Avatar of Moonlight

by KendrixTermina

"In the beginning, there was the Light. And the light was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld her glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Mother,) full of grace and truth. She was in the world, and the world was made by her, and the world knew her not. She came unto her own, and her own received her not." Rei-centric

51. Zest

(Zest)

The days kept passing.

The slow, creeping days.

The swift, insubstantial days that were over just as they began and left no trace in memory.

I knew better than anyone else how hopelessly doomed this world was, yet in the tedious passage of the cloying summer days, it was easy to see how one might imagine them as never coming to an end.

It had been a while now since anything of note had happened.

The angels were biding their time.

During the last synchronization test, Lt. Aoba spent much of it playing air guitar while Major Katsuragi kept idly spinning around on her chair.

But even Dr. Akagi sounded just a little sarcastic when she admonished her colleague that she ought to be grateful for the tedium and repetition of uninteresting days.

Even our scores were as they always were – Ikari-kun in the lead, followed by the pilot of Unit Two, and myself trailing far behind.

It had taken far longer than expected for him to get back to anything resembling his score before Leliel, even now, he wasn't quite there. But the Second was not catching up to him.

I recall her getting audibly offended when some technician unthinkingly used the word 'plateu' as a verb.

She declared that she'd soon prove the opposite, but realistically, it made sense to assume that both their potential was just about exhausted, just as mine had been long ago, the full height of their abilities reached just in time for the final battles – the number of remaining angels could be counted on one hand now.

In truth, this flow of languid days could be interrupted forever at any moment.

That which is terrible appeared beautiful to us in its willingness to spare us just barely, at least for now. The world clad itself in such gorgeous summer colors that one might almost forget that it was dying.

But it is. As are all of us. As am I.

The count-down never stops.

I had been here for a while now. I had experienced many things I would never have dared to hope for before. I think I was as close to understanding what it meant to be here, or what it meant to be a person, as I ever would, given that I'd used up most my time already.

To some my conduct and understanding would still be accounted vastly insufficient to dare speak on behalf of 'people', but so it would always remain.

The understanding I had now was all I had the capacity and time to attain.

I think I'd tasted a little, at least, of what it is to be person – of the painful paradoxes and dilemmas of being human.

Schopenhauer's Paradox: That one lives, even though life is not worth living.

Nietzsche's Paradox: That the best one can hope for is the worst.

Cioran's Paradox: That existence has no meaning, and that itself is meaningful.

Pessoa's Paradox: That everything amounts to nothing, and that itself is something

Sartre's Paradox: That we can't be without each other, even though we bring each other torment rather than satisfaction

And to that list, if written out on a chalkboard, I would add my very own paradox: That time is the single most finite resource we have, and yet knowing that does not stop us from wasting it, trapped as we are in our predictable limitation, as the fool whose paths go round and round and round, as the walkers in an antmill.

The very scarcity that should make it paramount to use it to the fullest also gave a sense of pointlessness to all that we possibly could do with it – and so it was that afternoon.

Ikari-kun sent a smile and a little half-wave my way as we were climbing out of the plugs, but the Second Child soon monopolized his attention and I went on my way since I had little desire to clash with her.

Before I knew it, I was home.

Another day burned, just like that, even though I knew, and had known all along, that any of them could be the last one.

Maybe tomorrow, an angel would arrive, inflicting upon us such a devatasting loss that nothing would ever be the same, and all the peaceful days of our past would be comitted to memory, and seem to us as much a brief, faded dream as they seem to stretch on now.

Even so, I glimpsed, on my nightstand, the hairclip I'd been gifted.

I had not worn it yet. There just were not many suitable occasions in my life, where I would have use for such a thing. There was no point in bringing it to NERV just to take it off in the locker, and I believe decorative articles such as jewelry of any sort was against the school's dress code, not that said code was likely to be strictly enforced, considering how often Suzuhara showed up in his tracksuit.

Horaki-san might scold me, though, and I did not wish to cause her trouble.

It was an uneasy, unusual sensation to find myself considering what another may think about my actions – thus far, no one would have cared what I did aside from the Commander, and he only cared that the work got done.

Now I found myself aware that both Ikari-kun and Horaki-san might be looking at me, and marking what I did.

What was it he said?

'If you cry all night because the sun isn't there, you'll never see the stars'.

I was forced to concede, then, that for all that these strange and new experiences over the past few months had left me overwhelmed, aggrieved or disoriented, only few of them ended with me wishing that I had instead spent the time vegetating in my room.

There were very few things I could say that about, before things started changing.

...

"I've decided. I wish to take you up on your offer."

Only when I saw Horaki-san's rather confused more than even surprised expression did it occurr to me that she probably would not remember what I was referring to, seeing as it happened a good while ago.

I had once again made sure to wait for her outside the classroom while she saw to assigning some of the students to their proper duties.

Earlier, I had considered approaching her during recess or lunch break, but at both those times, she had been engaged in conversation with the pilot of Unit Two, who was unlikely to appreciate my approach.

I didn't wish to put Horaki-san in a situation where the Second's antipathy for my person would create problems for her. Or perhaps, I didn't wish for what little illusions I had about her to be scattered if she was to ignore me in the presence of the Second, who had, after all, been friends with her for far longer.

But now I had gotten her alone.

I was reluctant still when I had seen her emerging from the classroom, but in the end I figured that, if I got it over with, at least I'd have an answer, no matter which it was.

I wouldn't be left wondering, anxious or regretful – or having prematurely concluded what the result would be.

There was very much a part of me that was voting for letting it be, for just saying that it wasn't important, concluding that it wasn't worth trying, going on my way to the end of the day, and just letting it pass by like all the other fleeting, traceless days.

Yet regardless, I decided to explain myself.

In the end, despite all the anticipation, the final act wasn't truly that taxing:

"Some time ago, you brought up the possibility of meeting outside of school…"

"Oh."

The moment she said that, just from her tone of voice, I concluded that this outing wasn't going to happen.

Of course not. I was probably asking on too short a notice.

I had worried for nothing, and pushed past my reluctance to no end.

Of course.

Horaki-san would have other things to do, a full, entire life of a vibrant human being.

Perhaps she meant to meet with the pilot of Unit Two, who would surely not welcome my presence, and I would not insist on imposing on her.

"I see – I'm assuming you already have plans with someone else?"

"Not exactly – But I was going to be volunteering at a community garden, and I've been looking forward to it for a while, since I don't know when I'm going to find the time again…"

She stopped short of outright saying 'no', out of politeness perhaps, but the overall gist was clwar even to me.

"I see. Perhaps some other time then."

Strangely, for all the inhibitions and misgivings that had held me frozen in place almost to the point of never asking, there was a distant, sinking feeling trickling gently from my shoulders into my chest. Not something I would usually give much importance to.

I knew I could ask some other time, and besides, there was no real reason to do this anyway, it wouldn't change anything in the end. Time would pass by just the same.

But that was precisely it – I pictured myself just quietly accepting it the next time, when something else came up, and all of the other times, until there was no more time left.

I would probably have given up on asking long before that point…

Then, something occurred to me.

"...one question, though. You said 'volunteer'. Does that imply that anyone can participate?

I understand if you would rather go by yourself, but, if it is still possible to join in, I would not mind coming. It is different from the activities that you previously suggested, but I would still be open to other types."

"...Are you sure?" Here, Horaki-san's amicable intentions appeared to clash somewhat with her conscientiousness. "We're not going to be horsing around, you know. It's going to be hard work."

"I understand. That is not a problem."

She thought a bit, but, in the end, I suppose that she decided that I could be trusted to take the tasks seriously.

"Alright then – don't forget to bring rubber boots."

…

The garden, really more like a small farm, lay in the very outskirts of the city, nestled against the roots of the mountain. This was necessary for it to contain a small handful of what looked to be traditional-style terraced rice paddies further up the territary.

If you faced away from the mountain, you would find the garden itself enclosed by an overgrown meshwire fence, one of many large plots of land only occasionally dotted by cottage-like houses.

Horaki-san and I had arrived on foot from a small, remote bus station, little more than a pole and a sign with a little bench nearby.

On the lot itself, I could spot, through the fence, some plots of earth planted with vegetables, as well as what looked to be a chicken coop. On the wire-fence, next to the gate, a metal plaque with fading, cutesy designs informed me of the opening times and the property's history.

Besides myself and Horaki-san, a small group of people was gathered in front of the gate, which I assume must be friends of amateur gardening from all over the city.

The volunteers comprised a wide selection of individual, from several middle aged ladies to a small elementary school girl with a conspicuous missing tooth.

Horaki-san appeared to be known to them already and was greeted fondly by her first name.

Soon, one of the older ladies unlocked the gate. While she ushered inside, another marched straight over toward a wooden shed.

The old lady, somewhat more porty than her fellows, reappeared with an old, used-looking plastic box filled with thick gloves and pointy, triangular straw hats.

I remember thinking that they looked quite a bit like the ones I had sometimes seen in old paintings of historic rice farms, featuring bent peasants in traditional clothes – but never had I seen the real thing with its real textures and details, the particular little frayed threads at the edges marking this particular, individual hat.

Apparently, it was time to be planting the rice today – though the ending of seasons after Second Impact had made planting seasons rather more flexible than I am told they used to be in the past.

Once equipped with gloves and hats, all volunteers were lead to the paddies.

I wondered if I was expected to know how this works.

"What is today's mission? I am awaiting your orders."

From the way Horaki-san halted in her motions, I assumed that I might have said something awkward again.

But the older lady standing in front of us had probably seen her fair share of awkward situations over the course of her long life, and easily laughed it off.

"Young Miss, this isn't a mission, but work."

"Is that not the same."

"Well, not exactly-"

The portly lady next to her got a little pensive at that. "What is the difference? What is work? That's a good question, really…"

"Well, I'd say that work is all about shedding sweat together."

I see… kind of. In my mind, I could pull of fragments of things I'd heard or read. Some political theorists speaking of modern citizens' alienation and disconnect from the way their food is produced, their lack of familiarity with animals and plants. The occasional bit of text referencing how farmers were greatly respected in both Confucianist and Buddhist tradition. Ikari-kun telling me something about how he had found it worthile to help Mr. Kaji with his melons, cumbersome as the task had seemed at first.

But those were a ton of abstract concepts and subjective associations and it was not clear to me how anything so great or meaningful could be experienced by digging through wet mud.

I didn't have much expectations, if I did, I would have done something like this before.

Even so, my reason for coming here was to experience something of this world before it went away, and I couldn't do so if I went at this with too many preconceived notions.

So I tried, so much as this can be artificially induced, to approach this task with a blank and open mind, as if I had never seen its like before. I can't truly say that I did.

Fortunately, the veteran amateur gardeners had all manner of advice to offer, swiftly yet gently rushing to correct the numerous, inevitable mistakes of my inexperience:

"Use three fingers to grip it lightly...good!"

"Now push it down straight and deep."

"Don't squeeze it, hold it gently! You just need to get the knack of it."

"Come on! You gotta keep pace with us! Just try to keep pace!"

That wasn't a trivial task. There wasn't much time to rest between placing the seedlings into the wet pool of the paddies, and we had to bend down all the time.

It was surprisingly exhausting, and required a lot of coordination, too.

Hard to imagine that many people used to earn their livelihoods like this in the past – I assume much of it must be done by machines now, machines too large to make sense for this small patch of land.

The other participants moved to the next row before I knew it, as if somehow propelled by a silent agreement of which I could not explain where it came from or when it came to be.

I was mired in the wet mud, and having to extricate myself and my boots from a treacherous wet ground for every step.

Eventually, in the rush to keep pace, I misjudged the necessary force to do so.

I could do little but let out a small noise of surprise before I realized that it was too late to regain my balance.

The cool of the water sent an involutary shiver through much of my body.

"Oh dear, there go our seedlings!"

But despite the fact that I had surely messed up some of our joit handiwork in my fall, the older lady who had just spoken seemed little perturbed and even as the others gathered around, they appeared willing to laugh it off.

"I guess it can't be helped. Come on, I'll give you my hand.

The porty lady in front of me extended her hand and helped me up.

The bottom part of my uniform was still dripping with water, however.

"...do you mind if I get changed in the shed? You don't have to wait for me-"

"It's alright, go ahead."

Fortunately I had brought the usual bad that I tended to bring with me, chiefly cause it contained my wallet and therefore the money for the tram fare.

I had not bothered to remove my plugsuit from it – it was not that heavy, so I had thought that it was better to leave it inside than to risk forgetting it next time I left for NERV HQ.

I left my clothes spread out on the boxes in the shed, hoping they would dry by the time of my return. It was not unlikely in this heat.

After donning my plugsuit, the boots and gloves appeared redundant, but I ended up putting the straw hat back on.

The various amateur gareners were still waiting by the rice paddy.

When I drew near, the old ladies from before respoded with some amazement.

"That's one tight-fitting outfit… never seen something like it before."

Horaki-san mumbled something about it being my work-clothes for my part-time job.

It may have seemed like an approximation to her, but there was nothing part-time about my participation in the project.

It was nothing like a job.

You choose your work. You get to come home after your work is over. Your work has to pay you.

"It is impermeable to water." I remarked, by way of explanation for the suit. "Let us continue the work."

…

Sweat was shed indeed.

I felt it running down my face in no small quantites while we labored in the sun, though I do think that, as time went on, I got a little better at keeping pace – I think there really was a 'knack' to it, a sort of characteristic trance inherent to rythmic activity.

At some point the exhaustion made it hard tothink of anything else, even the feeling of time passing.

While we had been planting the rice, the little girl that showed up with us had been given the easier, gentler task of plucking a small field of radishes. When all of us were one, we ended up back together, sitting at the water, washing the radishes.

That was still work, but, after standing and bending down in the field, it feltmuch like a respite to sit and be able to splash my face with water if I so desired. The liquid that felt chilling when I fell at it at the beginning seemed one of the most pleasant things I had ever felt.

It took longer to wash all the radishes than I expected.

I made sure to rub off all stains of dirt from their rough white surfaces.

At last, I retrieved one from the box that was not the last one, but might be the last that I, in particular, would have to wash given the rate at which the others were removing them.

I picked up a solitary one sitting near the edge of the well-worn plastic box from which all others had been removed. The greens were still attached, but its main stalks were bent.

I felt faintly sorry for the plant.

I did what I could to get it clean so that it would at least reach its destination in good condition and be of use.

Just as I had finished putting it in the buckets that we were to place the clean ones in, I notoced the little girl from earlier with a sideways pigtail and a conspicuous missing tooth.

"Here!" she declared with that confidence that comes of clear if simplistic understanding: "You can have this for working hard on your first day!"

Horaki-san explained to me that volunteers were sometimes allowed to take vegetables with them. The harvests were often shared between the amateur gardeners, but not always.

The association that ran the garden often donated them or used them for some kind of public community event. Most of the radishes we had just washed were going to a local soup kitchen associated with a shelter which housed people who had lost their homes in recent angel attacks.

It had been some time since the last one, but, apparently, not all people had been able to find new accomodations.

The little girl soon ran off, cheerfully holding her own radish in hand, when she spotted what must be her mother waiting by the gate of the garden.

The lady who had left to bring the last box of radishes to its place of storage (a cellar beneath the shed, I think) unexpectedly returned once more, leaning down to where Horaki-san and I were still sitting by the water.

"Hey, Hikari-san!" the lady began jovially, "Do you think your friend would like to join us at the bathhouse?"

"The bathhouse?"

"We sometimes go there to cool off after work." explained Horaki-san.

I suppose it made sense.

The lot of us were indeed in the archetypic state of needing cooling off.

At the offer, there was an automatic twang of resistance stirring in my being.

I was tired. I had already done many things new and unexpected today.

I was tempted to stay home, much as I'd stayed home when Major Katsuagi brought the other pilots to that hot spring that Ikari-kun had told me about.

But I'd since come to learn that this kind of thing can be nice.

Supposedly, hot water should be just the right thing when you are tired and promote recreation.

In theory, that is.

But speaking in and of practice: What was waiting for me at home but my empty apartment?

I had come here because I'd wanted to make new experiences.

To see something of the world before it vanished.

So, I think, that's why I agreed to come along.

The thinner lady even reminded me to pick up my clothes from inside the shed, not begrudging the wait.

They were dry, but I put them in my bag right away. I figured I'd put on my uniform after the bath.

So it was my plugsuit which, together with the radish, ended up in one of the boxes designated for visitor's clothes.

Through some strange irony, the bathhouse that the gardeners were wont to frequent was the same one that I had visited on my own not so long ago. The world has interesting ways of rhyming sometimes.

Last time I was here, I had the place to myself – I must have come at an odd time.

Though I knew, in theory, that this was usually a communal ritual.

I suppose I might count myself fortunate that I'd get a chance to participate in it the way it was 'supposed' to be, for some fashion of participation.

I didn't really do much, or have much to say or tell.

Many of the amateur gardeners had clearly know each other a long time, especially those four middle aged women. They discussed much among themselves, like some mutual acquaintance who was soon due to give birth.

Not that they forgot about myself and Horaki-san – Indeed I think they delighted in telling us stories. Apparently the four older ladies were the founders of the enterprise and had first met each other in the days after Second Impact, when the societal collapse following the event drove them to farming more out of necessity than for recreation. They had not previously known each other and lived rather disparate lives during the impact, but being forced to work together under such harsh conditions led to a fire-forged sense of comradery between them, as well as a grateful appreciation of life for having so narrowly escaped death.

You hear this a lot, stories like that, about how somebody lives through a formative experience, be it great or painful, and is set on an all new trajectory with a greater sense of personal meaning and accomplishment.

I had narrowly escaped death many times as well and witnessed events that most people would probably deem of grand import or evocative of awe, and yet, though they left their impression and even epiphanies, I don't think that any of them lead to a fully change of my trajectory in existence.

Maybe I wasn't capable of being touched like that.

Maybe I was already too hardened in my habits of being, too mired in ways of thinking, too stamped with damage; I wondered to myself how the light heart of a fresh-faced child would retain today's impressions, if I might be moved as well even if I remained fashioned of the same basic substance, if only I could forget everything that came before, and all that I know now.

I leant back onto the hot stones and the warm water, trying to silence the sort of near-inevitable activating of interpreting thoughts, trying to simply take in the scene, burning it into memory -

But that itself dissolved into an uneasy sort of grasping, like I could never quite take it in, or have enough of it, or keep the imprint of everything.

Time passed through me like a sieve, and I found myself a mere watcher, as surely as if a wall of glass were parting me from the others.

The ladies spoke at length of finding hope after hardship even if there were more challenging times up ahead, perhaps meaning to impart their wisdom on us youngsters. I wondered distantly if they were on some level desperate to unload their contents before their time on earth was done, though nothing in their warm, easygoing demeanors betrayed any such fear; Perhaps it was my error.

The tallest, thinner woman said something about carrying on into the uncertain future for those who had not made it past second impact, but of course there would be no future. But human minds are biased in favor of coherence, satisfying stories with beginnings and endings, balance and connections. Horaki-san, I could tell, was somewhat impressed by that tale of fortitude and at some points expressed admiration at the old ladies' fortitute and their contribution to keeping civilization going beyond the chaos of Second Impact. One could see that it was part of why she might prize coming here.

...

I wondered what I was going to do with the radish.

In some ways it felt a bit like an imposition to be responsible for it, but, seeing as it was a gift given to me with complete sincerity, it seemed wrong to let it go to waste.

I think I'd seen them made into shredded salads before – I wasn't sure I had the means to stress it or ingredients for a salat dressing.

Not far from the raddish's new home on my kitchen counter was the lunchbox I was meaning to return – I had thought of learning to cook, of finding the utensils, but then that thought had fallen by the wayside once it had become more… complicated.

There was no real reason why I could not proceed in learning how to cook, of course.

It was considered a general life skill; It was not rational to begin with to think of it as something connected to the Commander's wife in particular.

And there was another new thing sticking out sorely out of the usual uncomplicated sameness of this class, the rubber boots I'd acquired.

I had bought them simply because I was told they were needed, but I almost felt a little sorry for them in thinking that they may have been bought to be used only once.

...

Once set in motion, this new trajectory developed a pull of its own, its own cycle or direction.

Once Hikari knew that this manner of outings were something I' be interested in, previously harbored intentions and perhaps mere convenience lead her to suggest another one, and all I had to do now was agree and go along with it, simply nudge myself over to another path of little resistence.

For now, I was never again invited to anything that would have involved the Second as well – perhaps Horaki-san had given up on that front, or decided to respect our preferences, or perhaps she had been hoping for a while to find someone to do the things with that the pilot of Unit Two would not be so interested in. I might be taken along as a matter of convenience, or perhaps even so we could have our own particular type of activities that we did, which at least made it all a little more predictable.

This time around, Horaki-san ended up taking us to help out at an animal shelter, where we spent an afternoon helping to clean the cages.

The presence of the various animals was clearly part of the reward as far as Horaki-san was concerned, but personally I was reluctant to engage with them much. I didn't have much experience, an besides, they were unedictable living beings who might dislike any undesired interactions and fiercely defend against them.

At first, I stayed out of their way, and simply went about carrying out my alloted tasks without bothering the creatures that inhabited the room. I understood tasks, they were not so far from orders and had an useful, clearly defined purpose.

But in the end, after all the tasks were done, Horaki-san was in no great hurry to leave the premises and seemed to relish sitting on the floor with the creatures whose dwellings we'd just sanitized. She wouldn't have thought of dawdling or slacking off while there was work left to be done, but now, all that dutiful zeal had evaporated. She seemed remarkably content to simply sit there. "These cats are so cute! I always wanted to have one, but since I have so many siblings, there wasn't any space for them left at our house. My dad says it would be too much extra work. "

By then, one of the animals had found its way into her lap and consented to being petted by her.

I glanced down to the individual nearest to me, a somewhat rotund dark specimen of a feline.

I don't think I was going to be comfortable with having one of them sit on me right away, but I tentatively reached out my hand to see how it would react, carefully observing its responses.

I had of course, over the course of my reading and observations, many times come across the notion that these were supposed to be considered 'cute'.

It seemed to be a fairly basic, expential thing, this 'cuteness'. A response you would either notice in yourself or not. I could name many things that were considered 'cute' and list behaviors that would be associated with it, but they were just arbitrary memorized facts without the underlying experience.

Once I guessed that the creature was most likely not going to resist me, I took a risk and touched it, on the back which did not seem to be like it would be an overly sensitive or vulnerable area.

The experience was surprising. Pleasant, I think.

The cat felt warm to my touch, and didn't seem to mind my touch at all, it just kept yawning lazily where it lay.

...so this is 'cute'.

….

The next time I visited the community garden, it was the season for harvesting zucchinis as well as collecting and hacking wood, some of which the participants liked to take home for their use in old-fashioned fireplaces. There wasn't much use for it temperature wise, since it was always summer, but on cooler days some enjoyed it for the aesthetics or a reminder of bygone days before the Second Impact. I overheard some of the older ladies talking about it – I suppose they could be adapted to an use suitable for summer through use in campfires or barbecues as well.

Whatever the case, as before, my first go at such tasks showed mixed results – at one point it was made known to me that I had picked up some Zucchini that were not actually done growing yet.

On my first attempts, I also seem to have used a bit too much force with the wood – but the veteran gardeners seemed to find my misshaps amusing, if anything, and found some satisfaction in explaining to me how to do it properly. It occurred to me that they might be finding it rewarding because they saw teaching me as passing on wisdom to the next generation – surely an illusion.

I wasn't going to live long enough for teaching me to be any good, even if Third Impact were not due to put an end to society as we knew it. But at least for now, yet blissfully ignorant, they relished in this idea of which I had temporarily become a prop.

It was a hot day, and the work involved the carrying and splitting of many longs, and much bending down to reach the Zucchinis, and so, at the end of it, we all ended up taking a rest under the shade of what may have been a fruit tree, just watching time go by, noticing the great difference that could be made by this single nameless tree and its simple act of casting a shadow.

In the grand scheme of things, this tree would probably not have been accounted of much import, though it was an organism, and probably the home of many insects and a symbiotic partner to Fungi. If it was torn down in one of our battles with the EVAs, I doubt that anyone would bother to replace it – perhaps some compensation might be paid to the gardeners.

From the point of view of NERV and the organization… no, from the point of view of most dwellers in this city, to whom this tree was just another speck of green by the side of the road, its existence was probably rather irrelevant. Less irrelevant than mine, even.

And I, too, would have accounted it no different than all the other trees, perhaps slightly less trivial by at least having something like a purpose through its role in the provision of fruit.

Yet right now, as I rested here, inescapably feeling the exhaustion of my labors and the heat of the day, the difference that its being here made was something I could feel with all of my body.

The grass beneath its shadow was cool as it swayed in the merciful breeze.

Not far from where we were resting was a little, narrow stream that ran through the property, and in its clear water, I could spot some tadpoles, they too, perhaps, sheltered in the large tree's shade.

I wasn't sure how long it takes them to grow into frogs – they might or might not make it before the impact…

…

As of today, I had apparently helped with the upkeep of this little plot of land often enough that I, along with the other regulars, ended up being handed a brown paper bag filled with vegetables, including some of the very zuchinis we had been picking.

It was just handed to me as a matter of course – I had noticed that everyone was forming a queue, so assuing that I was supposed to do so as well, I lined up behind Horaki-san, and before I knew it, I had been handed the bag, the firm shapes of fresh vegetables palpable inside.

Both Horaki-san and I were still holding our respective share of alloted vegetables in a bag as we waited for the tram at the station.

The sun was in the process of setting by then, and this far outside the city center, one could spot the first few moths beginning to dance around the as of yet redundant streetlights which had just recently turned themselves on.

As we lingered here, in the balmy evening air, while the tram still showed no signs of arriving any time soon, I was accutely aware of the heavy paper bag in my arms, taking up the space in my hands, filling them with a weight that I would probably have to negotiate while keeping my balance inside the tram as it drove around the curves in its rails, at least if it should be full. I might have to carry that weight home, to deposit it on the small, lonely counter of the rudimentary kitchen that lay squeezed next to the entrance of my dwelling, and then after that, I would bear the scarcely less heavy responsibility of finding a use for it.

It seemed a burdensome thought, but I would feel bad letting something go to waste that had so much work into it and was probably a rare good quality privilege that not many could afford these days. So I thought that the produce should probably be given a better use.

An obvious one presented itself in my immediate vicinity.

I stretched out the arm in which I carried the produce ever so slightly towards Horaki-san.

"Do you want to have this?"

"Huh?"

It seemed to take her by surprise.

"If I remember correctly, you have a rather large family, and you cook for them sometimes, so, I thought you might make better use of this than me."

"That's really thoughtful of you!" she said at first, her eyes lighting up a little bit – but then, the process going on in her face and voice suddenly stopped, dimmed by a passing thought as sunlight might be by a passing cloud.

"...but, um, don't you want to try them yourself? It's your very first bag after all."

"I wouldn't really have a use for it," I confessed.

At first, Horaki-san opted for a humorous response: "They're vegetables. You eat them."

"I rarely do cook. I wouldn't know how to prepare these properly. Besides, I live on my own, and it seems like too much effort to cook just for myself."

"It's not too much effort!" declared Horaki-san with surprising conviction.

It seems she had completely snapped into responsible class representative mode upon hearing this, even raising her index finger: "Eating fresh cooked food with plenty of vegetables is good for your health!"

I couldn't exactly explain to her that no amount of healthy eating was going to do much to preserve the artificial golem I inhabited beyond its limited viability. To be honest, I don't think I understood the value placed on a long life either way – for humans, a longer life usually just means rotting in a institution for a little longer, or burdening your relatives with your vacant empty shell. Though I suppose that people mostly clung to life because they were afraid of death, not because life was really all that great. It was a choosing of the devil you know because there is no guarantee of anything on the other side. That at least I might understand somewhat.

But regardless of my hesitancy to answer, Horaki-san was not done speaking anyway:

"If you end up with any extra stuff, just save in a tupperware box and take it with you to school the next day as lunch! Eating a healthy lunch helps you concentrate better in school, too."

My grades were not going to matter either – though I suppose better concentration might be an end in and of itself, or help with piloting… though frankly, I was tired enough as it is of being forced to put in even the limited, minimal amount of work to maintain a shell that was going to wither anyway…

But it seem that, the less I responded, the more that Horaki-san's mind seemed to solidify on a spontaneous decision: "...You know what? I'll show you what you can do with these! Do you have any important plans for tonight?"

I was going to rest, and maybe read a little, but I choose to simplify so as not to invite further questions.

"...Not really. Is there a reason why you're asking?"

"Come to my place! I'm going to give you a little cooking lesson!" she declared, beaming with measured but still quite apparent enthusiasm.

I was faced with a decision then.

It was true that I had been thinking about learning to cook properly for a while, if not quite for those reasons. Also, this was probably the first time that any classmate had ever invited me to their home, not counting the time that Major Katsuragi had me come over to where she lived with Ikari-kun and the Second Child for the purpose of synchronized training.

That's considered some kind of desirable milestone isn't it, to get invited to places? To be honest I never really cared. I saw no point in doing some arbitrary act just to say I had done it, but I do not think that applied here, after all I had chosen to spend more time with Horaki-san, and that I might as well do it properly.

Part of me had been looking to go home on my own, for Horaki san's train to arrive and leave me to be at rest by myself with the exertions of the day behind me. That moment would not come if I chose to follow her instead, I might have to keep thinking of things to say to her and meet further strangers at her home whom I could no really predict. Her place was probably just a house, with people in it, like any other in this city.

And yet it was a place that I hadn't ever seen before, unlike the room I was set to return to now, where one more evening was sure to blur into so many many others, unlikely to even stand out as anything distinct in my memory when the time would come for me to leave that room behind for the last time.

Which probably is why I choose to follow Horaki-san that time.

Just out of curiosity, really.

Just to have done it once before the looming end.

Just to know what it's like.

...

Before I knew it, the city lights were rushing by us on the other side of the windows separating the outside of the tram from its contents. We couldn't find seats right next to each other, but I made sure to stay where I could keep Horaki-san within sight, so that I wouldn't miss the exit.

I'd have a brief respite while the ride continued – Horaki-san had taken out her phone to warn her family of an incomming visitor, though I doubt that she would have made the proposal and had me follow her into the vehicle if there was any real chance of her guardians objecting.

At last we arrived without any issues or problems worth mentioning.

Paper bag of vegetables still in hand, I followed Horaki-san out of the tram and right up the street we disembarked on, following along the curvature of a gentle hill.

We had arrived at a fairly typical suburban neighborhood in a part of the city I had never really been to, thought it wasn't really all that far from where the community garden had been – I suppose Horaki-san had found out about it from the relevant proximity.

Unlike the fairly impersonal appearance of large appartment buildings where the interests of numerous inhabitants had to be respected, the duplexes, rows of townhouses and single-family homes that dominated this neighborhood left their owners more room to adjust them to their specification – the variety in lawn designs and decorations allowed some guesses at the tastes and habits of the affluent citizens that might be living there.

Some had invested their time in plating a great variety of flowers, others opted to cover their plot with pebbles instead. One might guess that houses with swings or basketball hoops probably belonged to families with children.

The house which Horaki-san eventually lead us to wasn't anything especially remarkable in the great scheme of things; There was a lawn the back-facing part of which was circled with a hedge, the grass appeared to have been mowed, but not recently. The little sandbox at the corner of the garden was getting a little overgrown now that Horaki-san and her sisters were presumably too old to spend their days building mudcakes inside of it.

There was a wooden sign with the family name on the door, but it was somewhat dusty.

I was handed Horaki-san's own ration of vegetables so that she could fumble for her keys, unlocking a world of warm light and strange smells.

I was familiar, from having read of it, that most homes have a particular smell, though we do not tend to notice our own. I wondered how much mine resembled or different from that of other people. I suppose on a basic level, it smellt of the human animal much like a stable smells of farm animals or how the cages at the animal shelter had smelt of cats and dogs. Human being shed hair, exhale droplets, cover all manner of surfaces with the dust of their dead skin cells and gradually soil their bedsheets with their skin oils. What we think of as the shells of separate beings are really ambulant complex chemical reactions ever pulling from and oozing into their surroundings, hopelessly open systems that give the lie to our fragile dreams of individuality or independence.

Only our souls, our minds and thoughts and feelings, are kept utterly inacessible from everything else by the walls of our AT-fields, to arise and perish again within our fleeting cages of flesh.

Swiftly, Horaki-san and I were met by one of the other human animals inhabiting this dwelling – a swift-footed, lanky freckled girl of about eleven years old, dashing swiftly to the entrance the instant that our foorsteps had been audibl, or perhaps already set to pounce upon the turning of the key.

"Onee-san is back! Onee-san is back!" one assumes that the houses' short denizen was announcing this for the benefit of what other inhabitants might still be lurking within the house – especially since she swiftly informed them of yet another noteworthy circumstances:

"Ooooh! You brought a new friend! This one has funny hair too!"

Horaki-san, it seems, was swiftly mortified by the child's careless honest response – "Nozomi-chan, don't be rude!" but I honestly did not mind.

My hair was funny, certainly more so than the Second Child's, which was merely a shade that was unusual in these parts. It was odd to think of her coming through this very same door frame, probably more often that she had counted.

As for little Nozomi, her lack of ill intentions would quickly prove itself without doubt in the immediate reaction to the rapproach:

"Oh, Sorry! Forgive me, Onee-san's friend! I didn't mean it in a mean way! Is my apology accepted?"

One presumes she may have heard talk in cartoons or the like about how apologies could be accepted or not accepted.

"Yes."

"Good then! Welcome to our house~"

Her curiosity satisfied, little Nozomi skipped straight past us to what I would find to be the living room once Horaki-san and myself arrived there at a slower pace, burdened with our bags of vegetables as we were.

The room directly bordered a kitchen unit separated by a high counter decorated with various boxes and a fruit bowl.

Near to it was a generously-sized dinner table.

Further inside, leading to several large windows and a glass door facing the yard, there were various pieces of upholstery and an old-ish television, as well as bookshelves, some scattered toys, all manner of what one would assume to be typical living room contents.

I actually had not often seen such a scene myself, utterly common as it would have been considered by most inhabitants of this city. Actually, I'm not sure that I ever did.

I don't think I'd ever seen the swift, bouncy steps of a child leading back to her toys, as Little Nozomi's were now, or such a child adressing new occupants of a room with a little wave as they came in, though it seemed like the sort of thing a child would do and frequently would be seen doing in books and the like.

I'd never seen someone's dad idly sitting at the table with a newspaper, still dressed in the steet clothes that he had presumably worn to work, or raising up his gaze from the paper to take stock of his returning daughter and whichever stranger she had brought wit her into the house, though I would assume that this is something fathers often did.

Mr. Horaki was a perfectly ordinary, short portly man with close-cropped graying hair and a thick large nose burdened with thick round glasses.

He was more or less exactly what you would expect someone's father to look like.

Many including myself had been greatly surprised when we learn that Commander Ikari had once wed a wife and sired a son; But if this man were to mention to his co-workers how he lived in a suburban house with several daughters by his late wife, I don't think anyone would bat an eyelash at it, not even the most recent arrivals to the office. Not that there was anything grandly archetypical or ideal about the man, either. He was just a man, an ape with hairy arms and legs. Yet even so, this very typical man was probably the center of their world for Horaki-san and her sisters. That seems to be a consequence of being loved, that even an ordinary person can become as interestesting as the most accomplished figure – perhaps that is why people seem to go through such great lenghths to obtain it.

Not that I would really know, I'd only observed it, and merely from a fair, too. There is not much love that goes on at NERV at a regular basis. It's rather a place where sentimentality would be squashed beneath the cold hard logic of survival.

This here, however, presented me with an opportunity to observe something very different. A so-called home, in theory (though often only there) the factory where love is thought to be manufactured and refined, if it were a product to be shipped somewhere.

So, I watched as Horaki-san took a few steps forward to speak with her father:

"Ah, Hikari! Welcome home. Is this the new friend you mentioned?"

"Yeah – this is Ayanami-san. She'll be staying for dinner tonight – actually, she's going to help me make it. She even brought some extra vegetables. She wasn't sure what to use them for, so, I thought I'd show her."

"Truly!" he remarked, a bit absently, only peering a finger's breath over his newspaper, "It's important to appreciate and show gratitude for the privilege of being able to eat fresh food. In the years after Second Impact, this would have been a luxury!"

I think I recalled the old math teacher at our school saying something similar now and then – though Horaki the elder had a touch more passion in his words, distant and passing though it might be, exhibited dutifully more as a matter of principle amid the lulling, steady flow of everyday life.

Interestingly, I think I was beginning to see where some of Horaki-san's sense of dutifulness had its origin, if one might picture her having grown up listening to many such idle lectures about the importance of not taking one's good fortunes for granted.

Apparently satisfied that Mr. Horaki was done speaking, his middle daughter made her way into the kitchen area, which I took as a cue to follow her.

"Okay then –" she said, decicively surveyong the countertop. "We better get started so that we're finished before Onee-san gets home from her part-time job."

"You're referring to your other sister…"

"Yes, Kodama. She started working early to earn a bit more money to help support the family, so… I guess I decided that I wanted to help too, in my own way. That's why I do the cooking. It's one less thing that Dad needs to do after he comes home tired from work."

"I see."

I think I read things about that – how it can be a burden to be forced to grow up early and take on responsibilities in the absence of parents or the presence of overburdened ones. It figured that, like most people, even Horaki-san would carry some kind of suffering of her own.

I think I felt an impulse to communicate some kind of sympathy to her, or grant her a relief, maybe, but I wouldn't know what to really say. What did I know of the difficulty of living as part of a family?

Besides, I couldn't really know what she was thinking, or what she felt about it. I surely did not wish to imply a lack of competence or ability to cope by speaking about some struggle that she may or may not perceive. And in the end, no words I could say would really change her circumstances. I would only have meddled in something I had no business in.

So I left this half-finished sympathy unsaid in the air.

So, I focussed on the task at hand, grateful for the structure it provided, the possible forward steps it offered, like the possibility of putting down the bag of vegetables on the counter and beginning to unpack them. "What are we going to be making?"

Horaki-san smiled here, as if she'd been waiting for the chance to answer that question. She soon produced a thick folder with a colorful design featuring citrus fruit, which was kept in one of the shelves next to containers of salt and sugar as well as boxes of cereal.

The page she opened it to struck me as resembling the notes she'd take in class, neat, orderly handwriting with clearly underlined headings and color-coded markings.

But despite the resemblance, the writing wasn't hers.

„This recipe actually has a bit of a history. See, this here was a collection of my mom's favorite recipes. I think she put it together when she was young and looking forward to having her own family. I found it a few years ago in the attic, along with some old books and what used to be her clothes."

I realised, in theory, that I was being trusted with some rather personal information. I suppose it should have been a special, personal moment, or would have been considered as such by most.

„It was about the time that Nee-san first got her part time job, so I was thinking that, since she was helping our Dad to get enough money for us, I should be helping too. I was too young to do anything except maybe hand out newspapers, so I figured that I would learn to cook, so that I would at least be taking some work off of everybody else's hands.

Besides, I don't remember very much about my mother, and Nozomi-chan doesn't have any memories of her at all, so I thought that this would be a way for us to say connected to her as well.

I'm thinking that maybe one day, I will be making some of these recipes for my own kids – that way, they will know something of their grandma from her soup, and maybe when I'm long gone, they'll still be making it for my own grandkids..."

I was, by every possible measure, being included in someone's personal life and feelings more than I had ever been before, except perhaps by Ikari-kun, who didn't have so much to tell nor much of a typical family experience to share, and whose history, of all people, was fraught with ambiguous associations, but even still, I couldn't have felt more distant from or uninvolved in the direct surroundings I could smell and feel.

Was it the knowledge that Hiraki was never going to have that chance to bear children, because the world would end before she'd get that opportunity? The Commander might have said that this way the memories she treasured would be preserved forever, not just vaguely passed down to be lost within a few generations. Maybe it was the very absurdity of the idea that anything of a dead woman's essense could really be passed down in a recipe that she might just have copied from a magazine some day because she liked it, and even if Hikari did get the chance to pass it into her kids, they'd probably associate it with her, not a long-dead stranger who they'd never met.

Maybe I keenly felt my own lack of any roots to loock back on or any such ties to connect me with any past, especially those I would actually be glad of, cherish and preserve, when I thought of Hikari trying to weave this connection between her mother, her sister and some hypothetical future.

I hadn't any family traditions of my own, nor would I leave anything behind for others to miss or connect to.

Or perhaps I was focussing on that disconnection because it's an excuse to escape the connections that I actually had, the ones I didn't want and didn't truly feel connected to. Or perhaps it was that I feared connecting to them.

Perhaps it was that apprehension I felt, a sudden sense of being pierced as if by a frozen javelin, when I realized how even in coming here to have an experience apart from everything at NERV, I couldn't help but get involved or perhaps even drawn, through my choices, to something that had something to do with someone's mother – me, who had never known a mother, who lacked any trace of motherly instinct, of that patience, warmth or human understanding.

Me, who had nothing to give, and might yet dissappear into that total devotion of being entirely for someone else. As if I didn't know that already, but in a different way, a forced, joyless way, in which I could never give myself, because I had never possesed myself to begin with, so that I longed to claw at every bit of me I could briefly take a hold of, the scattered hours of solitude.

I feared that I was something so lacking, so threadbare and flimsy, that I might easily be washed away if I did not keep myself separate from Yui Ikari, like I was only the sand in her eyes before working out, an error that would perish as the imperfect copy straightened itself out.

But there would be no sense in refusing to particupate either, not after I'd come all this way, to do something else rather than go back to my nothing.

I'd just have to trust that the very own reasons that we had for coming here and doing as we did, my own private coloring of meaning, would count for as much as whatever greater fate might have propelled me here, if only because I no longer believed in any kind of given, objective meaning.

…

So this was a typical family dinner.

I did not really have the opportunity to witness one before, not even as a spectator.

Shortly before Hikari and I were finished preparing the soup, the eldest Horaki sister arrived through the door, still in the waitress uniform she was wont to wear at her part-time job.

She asked straight away about dinner, and Hikari assured her that it wouldn't be long – it was then that Mr. Horaki suggested that the other two sisters go about setting the table.

The plates and mugs were already laid out by the time that Hikari carried over the large pot filled with the results of our work.

I had hurried ahead of her to place a wooden board where the pot was to be placed so as to keep the tablecloth from burning or being stained from the underside of the pot.

The other Horaki sisters and their father had already taken their seats. An extra set of tablewae was laid out as well, so I took it that this is where I was to sit.

Hikari proudly doled out portions of soup with a big steel ladle, clearly pleased to be able to show me the results.

„Soo, what do you think?"

„...it feels sort of flaky in my mouth…"

I wasn't sure how else to describe it.

It certainly wasn't intended as a negative, but as soon as it occurred to me, belatedly, that it could be taken thus, I was assured that I need not have worried, mostly due to young Nozomi's enthusiastic assent:

„Nee-san is the best cook ever, isn't she?"

That might have been hyperbole, seeing as there was no way for the young girl to have tasted all of mankind's culinary achievements, but I could see where the enthusiasm came from.

„It's distinctly above average."

„Huh?" the younger girl gave me an unabashed quizzical look.

„What I mean is that I don't often get to have something this nice."

„You might though," suggested Hikari, „if you started cooking your own food from fresh ingredients. Maybe not all the time, if you're busy because of the EVAs and everything, but maybe just once in a while."

„I see…"

I observed the dinner as it proceded.

Much of the conversation was filled by Nozomi, who appeared to be fairly energetic – she talked at lenght about her own day, including how she had gone out with a friend of hers who was apparently very interested in the subject of trains, and had been looking to videotape a particular one while regalling the young girl with all kinds of factoids about the vehicle's history.

„Trains are a very efficient, safe and eco-friendly form of transportation.", I commented.

I mostly wasn't sure what else to say, and for the most part simply watched while minding my own soup. I could see what Hikari had meant about the fresh, homegrown ingredients making a difference. To some degree it might just be because I was paying attention to them and expecting there to be a difference, but I do think that they had notceably more flavor that what is typically served at NERV's cafeteria.

Now and then, the oldest sister Kodama would join in with some stories about her friends or some complaints about her work (Mr. Horaki told her to be grateful that she has a job at all, but it was more a passing, distracted comment than anything else.)

I couldn't see what was so special about the discussions that were happening; Maybe not so long ago, I would have dismissed it as trivial banalities without a purpose. But it was not so now – with the limited experience I had gained in these short few months since the arrival of the angels, I could perceive the faint sketch of a greater pattern, something more going on, something greater beyond this small moment and yet building on it as a part – whatever must be causing those genuine looks of fondness and actual interest which the Horakis showed for the tiny details of each others' days that would otherwise have seemed unimportant in the long-run.

It was more impressive because it wasn't even an overly exaggerated interest like what may be spurned by excessive idealization or limerence, the genuine interest was just quietly there.

Again it struck me that this is probably what love does. It need not even come with much great passion, nor was it guaranteed by such; Rather, it seemed a genuine and sustained interest in another's existence and wellbeing, as well as an appreciation of it.

In truth there was probably a hard limit of what I might learn about typical human love, family or friendship just from observing this one scene with limited context, which was after all just one family with its own unique foibles of which surely not all could be generalized – and I could not even say that I knew any of the participants especially well, not even Hikari.

What I had stumbled into was just enough of a glimpse to know that it was there, unfolding beyond my personal horizon of experiences. To know that there is this entire sphere or slice of existence that happens without me, though I only occasionally get a glimpse into it.

I suppose that I am not a part of most communities on earth, and even a typical human would only take part in a fraction, so, there isn't anything strange about it.

Humans being beings sufficiently like them leead a fairly small existence that for most doesn't take them far beyond the bounds of a familiar routine, and even those who travel far probably just keep finding all the same things in different places.

For example, the Horakis would only know the most surface things of NERV and lack any awareness of the human instrumentalility project, even though it would come to decide their future very soon.

Nobody here really knew much of my true entanglement with these matters, or that they even existed. As citizens of Tokyo-3, they knew a little more of NERV than the average civilian, but nothing that would have lead them to suspect that I was any different from, say, Ikari-kun or the pilot of unit two. In theory, I could have acted as if my situation were just like theirs, and experienced for a moment what that might be like, if only in a kind of simulacrum, receiving what it would be like to be interacted with a such, if only in the banal context of this simple dinner.

But of course, that wasn't really possible. Not because of any limiting material fact, but because of the white hot awareness of my own being and situation which I could not help but carry within myself. What has been seen cannot be unseen and proceeds to hopelessly shackle one forever to a particular view or point of view, and each new piece of knowledge limits how you may view or process every following one, until perhaps at last the mind freezes in useless stagnation – not that I would ever exist long enough to find out.

…

After dinner, Hikari and I somehow proceeded to doing our homework and discussing today's classes. For this, we retreated to her room to be a little outside the main focal point of the noisy family. I don't think it was ever explicitly suggested, nor do I recall being asked if I wish to do it or told that it would take place, it just seemed to be treated as the obvious progression, as if it should have been implied, and so I assumed that this was somehow the natural follow up.

At most, Hkari suggested that she would not wish to be responsible for me missing out on the chance to see to my homework and studies because of her invitation.

I wasn't even really planning on doing it, it seemed much like pointless busiwork, but now it was apparently part of the scheduled activities for today. As the class representative, it stands to reason that Hikari would consider schoolwork to be very important.

To my surprise, however, the situation continued after the homework tasks had concluded. Hikari got out her neatly organized, labelled folders and retrieved the notes which she had taken from today's various classes. Apparently, the post-processing for the schoolday was supposed to continue some more, this being the activity that was usually referred to as ‚studying'.

She was quite shocked to find that I had not even really taken notes.

„It is uneccesary, I can usually remember the important things without them."

Somehow, this put Hikari in an awkward situation, or at least it seemed from her tone of voice that she probably perceived this as such, as if she were torn beetween multiple impulses and knew not how to proceed, though I couldn't possibly say what she was considering.

„I mean, uh, that's really impressive, and I do know you're pretty smart, but still..."

„That is hardly the case, ther are many things I don't understand or that I cannot really do. I do not think why you would think that."

I realize now that I must have made the next point which she meant to make even more awesome.

„No, it IS amazing. Most people are pretty confused the first time they hear it… but still!" she announced, switching from admiring to a more deliberate, stern tone, „Even if you are smart, that's no excuse to just coast by without studying! Maybe you can get away with this in middle school, but subjects gets more challenging the further you go – you might be fine now, but what about highschool? Or even college? If you don't build good study habits now, you'll regret it later! There are many stories of talented people crashing and burning in college because they never acquired any proper studying skills!"

She seemed to have rather strong opinions about this.

I couldn't exactly tell her that any such concerns would be rendered irrelevant given the impending changes to even the most basic facts about human existence. I had previously tried supplying the simplified answer of simply ponting out that there was no guarantee that any of us would survive the comming war, but when I did that, Ikari-kun had been rather upset and felt a need to comfort me or make a fuss about me, and I desired no repeat of that, not when there was nothing anyone could do about this while I could not possibly explain the futility of their endeavors to them.

I still saw no point in saying things that were not true, but I didn't wish to draw attention to myself. I wanted this moment to simply continue, to keep dreaming this dream as if it were completely sealed off from the looming weight of all reality.

So I simply answered this:

„If my abilities are insufficient for college, then I suppose I will not get a college degree, they are not really necessary anyway."

„You're talking as if it's something that you can't influence!" retorted Hikari, perhaps mildly infuriated. „Taking tests is a skill like any other, it's something you can train. That's what studying is for!"

So I got lectured on various studying techniques. Hikari claimed to have gottn them from a young man on youtube who managed to get to Tokyo University with these techniques despite having been rather average in highschool and proudly proclaimed that anyone could get As in college. I can see why Hikari would be the type to resonate with such messages. I did take notes on the techniques in the end. Turns out there's quite a lot more to it than just re-reading your notes, books or lecture slides. I did not think I would ever need them, but perhaps someday somebody would ask me something about this subject and I would then be able to supply answers.

Besides, I did wish to appreciate Hikari's good will, at least. The future she was imagining for us was not possible, but her intention to look out for me was very real, even if it must go to waste.

It was rather sad that nothing could come of it, so pat of me wished it was not happening, but at the same time, it would not be fair to dismiss her genuine concern for my person.

She must have been concerned for me earlier even before, during all the previous times that she had invited me to spend time with her.

I just did not really see it, or value it… it wasn't even thinkable.

In all honesty, it still seems to me as if it had been largely a futile endeavor, but I did not want to deprecate the intention behind it, if only because I'd think that, if I were in Hikari's position, I'd hope for my sentiments to count for something, if I could not articulate a reason for why anyone should do so.

It just so happened, rarely, that people sometimes had some sympathy for one another – a shaky, unsteady ground, for one could never be sure how far it would go.

Or at least I could not, seeing as I didn't really grasp the mechanism behind it.

Though, if I did grasp it, must it then not seem as a predictable phenomenon that wasn't worth getting excited over?

I suppose the difficulty is the challenge in taking the derivate according to two variables at once. If you wish to track change in one measure, you end up having to trat all others as static. If you wish to describe a system, you end up trating some components as agents that make decisions and others as mechanical parts being acted upon, but the choice is often an arbitrary one of perspective.

You can see another as making choices and responding to you of your own free will, or as being influenced by forces such that where their actions are either deterministically prescribed or utterly random.

You can see yourself in both those ways, too.

Nobody can claim to be fully free of influences, but at the same time, nobody sits there and waits for their decisions to make themselves.

It might be simply beyond us to comprehend the full complexity, if the entire distinction is not somehow an artifact of our limited thinking to begin with.

It is said that one gets better at predicting the future or understand the past and present by having a capacity for dissonance, for tolerating contradiction, relying on multiple models to compensate for the limitations in our ability to map the world.

But in doing so, neither model in one's arsenal can truly be claimed to be ‚real'. The very distiction loses meaning.

Which is to say: There might not be a meaningful answer to how ‚real' Hikari's concern might be. If I kept looking for a reason for why it wasn't, I would probably find it, especially if there was some motivation present, like not wanting to leave the bounds of the small world I had existed in, where things might be dreary, but at least they were predictable.

I didn't have strong motivating evidence to lead me to doubt it, though, so, if any such thing as ‚friendship' has ever been real in any way, this was probably it, or at least the probability was very high. This was surely one case where even the long, twinned shadows of Lillith or Yui Ikari couldn't even remotely be relevant. Hikari knew nothing of them.

– I shouldn't expect a fanfare from the heavens telling me that this is real. Indeed even if I had some inchoate intuitive feeling that ‚this is real', I do not know that I could trust it, so what would it mean? The difference is merely subjective, and perhaps such a subjective feeling could only grow from experience, from repeatedly experiencing it and getting familiar with it's qualia, from granting or conceding that it was being experienced.

But, in so far as any human could ever be said to truly care for another, I was probably being cared about right now.

I would have felt sorry for her if I discounted that.

So, this is what I said, just as I had gathered my things into my bag and was about to make for the door: „Thank you for inviting me."

The chance to say it for all the other times dating back to last year was probably long past, but, at least she wouldn't perish thinking that I had never appreciated her attempts to be good to me. There was no telling what she might end up concluding, if I never said anything.

As it stands, she smiled when she heard this, a bit more nervously than I would have expected:

„It makes me really, really happy to hear that. I was worrying that I was maybe annoying you, or that you might end up hating it…"

I did wonder why she would expect me to change my mind this far into the process, or how she would expect me to be the one to have a problem with her, but by now I had realized that people sometimes have hangups like that.

„I'm glad as well that you feel that way." I added – it was a relief, honestly, I think I would have felt bad if this had been an imposition to her or something done out of obligation, but clearly she was, for some reason, genuinely happy that I had come along, to the point that she was worried that she'd been the on imposing on her.

This once, my prensence had defitely been wanted.

…

I looked it up. It takes the average tadpole between 12 to 16 weeks to become a frog.

So, about three to four months.

I can't say how far along they were or what species they are, so I cannot say whether those little ones that I saw in the stream might make it before the Impact. If they did, it would be just barely…

Which is assuming that the garden won't by flattened by an EVA or an Angel before then.

I kind of wish I had a more definite answer, even if it was a clear no, I could begin accepting it, but as it is, it just remains unresolved and I'll probably be thinking of them again.

Today's radish soup was maybe a little bland, but I think I got the basic principle right.

Still I wish that I had used it earlier, before some of the outer shell came to be less firm than it used to be.

...

The next day there was an event at the community garden, Hikari was busy – between going to her younger sister's sports' game and having some studying to catch up on, she couldn't make it.

Regardless, I ended up heading for the gardens all on my own. I had photographed the plaque with the opening times to make sure that I'd remember them correctly, and I'd already bought the rubber boots, so, I might as well use them.

It was a long weekend , and for once, I didn't really have anything to do at NERV. I had already finished all the books I'd borrowed and wouldn't be able to get any new ones before monday and spent all of saturday recovering from the week's exhastions, so, under other circumstances, sunday would have been yet another day that I would have spent simply existing.

I almost didn't go – I told myself I would leave later until it was time to tell myself it was probably too late, but in the end, I ended up racing to catch the tram.

Even though I arrived a little late, I was warmly received. The older ladies immediately recognized me and the little girl who'd once given me the radish waved at me excitedly.

We went to work straight away.

Today's list of tasks included collecting some eggs from the chicken coop on the grounds – one of the older ladies explained that she usually fed them and checked in on them during the days when no activities took place. Apparently, she had a lot of opinions about chickens and how she considered them underappreciated, charming creatures, though I don't think I really grasped the humor in her appreciation of the animals' more pugnacious traits. One of the things she had learned by getting relatively informed about the creatures was that most commonly used breeds nowadays were relatively recent – she reported how she could no longer watch period dramas without noticing the lack of historically accurate legacy breeds.

I suppose that is another way that your knowledge and perspective can change how you look at the world – until recently, I had not rally known anything about either chickens or period dramas, some other parts of this great universe with its world within world that I had not been aware of.

The world seemed to unfold before me as a hyperbolic surface, with more and more space in every possibile direction, worlds within world within worlds and a growing painful certainty that I couldn't even begin to understand most of them in the pitiful time remaining to me.

Most possibilities had already become inacessible to me, as surely as a galaxy that had drifted past our cosmic event horizon long ago, though its light above still taunts me, an illusory reminder of a time when it may have been closer, but still unreachably far away.

Halfway through, the old lady asked me if she was boring me… she could probably tell that I had been getting lost in thought, and that awareness of suddenly being seen startled me more than I thought it might.

I assured her that she wasn't.

I was grateful to be listeing to her. Futile and meaningless as it all might be, I think there is something really beautiful in hearing somebody talk about their passions, whatever it is that brings a sparkle to their eyes, or seems meaningful and important to them – how rare and precious it is to have such a thing, instead of empty, as I am.

Perhaps I was designed to be empty, because I was eventually intended to take up the whole world into myself, in a manner of speaking. I could begin now by listening.

Once gathered, the eggs were brought to a recent farmer's market to be sold there. The proceedings were to be saved for new seeds, plants and gardning tools, and the reminder was to be donated to a local animal shelter, perhaps the very same one.

Many of the participants stopped here to change clothes in the shed, changing their earth-soiled clothes for something more suitable for playing saleslady.

I had not really brought an alternative outfit.

Some of the ladies commented on how I was always wearing the same clothes, and whether I didn't have any other ones.

I realized only belatedly that they were actually expressing concern – I diddn't want my activities here to create problems for NERV, especially since I'd embarked upon this without telling anyone – well, there was probably little that a single middle-aged lady could create in terms of of serious trouble, but nonetheless, I swiftly assured them that my guardians provided me with sufficient ressources. I simply had not ever needed or wanted different clothes before.

"...your guardians, you say…. So your parents aren't in the picture…"

At first, I did not understand why her thoughts had gon in that direction.

"Anyway, you might want to try out wearing something else just for the fun of it! I'm sure it would look cute on you~"

"Why would I need to look cute?"

This seemes to irritate her a little, but it didn't slow her down for long: "Well, there's no reason that you have to. There are other worhwhile things in life for sure. We were just thinking that you might want to. You know, to impress a special someone, or just for yourself."

"For myself?"

"Just for fun, to express what sort of person you want to be, or just because you're worth it…. You don't have to, of course. That sort of thing is supposed to be something you do because you want to, not because you feel you have to because of somebody's expectations… it's really all up to you. If you're not interested in that, then that's fine, too. Like I said, it's up to you."

...

For some reason, I decided to take a slightly different path than usual on my way home. Maybe it was simply out of a desire to see something else for once, or to increase by one the paths I'd taken, or to increase the percentage that I would have seen of the city I had spent all of my life in.

Though of course I could presume that I would see everything that was ever seen when we would all become one on the day of the prophecy, but I wouldn't be seeing it through these eyes, not ever again. I would probably join that great union only as a faded figment in Lillith's mind, wholly revealed in its absurdity in ways I could not comprehend now…

Nonetheless, the new path did not lead me to truly new places. As it so often happens, a great many roads can connect to a large number of other ones, many ways leading to the same destination.

I ended up near the animal shelter that Hikari and I had volunteered at that one time.

The door was closed, of course, there were no high school girls helping out there at this time, probably no one but any regulars who might work there, but one could look through the chainlink fence at the edge of the lot, where some of the animals were lounging around in the outdoor area.

I even spotted the round cat that I saw during my last visit – it lay pretty close to the fence, enjoying a lazy moment in the sun.

Well, actually she was laying in the sun - I think, under closer inspection, I think the cat's round shape was not due to fat, but pregnancy. Her belly was rounded rather than spreading out in a loaf-like shape.

I knelt down to observe her a little further.

Even this small little animal had a sort of complicated life of her own.

The kittens would have a good chance at being adopted out, seeing as baby animals tend to be popular with potential owners… or they might not. I'm not sure how long kittens take to gestate or be mature enough to leave their mother's care, but they might not really reach this point before Third Impact.

It seemed a bit unfair that they would be erased as well, they had not reached the inescapable endpoint of carrying the mature fruit of life – as far as the First Ancestral Race was concerned, these simpler lifeforms might be mere side-effects of creating Angels and Lillim, but were they not life just as much?

Life that knew nothing of the kind of existential preoccupations that us thinking beings carry with us and did not need liberation from it. They simply wanted to live, lacking the very capacity to loathe their own kind or to wish for an end to the condition of their existence. In a way, it almost seemed like humans had doomed this entire ecosystem by maturing into the legacy of our creators… though the program of the creators should be buried within all Lillithian life. If humans had not been there, then perhaps the fruit of Lillith might have come to full fruition in creatures like whales, crows or elphants, or even ants, bees or octopi.

I wondered if such creatures did not somehow contain other aspects of our makers that made them shaped in their image just as much as humans were – the angels, too, had a great many varied shapes, some of them not too dissimular from animals.

I could console myself with the knowledge that I would at least be relieving them from their suffering – the inescapable, inevitable suffering that came from the necessity for them to fight, devour and parasitize each other. Attrition rates of over 90 percept were not unusual in nature – most of what lived, lived short and nasty lives with cruel ends. Even plants were forced to compete with each other for a place in the sun.

These cats, too, had ultimately ended up here because somebody had abandoned them.

But I couldn't help but note that they were nonetheless trying to live – the cats, the plants, even the human beings of Tokyo-3.

…

The very next day, it just so happened that I was approached by Hikari at school, right at the beginning of the lunch break.

"Do you want to eat with us today?"

This surprised me somewhat.

"I've nothing against it, but don't you usually eat with the pilot of Unit Two?"

"Asuka-san will be there too…. That's not a problem, is it?"

"Not a 'problem', exactly, but if that is the case it might be better if you go without me."

Hikari appeared dejected, but not alltogether surprised.

"...do you hate her that much?"

"I have no particular opinion of her. However, she might get upset with you if she sees you talking to me." I supplied by way of an explanation, "She often does when Ikari-kun does it.

Don't misunderstand – I understand that you are close to her and are going to wish to continue to do so. I have no objections to that. Even so, it might be be best for everyone involved if you continue to meet us mostly separate from each other. You don't have to speak to be at school, either. We can met up at the usual places."

I didn't bear the Second Child any lasting animosity, but I also understood that I definitely wouldn't be chosen over her, and did not expect what unlikely, unprecedented bond might have formed to withstand any demands. Besides, I genuinely didn't see the problem with not everyone that a person spends time with necessarily getting along.

We don't have to be forced together, if it is only going to be unpleasant.

That said, I wasn't too surprised when Hikari did not quite see it that way. She tended to have fixed ideas about the 'proper' way to handle things:

"...I don't know. I don't really want to seem like I'm going behind her back… and I wouldn't want you to feel excluded either! Or like you don't belong."

Inclusion? Belonging?

"That is not something I've ever really thought about."

When the class representative simply looked at me, ostensibly unsure of what to say, I decided to elaborate:

"It's alright. You can go eat with the Second Child now."

She wasn't convinced.

"You know, no offense, but…"

"What?"

I wondered why she was trailing off.

"…Nevermind…

It's not important. I know you probably don't mean anything by it, and I don't want to upset you or make you feel singled out."

"I have no reason to be upset. I am well aware that my working relationship with the Second Child leaves much to be desired."

"Working Relationship?"

"That is what it is."

"Maybe so. But it just sounds so impersonal when you say it like this. Like you're holding yourself apart from everyone else, or pushing them away. Some people might get the wrong idea… I mean, I'm not saying this as an accusation or anything, but I don't think I've ever heard you using Asuka-san's name…."

Before this very instant, I had no idea that she harbored any such grievance, but now that she'd spoken of it, it was clear from the way that she was saying it that Hikari must have been holding this back for quite some time, perhaps out of politeness or because she'd considered me at a disadvantage, or didn't expect me to listen much. I can't say that this would have been wrong.

From how she often scolded Suzuhara and the others, it was easy to conclude that she did place some not insignificant value on proper manners.

"And I know that she's really no better in that regard. Asuka-san is my friend, but I know that she has her faults – I've told you before that I think that she's kind of projecting some stuff onto you. But at least she's made some efforts to get to know you…. From her point of view, as he tells it, you're the one who keeps ignoring or rebuffing her. I'm not saying she's right, I don't want to tell you what to do or who you should be friends with, and I surely I can't say that I know what goes on at your organization or anything, but I can't help but think that thi whole tension between the two of you could be resolved if both of you just took one little step towards each other in good faith."

"Is there good faith? I do acknowledge that she has done some things to suggest we associate with each other, and on its own, that might be taken as a sign of sincere intention, but when the same actions are coupled with something that contradicts such intentions, it seems only reasonable to conclude that the reasons behind her actions must be other than merely genuine interest.

I can understand if she finds me repulsive, but I cannot be other than what I am, so, if that is the case, then it would save both of us much grief if we simply avoided each other. She need not approve of me, but I do not understand why she does not simply leave me alone, if I am so repulsive to her. Nor do I see how I could possibly have avoided her antipathy, short of becoming other than I am capable of being."

"Actually, about that… I think I might have a good idea why Asuka-san is mad at you."

This, now, surprised me, especially since it was not at all clear to me that such a tangible reason existed, or how it could have been pinpointed. But as someone who knew the pilot of unit two much better than I did, Hikari might of course be privy to some details which I am unaware of.

"She doesn't tell me all the details, but… was there ever any mission where you had to swap your robots or something like that?"

"Not exactly, but I did suggest riding hers at various points… but it was only regarding a mission that she didn't seem willing to participate in at the time."

"...I thought as much. I'm not blaming you, you couldn't have known. But the thing is… she's very attached to her machine. It's like her entire pride and joy is pinned on it, and probably that of her family and her country, too. I don't know if it's because her dad got remarried after her mom died, but I think Asuka-san has a pretty big fear of being… replaceable to other people, like she's not special."

...replacable?

The sheer irony slapped against my being like a leather whip to the face.

So far as I could tell, the Second never seemed to have any other preoccupation than to establish herself as a singular, separate being and set herself apart as such. Few could have compared with her in her endowments or her accomplishments, so why in the world would she ever feel in such a way, and based on what grounds? Then, of course, I stepped away from that immeiate reaction of mine – it was subjective, much as her own feelings must of course be subjective. Perhaps from her perspective, she would say the same thing of me, based of course on a knowledge of me that was very incomplete, but the same might well be true of my knowledge of her.

If we each stuck to our own subjective perspective and the same reflexive behaviors that came from it, it was not to be expected that anything could ever change. So I intently followed Hikari's words:

"...I dunno, maybe you could show her that you don't mean to steal to steal her robot or something?"

I wasn't show how to even accomplish that. If I told her straight up, the Second Child might just be confused, seeing as she had not outright accused me as such.

Hikari must have recognized that herself, as she continued to supply further suggestions:

"It might already make a huge difference if you just made a little effort to be a little more approachable or friendly. Maybe don't always sit appart from everyone else or leave right away when class is over… Make a bit more casual conversation…that sort of thing? It's ok if you're a little shy or awkward at first, it gets easier with practice…"

"I am not. I simply prefer to be on my own sometimes. What is so terribly wrong with that?"

"Nothing, really, I mean, independence is a good thing, but if you ignore them all the time, people might get the wrong idea… like you're snubbing them or rejecting them."

"I canot control what other people think. They will think whatever they want to think one way or another. I cannot stop them from presuming whatever they wish to presume about me."

"That's not… completely wrong, and I guess it's admirable how you don't worry too much what others think, but I think it would really help if you could at least, I dunno, let people now where you're at, or where they're standing, show your intentions a little bit.

If people can't tell what you're thinking, they're more likely to just assume something than if you just show them. Following the rules of politeness makes the connections between people run smoothly, even if they don't know each other very well yet. It puts others at ease, because they'll have a better ida of what to expect. You know, sometimes you push past people without talking to them, or you just appear out of nowhere without warning, without greeting people first. You say things they don't expect, or don't respond when they do expect it, and that uncertainty tends to put people a little bit on edge. People don't know what to do, or how to respond, they can't get the usual back and forth going, and that can make them a little bit uneasy…"

"That is just how it is then. It's my nature. I am well aware that most do not find me pleasant to be around. I don't need them to. It's fine the way it is. In the end, I am what I am and I cannot be otherwise. If that way s 'wrong', then that is something they must live with, as must I."

At this, Hikari interjected quite emphatically:

"I'm not saying you're 'wrong'!"

It seemed quite important to her to communicate that. "And I don't want you to change yourself completely, either. It's more about how you… 'package' yourself, maybe, while staying the same self inside. I think that even if you're right, people might not listen to you if you say it in a way that won't reach them… actually, the more right you are, the more important it is to put things so others can understand. They might not understand perfectly, but – but you can still make an effort, and trust that there's people who want to understand you.

I really don't want to shame you or criticize you, I'm just thinking that it could make such a huge difference if you just made some small changes. Just some little things… You don't have to do everything that I'm suggesting. Maybe just some things? Whatever you hate the least. At least think about it, okay? Just consider it. Sleep over it maybe... You talk like you expect that everyone will reject you if they saw the real you, but I don't think so at all. If you just gave people the chance to get to know you – it might be just something as simple as smiling at people, or saying 'good morning'…"

I knew she didn't have any bad intentions, but the way that she talked as if I were some treasure that others were missing out of or even deprived of… I don't know.

I didn't like what that made me feel. I couldn't immediately name it but it was like I was expected to be some open buffet that everyone could help themselves to, or even a pound of flesh that others were owed.

I think I'd had quite enough of never belonging to myself, of nothing ever quite belonging to just me.

Even so I could tell, from some little corner in the back of my mind, that the resistence that was rising up probably went beyond what was strictly reasonable. What did it even matter?

It didn't. That was the point. There were so many parts of my life where I already had no choice, where I had no recourse but to walk down the only path that was set before me.

I could do nothing but endure as more and more was taken from me every day, ripped out from the roots of the fabric of my being. Should I have to follow pointles dictates even when it didn't matter, because somebody might like it? I didn't see what was supposed to be so appealing about that. I didn't need anyone's approval, it seemed rather an additional burden on top of everything else I had no choice but to endure.

Why did Hikari even think that I would get such a great, rewarding benefit from this? I had taken her to be generally reasonable, and I still believed that of her, but in this example she may be simply acting on her occasional reliance on concentions. It might be that she is acting out of real concern and truly thinking of what is good for me, but what good does that do?

Nothing can ever be good for me, I am getting closer to my death every moment and I have no place anywhere in this world.

She cannot possibly understand. Of course, she couldn't possibly, which is why normally, I wouldn't even have expected it, I would just have given some simplified not-quite-answer and taken it for granted that there is no point or hope or reason in even trying to speak my mind, to see it as a given that, of course, there could be no real connection between her and I.

The very thought of getting angry or dissapointed or anything else entirely would have seemed all but nonsensical.

But I could no longer do that so easily.

Despite myself, I had been touched by this world though I knew I could never be a part of it, and part of me resented it.

I did of course not act on this resentment or speak its full extent, but speak I did, against what I might have accounted as my better judgement:

„Don't misunderstand. It is not that I want to participate in what everyon else is doing, but cannot.

I choose not to, for many reasons. I see no reason in it, no reward.

What would I smile for, when I have no rason to smile? And even if I did smile and someone decide to associate with me because of it, then their bond would not be with me, but with that fake smile, as I myself remain untouched.

So what would be the point?

What would be the point in saying ‚Good Morning' when it is just an automatic ritual that is mrely done out of habit? People say ‚Good Morning' to people whose death they would not especially lament. It rarely means that someone actually hopes that you have a good morning, or even particularly cares about it – besides, you cannot really know or control what kind of morning someone is going to have. If they are due to die of a terminal disease, they will, no matter how many ‚good mornings' you say. Manners, conventions… all those things are just meaningless rituals that people simply carry on with because they have been told to do it, and then they tell others in turn, a self-perpetuating motion that goes on long after nobody has been winding up the feather of the unthinking mechanism for a long time, in which every person is little but a fungible, interchangeable part that might as well not be there.

Long conversations proceed and yet nothing of true substance is said, merely a selection of automatic responses from a set of accptable replies, merely what one is expected or obligated to say, while one's interiority never becomes part of it – It is carried on merely because it is convenient, because it serves each other's purposes, if they're lucky, or if they're not, simply because one has no choice.

Different cultures have different rituals – any arbitrary set can be swapped for another with little consquence, and when different ones clash, people will judge one another as untrustworthy simply because they did not carry out the same program.

It's true that I do not know how to be part of such things nor have I honed the skill, but that is because I saw no reason to do, because it was never appealing to me.

Nothing but empty, hollow, meaningless automatisms that people take for having great importance. It's just depressing to watch."

Hikari seemed to have a heated retort to this comming, but before any sound made it out of her mouth, she stopped herself – her counterarguments found errors in their own rason faster than they could finish composing themselves, and stopped her in her tracks, so that for a moment she just stood there, looking very persive, her irises lingering at the corners of her eyes.

For one distinct moment, I figured she would just end up trailing off, or perhaps defaulting back to that initial, combative response… but instead, she seemed to come to a conclusion, and when she finally addressed me, it was done with a distinctly resolute quality:

„You know, I think I actually do get what you mean. I remember when I was a little girl, Kodama-Nee-san and I walked past a job advert of a nearby supermarket that was looking for cashiers – I was surprised that they'd have a hard time finding anybody, because, after all, cashiers wish everyone a nice day after they finish bagging their groceries, and everybody says it back, so they should always have the nicest days out of everyone.

My sister was having something of an edgy phase at the time, so she went and burst my bubble – and that's when I learned that people working such jobs are often underpaid, exploited or not treated well… it's quite right that you can't make someone's day better just by wishing them a good morning, and it's not at all wrong that many people don't mean what they say, or some who'll put on a friendly face and then stab you in the back. A lot of the promises and well-wishes between people turn out to be fake or incincere… However," and she declared this with considerable conviction, „I don't think that means that what people say to each other is pointless, thoughtless or a lie. Not for everyone. Not always.

Words alone can't guarantee that someone's going to have a good day, but it's something like a hope, a wish, a show of intention – I don't think that it's a lie if you smile at someone, even if you don't feel very happy in that moment, because that smile is still genuine to it aim. You smile at another person to show them that you're friendly, that you wish them well, that you mean them no harm. You show this through such little things, and with time, the space for saying the big things is created. Maybe they smile back, and when that happens, you've bonded a little bit – and the first little inkling of a connection has been created. You've shown that you're open for a connection, at least – and that's how it is with all the little things we say to each other.

We say 'Good morning' because we hope that we're going to have a nice day together, and we say 'good night' because we hope that hope that we can all sleep at ease. We say 'thank you' to show our appreciation, and we shake hands to bond with each other."

This, she said so resolutely that there was even a hint of a confident smile on her lips, and as if to punctuate her statement, she demonstratively held out a hand in my direction, ostensibly expecting me to take it.

"I see why you would view it this way – maybe that is even how it should be, how it started – from what I've read, even cats make little noises at each other that serve no other purpose but co communicate and reinforce that they're affiliated as part of the same colony. But that's just where it came from, a comforting story, maybe, what people believe or intent when they are children and say their greetings with enthusiasm. But for most people, it seems apparnt to be that this has long since calcified into something merely habitual, that is simply there due to inertia, without any real meaning…"

"Do you think the way that I'm smiling at you and reaching out my hand at you is a lie as well?"

Well- not necessarily.

But she must realize that just one example changes nothing.

At most it would be the exception that strikes us as notworthy exactly because of the rule.

Of course she could choose to really mean it for a moment to prove a point, in an instant of awareness that glitters briefly in a sea of automaticness, lying perhaps still in a deeper level of sleep, born of a need to simply reinforce one's view of the world.

But her hand was dangling in the air, and for all that I thought she was wrong -

That she was missing the point, that I wasn't pushing people away deliberately but merely existing, that I couldn't push them away because the default state of all people in to be as faraway and untouched by each other as the distant burning stars –

If I had declined to take her hand here, I would have felt like I was rebuffing her indeed.

So, I reluctantly clasped it.

I did not go to have lunch with Hikari and the Second Child today, but the class representative seemed very much under the impression that it was simply a matter of 'not yet' – All things considered, I could have done more to disabuse her of the notion, but I didn't.

Instead I remained seated by the window, pondering the fading residues of an unfamiliar warmth dispersing from my hand.

I didn't know what to think.

It had always been my assumption that it was only most natural if I couldn't be acceptable to the other youths here. I wasn't like them. They didn't know.

So it had not been surprising.

The gulf between them and I would be unbringeable no matter what, so, I had figured that I might as well simply be what I am, and stay away from all the others so I could do that in peace.

There had never seemed to be a point in doing anything else.

There is no sense in attempting to do an impossible thing, or to bridge an uncrossable chasm.

I never expected others to understand my words, so, I never cared to cloak them in phrasing that others could easily understand – though I still thought that I was being direct and clear and crystal, and that it was the others who were complicating everything with pointless ritual.

Maybe everybody thinks that about themselves, seeing their way of expressing themselves as the most natural one, though it is natural only to them.

I cannot deny that I am often asked to elaborate or clarify.

I can even half admit that there were always things that went implied, that I'd hoped they'd notice even though they could never be said…

The guardrails of what was impossible and what was forever unattainable were, in a sense, a means of orientation, leaving me only the choices that they didn't erase.

I would see what the others were, I would notice that I was not that, and thus I would know where I stood.

Now I wasn't so certain.

If it was Ikari-kun alone, it could have been dismissed an an exeption, a fluke, a mere illusion brought on by his desperation for any contact or his longing for his mother's ghost.

Yet as of now, I could point to multiple examples.

Not just Hikari, but the people at the community garden as well.

They were ostensibly not repelled by me. They did not seem to sense the inevitable revulsion or off-colored defectiveness that was supposed to be a human being's natural reaction to me. Even the little radish girl, whose instincts ought to have been the most pure, and the least tempered by rationalizations or self-control, responded to me as if I were something good.

Now from what I've read this is where one would be expected to feel hopeful, but there was no hope within me.

If there was anything, it would be disorientation, even fear.

It is like when a person knows that they ugly and will never be beautiful. So, they are absolved from the labor and the anxiety of trying to be beautiful, of wondering if others will find them beautiful, of looking for signs and confirmations that others find them so.

If I cannot understand people, I cannot do anything for them, for I could never tell if I am doing harm or good. If I cannot do them good, then I have no obligations.

So it was in a sense quiet peaceful to believe that I could never understand them or have dealings with them the way they do it.

If I cannot antocipate what they are thinking, I don't have to.

I don't have to feel the pressure of their demands, just as I am subject to every possible demand at NERV. I get to maintain at least a little bit of my choice, of my peace, of my silence, while it is always being taken from me.

But if I become part of something, which others are also a part of, I am expected to fulfill the requirements thereof. I have to keep the proper forms in mind, people and their concerns, on top of everything else, far too many things that only ever pull and pull and pull at me.

I cannot even draw back without being pursued for an explanation, without something in myself protesting the separation, and that was what terrified me.

Nothing was stopping me, other than the knowledge that it was all going to be futile, that it would, at most, bring me very incomplete satisfaction, and that it would soon be over.

That might be what stops everyone from everything they do not do.

But some do things that I do not, so they must be more fixated on different things, thoughts that burn brighter in their consciousness, things they feel, perhaps more urgently, because they are human, at least in the moments in which their passion drowns out their knowledge.

…

For so long, the only thought in my mind was to just endure it until the promised day comes.

Just endure it 'till it's over.

That was the singular, repeating mantra echoing through my mind like the clear ringing of a bell that emanates forth from all of its structure whenever it is struck.

Life was only ever something to endure, something to get through…

But even when that slowly began changing, I only found out how hard it is to break out of the walls that were supposed to be my tomb.

Even when I actually want to become part of a moment, to meld into it and experience the waves of its fullness hitting the surface of my body – to even feel that my body has a surface – I find that I cannot.

I inevitably stand apart, bound by some muscle memory of the mind, some reflexive withdrawal that refuses to touch this world, expecting to be abraded and torn by the rough pebbles of its surface.

I cannot return myself to a blank slate, I can no longer watch without preconceived notions and ideas, simply accepting whatever I see as a child might -

I am not even particularly old yet, but already I notice how much sems already forever limited and set in stone. I am only set to diminish further – and none of us know just when we'll be cut short, left with whatever meager crumbs we had managed to gather to serve indelibe legacy we each get stuck with; The painting of life is always interrupted in progress.

---

I realize that Little Radish Girl shouldn't even get born for another 10 years, but I'm willing to sprinkle on yet more multiversal irony, this time for less than tragic purposes. There was some left in the packet.

Though ovsly, despite it, things had to be subtly different, because this Rei has preconceived understanding and the version in Thrice Upon a Time didn't. She isn't conveniently a blank slate here. There are reasons she never did this stuff earlier, she wouldn't have had the chance or been as open to it. It would be a bit harder for her to be affected if she wasn't temporarily reset to a blank slate, nor can anyone deadass adopt her while she's still working at NERV. Even if Misato had asked her to move in with the other pilots, she would probably have refused unless it was 'an order'/ needed for plot reasons.