#feeling wrenched apart in the depths of my soul might delete later

[jaskiercommabard]

Jaskier knows what he means to the continent. He knows what Burn Butcher Burn means.

At the end of my days when I'm through,

No word that I've written will ring quite as true as

Burn

It's not about Geralt. It's about JASKIER. It's about Jaskier knowing, in his anger and grief, that when the time comes he will say "fuck it" and fall back in step with Geralt.

It's about saying - this will always have happened, no matter how I feel later.

It's about this human man using his greatest power to say to Geralt: You, now, have done this to me, permanently. This will, permanently, mean something, just like the other White Wolf ballads did.

It's not petty. It's not about revenge. It's not even about Geralt's reputation, it's about Jaskier's legacy and what he owes himself. It's not just about singing his pain it's about honoring his pain!!

Yeah we never got to see Geralt hear BBB we never got to see them talk about it yeah yeah we didn't NEED TO it's not aBOUT HIM it's not FOR HIM it's for JASKIER from JASKIER because Jaskier is the only thing he'll have forever.

[writtenbyfai]

an analysis

seasons inch past...

and before you know it, you end up stuck in the same place, reminiscing what could have been. Or you may have picked up time’s tricks and adjusted to its pace, knowing you could not have changed anything. Or, perhaps, you have been harbouring resentment towards time because it had stolen something dear to you that it can never return, and your only chance at forgiving it is to let things go. The sand in the hourglass catches the sunlight for a moment. The leaves on the branches of trees burgeon, then yellows, cripples, and at last, they wither and fall to the ground. Always shedding. Always passing by, time, even before we realise it, we’ve already missed so much of it. There are many anime films that smote me about time’s properties. ‘The Girl who Leapt through Time’ gave one such notion that time waits for no one. This film is of a similar essence, yet where ‘The Girl who Leapt through Time’ is light-hearted despite the heavy subject of losing a friend and using time for granted, ‘5 Centimetres per Second’ sharpens into clarity the time-impeded hardships and their aches.

‘5 Centimetres per Second’  is a film that struck me through the heart. Compared to the rest of Makoto Shinkai’s works, such as ‘Your Name’, this film doesn’t try to be exciting and fun. It is a slow – and may I say, at first, tedious – drag through murky waters, exploring ugly truths and torturous period of growing up and learning to let go of something that doesn’t belong to you. It is a beautiful, heart-breaking, chest-squeezing masterpiece. This film by Makoto Shinkai, released in 2007, is about two friends – Akari and Takaki – who are driven apart by time and distance. They have to move due to their parents’ jobs. Although they never give up on contacting each other, through letters and, later, emails, time gnaws on the thread of their relationship, pushing them slowly and steadily apart.

In this essay, I will be dissecting some of the things that grabbed me from the start of this film; specifically the journeys of the protagonist, Takaki, and the two deuteragonists, Akari and Kanae. The film is segmented into three episodes, which is a lovely yet unusual way of delivering a fine story, despite it being merely an hour and three minutes long.

Disclaimer: I do not own this film or any of the gif sets. All rights and credits belong to the rightful owners.��

First, the film opens upon two close childhood friends -- Akari and Takaki -- who chose to ally, at the beginning, against bullies in their school. Their friendship begins with this small, trivial fact that Akari pulls out of the spring sky, “…they say it’s five centimetres per second. The speed of a falling cherry petal. Five centimetres per second.” Soon, they stumble into a small world of their own, and, unsurprisingly, feelings blossom. But fate has other plans for them.

Akari doesn’t go to her dream high school with Takaki, as her parents move away from her childhood town. They still keep in contact, no matter how heartbroken they are. Along the way, Takaki’s parents must also move away, but the place they are going to doesn’t close the distance rifting them. It furthers it. Before the week Takaki has to move, he decides he will travel the distance to see Akari one last time, fearing he won’t be able to, later in time. But the journey there is difficult. Frost clenches the rails. Snow arrests the landscape in a cold, merciless way. The wind buries ice into his bones. Due to the weather, the train encounters a delay. The station they pull up at seems as if it’s in the middle of nowhere. Just snow, stretching on for miles. Just the empty, black sky yawning  an unending abyss, so deep for a second you think you might fall into it and never land. Takaki purchases a drink from a vending machine, but when he gropes for coins in his trousers’ pocket, a letter shifts up, the wind picks up and snatches it away. His face crumples into helplessness, as all his emotions written on that letter flies into the winter night. Lost. And you can feel the lostness digging into your chest.

This is where I stopped watching the first time I’d played it. The film drags on upon the cold, dark atmosphere that it builds throughout this scene, accompanied by Takaki’s sorrowful monologue, as if all the weight of the world is caged in his chest. I suddenly felt frigid, like my veins were encased in ice, and the weight of depressing thoughts took hold of me. It’s beautiful, I think, to be able to capture the viewer in such heart-wrenching feelings, but at that moment, I couldn’t bear it. In ‘Your Name’ and ‘Garden of Words’, the characters had fiery, rebellious or humorous personalities; it wasn’t hard to get immersed in the films. However, in ‘5 Centimetres per Second’, neither of the protagonists nor the deuteragonists had this type of attitude; they were hard, struggling people, and their realness was all too much for me. So, I cut off there. It was a long time until my sister convinced me to watch it again, beginning with the seemingly endless train ride. The second time, I understood his feelings. I saw everything from a slightly different perspective, treating the story distantly, so that the more depressing of my emotions wouldn’t get entangled in it.

The weather is still ruthless. The train is still and silent just like the rest of the world. Blowing hot breaths on his cupped hands to keep warm, Takaki whispers in his mind, pleading Akari not to wait for him. It strangles me how much they obviously care for each other, yet the universe is so intent on setting them apart. Takaki, at last, arrives at the station where he’s supposed to meet Akari. Midnight. There, sitting on the benches of the waiting area, is Akari. They only have a few hours left before dawn. But they ignore time, for now, and talk. They eat the cooled dinner Akari had prepared for his arrival. Then, when the station’s about to close, they walk down a snowy, desolate path. Stop under a frosted cherry tree. And they kiss. They never get the chance to express their feelings.

The morning comes to separate them, and sweetly, as you’d expect, they promise to each other they’ll never forget and will always keep writing to one another. This promise carries on, despite the day after that Takaki moves to a town near the sea.

The episode closes, to start a new chapter of their lives.

Surprisingly, we do not find Akari in the second episode of the film. She is absent on the screen, except for her name that Takaki writes and thinks of. His high school life is uneventful. He makes friends easily, achieves great grades, and aspires to go to university in Tokyo, one day. But the wish, the hope, that he might see Akari again and talk to her, urges him to keep looking forward. It seems to be the only thing that makes him want to walk, and be a good person, because apart from that, he is an empty shell who is tugged and swallowed by the same tide, stuck in a motion that never seems to let him go. He is also that tide. His attachment to Akari and his inability to let her go, traps him in the same place.

Meanwhile, a girl from his class, named Kanae, harbours an inexplicable crush on him. We’re introduced to her as a girl who has a passion for surfing, yet spends the afternoon until late in the evening, just to catch Takaki about to go home on his scooter, so that they could drive home together. At first, I thought it was kind of pitiful and pathetic, her loving someone whom she doesn’t really know and who doesn't share the feelings she’s folded so neatly inside her heart.  But, thankfully, Shinkai knew not to drawl Kanae’s character out as a clingy person, ensnared in fantasies. He shows that Kanae has other interests -- has a life -- other than her obsession of Takaki. Her life is complicated, and just as you would expect a normal high school teenager. When it comes to plans for her future, she is clueless, yet doesn’t bother trying to figure it out. Leaving her paper blank, it incites a small conflict between her, her counsellor, and her older sister who’s been taking care of her for an unspecified but long time. She struggles to find who she is.

One evening, after finding that Takaki had gone home early, and she’s driving home on her scooter, she spots his parked on the side of the road, where the land slopes upwards into a grassy hill. She sees him staring hard at his phone, fingers often typing something down, but every minute or so, they also press the delete button a couple of times. The blue light overlays his face, revealing the disturbing toll his distance with Akari over time. He’s conflicted. His jaw clenches and he snaps his flip phone shut; the darkness swallows his features. The unfocused look in his eyes tells Kanae she may be interrupting in a wrong moment, however, awareness sweeps across his gaze and he shifts it towards Kanae. This brief interaction summarises their relationship; Takaki looking forward to a future that is not waiting for him, staring past Kanae, who suppresses her feelings that she knows will never be requited.

Just when a few days later, Kanae produces courage from the depths of herself and she conquers the waves which had swept her constantly, before. She worries she won’t find this thrill, this rush of bravery anymore after that day, so she decides to relieve the weight of her feelings from her chest. But seeing Takaki more distant, withdrawing deeper into a husk of who he used to be, Kanae decides against it.

For many years, it stays that way.

The most impeding mark this film makes is in the third episode, where Takaki has made it to work in a computing company as an unseen employee, but the missingness Akari has left him years ago had carved his soul out. The sceneries are browner, duller, and we see the tiny flat in which he lives in being cluttered. Messed up. And we glimpse his mentality in those flashing moments of disarray as the animated shots show cans of beer and piles of dirty dishes in the sink and discarded wrappers of junk food. It strikes me how, in the second episode, in spite of Takaki’s distractedness, he was a really decent, kind person. His bedroom, then, was tidy, bed made, and I had a feeling that perhaps such was his way of coping; repetitive cleaning, busying oneself with any distractions that kept him from reaching for his phone. But in this third episode, he is exactly the opposite. We are shown how ruined he is inside-out. After all this time, it passing, he has not moved on one single step forward alongside time. He is still trapped in the pain of his attachment to Akari. His narrative constantly laments over the missing piece in his life, a cavern threatening to swallow him in the dark, and sometimes associates that interstice with Akari’s absence and their unsaid feelings for each other.

One morning, Kanae leaves a voice message. They haven’t seen each other since Takaki left for university in Tokyo, according to her narrative. She says she would like to meet him again someday to get some things off her chest. Takaki kills the message, and then the scene switches to Kanae’s life. Although she is an ordinary office worker behind a cubicle desk, she appears to be pleased with how far she’s come from not knowing what she wanted for her future to being there, living her future. Even as she said in the voice message that she wanted to confess her affections for Takaki, it doesn’t seem as if she still possesses the same feelings at the present. She’s moved on, because she has learnt not to dwell on emotions unreturned or it may poison you as you squander it inside. Her simple happiness and Takaki’s gnawing depression underline the change of these two characters in the course of the last few years of their lives; Kanae used to be uncertain about her life, timid and groping blindly in the dark, most of all unable to move on from her unrequited affections for Takaki, but when we look at her state in the last episode of the film, she has become this fiercely-determined, neat person, content with her life despite all hardships – the complete opposite of Takaki, who in his teenage stage of life had worked hard to succeed and be able to enrol at the university closest to Akari’s whereabouts, now is a walking ghost, void of any spark of will, and he drowns his daily sorrows in alcohol.

The scene shifts, then, to Akari. Even though we haven’t seen her in the majority of the film, she is a crucial character to the movement of the plot and the development of the protagonist. She’s all grown-up, now, just like the others, and we find the glint of an engagement ring on her finger as she bids her parents farewell at the station, about to depart for Tokyo to meet her fiancé and plan the wedding there. The camera pans briefly to a young woman and man embracing each other under the sunlight, in the middle of a bustling station. Fleetingly, we know she is also happy and has moved on.

The several minutes following that, seasons shed their previous skins to start anew. We stop at spring the next year, a sort of reminiscent flashback of little Akari and Takaki chasing each other down a quiet street on their way to school, and that innocuous fact about cherry blossom petals falling as fast as five centimetres per second. The camera keeps switching back and forth between the three lives of the characters, catching glimpses of their daily lives. In a quieter part of the city, where train tracks crisscross and the light spring sun sprays every surface of leaf, petal and gravel, a woman and a man walk across the tracks, going in opposite directions. The woman hesitates upon passing the man, yet she doesn’t stop, her bright umbrella twirling over her dark head. But the man – he jerks for a second. The bells ring, warning pedestrian of the train that is about to pass. Uncertainty grips his arms and feet and head in place, and by the time it doesn’t, he’s brave enough to look back – by the time the woman halts in her step to glance over her shoulder – the train whizzes by.

What is mesmerizing about this last moment before the screen goes black is the beautiful animation. Words are not said – and have hardly been uttered throughout the duration of the film – in this specific scene, but the body language, the expressions depicted on these characters and the figurative image of a train cutting the paths of people who’d once crossed and couldn’t untangle from one another, speak with more depth than any words can. The man’s shoulders relax. He smiles. He doesn’t wait for the train to fade from his sight, so that he could see the woman he has been in love with for the majority of his life. He turns around and walks away; that simple movement signifies he is letting go, moving on, at last.

Furthermore, this beautifully-executed film is a reminder that there are many things in life that will slip through your fingers, no matter how hard you try to clench it within your grasp. It tells a realistic story about letting go and learning to walk in time again, not against time.