iiiiiiitttt'ss a bit of a self-care week for me, so I guess that means I'm here blogging more often than usual.

I gave up on "round 1" of sleep, hopefully round 2 can go a bit better.

Life =almost= decided that it would be slamming the brakes on me for a bit, but it looks like maybe that won't end up being the case after all.

You know when your mind makes up terrible scenarios or interactions for you?  The kind where your friends get into a huge argument with you, or your parents say something ridiculous that makes you really pissed off.  It's not necessarily something that you think will happen, nor is it even something that you're afraid of per se, but of course it's not random at all.  I think it still gives us insight into the emotions that we're feeling, whether it be frustration, guilt, or any other number of things.  When we are feeling like we're being taken advantage of, perhaps we might imagine someone taking that to the extreme.  Or it might go the other way, too -- when we are feeling like we are being taken for granted, maybe we might imagine someone finally noticing us.

This time the "villain" in my scenario was not whom it seemed at first, but really, rather, life itself.  Of course, there was an inciting action, but the overall story that my mind came up with was one where I gave up on hope.  What would it mean, to be shown the raw futility of life, to come face to face with the fact that you have nothing, because none of us really do in the end.  Those so-called "beliefs" that you held can be taken away in an instant.  And despite that you still survived.  What, then?  Would I feel bitterness?  Sadness?  Emptiness?  What would it mean for me if life simply said "no"?

I've understood for a while now that I don't necessarily relate to a lot of Homura's character in the Madoka series.  But perhaps there is some resonance there, in the moment in which Homura realizes the futility of fighting for the dream that she holds.  That every time she tries, it really just makes things worse.  Perhaps that was life's way of telling her, "no".

In Journey, there is a scene with a similar heaviness of heart.  Of struggling so hard, across the cold snow.  And yet, no matter how hard you tried, you could not make it to where you needed to go.  You tried everything, but in the end you fell.

What do we do, after life has seemingly taken everything away from us?

In Journey, you see a vision of the ancestors, who surround and witness you.  They stand as witness to your fall.  And as you are brought back in strength, you could view it as saying one of a number of things.  Perhaps, it's simply a "spirit bomb" type deus ex machina, where they simply give you the magical energy you need.  But of course, that's a really unsatisfying interpretation of things.  The reality is that it feels more like they are paying heed to what you tried so hard to do.  And they are bringing you up in that moment of despair.  After all, it's not like the ancestors helped you in this way from the very beginning.  Yes, they told you of the path forward, but they did not simply magically give you the power to fly there.  Not until after you traveled so far, that you gave out.

(It's worth noting that in the "special bugged Journey edition" that one playtester claims to have played, the ancestors never appear at all.  After your fall, the screen simply fades to white and remains that way forever...)

In Homura's case, Madoka herself is the one who rescues her from this moment of despair.  "I believe it's because you've protected me for so long and placed so much hope on me that I'm the person I am now. [...] I promise that what you've done for me will not be in vain."  There is, again, a sort of validation of effort.  That despite everything, all of the things you did, DID matter in the end, even though you failed.

In the Animorphs series, too, there is a "fall" that takes place near the end of the series.  Curiously, here, too, there is also a god-like figure who appears.  Not to change the outcome of things, as Madoka and the ancestors did, but to mark and bear witness to the sacrifice that took place.  To say, "yes, you mattered."

If life simply said "no", to me, would I have mattered?  What would I be left with, if all the things that I knew went away?  It's hard, so hard, to believe in yourself.  Perhaps that is why people believe in God.  That there is a presence outside ourself, who =will= see what we tried to do.  And who will lay us to rest.

And if I truly did matter, then what, then?  Would that be enough?  Would I be taken to the promised land, as in Journey?  Or would I simply continue fighting, as Homura did?  Or would it simply be the end?

My imagined scenario didn't reach that point, though.  It only reached a point where I was taken home by people who loved me.  People who felt sad for me.  Perhaps, those people, are my version of the "ancestors".  But I don't believe they would magically revive me.  They would simply be with me.

And maybe -- like it once happened to me -- maybe, in the end, that would be enough.