☽Serena Fox☾

Okay but genuinely, they were the funniest, most stylish and original people ever, and they had fun EVERYWERE. You could have been in a high school, college or even an office, if there were millennials, you knew the place would feel like a community.

They weren´t afraid to stand out and talk about anything they liked. Also, millennials were down for anything, that´s how you enjoy life, not staying all day everyday at home not wanting to go actually meet people and go out with them. And that is what is saddly the most common lifestyle in my generation.

Am I the only one that feels this way? I have friends and acquaintances but none of them seem to care for a life full of expiriences like I do. At college everybody nowadays just do what they have to do and go home, like, Hell people, we study filmmaking!! was I wrong for expecting more excitment?

Well, I wish I could go back to being nine and looking forward to a life as fun as my cool millennial older cousin´s, she really got the best of life.

In last Saturday's chapter, the themes were identity and the value of life.

But what is identity? According to a quick Google search there are two main definitions we can connect to this context.

1. Set of characteristics of an individual or a group that help others distinguish them from the rest.

The story explains, and repeats several times, that “Hikaru” has most of Hikaru’s memories, the exact same physical appearance, and can even feel some of the same emotions Hikaru used to have. In that sense, we could say they’re the same person, right? After all, if Yoshiki hadn’t seen Hikaru’s body in the mountains or if Asako didn’t have her ability, they probably wouldn’t have noticed that Hikaru wasn’t entirely Hikaru.

Although there are differences in their nature, like the fact that Hikaru is human and “Hikaru” is a spirit, if we define identity as “how others perceive us,” then yes, they’d be the same person.

But… there’s another definition that I think fits better.

2. The awareness a person or group has of being themselves, and being distinct from others.

Yeah, I think the answer is obvious: no matter how similar they are, their natures are different. They both know they’re different and what separates them. And in the world of TSHD, the soul—the immaterial essence that defines individuality and humanity—is canon. So if the soul isn’t the same, the individuals aren’t the same. “Hikaru” isn’t Hikaru.

It might seem obvious at first glance, and maybe I’m going in circles, but I honestly think that, even if it’s not a hard or important question, this is the clearest example we’ve had so far of what identity means. And doing these little mental exercises helps us better understand both the story’s depth and ourselves.

Though… I do want to throw out a hypothetical I won’t fully dive into, but that I think is interesting to debate: What if “Hikaru” didn’t remember being a spirit? What if he genuinely believed he was Hikaru?

The other big topic in this chapter is the value of life, and how it differs from death, something that’s going to be a recurring concept later on.

This is even harder to analyze. In fact, it’s one of those philosophical questions we can’t fully answer. We don’t actually know what it truly means to be alive, or what death really is.

As someone who believes in reincarnation, I see death as part of a cycle, birth, life, death, and rebirth. I don’t view it as something terrible. But being alive and human makes me love being alive, and I don’t want to die because I enjoy this stage of existence.

“Hikaru” also believes in reincarnation, based on what he says, but the difference between him, me, and the other characters is that we’re alive, and he isn’t. Even while inhabiting Hikaru’s body and living among humans, he’s still a spirit, immortal, almost incapable of feeling pain, with different needs than ours. No matter how much Yoshiki might want to, he can’t treat “Hikaru” as human. He isn’t.

It’s in this scene that Yoshiki realizes that.

For us—whose time is finite, and for whom life is the only thing we’ve ever known—it’s priceless. It’s the one thing we can’t allow to be taken from us. If we lose our life, we lose everything we love and everything we know. That’s why there are laws and unspoken social agreements that punish and condemn killing, life is the most valuable thing we have.

But for a spirit who is neither alive nor dead, and who only understands both as concepts, it’s all the same. He can try to understand it, but he’ll never feel it the way we do. Sure, he knows that if you’re dead you can’t enjoy food, games, or people. But to him, dying isn’t something bad or even all that different. So… if you can’t die, how can you value life?

And yet, even though “Hikaru” doesn’t value life the way we do, he doesn’t want Yoshiki to leave him. He loves being with him, and he knows that if something happened to Yoshiki, or if he hurt him, he’d lose that companionship. I think that’s the closest “Hikaru” will ever get to appreciating life.

At the end of the day, this is also a reminder that we can’t expect someone, or something, to go against their nature, against who they truly are. We can’t punish “Hikaru” for being who he is and not understanding things the way we do. Just like we can’t expect Yoshiki to be something he isn’t, or to be attracted to things or people he’s not attracted to.

I'm completely in love with The Summer Hikaru Died. It has the perfect blend of horror and love. The characters are incredibly deep and realistic, and the psychological tones of the story are crafted with such care and affection that it really stands out. What’s most beautiful is the relationship between the characters. I'm honestly tired of queer series and films that tackle the subject in a shallow way, where it's also the only topic (a boy likes another boy, they become a couple, and people don't want to see them together). That’s why I think many of us don’t feel truly satisfied with these representations. At least for me, I want to see a series with an original plot that casually—or at least not as the only focus—has LGBTQ+ characters.

We like non-canon ships in stories not because we're desperate for "queer stories," but because we want stories with queer representation. On the other hand, the narrative of TSHD has a richness that’s hard to find, especially nowadays when, thanks to the instant nature of streaming services, most series have lost the freedom to develop characters subtly and beyond just the central conflict.

Yes, the queer relationship and the metaphor it brings are some of the most important parts of the story, but it’s also about horror, about a spirit possessing a body and a “cursed” town. That alone is a story in itself.

Today, I want to talk specifically about Episode 3 of the anime, so SPOILERS AHEAD!!

We’re finally starting to see the beginning of the true relationship between Yoshiki and “Hikaru.” The ending of this episode was one of my favorite moments in the manga. While it felt a bit rushed in the anime, I was still very happy they kept the sweet, beautiful tone.

Yoshiki is scared, yes, but for reasons we’ve already seen. He’s not capable of staying away from “Hikaru.” The problem is that even though he’s not entirely the same as the original, he’s not human, he’s supposedly a threat to both Yoshiki and the town. “Hikaru” isn’t exactly a monster, at least not in the entirely evil sense of the word. His desire isn’t to hurt or kill, it’s to be with Yoshiki and to experience human life.

He’s a morally grey character because he does kill to achieve his desire, but what motivates him isn’t inherently evil. So, even though Yoshiki knows he should hate him, what he sees beyond the body of his friend is a being with a cheerful, playful personality, with everyday interests and a childlike curiosity.

Yoshiki’s mind says, “This isn’t right” “He’s not Hikaru” “He’s dangerous!” But what he sees in front of him doesn’t match those ideas.

Yoshiki wants to hate him, because he knows that would be the morally correct thing to do. But in real life, things aren’t black and white like we’re taught in theory. If “Hikaru” is a dangerous, evil monster, then why does he get excited? Why does he cry? Why does he apologize? Why doesn’t he actively try to hurt anyone? Why does he desperately want Yoshiki not to hate him? And why doesn’t Yoshiki really feel hatred when he looks at him, when he spends time with him?

What shakes Yoshiki isn’t hatred for “Hikaru” it’s the fear of his own feelings towards him. Not attraction per se, but his emotional reaction to not feeling threatened by someone he should feel afraid of.

So when Yoshiki sees “Hikaru” fragile, wrapped in blankets, crying, aware of his mistake and apologizing, it’s then that he realizes “Hikaru” is a being with feelings, one that awakens the need to care for him. Not just because he wants to keep seeing his friend, or because he’s attracted to him, or because he’s not in danger anymore (since “Hikaru” even tells him at the start not to say anything because he doesn’t want to kill him).

It’s in this moment that Yoshiki begins to care for “Hikaru” for who he really is.

That’s when we get the sweetest scene in the whole story (so far): Yoshiki touches “Hikaru’s” cheek gently, speaks to him tenderly, holds his hand (and in the manga, we even see him caress it).

It’s then that the roles reverse, just for a moment. Now “Hikaru” is the one who can’t live without Yoshiki, and Yoshiki is the one caring for “Hikaru.”

It’s a turning point in the story. Before, their dynamic was uneven, one was obsessed, the other a protector. Now, they’re mutually obsessed and need each other in the same way they protect and look after each other.

Maybe for those of us who’ve never been in a serious relationship, this kind of intense need between two people seems strange, or even toxic. But the truth is, from the testimonies of people who’ve truly fallen in love, their relationship makes sense. When two people fall in love, their need for one another is almost irrational, beyond what’s expected in a “normal” relationship.

It’s actually not that common to meet people who have really been in love. Even married people often just “care deeply” for each other or share a special bond, but love is much stronger. It’s a physical and emotional need for the other person.

Think of it like the love a mother has for her child, or between two siblings. You can’t call that just affection, because the connection we feel with those people is almost inexplicable, like they’re another part of ourselves. That’s what these two characters feel.

They’re in love.

Because the obsession isn’t completely selfish, in fact, it’s mentioned several times that “Hikaru” doesn’t mind who Yoshiki talks to or spends time with. He just wants to be part of his life. He wants Yoshiki to be happy. It’s a desire “Hikaru” himself begins to discover throughout the story, but especially in this scene.

When you adore someone so much that you just want to be part of their life no matter how, and want them to be happy, that’s no longer a selfish obsession. That’s love (no matter how cheesy it may sound).

The reason Yoshiki initially accepted “Hikaru” was entirely selfish, he didn’t want to accept his friend’s death, even if it meant putting himself and others in danger. And beyond the reality of the profanation of a dead body that should be respected, Yoshiki didn’t care to know this new being. He didn’t even want to.

At first, he was just clinging to the memory of his friend. But it’s this moment, when the “fake” Hikaru opens up emotionally, that he sees him for the first time as someone real, separate from who his friend was, and from the malicious image he had of the spirit.

From here on, Yoshiki and “Hikaru” begin to change, so their relationship can develop more freely and deeply.

I miss when the Internet felt like a lesser-known world. When fandoms and online communities were still somewhat private, and not everyone was aware of the endless corners of the web. Places like AO3, Wattpad, and Amino used to be appreciated only by those truly willing to dive in. But nowadays, thanks to fast-paced, trend-driven apps like TikTok and today’s Instagram, we’ve lost that precious sense of community. Everything is discoverable, everyone knows everything, and algorithms are designed to throw content at you whether you’re ready or not.

Back then, platforms like YouTube, Tumblr, and Pinterest focused more on what you actually liked. Unless you were curious enough to branch out, you’d mostly stay within your own niche. And that was beautiful. It created safer spaces—spaces where we didn’t feel cringe or scared to post something “unpopular,” because everyone there was into the same things.

But after the pandemic, when TikTok exploded and we were all stuck at home with nothing to do but scroll, regular people suddenly found these spaces and new “terms” like ships, edits, fandoms, fanart, and fanfiction. At first it wasn’t that bad—it felt like they were joining our world. But slowly, things started changing. Suddenly, there was a flood of negative comments on videos or fan posts. People who used to feel safe in their community were now being targeted. The “old rules” of the Internet—unspoken guidelines we’d built to coexist peacefully—were forgotten.

Now, it’s rare to see people respect the golden rule: "Don’t like, don’t read/watch." You can’t just enjoy a ship anymore without being attacked for it. You don’t feel safe posting anything—not unless it fits a certain aesthetic, a certain tone. And even then, you still might get hate. It’s exhausting.

Even the standards for content have shifted. People won’t support small or new artists unless their art is mind-blowing. Before, we used to post our ideas freely, even if we were beginners—just kids with years of learning ahead. It was warm, welcoming, and so damn inspiring. People were clever, funny, full of actual ideas, and everyone joined in. Now everything is rushed, shallow, and repetitive. It’s rare to see something genuinely interesting anymore. And if you do? It disappears just as quickly. Trends used to last months—or years. Now they vanish in days.

And yes, hate did exist in the 2000s/2010s but it usually came from outside. Now it comes from within. From people in your own niche. Subcultures and alternative communities have been reduced to aesthetics anyone can use, stripped of meaning, and often thrown back in your face if you take them too seriously. What used to be a way of life, a mindset, a way of socializing, of rebelling, has become a costume. A vibe.

I know this might not sit well with everyone, but it was fun feeling “unique,” knowing that you were doing this for yourself—not for a trend. It wasn’t just about clothes. It was how you thought, how you connected with others. It was personal.

Now, of course, it wasn’t all perfect. The dark side of the Internet has always been there. And so was the dark side of fandoms. With anonymity and freedom came dangerous behaviors—like pedos, abuse, pornographic content, cyberbullying, unhealthy obsession. Those things should never be normalized. And they still exist. These are societal problems, and we can’t ignore them when talking about fandom culture. But that doesn’t invalidate what we’ve lost.

I’m tired of seeing fandoms die within months of being born. Tired of seeing them poisoned by shame, by people who stumble in, don’t understand the culture, and tear it down. People who don’t get the difference between canon and headcanon. Who think ships are just whim or weird, when they’re often emotional escapes, a way to find comfort and excitement tailored to our own needs. Everyone is capable of creating art. And all of it deserves love. Just because you don’t “get it” doesn’t mean it should be hated.

We all deserve to explore, to be different and have fun.

I’d love to know what you think. What do you remember from the old Internet days? Are there any websites or apps where fandom culture still feels alive? I can’t be the only one who misses it, right?

Disclaimer: I recently redownloaded Tumblr after years of not being here, so I might be a little out of touch with how to connect on this platform again. Please bear with me as I relearn the rhythm of this space