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Akira's set in Neo-Tokyo, a city rebuilt after a massive explosion wiped out the original Tokyo. Things are falling apart with constant protests, crazy government corruption, violent biker gangs, and just general chaos everywhere. The story mainly follows two friends, Kaneda and Tetsuo, who are part of a biker gang. After a freak accident, Tetsuo ends up developing psychic powers, and everything just spirals out of control from there.

What really hit me was how the movie isn’t just about Tetsuo losing it but it’s about how power messes with people. Tetsuo starts off feeling weak and overlooked, and once he finally gets power, it completely destroys him. At the same time, the government is doing the exact same thing. They're experimenting, trying to control powers way bigger than them, and ignoring all the problems in the city until it's too late. Watching it, it honestly felt like the city was just waiting for an excuse to burn itself down.

There’s definitely a lot of Hiroshima/Nagasaki imagery too. With the giant explosions and the way people talk about destruction almost like it's inevitable. It feels like Akira is warning about what happens when you push science, power, and politics too far without thinking about the consequences.

Hetalia was a very unique watch. It sounded strange, but surprisingly, it worked. I found it kind of funny actually.

The show doesn’t follow a traditional plot. Instead, it takes historical moments, especially around WWII, and turns them into short skits with exaggerated stereotypes. Italy is goofy and pasta-obsessed, America is loud and confident, and Germany is overly serious. It’s over-the-top, but also strangely effective in showing how each country is perceived. The comedy mostly lands because it pokes fun at everyone.

I get why some people might find it uncomfortable. The show simplifies serious, painful events for laughs, and for those who’ve learned about WWII in a very somber context, it might feel a bit off at first. But I also think there’s something valuable in how Hetalia makes history feel accessible. It doesn’t replace real history, but it makes people curious to learn more.

One of the things I appreciated most was how the show unintentionally opens up bigger conversations about national identity, stereotypes, and how countries view each other. Even if the characters are just exaggerated versions of nations, they highlight how cultural misunderstandings and rivalries can sometimes be reduced to caricatures. But by laughing at these, we might also learn to see through them.

Watching Your Name for the first time was such a surprise. It was a beautiful, emotional journey about connection, memory, and fate.

The story follows two teenagers. Mitsuha, a girl from a small countryside town, and Taki, a boy from Tokyo. They mysteriously begin swapping bodies. At first, it’s really funny watching them try to live each other’s lives. You can clearly tell when the switch happens: as Taki in Mitsuha’s body is more blunt and angry, while Mitsuha in Taki’s body is gentler and more thoughtful. Seeing them try to adapt to the other's world was entertaining, but it also explored gender roles and empathy.

Then the movie takes a dramatic turn, and suddenly it’s not just distance keeping them apart but it's also time. Learning that Mitsuha’s town was destroyed by a comet three years earlier completely flipped everything I thought I knew about the story. The twist just hits you all at once, especially as Taki fights to change the past and save everyone. The twilight scene, where they finally meet face-to-face, was so powerful and heartbreaking, especially when they begin to forget each other’s names.

What really stood out to me was how the film values emotion and connection over logic. Even when Taki and Mitsuha forget each other’s names, they still feel that something important is missing. I loved the symbolism of the red string of fate, tying them together across time and space.

Watching the cutscenes from Xenoblade Chronicles 2 was really engaging and it made me really want to play the game. I don’t own a Switch, but after seeing where Pyra and Mythra came from, I understand the hype of Smash Bros. What started off as a fantasy adventure actually ended up exploring some deep theme about survival, identity, and how people treat the world around them.

One of the first things that stood out to me was the setting. Humanity in this game lives on massive Titans that float through a sea of clouds. But these Titans are dying, and with them, the land people call home is disappearing. The urgency of Rex’s quest to reach Elysium, a paradise, is rooted in the fear of environmental collapse and the desperate search for hope. He said, “Living space is running out day by day,” and it reminded me of global concerns about rising sea levels, overpopulation, and how quickly we’re using up the Earth’s resources.

The relationship between Drivers and Blades also caught my attention. Even though Blades are sentient beings, many are treated like tools. Watching characters treat Pyra and Mythra like property made me think about labor issues and how, in Japan’s strict work culture, people are valued more for what they produce than who they are. There’s something disturbing about watching someone with thoughts and feelings be discarded once they’re no longer useful, and it mirrors how societies sometimes treat people, especially in the workplace.

There’s also this strong undercurrent about the dangers of blind ambition. When Rex is betrayed after being used to access the powerful Aegis, it refelcted how global powers use smaller nations or individuals to reach their goals, only to cast them aside afterward. It shows how power structures often only care about people when they’re useful.

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind is a thoughtful reflection on how humans interact with the environment and what happens when that relationship is built on fear and misunderstanding. What stood out to me immediately was how most people in the film saw the toxic jungle as a threat to be eliminated, while Nausicaä approached it with curiosity and care.

Unlike the others, Nausicaä doesn’t react with panic or violence. She takes the time to understand the insects, the spores, and the forest itself. She reveals that the jungle isn’t killing the world but instead it’s healing it. The soil and water were poisoned by humans long ago, and the forest is slowly cleansing it. The insects, feared by almost everyone, are actually protecting the Earth’s recovery.

This message mirrors how our own world often reacts to climate issues with quick fixes or complete denial rather than listening to scientists or the planet itself. Nausicaä’s patience and respect for nature are exactly what we’re often missing in real life problems.

The film also says a lot about war and power. The return of ancient weapons, capable of massive destruction, is treated like a solution when it only create more damage. It reminded me how often violence is seen as the answer, especially by those in charge, even when peace and understanding could be a better solution.

Before this past weekend, I had never been to a anime convention of any kind. I’d heard of SwampCon before through some friends but I brushed it off last year. To be honest, I had a few stereotypes in my head and wasn’t sure if it’d be for me. Still, with this class encouraging us to attend, I figured it was time to check it out this year.

I went in with zero expectations. My only research was browsing the SwampCon website and scanning through some of the rules—like the one about maintaining hygiene and not “glomping” people. That was the first time I had ever heard the word “glomp.” Learning that it basically means a surprise tackle-hug made me even more curious about what kind of event I was getting myself into.

But as soon as I got to the Reitz, I could feel the energy shift. People were into this. I saw tons of people in cosplay. People had full-on, detailed, professional-looking costumes, and others just rocking a few accessories or themed outfits. There were furries, anime characters, video game characters and honestly it was really cool. There was something really welcoming about it all. Everyone was just very unapologetically themselves.

One of the highlights for me was the costume contest. Even though I didn’t dress up, it was super fun to see how creative and committed some people were. I ended up chatting with a few cosplayers who explained how they made their outfits from scratch. The community aspect really stood out to me. The main thing was that there wasn’t any judgment, just appreciation.

I also caught part of a drag show, which wasn’t something I expected to find at an anime and gaming convention, but it fit. SwampCon made it clear that this was a space for everyone, no matter what corner of fandom you came from.

The most surprising part was that I felt at easy. As someone who watches a lot of anime and dabbles in manga here and there, I didn’t think I’d be “nerdy enough” for this kind of event. But that wasn’t the point. SwampCon wasn’t about being the “most into” something but rather it was about sharing interests, celebrating creativity, and creating a space where people could be themselves without fear of judgment.

If you had asked me five years ago if I’d enjoy something like this, I probably would’ve said no. But here I am, thinking I’m going to go next year and maybe even cosplay. SwampCon changed how I saw fandoms and conventions in general. It broke down that inner wall of hesitation I didn’t even realize I still had.

The End of Evangelion is both brutal and beautiful. From the opening scene, where Shinji hits rock bottom, to Asuka’s incredible but tragic last stand, the film is a raw depiction of emotional collapse.

Where the original series ended in Shinji’s mind, this film brings that internal struggle to the outside world through apocalyptic imagery. Instrumentality gives Shinji the chance to erase all pain by merging with everyone. But instead, he chooses individuality. He chooses to live, even if it hurts.

As the series progresses, it shifts away from the external battles against angels and begins to focusin on the internal battles each character is fighting. And the more the story unravels, the more I realized that the enemy isn’t the enemies outside but instead it’s the doubt, the fear, and the self-loathing within.

One character that really stood out to me in this part was Asuka. She bursts onto the scene loud, confident, and determined to be the best. At first, she feels like a typical shonen protagonist. Bold, competitive, fiery. But it doesn’t take long before her confidence is revealed as a mask. Her constant need to prove herself, to dominate others, is just her way of begging for validation. And when she begins to fail, the show breaks. Watching her unravel hit hard and it reminded me of how easily performance can become survival.

Shinji, on the other hand, is spiraling deeper into his own mind. There’s a moment when he says, “Fighting is a man’s job,” and for a second I thought he had started to buy into that toxic mold of masculinity. But that illusion is shattered when he ends up helpless and terrified. And that’s what Evangelion does really well; it deconstructs these expectations. Shinji doesn’t want to fight. He wants to be seen. The first person who seems to offer him that, Kaworu, turns out to be the final angel, the emotional fallout is devastating. The scene where Shinji is forced to kill him was brutal.

By the time I reached the final episode, I wasn’t even sure what I was watching anymore. The structure of the show was a philosophical journey. There were no mechs. Just Shinji trying to understand who he is. It explored self-worth, reality, perception, and the idea that your value isn’t defined by others. That you exist simply because you do, and that’s enough.

I went into Evangelion not expecting how deep emotionally the show was. The first few episodes quickly made it clear that this wasn't just a mecha anime and that it’s a psychological exploration of trauma, isolation, and identity.

Shinji Ikari, the protagonist, is a 14-year-old boy forced to pilot a giant machine by a father who treats him more like a worker than a son. Watching Shinji hesitate, cry, and question everything felt painfully bad. He’s nis a scared kid doing something no one his age should have to do. That really resonated with me, especially the way the show reflects real-world pressure on young people to be strong, obedient, and emotionless.

Episode 4, “Hedgehog’s Dilemma,” was crazy. It explored loneliness and the fear of hurting others by getting too close. It's something I think a lot of people, including myself, have felt at some point. Rei Ayanami’s introduction added even more layers, showing what happens when someone completely suppresses their identity just to fulfill a role.

I went into Wandering Son not fully knowing it was about gender identity, but I didn’t realize just how honest and heartbreaking it would be. Watching it felt like being let in on someone’s most vulnerable moments.

The first episode opens with a twist on a familiar rhyme: “What are little girls made of?” Shuichi Nitori, the main character, answers with the usual “sugar and spice and everything nice.” But then comes the contrast: boys are made of “frogs, snails, and puppy dog tails.” That switch in perspective hit me harder than I expected. It instantly told Nitori’s conflict: they don’t want to be the boy society insists they are. They want to be allowed softness, beauty, and the freedom to just be.

I’ve never personally struggled with gender identity the way Nitori has, but watching this show stirred up something in me that I think is universal: the feeling of being boxed in by expectations you didn’t choose. Whether it’s about gender, appearance, or personality, I think everyone knows what it’s like to feel out of place in their own skin.

One of the most beautiful and painful parts of the show is how it doesn’t sensationalize the experience of being trans. Nitori's growth is slow and their friendship with Takatsuki is so genuine, but even that has tension and missteps, especially when emotions get complicated. The confession scene, the fallout with Chiba, the awkwardness, and the pain felt real.

What really stuck with me was the contrast in how Nitori and Takatsuki are treated. When Takatsuki wears the boys' uniform, she’s mostly met with curiosity or mild surprise. But when Nitori dares to show up to school in a girls’ uniform, it’s like the world turns against them. Teachers send them to the nurse's office as if their gender is a sickness. Classmates mock them and even Anna, who dated Nitori, ends things.

I think what makes this show stand out isn’t just the subject matter, but how it’s told. The art style is light and pastel and it gives the whole series a dreamlike feeling, like everything is suspended between reality and fantasy. The emotions are sharp and real. And while the pace is slow, I found myself appreciating that. It gave me time to sit with every moment.

Before watching Aggretsuko, I only vaguely knew of the show becauseof the cute red panda plastered on merch or memes online. I thought it was going to be a lighthearted, slice-of-life comedy but I was not expecting an existential corporate crisis set to death metal.

The show follows Retsuko, a 25-year-old red panda working a mind-numbing accounting job in a rigid corporate structure. She’s polite, soft-spoken, and always trying to do what’s expected of her until she slips into a karaoke booth alone and lets it all out through screaming death metal. It’s funny, relatable, and a surprisingly deep critique of gender roles and toxic work culture, especially in Japan—but also in a way that hits universally.

I didn’t think I’d connect with a cartoon panda so hard. But wow, I’ve definitely been in her shoes. That feeling of smiling on the outside while mentally screaming because someone just dumped a ridiculous task on you, or said something wildly inappropriate that you’re expected to brush off. The idea that women are supposed to be composed, agreeable, and accommodating all the time? Unfortunately, yeah. That hit close to home.

What I found really interesting is how gender in this show is expressed entirely through behavior and visual cues, which ties in with Judith Butler’s theory that gender is a performance. These are animals. There’s no biological sex to point to. The only way we know who is who is through how they “perform” their gender. Skirts, eyelashes, lipstick, body language. It makes the show’s gender commentary even sharper. Gori, for example, is a gorilla in a pink dress and heels—if she wasn’t performing femininity so overtly, we’d have no idea what gender she “is.” It’s kind of brilliant.

One moment that really stuck with me was when Washimi and Gori—two high-powered women who seem totally in control—walk past Retsuko and her coworkers. They look fierce, like nothing fazes them. But the second they’re alone, they slump against a wall and let out this exhausted sigh. It felt so honest. I’ve had days where I’ve had to put on that same performance of strength, and it’s comforting (and a little heartbreaking) to see that shown so clearly.

While Retsuko uses karaoke to scream out her frustrations, I think everyone has their version of that. For me, it’s usually a solo car ride with music turned way too loud. That need to release the pressure of always being “on”—Aggretsuko gets it. The emotional repression, the pressure to conform, the anxiety of wanting more but being too exhausted to reach for it… it’s all there, wrapped in a deceptively cute package.

As the show continues, it shifts from just workplace stress to personal struggles too. The storyline with her mom trying to set her up for marriage hit another nerve. That fear of not being “on track,” of not fulfilling the expectations set for you—it’s all part of the same weight Retsuko carries. And when she starts to realize that maybe life doesn’t have to follow that script, it made me genuinely hopeful for her. And maybe for myself, too.

Going into Sailor Moon, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. I knew it was a classic recognized the iconic outfit and transformation scenes but I’d never actually sat down to watch it. Now that I’ve seen the early episodes, I can say it’s been a mixed but meaningful experience, and it’s definitely given me more to think about than I expected.

At first glance, Sailor Moon is light, colorful, and kind of silly. Usagi is a clumsy, whiny, and overdramatic teenage girl who finds out she’s destined to fight evil. I laughed at some of her over-the-top reactions and drama, but honestly she grew on me. She's not your usual confident and bold hero. She’s emotional, insecure, and learning on the fly. It reminded me a lot of being younger and trying to pretend I had everything figured out, when in reality I was just hoping no one would notice I didn’t.

Watching Usagi discover her power through the help of Luna, a talking cat, and later teaming up with Ami Mizuno (Sailor Mercury) drove home the theme of empowerment through friendship. Ami, a shy and brilliant student, gets brainwashed at a cram school which felt like a pretty bold jab at real-life academic pressure in Japan. The fact that she joins Usagi in the fight not because she has to, but because she chooses to was really cool.

One thing that struck me was how often the villains in the series disguise themselves as helpful services. Such as the weight-loss centers, schools, jewelry stores and then exploit people's insecurities. It's subtle, but it speaks volumes about how society can prey on women’s fears and desires, especially around appearance and success. Watching this as an adult, I can now see the show’s subtle messages: the pressure to look a certain way, the danger of blindly trusting authority, and the strength it takes to push back.

Still, it’s not perfect. Some episodes seem to contradict the empowerment message by reinforcing stereotypes. Like the idea that being thin equals beauty or that a woman’s worth is tied to marriage. In one scene, a teacher cries after her skirt is flipped up and says she'll “never get married.” It was weird, and it reminded me that media, even with good intentions, can sometimes fall short.

That said, Sailor Moon remains significant. It may not fully escape the gender norms it tries to critique but the heroes are girls, the villains are often women, and even the mascot (Luna) is a girl. And what’s more, each character brings a different personality and struggle to the table. My personal favorite so far is Sailor Mars. I’m really curious to see how her story unfolds.

Genshiken continues to deepen its exploration of otaku culture, fandom, and identity. The series does a great job portraying different aspects of fan communities, including conventions, fanfiction, and the challenges of self-acceptance. The episodes introduce new characters like Ogiue Chika, who struggles with her identity as a fan, and explore how fandom allows people to express themselves in unique ways.

Genshiken is a unique anime that explores the world of otaku culture, following a college club dedicated to anime, manga, and gaming. It breaks down stereotypes about otaku while also poking fun at some of their quirks. The series offers an inside look at fandom, consumerism, and how people find identity and community through shared interests.

One major theme in Genshiken is how it provides a sense of belonging. Sasahara, one of the main characters, starts as someone unsure about embracing the otaku label due to its negative reputation. However, as he spends more time with the club, he realizes that being an otaku is just part of who he is. This reflects how many people find confidence and social connections through shared interests, whether in anime, gaming, music, or other fandoms.

A Silent Voice is a powerful film that explores bullying, guilt, and self-worth. I watched this anime a few years ago, and revisiting it reminded me of how emotional and impactful the story is. It follows Shoya Ishida, a boy who bullied Shoko Nishimiya, a deaf girl, in elementary school. After Shoko transfers schools because of the bullying, Shoya becomes the new target and is shunned by his classmates. Years later, he is filled with guilt and wants to make things right by reconnecting with Shoko. The story highlights important themes of mental health, forgiveness, and personal growth.

The film shows the lasting effects of bullying, not just on the victim but also on the bully. Shoya struggles with guilt and isolation, which reflects real mental health issues that many people experience. In Japan, where social harmony is valued, bullying can sometimes go unnoticed or ignored, much like how Shoko’s teacher did nothing to stop it. This is a problem worldwide, as many victims feel alone and without support.

The movie also focuses on discrimination against disabilities. Shoko is bullied simply because she is deaf, showing how people who are different are often excluded. Her classmates do not try to understand her struggles, which happens in real life too. Many people with disabilities experience isolation, whether from being treated differently or missing out on things others take for granted.

Since I first watched A Silent Voice years ago, I have always found its themes of regret and self-reflection relatable. Like Shoya, many people look back on past mistakes and feel guilty, struggling to move forward. Shoko’s experiences also remind me of times when I have felt left out for reasons beyond my control. The film’s message about kindness and understanding is something everyone can learn from.

Wolf Children is a touching film about love, sacrifice, and finding one’s place in the world. It follows Hana, a single mother raising her half-human, half-wolf children, Yuki and Ame. As they grow, they struggle with who they want to be. Yuki chooses to live as a human, while Ame embraces his wolf side. Their journeys reflect real struggles with identity, family, and society’s expectations.

Yuki and Ame’s struggles with their wolf and human sides are similar to the challenges faced by people balancing different identities. Many immigrants or biracial individuals feel caught between two cultures, unsure where they belong. Society often pressures people to fit in, but Wolf Children shows that choosing your own path is okay, even if it means being different.

The film also explores single parenthood. After losing her husband, Hana must raise her children alone while dealing with financial struggles and judgment from others. Many single parents face the same difficulties, often without the support they need. However, Hana’s journey also highlights the importance of resilience and finding a community that offers help.

Moving from the city to the countryside adds another challenge. At first, Hana feels isolated, but over time, she earns the trust of her neighbors. This reflects real world struggles between rural and urban life, where adjusting to a new place can be both freeing and difficult.

While I have not faced the same struggles as Hana, Yuki, or Ame, I relate to the pressure of fitting in. There have been times when I felt like I had to change parts of myself to be accepted. Wolf Children reminds me that staying true to who you are is what matters most.

Wolf Children is more than just a beautiful story. It has deep messages about identity, family, and acceptance. It teaches us that there is no single right way to live. Whether it is Yuki choosing a human life, Ame embracing his wolf nature, or Hana overcoming her struggles as a mother, the film reminds us that true happiness comes from being yourself.

Naruto is a popular anime that tells a powerful story about overcoming loneliness, finding acceptance, and breaking the cycle of hate. Naruto Uzumaki, an orphan rejected by his village, fights to prove his worth. His journey from an outcast to a hero connects to real-world issues like discrimination, war, and the need for understanding.

Naruto’s early struggles are similar to real-life social exclusion. He is judged for something he cannot control, much like people today who face discrimination because of their race, background, or beliefs. Since he does not know how else to get attention, he acts out, showing how isolation can push people to make bad choices.