A.N. — I've seen The Hardest Thing three times since it premiered, and what ends up sticking with me is the 10 years later section. In Harry Potter, I hated the epilogue. Here, it feels like realistic closure. It's nice to see an American cartoon nail its ending for the most part. But it can always be added to. So here's my thousand words on the finale after a day to digest.
A Glass Enclosure Cannot Hold My Heart
Anne Boonchuy was shown to an empty exhibit hall her first day on the job and told to make what she wanted of it. As the newly hired head herpetologist of the Aquarium of the Pacific, Anne was now in charge of the facility's collection of amphibians. Freshly graduated from college and spot secure in her dream profession, she should've been thrilled at the opportunities ahead of her. But for all the feelings of accomplishment and hope this job gave her, the memories and traumas of the past it dragged up came with it.
Ten years removed from her adventures in another world, it was easy to think Anne had fully recovered from what she'd done and experienced. Those who only knew Anne in passing saw no hints of bloody battles and ragged threads of loss trailing behind her. They only got to know a personable Thai woman who made time for everyone. Her time in Amphibia had molded her into a young woman with a core of steel, with resolve that couldn't be bent and a set of shoulders ready to bear the weight of everyone's responsibilities. She'd buckled down in high school to really study once she decided on her future plans, and going away to college cut ties with places and people that had become triggers instead of therapeutic presences.
Sasha had been the most persistent of those. The two of them had tried a relationship out after Marcy had moved away with her family, but it quickly burned out. Anne and Sasha both carried far too much baggage to ever have a truly healthy romantic relationship with each other. They could never not be friends, not after what they had shared and fought over in Amphibia, but tugging on heartstrings led to trying to unravel a knot of complicated feelings neither knew how to deal with. They'd parted, high school diplomas in hand and concrete plans for higher education ahead, knowing deep down each of them would be better apart.
Her parents had been nothing but supportive of Anne's endeavors, even knowing it would take their daughter away from them for long stretches of time. But this separation had a solid end date, not like the tense waiting they'd done when Anne had disappeared back in middle school. Anne and them had a much better understanding of each other now, shaped by shared insights gained through hosting an interdimensional exchange family. The cohort of other acquaintances Anne had met mostly because of the Plantars would be missed, too. The distance, though, was necessary for growth.
But now Anne was back in SoCal, uncomfortably close to brushing against the past she had tried to ignore for the better part of a decade. Anne was just starting an independent adult life, but she'd already lived through more than most people three times her age. There were few she could share this with, and everyone in the know had some facet of the story that had to be censored for their benefit. Standing in the cavernous, echoing space of an unfinished room, Anne finally had something she could mold from scratch and be truly happy with.
Starting up this branch of the aquarium was a big responsibility, but it wasn't as if the fate of the world was at stake. She could do this, Anne told herself, and do it well. Some things had changed, herself included... though Anne wouldn't touch the Guardian's "copy" comment with a ten-foot pole lest she drive herself insane wondering if her feelings were actually her own. Anne had done a lot of growing up in Amphibia, but it was on Earth where she became a fully realized version of herself. And now she could recreate that process on a smaller scale, here in this blank space.
Once Anne had her personal office computer up and running, she put in the research work needed to get this project going. The Aquarium had given her a broad mandate: make a family friendly exhibit with a modest budget. Play to your strengths, they'd said; her interviewers had loved Anne's in-depth frog knowledge. The first thing she ordered on her shiny new company credit card was a big display tank for a tiny occupant. The pink South American tree frog hadn't even arrived yet, but she already had a name for it: Sprig. Anne knew that every time she set eyes on the little frog that bore the name of her far-flung (but never forgotten) family member, it would put a balm on her sore soul. She couldn't let the past control her forever.
As she opened up the graphic design program on the PC, she started laying out what would fill her domain. Lots of tropical ferns and other greenery both inside and outside of the tanks and show spaces dominated, but the green wouldn't stop there. The color palette, the more she filled in it, paid homage to Wartwood and the Plantar home. But Anne knew she could do more with it. She clicked open a new tab and laid out a banner for the hall: "Get Lost in Amphibia" along with a sign for the entrance: "The Wonderful World of Frogs." It wasn't her second home, not remotely, but with every touch of nature she added to a rapidly-developing illustrated diagram of what she'd tentatively labeled in her head as mini-Amphibia, she felt more and more right.
Anne leaned back in her office chair, gently rolling away from the desk and spinning around 180 degrees to take in the room that would soon be filled with reminders both good and bad. Anne sucked in a breath. This was her world now; the other one was out of her reach. But she could bring the better parts of it to life here, as much as she was able. It might be lacking the folks she'd gotten to know in Amphibia, but the lessons she learned from them would carry on here, through her. Navigating back to her still-open virtual shopping cart, Anne made one last purchase: a new name plate holder for her currently barren desk. Anne was going to be the Frog Lady, not the teen who had saved LA from the Frogvasion. That, at least, was something she could make peace with.