settle for maltreatment in any form as apart of your reality.  Not Toxic friends, negative energy, stagnant relationships or shitty jobs. You can abandon what you no longer need and not feel guilty or disloyal.

I know how hard it is to give up on certain beliefs, things or behaviors, I had a girlfriend who I watched go through the same argument with her then boyfriend for months. Whatever wasn’t working- wasn’t working and no matter how hard they loved, kissed and made up, lectured and broke down, I could see that it wasn’t making either one of them happy.

Whatever the breakdown in their relationship was- one thing that was apparent to me was that both of them were spending far too much energy trying to fix whatever it was that wasn’t working and that wasn’t happiness- that was work!

She said to me one day, “I keep telling him the same thing over and over and he just isn’t getting it”. And I told her- maybe YOU aren’t getting it.

She was stuck working to save a relationship that wasn’t working for her.

If it’s not working- maybe that’s because it doesn’t work, maybe it’s not meant to be, maybe it’s been what it was and now it’s not that anymore and it’s time to move on. But to invest in having the same argument for MONTHS sounds like misery.

I know too many women who are holding on to some sort of dysfunction because they are afraid of the “unknown” in letting it go. If it no longer serves you, and you walk away- it’s not a sign of failure. It’s a sign of bravery, a sign of strength and a sign of faith.

 You don’t have to be “stuck” wallowing…

When something stops working for you. Stop working for it.

Whatever it may be; Your shitty ass job (that you think you need), your unreciprocated relationships (that you think you can fix), or your negative ass attitude (that you think is cute).

If it’s not working for you, sis, Let it go.

Do not be afraid of the unknown. Do not be terrified to go it alone. Honor yourself enough to know what doesn’t work for you. Honor yourself enough to be determined to change what isn’t working, or what’s making you miserable- even if that is yourself…

Honor yourself enough to change your own narrative, and to work for what is working well for you.

 Because you deserve it. 

[robinsonmiguel93]

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Adding Your Ex Back On Social Media

[d33-alex]

Remedies for the Political Tribalism of the “Post-Truth” Era

Politics has warped facts since the days of Pericles, but our ‘post-truth’ era offers a destructive new twist: defying facts as a badge of tribal allegiance.

The term “post-truth” has been around for decades, but its big moment came in 2016, with the Brexit vote in the U.K. and the presidential candidacy of Donald Trump. Usage of post-truth shot up twentyfold, according to the Oxford Dictionaries, which chose it as the “word of the year” for 2016. Since then, the term has become a commonplace in political commentary. It is not applied approvingly. To dub ours the era of post-truth is not to praise it.

The editor of the Oxford Dictionaries noted that, in this context, “post” doesn’t mean a time after a specified event, as in “postwar” or “postgame,” but rather signifies “a time in which the specified concept has become unimportant or irrelevant.”

Truth as unimportant or irrelevant? How are we to understand such a claim? It can’t mean that truth is simply passe, since that claim, like a snake swallowing its own tail, would subvert itself. If it’s true that we no longer regard anything as true, then we won’t regard that very claim as true—making it a self-defeating conclusion.

But that isn’t what people intend when they use the term post-truth to characterize our present moment. What they mean is not that our entire relationship with the truth has changed, but rather that there is something radically screwy going on in one specific domain, namely politics. It’s in our public life that truth is taking hard knocks, with our warring political tribes determining their own facts or (to quote the Trump adviser Kellyanne Conway) their own “alternative facts.”

The election of President Trump is certainly a special case in this regard, but is our current moment really so distinctive? Caught up in it as we are, it’s perhaps natural to exaggerate its uniqueness. Political tribalism, however, has been around for as long as there has been politics—which is to say, going all the way back to the ancient Greeks. And it has always shaped the way that people see and report the facts.

The political life of ancient Athens was ceaselessly roiled by strife between the democrats, committed to the principle of government by the people, and the oligarchs, holding out for government by the few. The language of the oligarchs reflected their partisanship: For them, democracy was “mob rule,” and the celebrated democratic orators, including Pericles, were “rabble rousers.” At the same time, they attributed all the truth-abusing rhetoric to the other side.

In one of his dialogues, Plato (who was no admirer of Athenian democracy) has his character Socrates sardonically describe how the oratory of men like Pericles transforms the facts, right down to Socrates’ own self-image: “Each time, as I listen and fall under their spell I become a different man—I’m convinced that I have become taller and nobler and better looking all of a sudden.... The speaker’s words and the sound of his voice sink into my ears with so much resonance that it is only with difficulty that on the third or fourth day I recover myself and realize where I am.”

Demosthenes, one of the city-state’s greatest democratic orators, denounced the political dishonesty he saw as a form of treason. In the two-tier system of Athenian democracy, a small council of citizens framed the proposals that would then be debated and voted upon by the full citizen body. Demosthenes charged that the proposals emanating from the council were founded on deliberate falsehoods: “In a political system based on speeches, how can it be safely administered if the speeches are not true?”

Demosthenes said, ‘In a political system based on speeches, how can it be safely administered if the speeches are not true?’

His accusation occurred in the course of an attack against a rival orator whom Demosthenes accused of being in the paid employ of a foreign tyrant, Philip of Macedon. It was Philip, he charged, who was manipulating Athenian democracy from afar, determining which proposals the council sent for the consideration of the people at large. The only thing missing in this affair—a secret dossier by an ancient counterpart to Christopher Steele.

Almost all of the familiar ingredients of political intrigue were present in ancient Athens: conspiracies and coverups, lies and misinformation—not to mention powerful oratory that, by appealing to irrational emotions, transformed the very sense of the facts.

Has our own tense historical moment contributed anything new to the ways in which politics warps the truth? I think it has. It’s a phenomenon both linguistically interesting and politically distressing, and it has erupted across the ideological spectrum. It’s what I’d call pseudo-asserting: It has the appearance of an assertion of truth, but it’s a different form of utterance altogether.

Genuine assertions have the concept of truth baked into them. No one has to say, “The statement that the Eagles won the Super Bowl is true,” or “The statement that the statement that the Eagles won the Super Bowl is true is true,” ad infinitum. They just say, “The Eagles won the Super Bowl.” Of course they are asserting it’s true; that’s what it means to assert anything about anything.

It’s also why we give a hearing to what people assert: because we have something to gain from learning the truth and know that others might know what we don’t. It is among the reasons that we evolved the capacity for language in the first place.

Even though asserting may be the most basic act that we perform with language, there are many other things that we do with words—other “language games” we play, as the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein put it. We use words to emote, to command, to make promises. We even get ourselves hitched by uttering “I do” under the appropriate circumstances.

One of the things that we sometimes do with words is to pledge our allegiance—which has everything to do with the phenomena of post-truth. In today’s political discourse, we have taken to repurposing certain propositions so that pronouncing them is not so much an assertion of truth as a pledge of allegiance to our political tribe. In these acts of pseudo-assertion, the information being conveyed isn’t about the topic of the proposition at all; it’s about the political loyalties of the speaker.

Consider two different propositions, from opposite ends of American politics: (1) “The only way to stop violent crime is to allow citizens to arm themselves,” and (2) “For a person of privilege to make creative use of the culture of the underprivileged is an act of aggression and abuse.” The information that we can glean from these statements isn’t about the putative topics—gun control or cultural “appropriation,” respectively. It’s about the political identity of the speaker. Such assertions are tribal banners, and offering counter-evidence isn’t likely to get you very far.

Indeed, a pledge of political allegiance achieves greater authenticity if it flies in the face of counter-evidence, especially if that evidence comes from “so-called experts.” My insistence that “Human actions have no impact on global warming” gains immeasurably, as a pledge, from the fact that 97% of climate scientists disagree with me; it highlights the depth of my commitment to the cause. Similarly, to show my solidarity with others who wish to ban “Frankenstein” foods, I can insist that “Genetically engineered crops are unsafe for humans and animals,” even as I’m presented with an exhaustive study by the National Academies of Science concluding that there is no such evidence.

These pseudo-assertions aren’t just tribal markers, of course. They also purport to say what is and isn’t true. And that’s where we get into trouble—in the very fact that their persuasive potency, as pledges, is often a function of how far they depart from the best available evidence.

Democratic debate is never a strict weighing of evidence; emotional appeals to party, cause and country are always part of the mix. But our readiness today to proudly defy evidence is very troubling. It undermines our commitment to the truth—and our capacity to reach any sort of middle ground or consensus.

The repurposing of truth-valued propositions for political ends isn’t exactly new under the sun, but its prevalence today does seem like a genuinely new phenomenon. How did this happen? How have propositions easily tested by evidence become retooled as oaths of tribal loyalty, not only impervious to counter-evidence but positively reveling in it?

Some might blame the truth-disparaging theories that have long been incubating in certain corners of the academy, which go by the names of relativism and postmodernism. Relativists deny that there is any truth that holds objectively for all. “Truth,” on this view, is just a matter of perspectives, whether of individuals or cultures; it can make no universal claim.

Plato (above) described how the oratory of men like Pericles transforms the facts.

Postmodernists take this relativism to its logical conclusion, asserting that the discourse of “truth” is a subterfuge concealing the structures of power. After all, once we cease with all the bother about objective truth, what is left but a zero-sum contest among rival interests? For postmodernists, the relations of dominance and subordination constitute all that is human—not only our social and political milieus but also our various “discourses,” including that of science. As they see it, the use by scientists of terms such as “evidence” and “scientific method” are mere bids for power.

Though postmodernism would seem to be a challenge to every sort of truth claim, postmodernists are, in practice, almost invariably on the political left. They don’t just describe the structures of power they have supposedly discovered—they defiantly oppose them. How this normative imperative arises out of the theory isn’t clear, but it may be that leftist politics comes first for postmodernists and their theory dutifully follows after.

As a political matter, the difficulty with the postmodernist vision—of truth supplanted by power struggles—is that it can just as easily fit with any right-wing view. If truth has no deeper basis than power, who’s to say that the assertions of Trump supporters are wrong? They won, after all, and isn’t that what truth, ultimately, is about?

I’m no fan of postmodernism, but I somehow doubt that this obscure academic ideology is responsible in any meaningful way for our post-truth woes. For one thing, the writings of postmodernists are so opaque and filled with jargon that I’ve often wondered whether the authors themselves have any idea what they’re trying to say. It’s hard to see how they could exert much influence outside of their own small coterie.

I would say instead that the downgrading of truth, both within the academy and without, shares a common cause—namely, the promotion of political ends above all else. We have lost the capacity to limit the reach of our ideologies and the identities that go with them. Perhaps modern life has so unsettled traditional identities that many of us have nothing better to fall back upon than the crude claims of politics. And it is certainly the case that new media bear some of the blame, with their unprecedented capacity to distort and heighten every point of ideological disagreement and to disseminate it far and wide.

But having such differences, as all societies do, does not demand that we give up on the truth as a thing apart, as a possible common ground on which to meet. We simply have to check our tribal reflexes as best as we can and confront each other as citizens—each of us with some part to play, some evidence to contribute, in the good-faith effort to govern ourselves.

In Plato’s most famous dialogue, the Republic, Socrates falls into conversation with the bold and intimidating Thrasymachus, who is a sophist—that is, one who offers instructions on how to argue a case, no matter its merit. Sophistry was a respected profession in Plato’s Athens. It is partly due to Plato’s writings that the term eventually took on its pejorative meaning.

Like many sophists, Thrasymachus is dismissive of the whole idea of objective truth, most especially when it comes to questions of right and wrong—that is, justice. Like some ancient postmodernist, Thrasymachus believes that truth is just a cover for pursuing one’s own interests, but as a privileged son of power, he’s perfectly content with this arrangement. As he insists to Socrates, “Justice is nothing other than what is advantageous for the stronger”—in his mind, a good thing.

In the famously long and winding conversation that follows, Socrates guides Thrasymachus and his other interlocutors through many difficult philosophical questions. His answer to the challenge of Thrasymachus ultimately consists of this: That none can maintain the justice of their commitments, whether in philosophy or politics, without also committing firmly to the pursuit of truth.

Giving up on the truth, then as now, means that we’re left with nothing but sophistry.

 By Rebecca Newberger Goldstein | Truth Isn’t the Problem—We Are | The Wall Street Journal  The most recent of Dr. Goldstein’s many books is “Plato at the Googleplex: Why Philosophy Won’t Go Away.”

[briangroth27]

Blade Runner 2049 Review

Blade Runner 2049 definitely feels like a cerebral extension of the 1982 original. However, I don't think it successfully melds its characters with the overall narrative, leaving it feeling less than the sum of its parts. On a routine mission to "retire" rogue Replicant Sapper Morton (Dave Bautista), Blade Runner K (Ryan Gosling) uncovers a mystery involving a breakthrough in Replicant biology that threatens to destroy the "wall" preserving humanity as the unquestioned master of the planet and Replicants as their inhuman slaves. At the same time, this discovery will allow corporate titan Niander Wallace (Jared Leto) to exponentially expand his Replicant production, fulfilling his dream of expanding that slave race to the point where it can finally achieve man's "destiny" of stretching throughout space.

The cinematography is beautiful and the world feels very well-constructed, but ultimately empty. Most of the settings (and sets) are barren wastelands; it feels like you could count the number of scenes showing the general population on one hand. It made me wonder who the Blade Runners are protecting anymore. I've noticed similar shifts from 80s movie grime to post-90s sheen as movies get decades-later sequels or reboots even in grim locations like Gotham City, but this looked especially uninhabited and sterile; a stark contrast to the teeming, overcrowded masses in the original. That said, the locations and sets are distinct, certainly born of the Blade Runner world, and very cool. Even if this desolation is supposed to represent characters questioning their identity—perhaps the empty world is a canvas that allows them to project their chosen meanings and definitions onto the events of their lives��I would've liked to see the world itself and the people who inhabit it, not just the main characters acting on empty sets, protecting and imperiling people we never see. Perhaps the blackout of 2022 and other tragedies of the intervening 30 years are to blame for the underpopulation, but if so, the lack of millions of Replicant slave laborers is lamented more onscreen than the loss of human life. No one voices a concern that there are so few humans left that extinction could be around any corner. It's also curious where the multi-ethnic civilization from the original went; as I've heard commented elsewhere, this future LA is exceptionally white.

The movie's pacing was very slow, making this nearly three hour movie feel even longer. Slow, long pans over settings are in line with the original movie, but I didn't like them there either: they slowed down the story too much and that film was 50 minutes shorter as it is. Here, they exaggerated the length even more without adding anything. I wouldn’t say I was bored, but I did feel like the movie could get on with things at several points. For instance, K's journey of discovery about his identity felt very slow and seemed like it could've been edited down to get to his answers (and Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford)) faster. As it is, the pacing made me leave the theater with a "that's it?" sense that not much happened. The score's sound mix was far too loud; so loud the volume was uncomfortable and the chairs in my standard showing were shaking. That said, I liked the return to the distorted electronic score of the original film. It felt very much of the world, except one chase scene where the music was far faster than anything before or after, making it feel out of place.

As empty as the world was, the special effects were fantastic! While flying cars were impressive in the original and seamless here, the true standout effect was K's holographic girlfriend, Joi (Ana de Armas). They found a perfect balance between giving her enough solidity to believe she was really interacting with her surroundings and showing us the imperfections in the holographic projection to remind us that she's not. One of the film's rare moments of humor was a perfectly executed joke where, just after a clever and touching moment of Joi feeling rain—holographic, to match the real rain—on her "skin," a romantic embrace with K was interrupted by her data stream pausing as he got an incoming call. The standout moment for the CGI surrounding Joi was a moment where she synced her movements with Mariette (Mackenzie Davis)--a physical woman--to give herself a solid presence. The filmmakers created an outstanding—and slightly unnerving; given how well they were visually mixed—blend of the two women. The CGI in that scene was seamless (except where intentional, when the sync didn't hold) and absolutely deserves an Oscar nomination.

Ultimately I think the original film has a better, more succinct story with enough discussion on the subject of what constitutes humanity—and the tragedy of the brevity of life—to be satisfying. There's also more action in the original if that's what you're looking for. However, 2049 has a much more conflicted main character (though young Deckard was far more emotive and Ford gave a livelier performance than Gosling does) and a stronger central relationship/love story than we saw between Deckard and Rachael (Sean Young). That's partially because we join 2049's lovers after they've been together for a while, but also because there's no scene between them as uncomfortable as the night Deckard and Rachael first sleep together (which absolutely seems like he rapes her). The original's villains (if they are the villains) are also much better-crafted: the struggle to live a normal lifespan is far more engaging and relatable than Niander's explicit plans to breed a slave race, even though the latter is more socially relevant. The oppression theme is far timelier, but Niander is so one-dimensional in his villainy that he isn’t engaging as an enemy; he just serves to speak for society. I also think there's a problem with the vast majority of Replicant slaves being white people, which sort of seems like saying the only way to get white people to empathize with the oppressed's strife is by making the oppressed white people rather than people of color (the actual oppressed in our society).

 Full Spoilers...

Gosling—whose K is almost immediately revealed as a Replicant—was very good at crafting a robotic manner enhanced with enough emotion to convey his feelings and sentience (though whether those emotions are programmed to give him the impression of personality may be up for debate, at least initially). This gave his robotic demeanor the gravity of someone who doesn't like their role in society or the mistreatment they receive every day because of who they are. He had a solid arc beginning as a Replicant used to hunt his own and I liked that he saw himself differently from the Replicants who ran: he was programmed to obey, after all. That was a clever parallel to "model" minorities whose good behavior is used to “prove” there’s no need for the system to change how it deals with various minority groups because some of them are doing well socioeconomically or are “behaving,” and those who aren’t are “bringing it on themselves” (and there’s no question he was constantly on thin ice as well). I also liked K's distaste for hunting down his own; there's a definite feeling that even if he tells himself he's different from the runners, he knows there's not really a difference between them and him. That emotion is the first indication he thinks for himself, because there's no reason to program it into a Replicant designed to hunt and kill other Replicants. I liked seeing his daily routine before his world spirals out of control; that was a good way to bring us into his life, show how the world works, and get a glimpse of the mistreatment and scrutiny he experiences from his neighbors and even his colleagues in the police department. The reconditioning he goes through each day was the perfect demonstration of how humans keep Replicants under control and how tenuous even well-behaved Replicant freedom is. 

I loved that K turned out not to be the Replicant miracle baby. I totally fell for the expectation that yet another white guy would be the Chosen One, so to reveal it was actually Dr. Stelline (Carla Juri) was a great twist I didn't see coming, but made total sense in hindsight. It's also cool that K faced not being special, not belonging in the traditional sense, possibly not knowing real love, losing the individual name Joi gave him, and not having the soul he believed came with natural birth, but chose to do the right thing and make a difference anyway. If we're to look at the Replicant revolutionaries as a religious order, then their call to murder Deckard to protect the miracle baby makes the argument that K is purer morally than they are without the benefit of religion. Everything he believed in is stripped away, yet he's still a hero: he purposefully walks into the nothingness Roy Batty raged against to save the day. Batty believed what he'd seen made him special and made his death a tragedy; K loses all that traditionally makes a movie hero special and does the right thing anyway, even willingly sacrificing himself. Then again, protecting people and retiring rogue Replicants—Luv (Sylvia Hoeks) in this case—is what he's been programmed to do all along, so how much of this is his choice to begin with? I don’t think that’s a narrative rabbit hole that needs to be explored; it’s a stronger story if he made the choice rather than blundered into stopping Niander because he was programmed too well.

Joi was my favorite character in the movie and I'm glad she got the exploration she did. Ironically, she felt the most human out of everyone, despite being the least "evolved" form of intelligence in the film. Her excited reaction to being able to leave the apartment (with a portable holographic projector) was a nice nod to the fact that Replicants aren't the "lowest" form of life anymore; if K were less humane, she might be used just as he is rather than given relative freedom. Another character says there "isn't much" to Joi's mind, giving the impression that Replicants have at least learned an air of superiority from their human creators if not inherited a full-on racist viewpoint. You could argue that’s a hint Joi’s humanity is all a program, but I believe the Replicants were just as wrong about her as humans were about Replicants. She seemed concerned she could die and knowledge of her existence indicates to me that she’s sentient. At one point she "pounds" on K's car and yells to wake him up as danger approaches; why would she mimic emotions that he's not conscious to experience? I believed Joi when she said she loved K, despite whatever programming may've been installed in her (after all, he’s programmed too and we’re supposed to take his emotions at face value). Just like he does, I bought into their relationship completely and really enjoyed it. I was surprised how invested I was and I liked how believable their chemistry was. Whether or not their love was just a program didn't matter to me: if a computer can perfectly emulate both humanity and love, who's to say that "emotion" isn't real? On the other hand, like K, perhaps I just don't want to believe their love was a lie.

It's interesting we didn't see Joi sexualized or exploited as K's holographic girlfriend (even during a sex scene), but the fully naked billboard version at the end absolutely was. The Joi K loves has agency, but the billboard is for sale. This may've been a play on virgin/whore classifications placed on women: the loving, humanized Joi is an idealized, loyal, movie-friendly picture of a wife, while the billboard version is the exact opposite. Though the movie wants us to believe her love was fake by repurposing her lines and the name she gives K, I don't believe it. Or don't want to. I can see the argument that she was never real: shouting to wake K up could be a safety feature or something akin to an alarm clock, which also activates whether you’re awake or not. Willing to have herself taken off the home network and put in danger could be a step to "prove" how much she loves him. Hiring a prostitute to act as her physical proxy could be part of her programming rather than a choice…but if so, why was she so possessive and curt about kicking Mariette out of the apartment instead of acting like it was a normal function? There was emotion behind her dismissal of Mariette after “they’d” slept with K and in her reaction to Mariette saying there wasn’t much in her head. If she's not real, it's a subversion of both the expectation that the hero should get the girl and the trope of a hero avenging a dead lover. On the other hand, I wonder if saying Joi isn’t who K thought she was is not only a way to subvert multiple cinematic tropes at once, but a way of saying she’s more complex than anyone thought. Why should she choose between solely being the loyal housewife or the “whore?” Who’s to say her love—even if programmed—for K/Joe isn’t every bit as genuine as the love she has for anyone else who uses her program? Perhaps the real-life parallel is not that Joi dies only for K to find out she wasn’t who he thought she was afterward, but that she breaks up with him and moves on, which would recast his reaction to the billboard as a selfish ex calling his former partner a whore for dating someone else. Are we sure no data from his household computer was sent back to the central network through the antenna he breaks, so any Joi could recognize him (perhaps something like a backup feature in the event of damage to the household mainframe)? If not—and if we’re to read the scene as though nothing his version said mattered—her depiction (and borderline vilification) as a giant naked advertisement for companionship to anyone and everyone is fairly sexist. Her love isn’t real if he’s not special? She isn’t a real person if she’s not for him alone? 

While it ultimately doesn't matter if Deckard is a Replicant or not, I absolutely would've liked to see more of Harrison Ford in the film. It takes a long time to get to Deckard and while he does get several strong moments—including a very touching moment that’s perhaps the only time I've seen Ford cry onscreen—I wanted more. At the very least, Deckard should've had a discussion with K about the legitimacy of seeing Replicants as equal to humans. No one is in a better position to answer that question than a man who either believed he was human and found out he wasn’t or who was a human and fell in love with an artificial intelligence. Couldn't they bond over their love for an "artificial" woman? Leaving their conversation at "strangers is best sometimes" felt like a massive missed opportunity. Deckard is also the best link to the way things used to be the film offers; he has nothing to say about the new state of society? About Replicants, even though he fell in love with one after killing their kind, was saved by a supposedly evil one, and he's been on the run/in hiding as one (or for abetting a runner) for 30 years?  About Replicants doing the job he used to (which could make him a foil for Gaff (Edward James Olmos))? About the similarities between Tyrell and Niander, and Niander's much more blatant slave race plan?

I think there are enough hints to say that not only is Deckard a Replicant, but that this theory is correct and he's designed with Gaff's memories. Not only do the very significant animal sculptures reference Gaff's origami, but Gaff commenting "I wanted to be alone, Deckard wanted to be alone; so we were partners and we were [alone]" strongly implies they were alone together because they're the same person. The horse sculpture Deckard carved that connects to K’s implanted memory and triggers his rebellion is similar to Deckard's unicorn dream, which proves he's a Replicant because there’s no way for Gaff to know about it unless it was implanted from either a devised memory or Gaff’s own recurring dream. When he finds the origami unicorn, Deckard realizes what he is…so he goes rogue with Rachael, just like K does when he realizes the significance of the horse. Sure, Deckard doesn’t burst through walls and couldn't break the handcuffs K easily does, but Deckard was never shown to be super-strong in the original movie (and he does punch K several times without being hurt himself). If Tyrell really did engineer Deckard and Rachael to produce a child as Niander teases, that makes their rapid love story in the original film more than a movie trope: their attraction is predetermined and planned. Perhaps their rapey love scene was programming activating within both of them instead of a moment where Deckard chooses to force Rachael to stay with him; maybe Rachael was able to fight her programming due to her existential crisis (having just learned she was a Replicant), so she didn’t know what was her thought/desire and what wasn’t, while Deckard didn’t realize what he was, so he didn’t know to fight. That’s not a happier reading of that scene, though, as she’s still forced to sleep with him against her will and he’s also forced to do what he does. Additionally, while a human/Replicant hybrid would break down the wall between the two species, a fully Replicant child would obliterate it. The ability to produce a child without any human intervention would make them a species unto themselves. I think that's the greater breakthrough, as well as a reason making Deckard a Replicant makes more sense and matters more to the “what is humanity?” question than if he's just a human.

I liked that they took the "some Replicants have open-ended lifespans" idea from the theatrical version and kept the ambiguity of whether or not Deckard is a Replicant from the Final Cut. That was a smart way to honor what most audiences have seen while continuing on from the "true" vision of the movie. That said, I really would've liked a solid answer one way or another on whether Deckard is human or not. A major theme is "is there really a difference between humans and Replicants (and holograms)?" so it doesn’t really matter, but I think they should’ve pulled the trigger on that answer. Why keep stringing us along? Why would Niander introduce that ambiguity to Deckard when interrogating him; wouldn’t that confuse the situation for Deckard instead of helping Niander get the answers he wants? The “what is humanity?” question would be much stronger given a human-seeming hero like Deckard who isn’t human. Furthermore, while the "what makes reality/humanity real" theme is interesting upon reflection, I think there's a line where ambiguity stops being clever and conversation-provoking. Instead, it becomes a tedious exercise in contorting yourself to avoid making choices. If everything is ambiguous and nothing is certain, at some point why should we care about any of it? Why tell a story that has no answers, and therefore makes no statement? How do you leave the audience with any message if you have to rely on everyone to come to the same conclusion (a near impossibility)? I want to know what the filmmakers are saying, not question whether I’m guessing their intentions correctly or not.

Jared Leto's Niander certainly had a memorable, distinct presence, but he was too obviously evil and one-dimensional. At least Tyrell, as self-important and manipulative as he was, seemed to genuinely be sorry he couldn't help Roy Batty (even if he were equally sorry that meant he wasn't God and couldn't save himself). With Niander, my first and only impression was that he was evil and needed to be stopped; with so much ambiguity in this film and world, it's odd they didn't try to make him more complex (though if you’re going to make just one thing unquestionable, it absolutely should be that slavery and oppression are evil). I would’ve liked to know why he thinks humans shouldn’t rise to the occasion and do the hard work he expects his slaves to. Just saying “all civilization is built on slavery” wasn’t enough of a reason for me. I don't think the film even needed a personification of evil; their society's disdain and lack of concern about how they use Replicants would've been enough to form an enemy bigger than anyone could fight on their own (not to mention a better representation of our real-life systemic problems). I think it would've been stronger to remove Niander, leaving K a slave to the faceless government and its systemic hatred of Replicants while simultaneously exploiting him to further their goals. That way, even well-meaning and friendly officials are implicated to a greater degree. I don't think the story needed to give evil a face which will, I assume, be ultimately and probably relatively easily overthrown in a potential sequel. As memorable as it was, at first I couldn't tell if Niander's cadence was due to him being a Replicant himself, which raised a confusing question that didn't need to happen. I did like his floating devices that acted as his eyes to counteract his blindness, though; they were cool touches of futuristic technology. 

Robin Wright was solid as K's trusting police Lieutenant Joshi. She walked the line between wanting to believe K—and maybe even liking him—and having next to no qualms about having him retired if he went too far off his baseline. She does give him two days' head start when it's apparent he'll be retired, but that's at least partially because she believes he's maintained the "wall" between humans and Replicants' social standing and feels indebted to him. That this wall is meant to keep Replicants in their place, coupled with the not at all veiled threat of a slaughter (of the Replicants, no doubt) if the wall falls, reinforces her position as an agent of the systemic oppression the Replicants find themselves manufactured into. She also continues tracking his location, so I’m not sure how long her courtesy head start would’ve extended. Even if I misread her and she is fully on his side, it’s likely the government would eventually force her into choosing to side with him or them, and I have no doubt she’d choose to maintain the order she’s so dedicated to by turning on K. Her wall would crumble if a Replicant who needed to be retired was proven innocent too, I’d imagine. I would've loved to see the complexity of their relationship—and her position as an agent of society—explored further.

Niander's right-hand-Replicant Luv was an effectively cold, intimidating enforcer.  However, she didn't get a chance to show many sides of her character and I felt there was a lot more to explore with her. Did she work for a slaver for preferential treatment or just because she was programmed to obey? It’s likely the latter, but was there a moment when she chose to continue working for him? Did she see other Replicants as lower than her or different in some way, like K did? Did she hope Niander would be successful at creating natural Replicant birth so she could play a role in leading the Replicants out of servitude? Was she shamed by her inability to give birth (a suggestion I’ve seen elsewhere interpreted Niander’s murder of a newly “born” Replicant in front of her as a shaming tactic)? I would've liked to see what her goals were—if any—beyond carrying out his interests. She certainly had an air of superiority, both making a point to tell K that she’s “the best” and boasting that she’ll lie to Niander about her reason for killing Joshi and he’ll believe her, which could’ve been capitalized on more. How long has she been lying to him, and has it just been to further his plans no matter what it takes or is it because she wants to go beyond his parameters to accomplish her own ends?

Doctor Ana Stelline, a memory maker for the Replicants, brought a warm human touch to the rest of the world. I loved that she had such an almost whimsical outlook on life, contrasting sharply with the bleakness in the rest of the world. For all the films' monolithic structures and vast open spaces, it's a woman in a glass box that cares to consider the little, personal things to perfectly craft life-defining (and altering) memories. It's fitting she had such warmth, given she created it for the Replicants. Her immune deficiency was a smart reference back to the world of the original, where humanity has not eradicated disease despite other accomplishments. Her illness also felt like a callback to JF Sebastian, one of the original film's Replicant designers who suffered from “Methuselah Syndrome,” causing him to age more rapidly than normal. It's interesting that the ill are used to create slaves with physically perfect bodies in this world. I would’ve liked to know more about what she thought of the world and Replicants’ place in it. My friend wondered if Doctor Stelline is even sick; it's plausible her records were faked and no one knows for sure. I wondered if she's building her own rebel army by seeding the horse memory into every rebellious Replicant's mind (their leader Freysa (Hiam Abbass) tells K they all wanted to be the savior). That could be a cool way of starting a rebellion, though we see next to nothing of Ana’s views of the outside world so who knows what she thinks (I would guess she’s sympathetic to Replicants since they’ve been protecting her).

Dave Bautista was great in a serene, reserved role as Sapper. This was a nice departure for him and it's good to see him flex his acting muscles in such a growing variety of roles. It would've been interesting to watch K viewing a file on Morton to let us know who he was before he witnessed a miracle. I wanted to see the impact of a miracle on someone who didn't feel personally connected to it; was Sapper a different man before he knew the greatest Replicant secret of all time? Edward James Olmos was also good in his brief cameo. Bringing Gaff back was a smart, logical nod to the original and I liked the hint he gave to whether or not Deckard is a Replicant. Likewise, Sean Young's cameo—both in clips of the original film and with a new Replicant copy (provided by CGI and performance double Loren Peta)—was well-used! It was great to see they didn't decide to only bring Harrison Ford back from the original. I also liked how they employed scenes from the first movie to manipulate Rick (and set K's investigation off).

While most of 2049's characters raise intriguing questions (even if I wanted more from many of them), the overarching plot fell short for me. The search for a Replicant savior was mildly interesting—mostly in terms of discussing whether or not K had a purpose—but neither the revolutionaries nor Niander advanced that plot at all. The Chosen One does not add to either side’s cause and we never really learn what the rebels plan to do with Ana beyond holding her up as a symbol of their species-hood. It’s not like they can breed amongst themselves anyway—Tyrell made it clear in the original that once the Replicant DNA is developed and grown, it can’t be changed—and we’re given no indication that they have access to the technology to make fertile Replicants even if they could figure out what was special about Ana, Rachael, and potentially Deckard (though they’re more than willing to sacrifice him, which I would say is the one strong hint that he’s human). It felt like that plot was a stalemate (if that, considering the two sides don't really come into conflict except through K) left hanging in hopes for a sequel. I would've preferred the Replicant rebels begin their uprising in this movie rather than remaining in a holding pattern. Either way, I didn't leave the movie stoked for a rebellion or with the feeling one was even necessarily coming (since Niander can’t create his slave race and even Deckard was no help, the rebels could conceivably just let Ana stay hidden forever). If Ana gets more to do and Deckard plays a major role I might be interested, but this movie didn't hype me up for a sequel. Perhaps it's because the rebellion felt so extraneous to any of the main characters' stories, their much more interesting personal questions, and even to finding the miracle baby that I'm not invested. I feel like HBO’s Westworld did a better job of covering an artificial intelligence’s burgeoning rebellion if not the dawn of consciousness as well. Perhaps like the memories Ana creates, the point of the movie was not to spark a full-on rebellion, but to rebel against an oppressive society by preserving the little moments; to give meaning to small connections (such as between a parent and child or a pair of lovers) that help preserve (or create) humanity in desolate loneliness.