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These first 11 episodes go hard on one question: what is justice, actually? Like—not the legal system, not punishment, but justice in a cosmic sense. Because Light’s whole deal isn’t just “I want to kill people,” it’s “I want to fix the world and no one else is doing it.”

And here’s the thing—he’s kind of not wrong? At least early on, he’s killing people who were either going to go free, never be caught, or were already doomed by the system. He’s not taking down random people for jaywalking. He’s targeting people that even the state had failed to reach. He sees a broken structure and does what no one else can: act outside of it.

But then it gets complicated. Because Light doesn’t just want people to be punished—he wants them to know why. Not in a “for the greater good” speech kind of way, but because he wants to be known for it. “Kira” isn’t just a title, it’s a symbol, something that represents his idea of perfect justice. The morality of what he’s doing stops being the main focus. It becomes about who’s smart enough, capable enough, and strong enough to define justice in the first place.

Enter L. The whole tone of the show shifts when L shows up, because suddenly justice isn’t abstract anymore—it’s competitive. It’s not “what’s right,” it’s “who’s right.” And that’s when you see the shift in Light, too. His early logic starts getting eaten by pride. It’s not just about criminals anymore. It’s about being the only one who gets to define right and wrong.

By Episode 11, both of them are locked into this unspoken agreement that justice isn’t about principle—it’s about outcome. Whoever wins this weird murder chess match gets to decide what justice means. And honestly? That might be the most unsettling part of all. Not the deaths, not the power—just the fact that two kids got bored and turned morality into a logic puzzle.

I knew about Akira from the bike slide that is widely emulated in different media. Neo-Tokyo is shown as a society that never really recovered from its past, and the way the city constantly feels on edge really emphasizes how broken everything is. There’s a sense of anxiety in every part of the movie through the protests, the violence, and the way the government is handling the psychic experiments. Tetsuo’s transformation really stood out to me. At the beginning, he’s just a regular kid—someone who’s always been in Kaneda’s shadow. When he gains powers, it’s supposed to be this moment of control for him, but instead it becomes this horrifying process of losing himself. Watching him spiral made me think about how power without stability can destroy someone. The movie shows that giving someone control doesn’t mean they’re ready for it; especially in a world where no one ever helped them feel seen to begin with. When everything breaks down in the ending, the city basically resets itself. It felt like the movie was saying that sometimes things need to be torn apart before anything new can grow.

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Kobayashi’s Sensoron is quite a controversial piece. The manga essentially denies that the Nanking Massacre happened at all, stating several instances where photo evidence was apparently fabricated. This was quite confusing to me, as it is information that goes against what I had previously learned. However, because we were warned about this reading’s revisionist nature, the context we have would imply that this information is false. I would like to get an objective perspective on this topic in order to identify just exactly what was going on regarding the context of this manga, but I am not sure where I would go to look for any such information. It is true, after all, that history is written by the victors, and, when it comes to international relations, or just politics in general, foul play is likely to always be present. Those are the only things that persuade me to give this reading the benefit of the doubt, but as far as I am concerned, the Nanking Massacre was a true event that did, in fact, occur.

Doing a quick search on human databases such as Wikipedia, I discovered that the website does acknowledge the controversial denial of the massacre in Japan, stating that the Japanese version of the page does imply that it did not happen at all, or is based on nothing more than unconfirmed and baseless evidence, much like the opinion expressed in the manga.

I do not think that a call for unity in a nation is a bad thing at all, but neither do I like the idea that individualism should be frowned upon because it encourages people to not contribute to their society. While I do agree that human society’s issues with becoming more and more individualistic as time went on contributed to issues both socially and politically, I feel like there is also some level of importance to one’s individual identity that this manga seems to knock aside. After all, how are humans supposed to understand each other without even being able to understand themselves?

I truly thought I’d never watch another movie as good as A Silent Voice, and then this came around. I don’t even know if I can put into words how utterly beautiful this movie is. Every single frame is a work of art with one of the best soundtracks I’ve ever heard. I really don’t know what else I can say other than that this is a total masterpiece from the very first second. The suspense is layered so perfectly and the storyline unravels in a magical way with each scene. I don’t even think I can do a deeper analysis of themes or whatever because I’m actually about to cry thinking about it. I will recommend this film to everyone I know until the day I die.

I knew this one was coming. I've always known about Hetalia Axis Powers for the longest time, as I used to see it everywhere while growing up on the internet. I was never into it because of the amount of Yaoi content I've seen on the internet about it and I assumed that was what it was all about. However, I was mostly wrong about that. These first 19 episodes of Hetalia may seem like a light hearted comedy on the surface, but deep below, this show reflects deeper social and cultural dynamics embedded in the anime fandom. Using another reading from this week, World Conflict/World Conference: Axis Powers Hetalia by Sandra Annett, it can be shown how this show of personifying nations as attractive young men is a fantastic way to portray world history and how it manages to open up to a certain audience: young women.

Characters like Italy, with his infamous pasta obsession, or England, with his tsundere disdain for France, are not just historical caricatures; they’re built with "moe elements", designed to inspire an emotional connection. As Annett points out, these traits are very appealing to fujoshi fans, women who enjoy media with romantic relationships between male characters, who often consume this type of media for character dynamics rather than the story. For example, America's flashy "hero" persona contrasts well with Japan's restraint, which is a fan-fiction-creating factory in and of itself. This type of stuff allows for communities to grow and for creativity to flourish.

I'd also like to point out how short these episodes are. The five minutes that each episode lasts perfectly mirrors the idea of database consumption that Annett describes. One episode goes from talking about diet plans and then goes into personifying the Cold War's awkwardness. The idea here is that fans don't need a story; they need points for their favorite parings of characters, jokes, and interpretations.

Outside of the Yaoi and all that, Hetalia Axis Powers does do an excellent job at reimagining political topics in ways that people can better understand, turning history into something deeply personal and global.

Evangelion was so confusing, they had to make a whole movie just to make it make sense! "The End of Evangelion" doesn't really give anyone time to breathe or introduction, it hits it off immediately, and much like how I mentioned in my last blog post, it keeps bringing Shinji down and down. It feels like everything that hes gained up to this point has been stripped away, hes barley willing to fight. The whole thing about his masculinity and how despite him complaining or not wanting to do it, doing it anyways is gone. Hes really at his lowest. It feels like everyone gets the short end of the stick. Right after Asuka strengthens her will and resolve with new found purpose and hope, she is obliterated. It feels like whenever something even remotely good happens to the characters in this show, it gets pulled from right under them. The ending of "The End of Evangelion" also feels a little contradictory to me as opposed to the original anime ending. The original anime ending plays into Shinji realizing his self worth and accepting that he is who he is, and that it is enough for him to do what he can do, yet the ending here feels like it does the opposite. Shinji attempts to come to this realization but in the movie he notes he is probably doomed to fail again and again because he fails to accept himself. Also, when he wakes up next to Asuka and attempts to strangle her, although he does stop trying to kill her after she reaches out to him, he is unable to move which is meant to be a both literal and metaphorical paralysis on his part.

Continuing on with the anime Neon Genesis Evangelion, we are introduced to some newer characters with much stronger personalities. However, we are also thrown into a really weird philosophical part of the anime. The later episodes delve deeply into complex themes that challenge our understanding of identity, human connection, and the nature of existence itself. In Episode 8 we meet Asuka Langley Soryu, a character who embodies confidence and bravado. Yet, beneath her strong exterior lies a deep-seated insecurity. This duality is a significant theme throughout the series, illustrating how personal trauma can shape one's identity. Asuka's struggles force viewers to consider how people often hide behind facades, masking their vulnerabilities. The concept of self-worth and validation is explored through her interactions, especially her need to outperform others, particularly the men around her, to feel valued. This tension raises questions about the societal pressures that drive individuals to seek external validation rather than nurturing internal self-acceptance. Moving forward, the series takes a darker turn into the psychological and existential realms. Shinji Ikari's confrontation with his own sense of self becomes more pronounced as he grapples with themes of loneliness and despair. The anime emphasizes the importance of connections in a world filled with emotional detachment. Shinji’s isolation is palpable; he feels disconnected from not only those around him but from his own sense of purpose. The show's dive into nihilism reflects a broader reality—many individuals experience moments of existential crisis, questioning their place in the world. These episodes showcase how the lack of genuine connections can lead to a profound sense of meaninglessness, encapsulating the struggles of modern existence. Whether or not Shinji's lack of connections is developed because of a lack of bonding with other males or not is undetermined. The narrative continues to intensify as we delve further into the minds of the characters. The themes of psychological and emotional traumas come to the forefront, especially in Shinji's recurring confrontations with his own psyche. This episode introduces the idea of the Human Instrumentality Project, which seeks to obliterate the barriers between individuals, merging their consciousness. This project symbolizes the ultimate desire for connection, yet it raises ethical questions about individuality and the essence of being human. If all barriers are removed, do we lose our unique identities? The existential implications are staggering—would such a merging ultimately lead to harmony or erode the very fabric of personal identity? Finally, the climax of the series comes in Episode 26. This episode presents a profound and often confusing exploration of consciousness and self-awareness. It departs from traditional narrative structures, instead presenting a surreal journey through Shinji’s mind. Here, we witness the culmination of Shinji's struggles as he comes face-to-face with his own desires, fears, and the decision to embrace his existence. The famous scene where characters celebrate Shinji’s choice to live serves as a powerful reminder of the struggles we face in seeking our truth in a chaotic world. It encapsulates the philosophical message of the series: existence is a choice, and while it can be filled with suffering, it is also rich with potential for joy and connection. Overall, Neon Genesis Evangelion challenges us to reflect on our own realities. Through the intricate weaving of character development, philosophical musings, and existential crises, the series pushes us to confront what it means to be human. Themes of self-identity, the need for connection, and the struggle against existential despair resonate deeply, leaving viewers with more questions than answers. Of course the anime is very confusing, I think it is a valuable watch.

Hey everyone! 🌟

Neon Genesis Evangelion is set in a future where humanity is under attack by mysterious creatures called Angels, and to defend themselves they have giant robots called Evangelions (Evas for short). A teenage boy called Shinji is brought in by his estranged dad to pilot one of these Evas. The first episode throws you right into the action, giving you a sense of Shinji's awkward and troubled relationship with his father, the leader of this operation.

As the episodes progress, you can see the heavy burden placed on Shinji and other young pilots, such as the silent and mysterious Rei, as they take on these giant monsters. It's interesting to see how the series balances intense battle scenes with the inner struggles of the main characters. It touches on themes of isolation, identity, and the pressure of expectations, which makes it more than just a mech vs. monster series. I was really struck by how vulnerable the characters are portrayed, especially Shinji, who deals with a lot of fear and the need for acceptance.