Woo hoo! It let me upload! Sooo, I haven't added anything to this collection in quite awhile, but, as you may have noticed, I've been keeping myself busy (well, after my very long break from writing) writing Storms, which is turning out quite nicely so far.
By the way, I'll have chapter three for that uploaded in a few days (I've yet to edit it).
Breakdown.
I've come to live for these strange, random emotional breakdowns.
I don't know what I would do if I suddenly (miraculously) got better. Shout and jump for joy? Hardly. Can you imagine such a travesty? Oh, the Tenken is happy, how wonderful for him, now his life will take an abrupt turn in the "right" direction and he'll marry some tragic heroine—preferably a Westerner, but definitely a "kick-butt" ex-assassin—and have a great time!
No, I don't think so.
First of all, I am a good, self-respecting and decent Japanese man. If I ever marry, it will be to a good, subservient, and unfailingly demure Japanese woman. Secondly, I'll never "get better." Let's face it—people don't really want me to be honestly happy. No, they like the idea of a cold-blooded, depressed (yet undeniably adorable) killer. People like the concept of the Tenken too much for that to ever happen. They like to keep me faking it till I finally crack. And then, oh look, it's for another random emotional breakdown! Third one in as many days. Yippee.
I've actually begun to plan my days around them. A typical day goes something like this: wake up, eat, travel, lunch, travel, tea, breakdown, travel while still a complete wreck, dinner, sleep, dream something disgustingly morbid, or have nightmares. It's strenuous, I'll admit. But here's the funny part.
As much as I hate these breakdowns (and believe me, I reallyreallyreally hate them), they always serve to clarify things—for that short time, I am able to see things in black and white, good and evil, light and dark. There is one thing that I can always count on to remain decidedly grey.
It's just a man—nothing more, nothing less. A man who doesn't even make much of a man (not that I really have any room to talk, but at least I dress like guy), what with his bumbling and stumbling and humbling and… well, his pink gi and long hair.
A man named Himura Kenshin. And he is neither black nor white, good nor evil.
He simply… is. Though, if I think about it, he's sort of a very light grey; close to white.
And then I'll look at myself and I see more grey. An exact shade, equally black and equally white. And that's when I really lose it, because how can that possibly be, well… possible? Because black is black and white is white, good is good and bad is bad, light is light and dark is dark. Except it isn't, because I can see the contradiction quite clearly.
How can I even exist, if I am neither black nor white? I can't claim to enjoy it very much, the ceaseless tug-of-war between my being good and my being evil.
And a childish little part of me—because I am still a child, whatever I would have everyone else think—wants to just give up, find a place to call home, pretend to get better, have my life take that abrupt turn in the "right" direction, and marry that stupid Westerner. But another part of me—the part that has finally grown up—pushes me to continue my journey. It's only been two years. It took ShiShio-san and Himura-san both ten years before they found any sort of peace. Grow up, Soujiro Two years is hardly any time of all, in the grand scheme of things.
Of course, and most unfortunately for me, this internal conflict is generally the cause of an entire separate nervous breakdown that, while being quite apart from the initial emotional breakdown, only serves to complicate things. And then I have to stop traveling and take another break, and try to dodge the weird looks that other travelers, some concerned, others frightened, are giving me.
I suppose that it is acutely uncomfortable to watch such a young man completely lose control like that.
Well, at least I've stopped banging my head on the ground every time.
And pulling my hair.
And stumbling around.
And screaming till my throat runs dry.
Or, you know, otherwise trying to kill and/or torture myself.
You know, if you look at it that way, it almost seems like I might be getting better after all. And then I think that maybe that's just because I have grown so frightfully familiar with the process. This, if modern science is to be believed, would be a bad thing.
I've never really been a man of science, but I can understand how it wouldn't be considered good to get used to having emotional breakdowns. And I can understand how it wouldn't be good to clamp down so fiercely on emotion like I did for so long (and, admittedly, still somewhat do now). I can understand, but… understanding doesn't really change anything. I'm still sort of a slave to the whims and fancies of others.
Because I don't really control my own happiness, other people do. And as long as they continue to be in awe of the Tenken's ruthless and cold efficiency, I'll have to just put up with it, I guess. So do I regret it? Do I regret ever becoming the Tenken?
No, I really can't say that I do. If it had never happened, then I'd still be at that stupid farm, working for my stupid family. I'd still be weak. And really, no matter how you look at it, this world is survival of the fittest. Sure, I might have taken it to a bit of an extreme (though I'm hardly to blame, ShiShio taught me everything I knew; he just sort of took hold of Darwinism and ran with it), but hey—it was all I knew.
I was just an ignorant kid, when it came right down to it. What did I know about the world, really, outside of that farm or outside of ShiShio-san's manors? Absolutely nothing. And I guess that was the problem behind my first big blow out. Maybe if I'd known a little more for myself, and I hadn't taken that truth to such an extreme, then maybe…
Maybe things would have turned out quite differently. Of course, I do wonder what that would be like. I wasn't joking when I made that little quip about Shinomori becoming a loyal anarchist—nothing was really ever organized in that setup, except that ShiShio was the boss, I was the second, Houji was the strategist, the Juppon Gatana had a few perks, and Yumi was not to be touched by anyone other than The Boss. And that's it. Those were our only guidelines, really. Everything else was subject to dispute.
It wouldn't have made for a stable national government.
At any rate, while I certainly don't regret having followed ShiShio, I also just as certainly don't regret having lost to Himura.
Even if I am a little bitter.
I mean, really, haven't I got every right to be? It's his fault that I'm like this now. And I'm sick of it. Why, if I weren't so desperately broke, I'd take up drinking! I could afford to become a smoker, but I doubt it would have quite the same effect that it does for Saitou-san. I would look pretty ridiculous while performing the act—I've got to admit, he makes it look pretty cool. But he's a badass (forgive me for being so uncouth, Yumi-san would give me a real talking to, but there are no other words to describe it). I'm not. I'm too… cute. Even now.
Now, I hate to come off as rude, or even as slightly discourteous, but I find now that I have to go. Unfortunately, I've wasted a lot of time by doing this, and I've gotten appallingly off-schedule. I do hope you'll excuse me, but I'm quite overdue for today's collapse.
I love writing sardonic, bitter Soujiro. As if you all didn't know that already ;)
