Letter 2 (Denial)

Dear Elegos,

I can't believe I'm doing this again. Even as I am sitting here writing this, I know that no one's going to read it. I keep asking myself why I'm doing this, and I'm not coming up with an answer to that question. I keep thinking that I should be thinking that this is a complete waste of time.

But yet, I don't. It's weird, but I feel like there is some reason I am doing this. I don't really know why, but I've never been one to deny a hunch. I mean, I didn't really get rid of any of my anger or frustration. I really didn't think it had even done much for me, at first. But as I went through the next couple of days, a couple of the phrases came back to me. I couldn't get them out of my head, and I couldn't figure out why. After all, it was stuff I already knew. But there had to be some reason why it kept popping into my head, so I decided to give it some thought.

The same question that I've been asking myself since that fateful day was still playing in my head. Why couldn't I have realized sooner the real reason I wanted to fight Shedao Shai? Interspersed with that question were memories of that fight, and what I had done.

Those two things kept coming to me in the days after I wrote you the first time, and then it hit me. I had been looking at this in totally the wrong way. I kept going over and over the same old things, but I wasn't really trying to think about any of it. All I was doing was dwelling on what had happened, and bemoaning my fate and blindness, when the thing I really needed to be thinking on was right there in front of me, if I'd just quit whining long enough to see it.

Why hadn't I been able to see it? I knew it had been there, was able to figure that out after the fact, so why hadn't I been able to see that before the fact?

That's what I really needed to be thinking on. As an investigator, I was trained to ask questions and then use the clues I was able to gather to help guide me to my conclusion. The question was right in front of me the whole time. I had to focus on that, and treat everything else simply as a clue. I had to distance myself emotionally from what had happened, at least for a short time, so I could look at my problem a little bit more objectively.

I made that the basis of my meditations for a bit, and it was only then that I was able to make a discovery. I had been living in denial. I knew that wanting to take revenge and slay Shai was wrong and had no part in my life as a Jedi, but yet I wanted to do that so badly that, to do so, I was forced to hide it from myself.

Then I realized, upon further reflection, that the reason it had been so easy to hide this from myself is because I'd had many years of experience at it. I've been living in denial for most of my life, but it's just now that I am able to see this and acknowledge it.

I know I was doing it as a kid. I mentioned up above that I always follow my hunches. Well, I got them as a kid, too, but the only difference is I had no idea why I was getting them. I just thought they were normal, that everyone got them, and therefore didn't think much about them.

Then the other kids started to comment on them. I always seemed to know if we were going to have a substitute teacher, or if somebody was lying to me. The other kids started looking at me a little strangely. They kept asking me how I knew these things. Most of them were amazed at how accurate my hunches were, although they got me in trouble with some of the toughs in my class, who loved any excuse to pick on someone smaller than them.

This started to bug me. I'd thought that these hunches were normal, but the other kids didn't seem to think so. One night, I decided to ask my father about them.

I was kind of surprised by his answer, but yet I kind of wasn't as well. He didn't seem surprised when I told him about them, but nodded knowingly and told me not to be afraid of them, but to just act on them when they came to me. He did suggest that I try not to make a big deal out of them at school, though, because it might cause trouble with the wrong people.

I thought he was talking about the bullies. Now, of course, I know what he really meant.

Anyway, that answer satisfied me for awhile. I didn't make a big deal out of them and didn't really mention them except to my closest friends. They still stuck by me, but I could tell that they were amazed at times. I had the sinking suspicion that, regardless of what my father had told me about them, that there was something he wasn't telling me about them.

This worried me. What if they really weren't normal, but my dad just didn't want to tell me?

So I decided to talk to my grandfather. The next time I spent the night, I told him everything. He listened carefully, not speaking until I was done.

When I had finished, he looked into my eyes and asked, "This bothers you a lot, doesn't it, Corran?"

I nodded, feeling miserable and afraid of what he'd say.

"Corran, you know your father would never lie to you, don't you?" he questioned, looking at me intently.

"Of course, I know he wouldn't lie to me, Grandfather," I replied, taken aback by the question.

"They really are nothing to be afraid of, Corran," he reassured. "Everyone gets hunches from time to time. I've even had a few in my time."

I was a little surprised to hear that. I did, and I knew my father did, but I'd never heard about anyone else getting them. "You did?"

"Yes, once or twice. It's a good trait for a CorSec officer to have. Can save your life or the life of a friend."

He then proceeded to tell me a couple of stories about times he'd been in situations where he or a partner of his had had a feeling something was about to happen, and because they'd followed their hunch, no one got hurt. He also told me about a friend of his who'd always felt that something bad would happen to him if he left the system. One day, he left the system, only to be killed on the way home.

Grandpa must've seen the look in my eyes after that story, for he smiled and said, "I doubt things will ever get that dramatic, but it's a good thing to listen to your hunches and not to ignore them. Could save your life, or could just keep you from getting in trouble at school."

I nodded, feeling better about myself than I had in awhile. "I will, Grandpa," I'd promised.

Grandpa's stories reassured me, and I quit thinking so much about them. I allowed myself to think they were normal, although I still didn't really mention them except around close friends.

I managed to convince myself that they were, indeed, normal. And, because I wanted to be normal, because I wanted to be like everyone else and not be seen as different, I never allowed myself to question anything that seemed the slightest bit abnormal. If people decided to change their minds for completely no reason to fit what I wanted them to think or do, I figured that they'd just decided to use common sense. The time when my father and I brought down Zekka Thyne and he managed to shoot Thyne without having a finger anywhere near the trigger, I chose not to pursue it and let it go, even though I knew what had happened down in those caverns was completely impossible. When I was hiding from those stormtroopers when I was escaping from Lusankya, I didn't allow myself to think too deeply on why they never saw me, just chalked it up to luck.

Even when I was in the Jedi Mausoleum, and I saw my father as a Jedi apprentice in that holo, I didn't want to believe it. I kept trying to convince myself that that wasn't him, that it was some other boy, even though I knew it was him. Because if my father had been a Jedi apprentice, that would mean that he hadn't been normal. Would mean that I wasn't normal.

That was brought home to me when Luke told me about my heritage and asked me to train with him. There is no way I could have accepted that offer at that time. By accepting that offer, I would be admitting that I was different from everyone else. I would never be able to settle down with Mirax, have a family, fly and hang out with the other Rogues, everything I had come to consider normal.

But, even though I didn't accept his offer, I could no longer deny it to myself. I was not normal. I had come from a family of Jedi. My father had been in training to be a Jedi. I knew, then, that that instance with the stormtroopers hadn't luck, but my unconscious usage of the Force. And, if I had been using the Force without even knowing it then, what else had I been using the Force for? How different was I really from everyone else?

As I look back upon the following two years, I realize just how weird they were, and how confused I was. Part of me was fascinated by this discovery of my heritage. That part of me felt relieved at having an explanation as to why I'd always felt like I was different from the others. This part of me is the reason why I read those holotapes that Luke sent to me about the Jedi, and why I did things like try to influence stormtroopers' minds on Thyferra.

The other part of me, though, was terrified. I wasn't normal. I'd been forced to realize that at least some of what I'd done or thought was normal for me was really being given to me through the Force. This part of me questioned every last thing I did, wondering if it was normal or if it was just me. Whenever something slightly strange happened to me or around me, even if it had happened before, I had to run it past someone to get their opinion. I'm amazed that Mirax put up with it all without becoming at least a little annoyed.

Mirax. She's how I passed that hurdle, you know. I probably would've spent the rest of my whole life locked in an internal battle I was barely even aware of, but then she was taken by Tavira and the Jensaarai. When she was ripped from my mind, the battle was decided for me. After Tycho confirmed for me that my bond with Mirax was indeed exceptional, and the option of joining the Jedi was again put before me, I was finally able to make a decision.

For this no longer affected just me. I thought that my abilities and my heritage only affected me, so I was content to wait until the stars went nova before becoming a Jedi. But now Mirax was involved, and not just because she was wearing the Jedi Credit medallion I had given her. I had formed a bond through the Force with the woman I loved most in the galaxy, and I had no idea how I had done it!

When I learned that I was going to be going up against a bunch of Dark Jedi who had control over the Force, I saw that, as I was, I would have no chance at all against them. I had no idea what I was doing with the Force, no control whatsoever. Everything I had ever done with the Force was instinctual, unplanned. Once I saw the truth of these things, I had no choice left but to accept Luke's offer.

Of course, it wasn't smooth sailing then. Although I had consented to train as a Jedi, that didn't mean my dilemma was over. I walked away from the Academy because I still wasn't ready to accept my role as a Jedi, although I cited other reasons at the time. I totally denied my Jedi heritage for the next few months.

When I met you, though, dear friend, that changed. When I met you, I was perilously close to being lost to the Dark Side. You saw that, and helped guide me back. I thought at the time that that hurdle had been crossed. I acknowledged that I had gone overboard when beating up the pirate that was accosting you and your daughter, and was able to see how sleeping with Tavira would've been a big mistake. I also was able to accept that, regardless of whatever else I may be in my life, I was also a Jedi, and I could no longer deny that to myself. In fact, I had to embrace it if there was to be any way to save Mirax.

I thought I had everything reconciled then. I had accepted that I was a Jedi, after all. What more was there? I rejoined Rogue Squadron, planning to dedicate my life to serving the galaxy in that way, but bringing my Jedi heritage to it as well, much as my father had lived his life in CorSec.

Six years later, I realized that, once again, I'd been wrong. When it came time for Valin to learn the Jedi way, I realized how little I actually knew about the Force and what it was to be a Jedi. I couldn't teach my own son about our heritage!

Realizing how little I knew about my own heritage, I also realized that my ability to utilize the Force had dwindled over the years. I hadn't really given much thought to it before, hadn't even really noticed it, but as I looked back, I saw instances where I should've been able to know things, or do things, but had not been able to. The crisis on Bothawui stood out in my mind, and I knew then that, had I continued my studies, I might have been able to be more effective during that time.

I also came to understand just why Luke had thought it better I not return to the Academy at that time. Everything became clear to me then. I had not been asked back to the Academy, I had difficulties with the Force, because I had not truly committed myself to being a Jedi. By dividing myself as I had, by believing I could be both a Jedi and a pilot, I had really been tearing myself in two. Because I wanted to be the best pilot I could be, I hadn't been focusing that much on being a Jedi. I could deny that fact as much as I wanted to, but it showed in my relationship with the Force.

The problem was that I still had not fully accepted my Jedi heritage. On one level, I understood that being a Jedi was not a part-time job, but I never allowed myself to think further on that, because then I would also have to accept that I had to be a Jedi first and foremost. I would have to make a commitment, if not to the Jedi order being established on Yavin, then at least to the Force. And I was afraid of what the Force would demand of me.

Then I realized, I was no longer afraid of that. I saw that my son would have to go to the Academy to learn about his Jedi heritage. The New Republic had signed a treaty with the Imperials, bringing peace to the galaxy. Wedge, Tycho, and many of the others were retiring from the Squadron. The pilot part of my life was coming to an end, and my son now needed me. I could best serve both the galaxy and my family by becoming a Jedi Knight.

So I went back to the Academy. I made the commitment to being a Jedi. Even with all that has happened now, I still feel that it was the best decision I've made in my entire life. I felt like I had finally come home. I was no longer hiding from my heritage, but had finally embraced it fully and completely. I was still serving the galaxy but, not only was I doing that, but I felt like I was one with the galaxy. Whole new vistas were opened to me. I think back to how I felt the first time I allowed the Force to flow into me, the great and inexpressible joy I felt, and see now that it was just a glimmer of what I felt when I finally made that commitment.

And now I've gone and ruined all of that. Since leaving the Jedi, I have not opened myself up to the Force. I'm afraid to do so, afraid of what might happen. I don't know if I'll ever be comfortable with doing so again but, regardless of where my path eventually takes me, I will be doing it with my eyes wide open. I know I can't bring you back from the dead. I know I can't go back in time and undo what I have done. I can't change the past, but there is one thing I can do. For now on, I will not allow myself to hide things from myself. I will not allow myself to rationalize my thoughts, feelings, or actions to make myself look good in my own eyes.

I realize that this is probably an impossible task. Every being does some rationalizing from time to time. My vow is I will not allow myself to do so when the outcome has the potential to be detrimental to myself or another being. I've been doing it in one way or another my entire life, and it is time for it to stop. I owe it to you and your memory, Elegos. By killing Shai out of a mistaken desire for vengeance, I dishonored your memory. Maybe, just maybe, by being honest with myself, I can in some small way make up for that.

Your friend,

Corran