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Blog Post — Your Name / Hetalia: Axis Powers / Sensōron

Some scenes stick with you because they blend the personal with something much larger. In Your Name, the way Mitsuha’s small-town routines suddenly connect to a much bigger crisis made me think about how quickly your life can change with the butterfly effect. If I were in her place, I wouldn’t be able just to accept what’s coming; I’d have to try to shift the outcome, even if that meant stepping into uncertainty.

That’s where Foucault’s idea of polyvalence comes in. The comet in Your Name wasn’t just a plot device, depending on how you look at it. It felt like a reminder of how people find ways to rebuild after loss, just like the actual Japanese had to do after natural disasters. At the same time, it reflects the stark difference between life in a quiet rural town and the rush of a big city in Japan. I appreciate when media leaves room for layered reading, rather than locking me into a single message.

Hetalia takes an entirely different approach. Seeing WWII-era Germany or Italy portrayed in a comedic light forces you to think about how history is packaged for audiences. Sometimes humor can make a subject more approachable, like when Italy’s over-the-top cheerfulness makes alliances seem silly, but it also risks flattening historical complexity down into stereotypes. For me, the value of that kind of humor lies in how it influences people’s understanding of the historical context behind it.

Kobayashi’s Sensōron takes a very different approach by leaning into neo-nationalist themes and historical revisionism. It’s a reminder that the media doesn’t just reflect history but can actively reshape it to fit an agenda. That makes me think about how easily national identity can be influenced, whether through serious retellings like this or lighter portrayals like Hetalia.

Blog Post — Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind / Xenoblade Chronicles 2

Watching Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind and Xenoblade Chronicles 2 made me reflect on how humans interact with nature, and how those relationships are often shaped by fear, control, and misunderstanding. I appreciated how Nausicaä challenges the idea of what a princess is “supposed” to be. She doesn’t take a passive role; she’s actively involved in protecting her people and the environment they live in. Her strength comes from empathy and a deep understanding of the world around her, not just authority. 

The twist that the jungle isn’t evil but healing the Earth felt incredibly realistic. It reminded me of how people react to spiders, immediately afraid and wanting to kill them when in reality, they help control mosquito populations and protect us from more dangerous pests. People often fear what they don’t understand, and that fear leads to destruction. That’s something we see in real life all the time. Even though Nausicaä was made decades ago, its message about the environment hasn’t aged. The damage caused by human activity through cars, factories, and mass production continues to break down the planet. It’s a global issue, and one that hasn’t changed much. 

Blog Post — Neon Genesis Evangelion / The End of Evangelion

This week’s viewing dove into global issues like loneliness, gender pressure, and identity in ways specific to Japan’s social norms. The pressure to succeed, suppress emotion, and uphold appearances, especially for women and men in strict gender roles, was everywhere. Asuka constantly tries to act grown and perfect to stand out in a male-dominated world, but it’s clear she’s falling apart inside. Her whole arc reflects women's expectations to be exceptional just to be taken seriously, especially in a society that still upholds traditional gender roles.

The show also breaks down masculinity through Shinji. He’s expected to take on this impossible role: to fight, save people, and never fall apart. There’s no space for him to process anything. When he finally meets Kaworu, someone who sees him not for what he does but who he is, it’s the first time he opens up. That kind of emotional intimacy challenges the rigid ideas of what masculinity is supposed to be. It’s a clear example of queer masculinity, where softness, vulnerability, and love exist outside traditional norms. Even earlier, when an older man flirts with him, his reaction isn’t disgust. It’s confusion, like “I’m not a girl,” showing how gender performativity is deeply tied to how we’re taught to respond.

I really saw myself in that. Asuka’s need to push back against expectations to prove her worth? I’ve been there. And Shinji’s depression, how he completely shuts down when everything falls apart? I’ve felt that too. But what stuck with me most was how Rei tells him he doesn’t have to stay in that place and that he can still keep pushing forward during the Instrumentality project. 

Blog Post — Sailor Moon / Aggretsuko / Wandering Son

Revisiting Sailor Moon as an adult gave me a new level of appreciation for what I didn’t have the words for as a kid. Back then, I just knew the characters looked cool and that the girls were the ones saving the world. But watching now, I realized how much Usagi pushed against traditional expectations of what a hero should be. She’s emotional, dramatic, and prone to crying, yet she still manages to get the job done. Growing up with mostly Western superheroes, I had internalized the notion that strength had to be portrayed as serious and masculine. Seeing a clumsy, soft girl like Usagi be powerful made me feel like I could be, too.  

Aggretsuko hit close to home. The way Retsuko is expected to smile through everything and stay agreeable reminded me of the subtle pressure I’ve faced my whole life, like being told to smile more, act more feminine, or “clean up good” in order to be respected. These are things I have dealt with for as long as I can remember. I really loved how Retsuko’s double life showed that your personality does not have to reflect your style. You can enjoy loud, intense music and still be a sweet person. That is something I deeply relate to. I was a secret rocker who had to wear uniforms throughout of school and never had the chance to express myself fully. I’m a big believer that the most metal thing you can do is be kind, and Retsuko is a perfect example of that. The way the show combines humor with a very real kind of frustration that women experience at work makes it feel globally relevant, not just specific to Japan.  

Convention Experience Part 2:

Even though I went with my uncle, he was working, so I had to explore the con by myself. That felt like a big deal. I grew up with strict parents, so being out on my own made me feel a little nervous, but also really free. It made me feel independent, but I also had a couple of experiences that forced me to grow up quickly and learn how to be more aware and protective of myself in public spaces. What stood out the most was how accepted I felt. I used to hide the things I liked, but at Supercon, everyone was proudly expressing themselves. I met people who were just as passionate as I and didn’t care about being judged. It reminded me that fandom isn’t just about shows or characters, it’s about finding a place where you belong. Building my costumes over the years even helped me develop my style. I still wear things I used to wear for cosplay, like the vampire fangs I’ve recycled countless times now. Over the years, I’ve naturally gravitated toward friends who are creative and share the same interests in shows. Events like Supercon show how youth culture is changing. It’s becoming more open and expressive. I saw people of all ages and backgrounds there. Some were even cosplaying characters who shared their disabilities, and that kind of representation stuck with me. 

Convention Experience Part 1:

When I was younger, around 14, I was really into anime and cosplay, even if I didn’t talk about it much. I got bullied in middle school and early high school for liking things that weren’t considered “cool,” so I learned to keep it to myself. However, attending Supercon helped me see my interests in a different light. It even helped me see myself in a different light. 

I’ve attended Supercon twice so far, and both times it had a significant impact. What first drew me in was my uncle. He’s a professional cosplayer who is frequently invited as a guest to prestigious events. His handmade Star Wars costumes are so realistic that they appear to be straight out of the movie. I always admired the effort and creativity he put into his work. Since anime and fandom were already a massive part of my life, I wanted to explore that world myself and get to know the community up close and personal. The first time I went was in 2020 during the pandemic. I dressed up as Himiko Toga from My Hero Academia. At the time, I didn’t know how to protect myself. I was still just a kid and didn’t realize that not everyone at these events had good intentions. I let random people take pictures of me, including some older men, without giving it a second thought. Looking back, that made me uncomfortable in ways I didn’t understand until later. When I went again the second time, I was older and more aware. I set better boundaries and only took pictures with other girls around my age. I also understood the layout of the con better and felt more in control of my time there. 

Blog Post — Shin Sekai Yori

What stood out to me the most in Shin Sekai Yori was how the society controlled its people by constantly watching their every move, especially that of children. It reminded me of how some school systems have extremely strict dress codes, where kids are required to wear specific socks, adhere to certain hair lengths, and can’t express any individuality. The idea is that if you express yourself too much, you’ll become a problem. This kind of thinking is reflected in the anime, where anyone who acts differently is perceived as a threat.

It also made me think about how I grew up. I come from a very traditional Hispanic family, and whenever I started asking questions about gender and queerness, I was usually shut down. No one got angry, but the message was clear: we don’t talk about that. It wasn’t that I felt unsafe, but it made me question why being curious or different was treated like something bad. The anime made me reflect on how silence can be just as controlling as rules.

Even outside the show, it made me think about how much surveillance is becoming normal, especially in places like Japan, where public spaces are filled with cameras. People are accustomed to being watched, and that alters how they act, even if they’re not doing anything wrong.

Blog Post — Psycho-Pass

Watching and thinking about Psycho-Pass got me reflecting on how screwed up it is to judge people for what they might do instead of what they've done. As a teenager just starting college, I know there are tons of opportunities to do reckless things for fun, but just because you consider something doesn't mean you're going to do it. Some people even deal with intrusive thoughts that don't represent who they are at all. That's why a system that punishes people based on potential alone seems so dangerous and wrong to me.

The show also comes across like a severe warning to Japanese society about the risks of prioritizing order and harmony over individual freedom. At the same time, it resonates globally because surveillance and control aren't just a Japanese issue; it’s everywhere. Constant surveillance would force people to behave in ways that aren't authentic to themselves. We have already witnessed this online. Social media monitors everything we do and uses it to sell us products or promote certain content, all while claiming it's for our benefit. We’re being molded into what big corporations or the government want us to become.

When I consider risk assessment algorithms, I have the same concerns. These systems are built on data that's already biased. Black people are more likely to be convicted of more petty crimes, which makes them appear more "dangerous" in the data. Meanwhile, white people get off easier and don't even appear in those statistics as much. Focusing too much on order turns people into sheep. If marginalized groups hadn't resisted and broken unjust rules in the past, they wouldn't have the freedoms they possess today. 

Blog Post — Eden of the East / Sword Art Online

What really strikes me about Sword Art Online is how it mirrors the promises capitalism makes to us. The game dangles this fantasy in front of players: escape your mundane life, become someone powerful, achieve greatness. However, it then becomes a prison they can't leave. I think that reflects a lot on Japanese society, where there’s such a strong work culture and the pressure to succeed is enormous and constantly draining people. With technology advancing at such a rapid pace, we’re getting closer and closer to living in that kind of reality. People are becoming obsessed with virtual reality and VR headsets, trying to escape real life and live online instead. However, there’s no system in place for people to thrive in those worlds unless it’s truly monetized. Companies are quick to turn these “escapes” into another cycle of profit. I even use the tactic of treating my life like a video game to motivate myself, like “leveling up” for homework and small tasks. But watching SAO makes me question if that’s really helping me or if I’m just playing into another system.

In Eden of the East, I relate to the pressure of having to “save” the future, especially coming from a Hispanic household where failure isn’t possible when it comes to academics. You have to succeed for yourself and your family. I believe the most effective way to save a society is to become deeply entrenched in the government and collaborate with a strong community to protect people’s rights and the environment. It doesn’t happen overnight but slowly, as harmful systems fade away and are replaced by people pushing for positive change. While having money makes it easier, nowadays, with the proper online engagement, people all over the world can come together to raise the necessary funds. But money can definitely corrupt, even if someone starts with good intentions.

Blog Post — Spirited Away / A Place Further Than the Universe

I'll never forget watching Spirited Away, it hit me as so much more than just another coming-of-age story. Watching Chihiro transform from this scared, clingy kid into someone genuinely brave and capable was inspiring. What really got me was how her desperation to save her parents forced her to grow up practically overnight. It made me realize how having something you truly care about can push you to be stronger than you imagined.

The whole bathhouse setting was clever too. All those busy spirits and the constant work felt like Miyazaki's way of showing the intense pressure of Japanese work culture while still honoring tradition. No-Face really stuck with me as he starts off so quiet and lonely, but then his greed just consumes him completely. It's such a perfect metaphor for how wanting more and more can destroy us, which feels painfully relevant with consumerism today. Pertaining to the environmental stuff, such as the polluted river spirit, really hit home. It's depressing that these problems are still just as urgent now, over twenty years later. And the ending, where Chihiro leaves the spirit world and slowly forgets everything? It made me think about how sometimes forgetting can protect us, but other times we need to hold onto those hard-earned lessons to keep growing.

A Place Further Than the Universe showed me a totally different side of growing up, one focused on friendship, adventure, and dealing with grief. Kimari's desperate need to break out of her boring routine really resonated with me because honestly, life can feel so repetitive and curative sometimes. Shirase's determination to get to Antarctica to find her mom was incredibly moving. The courage it takes to chase a dream when everyone thinks you're crazy is something special. I connected with Hinata's struggle against judgment for choosing her own path. I've been there too, feeling the weight of other people's expectations when you decide to do things differently. The whole experience reminded me of leaving for college. That mix of terror and excitement about stepping into the unknown but finally having real freedom. Watching Shirase finally confront her mother's death was heartbreaking but so powerful. It showed how you have to move through pain to actually heal from it. When they finally reached Antarctica, it felt like this perfect symbol of conquering your fears and truly growing up.