Angel–Part 4: Deliverance

I could see the details in his face under the stage lights as clearly as I could the day I had met him. I stared at him and he stared at me, his fingers limply holding the neck of his guitar and his jaw dropped slack. His band mates sang on, confused at his lack of participation, until one nudged his arm with a concerned look etched on his face. They exchanged a quick glance, and then looking back to me the man smiled and jumped full force back into his performance, newly invigorated with energy. Throughout the night, he smiled at me, stared at me, all while performing with seemingly endless energy. When I left the stadium, I couldn’t keep myself from smiling.

“You see,” my friend said, linking her arm with mine, “I told you I knew this would help.”

I laughed, and suggested we go for a late night coffee before returning to the hotel. She nodded her agreement, and after a moment looked at me strangely.

“You know him?”

I nod–we met by accident last fall, I say. I had no idea he was famous.
The thought makes my stomach flutter. As if what had happened in autumn hadn’t already been embarrassing, to make it worse the man I ran into had had to be famous.
There was a panic behind us, coming from the stadium. I tuned it out, assuming it to be rabid fangirls trying to get a glimpse of their idols. I was unaware that the man who looked so at home under stage lights was running after us, trying to find me. As he pushed his way through adoring fans, begging them to let him through, my friend and I rounded a corner and disappeared from the sight of the stadium. I had no idea what thoughts were going through his head, this angel I would never see again.

“Where is she?” he had asked
His friends had looked at him, confused.
“The girl,” he insisted, “from the front row.”
“Oh–the one you were making googly eyes at?” his friend teases.
“You know, man, tonight was a damn good show. Your energy was way up there–but it was like you were singing for her, not for us.”
The man stopped at the door to reply over his shoulder.
“That’s because I was.”

He was running, running, running, and we were walking, walking, walking, out of his sight and ever so slowly out of his reach. Desperately he tried to reach us as we continued on our way into downtown Toronto. I came to terms with the fact that I would never see that man again.
Until we heard some one call out behind us–wait, wait! Confused, we stopped and turned to see the man running towards us, hair flopping up and down. We stared in disbelief. Why would he track us down, when his hordes of fans were back at the stadium?
He stopped in front of me, panting. All I could do was stare. He smiled at me, a mischievous and playful smile, while he caught his breath.

“We certainly have made a habit of running into one another, haven’t we?” he teased. Still I could only stare, my friend and I dumbfounded by the circumstance in which we found ourselves.
“Well, heartbreak girl, aren’t you gonna tell me your name?”

My friend and I exchanged a glance. Heartbreak girl? The man stood to his full height, towering over us, and ran a hand through his hair. He was still smiling.

“Look,” he said while staring at the sidewalk, “I know you don’t know me. But even from the moment I knocked you over back in Calgary, I knew you were sad and I knew that I was meant to have you in my life. Tonight, your being at my show is proof of that. I don’t want you to be frightened of me, and I understand that you are and that the walls you have up will take a while to tear down.”

He took my hand, cautiously, and glanced at my eyes momentarily. Still confused, I stared at him and didn’t make a sound.

“If you’ll let me, I will take away all the pain you’re suffering from. Just please, give me the chance to do so. What do you say, heartbreak girl?”

Despite myself, I felt my fingers tighten around his. He smiled with a mixture of relief and uncertainty–uncertainty for, I felt, the future, as he realized I had agreed to allow him into my life. I didn’t know him at all, only his face and his music, but how could I have resisted him? He was radiant, so willing to take a chance on a stranger of a broken, run down girl. Light seemed to emanate from his eyes, and again I found myself falling into them as I opened my lips and whispered to him in a voice he had never heard before, giving him chills I could feel reverberate through his hand and into mine. I told him my name, that was all–okay, he said and then laughed, Ray, like a ray of sunshine–and I swore as he smiled I could see his wings behind him. We invited him to join us for coffee, to which he agreed. He fit in with us effortlessly–he skipped along the sidewalk with us like a five year old child, he teased my friend about a band mate of his that thought she was cute, all while holding my hand.
And so I found myself walking into a future with an angel sent to me from heaven, and the voices in my head were quiet and the lover I used to know was sleeping with a girl I had never met. And I was okay.


Angel–Part 3: Salvation

The butterflies in my stomach had been dead for a very long time. Whether I had drowned them in alcohol or shot them with pills, I don’t know. But my life had become an empty void, a routine sickness I battled day in and day out. All companionship those little butterflies had provided me died along with them, and I had never felt so alone. My depression set in and controlled every ounce of my being–parasitic, it fed off my energy and whispered destructive thoughts to me. It reminded me how silent my phone was, it reminded me the rent was due, it reminded me how much I hated my job, it told me that food and sleep were unimportant and that I was worth nothing, just like my ex lover had said.
Life had become a nightmare I had accepted that I would not awaken from.
My phone began to ring. I checked the clock–8:30. Perhaps a little late to be ringing some one, I thought. I answered anyway and was greeted with the upbeat and enthusiastic voice of my best friend.

“Hey, August 1st what are you doing?”

I paused. “Working.”

“Book some days off–we’re going to Toronto.”
I shook my head. What? I didn’t understand.

“Look, Ray, you’ve been completely depressed since like November. You need a vacation, and I have the perfect thing to pick you back up. Book the days off.”

And before I could reply, she had hung up. Stunned, I placed the phone down and slid into bed, resolving to deal with my new found situation in the morning.
My boss fought me on the vacation days, but in the end I won the time. Overall I’d only be gone half a week, and even she could see I was too run down to continue working without a more substantial break. I wasn’t sure what my friend had in mind, but I elected to trust her on the whim.
I couldn’t feel how tired I was when we settled into our airplane seats. There was no difference to me in feeling from one day to the next–the lack of sleep and the stress of airport security had little impact on me at this point. Beside me, my friend wriggled into her seat as I clasped my hands and closed my eyes. I dozed into a restless sleep, awakened by her prodding at 7000 feet above the ground. She gave me a mischievous smile, and finally revealed her secret to me–the purpose of our trip, she said, was to see an up-and-coming band live in their first global tour. I had never heard of them, and questioned why she would take me to see a band performing across the country when I had never heard of them. Her eyes twinkled.
“Because you need them.”
Passing me a pair of headphones, she claimed I had another five hours to grow accustomed to their music. So I did.
My time in Toronto lifted my spirits. Being free of worries and stresses greatly liberated my mind from the phantom of my ex lover and the knives his words had become. By the time the night of the concert came, I found to my surprise I was excited despite my lack of knowledge of the band. It was true that their music had connected with me on a certain level, and yes had even brought me to tears–but irregardless of my excitement I couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place standing in the line of hyperactive teenaged girls waiting for the stadium doors to open. When they did, my friend and I found ourselves pushed up against metal barriers right before the stage on the floor, elbowed by shoving fangirls and getting our faces cut by posters pleading for a marriage proposal. In truth I was slightly sickened by the actions of the younger crowd around me–so head over heels for a group of men older than them. I had to pause and remind myself that I was not much older than many of them myself, and as the music started to play the screams grew louder and I found myself smiling, reconciling with myself in the familiar feeling of a buzzing concert.
As I turned my eyes up to the stage, I stopped dead. My eyes surveyed the long spiky hair, the kind face, the strong hands grasping the guitar. I grabbed my friends hand and, panicked, whispered “I know him.”
And green eyes met blue, and I could feel the words he was about to sing stick in his throat.

Angel–Part 2: The Encounter

I was rushing. Power walking down the crowded downtown streets, my mind a whirlwind tornado of thoughts plummeting through the imagined red darkness of the brain. Constant voices recited my thoughts at a rapid rate, making it impossible for me to focus on any tangible thing.

A box.
Dried flowers.
Expos t-shirt, card, letters, poems.

I squeezed my eyes, hands shoved deep in my pockets.

“You aren’t beautiful, you’ve got fucked problems, I just felt bad for you.”

And even after all this time, I felt tears sting the back of my eyes.

“I gave you everything, you’re selfish and abusive and I deserve more.”

But all I did was my best. My level best. The accusations cut deeper every time I remember them. The truths I told him he threw back at me as accusations in a blinding rage.
I know I am better off alone. But the ghost of my ex lover haunts me every day. I see him in the teenagers kissing sweetly when they think no one is watching, I see him in the sunsets, in sushi restaurants, in gardens along the streets, in tiny apartments atop downtown businesses. As if I could, I tried to squeeze my eyes tighter together. I picked up speed and rounded a corner.
And I found myself staring up at the sky suddenly, a ringing in my ears and my head pounding. I stared past the concerned face that presented itself, his voice lost in the ones floating through my head. I didn’t look at him until his hands cupped my face. My eyes met his–greenish grey, in a warm and kind face with full lips and long spiky hair. For a moment I had to pause, and process the angel before me.
His voice is what sold me. His accent kissed my ears and snapped me from my trance. I only nodded in response to his question. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me to my feet as if I weighed nothing. As he drew himself up to his full height, my eyes widened and he laughed, gesturing towards a café across the street. The recognition hit me in the stomach like a ton of bricks–the man from my dreams.
I waited to awake. And waited. Waited. But I didn’t.
As we began walking, the grating sound of a cell phone ring tone interrupted the smile forming on his lips. Pausing, he pulled the phone from his pocket and answered. Faintly I heard a voice on the other end, sounding none too happy. The man drew a hand down his face and rolled his eyes slightly–I recognized my welcome by his side had been overstayed, and with a slight wave and a smile I took me leave. His eyes lingered on me and he waved back after hesitating for a moment, and with a sad smile I could see even in his eyes I turned and walked down the sidewalk, the beginnings of winter winds biting through my thin university jacket as autumn leaves tumbled about my feet.
As I lay awake that night in my tiny apartment, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had watched me leave, or if he had turned away himself.

Angel–Part 1: The Dream

Waking up with butterflies in you stomach is either a good or a bad feeling.
Waking up with you heart stopped, brain frozen up, and those butterflies beating against your stomach in a failed yet desperate attempt to breech it is the bad kind of feeling.
Especially when it happens again.
And again.
And again.
In one night.

It was the same dream, over and over. Standing on the street, I watch the body plummet to the ground. And as it hits, there’s a moment. A lull in time where everything stops. And I run towards it, pushing my way through the growing crowd yelling my justification–“he’s my boyfriend, he’s my boyfriend”–until I reach him, cradle his head in my arms. Wipe the blood from his face and settle into a quiet desperation, rocking to and fro. I stroke his face and sing, something he has never heard me do, and I close his staring eyes and gaping lips. I kiss his forehead and rise, watching up above me for his shape standing at the edge of the rooftop. But he was here already, he jumped and hit the ground before I could have caught him.
And it was the proceedings following this that after which I would awake.

In one I would run, unable to be caught, around the building and up the stairs, and infinite number of stairs, until I reached the roof. My friends would scream up at me from the ground as I stood at the edge, and then I would jump. Face first, welcoming the ground with open arms. And I’d crash into it. Awake.
In another, everyone below would catch me and pitifully I would live. Awake.
In another, I would subject myself to an anxiety attack. I’d run, find somewhere secluded, and sit with my face or ears covered. And eventually a man would find me, and take pity on me. He’d lead me to a trailer nearby where he would let me sleep in his bed, so I could deal with the pain alone and safe. His friends would question it, but accept it openly and not at all unkindly. And I would become one of them. A façade became my face to the public, some strange and new girl celebrity with a sad and unknown past and a fake name. She’d sing about a boy who fell from a rooftop, but no one knew his name. Every day middle class girls from around the planet would send her hate messages for becoming friends with “their boys.” But they didn’t realize that those boys were the ones who helped her deal with the loss of the boy that fell from the rooftop. And eventually she fell into an awkward phase that exists between losing and finding some one. The man who had found her shared something special with her and they grew attached to one another. When she had nightmares of her lost love falling, he would wake and slide off the trailer couch and into the bed that used to belong to him, all cold feet and tousled hair and white boxers, and wrap his arm around her frail, skinny body with his nose pressed to her neck. In the morning she would wake before him, and make breakfast for all four of them in an attempt to make up for the burden she thought she had become. She cleaned and she cooked and she shopped as her old self on their behalf, so that they could avoid the adoring crowds and loving and obsessing teenaged girls. She allowed herself to join in on their music practices, and she would help the man dye and redye his hair for the fans. And eventually something grew, as it was bound to. In the days he spent watching her grow and recover he came to admire her, and he could no longer look away. One day she caught him, her lips inches from his. A brief moment saw them leaning to kiss, but their hearts failed to take over and the moment was lost.

With heart pounding and blood rushing and her boyfriend alive and that beautiful man with the smiles like stars that helped a broken girl fix herself singing a song about forgetting, and another about being at the mercy of another, and another about wanting to let go far far away from her, she awoke.
I wanted to wake up with amnesia and forget, because I didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t–or what I wanted to be true or not, for that matter.

The God

It was in the way you spoke and gestured, with all the opulence and passion of your heritage, that gave me thrills. I was swimming in your green eyes, enthralled by the image of your lips. I couldn’t help but wonder if hidden under that jacket was a secret god. And in an instance I thought that if you touched me with those perfect hands, you would and could undo me; mould me to your heart’s desire, pull all my threads loose, and make me yours by giving me the taste of that forbidden fruit that is your kiss.

160 Minutes

“160 minutes. How long is that? Two and a half hours-ish?”
I watched you run your fingers through your hair, the cigarette glowing out of the darkness of the evening.
“I’ve had damn near 40 smokes tonight.”
Tears filled my eyes, welling and building up until I could no longer contain them. I turned away, letting them fall, weeping quietly over your squandered time. A softness at the sight of me must have over come you, for I hardly expected you to make me face you, embrace you. I hardly expected to watch you crush the pack of cigarettes in your fist so I could see, and I didn’t expect you to throw them away and claim it was because they made me cry. The stars that night shone a little brighter, I thought.

Months later, laying in the bed of a truck surrounded by blankets we would be together, watching the night sky free itself from the interferance of city lights. We would both take a drag and then blow out smoke, watching it spiral up into the stars, the glow from the embers lighting our faces in the quiet darkness.
And we couldn’t decide if we wanted to be there with each other, or some one else.

Analysis Essay– “Soul Eater” series– “Watch it, or I’ll take your soul!”

I started watching Soul Eater only a few weeks ago–like any good fangirl, it soon took over my life. I finished the anime series and had no idea what to do afterwards, so I figured I’d write about it. I took a challenge from a friend (not a fan of anime) and did my first-ever analysis of a television show. I must apologize for the sorry state of the second body paragraph–I was interrupted while writing and had lost my train of thought by the time I got back.
No, I have not read the manga, in case you’re wondering. But I plan to. And to put the controversy to rest–Crona is male. They refer to him as a “he” and dress him in accordance to that. Just putting that out there, before I get hate mail or something due to the fact I refer to Crona as a boy…
Please enjoy all the stuff I learned from a tv series.


Any question that is inevitably posed to each individual on the planet can have a multitude of different answers. One of these questions, arguably one of the most important, is this: what is strength? It is easy to see how a question such as this would yield a vast array of answers, each specifically tailored to the individual on a personal basis. Atsushi Ōkubo’s manga and television series Soul Eater explores and justifies many answers one may have to this question. Through intense characterization and evolution seen in his characters, Ōkubo both explicitly and implicitly states messages that his audience can recognize not only as directions in which they can take their answers to this question, but may also identify as life lessons. The Soul Eater series incorporates such lessons that all feed into one overarching idea Ōkubo delves into using rhetorical strategies and expertly administered literary skill specifically utilized to draw his audience in and connect them with his fantastical realm of Death City: that “a sound soul dwells within a sound mind, and a sound body.”

Characterization in Soul Eater is given a special focus and is not an aspect of the series that is easily missed. The overarching idea Atsushi Ōkubo presents is that every character (and therefore, every real human) has both sanity and insanity within them, and finding a balance between them is vital to finding one’s true strength. There are forces in life on each side of the spectrum that work to pull the individual to each extreme—and neither is better than the other. Soul Eater focuses a lot on good against evil, presenting the idea that giving into madness is “evil.” However, there is also the idea presented that, when utilized correctly, madness is not always such a bad thing—it can, in fact, help to make one stronger. The characters of Maka Albarn and Soul Eater Evans are prime examples of this; both being infected with black blood, they were each expected to succumb to its evil side effects and spiral out of control and reason. Seemingly against all odds, though, together meister and weapon found a way to tap into the insanity the black blood offered them and utilized it to make themselves stronger as individuals and as a team—the physical and mental strength the black blood gave them served them well in later battles and allowed them to further develop their skills, all while giving them common ground on which they could connect and soul-search on their own. For Maka and Soul, finding the balance between sanity and insanity allowed them to develop on intrapersonal and interpersonal basis’s, which played a large part in Maka’s ability to save Soul and defeat the kishan Asura alone in the final battle of the series. Asura was unable to comprehend how Maka could continue to stand up to him when he perceived her as “weak”—his definition of strength did not match with hers, as these two characters are juxtaposed in their responses to insanity. Asura gave himself over completely to insanity, which resulted in his becoming a kishan—he fully believed that the lack of fear and pain equated to strength. Maka, however, recognized how vital the balance was between madness and stability and also realized how important both fear and pain are to life; this rationale revealed to her what true strength was, and she was able to utilize it to play the hero and save the day. Similarly, Maka and Soul’s strength can be compared to that of Crona and his weapon Ragnarok. While Crona had the invincibility and physical strength he needed to pose as a serious threat to Death City from the black blood naturally running through his veins, he can be described as a boy weak of character—Ragnarok and Medusa ran his life to the point where he suffered from personality disorders and lacked the strength to look after himself. He was forced to give into madness against his will and therefore couldn’t find the balance Soul and Maka had found, making him a powerful adversary for even Death the Kid, but really nothing more than a challenging fight. For Crona, strength was an aspect of life he had to learn to find through experiencing sanity for an extended period of time—opposite to what any other character had to experience to find their strength. Life at the academy introduced Crona to friendship, and it is through this that he found his strength—he remained a soft spoken and gentle character, but was not afraid to defend those whom he considered his friends, which came as a huge shock to Medusa as it was the first strength of character her son had ever exhibited.  The characters in Soul Eater are each defined by their interpretation of strength and the manner in which they pursue or find it—the exploration each character must go through to find their strength offers the idea to the audience that finding it is never an easy task, and that there are many different ways in which to go about it that will speak specifically to one as an individual.

Evolution of character in a series like Soul Eater can be used to illustrate to the audience incredibly important points the creator wishes to make—and while we may be longing for this evolution to take place in such a way that teaches Black Star to be less obnoxious or Kid to get over his obsession with symmetry, the prime character evolutions Ōkubo wants to bring into the light in his series take place in Stein and Crona. Stein’s evolution is by far the more obvious of the two, and works in tangent with Maka and Soul’s pursuit of balance to convey to the audience that those whom we perceive as strong are not always as untouchable as they seem. To begin with, Stein’s character is established as questionable but it is clear to see that he is good at heart. He is in many ways a role model to his students—as the most powerful meister the DWMA has ever seen and the wielder of a Death Scythe, a man held in high esteem in the academy and the holder of extensive knowledge in many subjects, Stein seems to his students (and to the audience) as an invincible force working only for good. However, his quick descent into madness, facilitated by Medusa, brings to the light that he was never as strong as he seemed. He was also incapable of saving himself from insanity—he required help from those who cared for him to pull him from Medusa’s grasp and bring him back to his old self. On the other hand, Crona exhibits the opposite sort of evolution and takes his life from the insane to sane. Notably, he also required help to do so—it is important to realize that both Stein and Crona were unable to defend themselves in certain aspects and had to rely on the strength of others at times. With this in mind, Ōkubo’s purpose behind these main evolutions of characters becomes clear: sometimes strength is not something that can be obtained on one’s own. Both Stein and Crona discover strength and lose strength in their own ways, but finding the balance between the two was something neither could manage on his own.

Ōkubo’s main rhetorical device in Soul Eater is the use of pathos. His characters are all specifically designed and developed so members of his audience can in some way connect to one, some, or all of them. One may find themselves sympathizing with Crona’s lack of confidence, identifying their inner hard worker with Maka, their inner perfectionist and egotist with Black Star, or sharing in Spirit’s desire to be the perfect parent—whatever the case, the characters of Soul Eater are endearing each in their own way that leaves the audience longing for a happy ending for each. Ōkubo’s characters are written and developed in such a way that, although they reside in an entirely fantastical universe, they seem real enough to the audience, which is largely where the series’ charm is found; the audience is left almost wishing they could be a part of Death City and reside in that charm themselves. Ōkubo uses a notable rhetorical device to drive home his appeal to pathos and make his audience feel this way—symbolism. Half of his characters have the ability to transform themselves into usable weapons, an idea that can represent inner strength if viewed in the right way. Outwardly, characters like Liz and Patty may not appear as the epitome of “strong,” but figuratively speaking their ability to transform into twin pistols speaks to the idea that in every person there resides a force capable of self defense, incredible offense, and of providing one with confidence and peace of mind. Furthermore, each character’s weapon type may speak to their strengths as well. As twin pistols, the Thompson sisters obviously work better as a team, while weapons like Soul and Tsubaki are capable of working alone if necessary. A little research will tell you that the weapon Soul turns into, a scythe, historically was used as a farm tool and was depicted as a weapon normally in the hands of Death himself (which would explain why the elite weapons in the DWMA are dubbed as “Death Scythes”). Besides the obvious interpretation of Soul’s transformation being “the harvester of souls,” he can represent those of a poorer class in a way. Considering scythes were used primarily by peasants, Soul is a representation in himself as the strength of the lower class—while the character himself may not have been a lower class citizen, or outwardly project as such, his transformation into a scythe that is utilized as a dangerous weapon would appeal to the less wealthy as a symbol of hard work and of power that can be found within. Similarly, Tsubaki’s default transformation is representative of the same thing, as she turns into a chain scythe. However it is important to note that Black Star primarily uses her defensively while she is in this form—speaking to the fact that strength can be found not only in the offensive, but the defensive as well. While this speaks largely to Tsubaki’s character, of course it is vital it be noted that she has the ability to be used offensively as well, and dangerously so. Her ability to take on multiple different forms, all of which involve a blade of some description, sends an important message to the audience—that although one may be soft and gentle, there is always an aspect lying within that has the capability of causing damage. Both Soul and Tsubaki have aspects to their transformations that can speak to this idea (Witch and Genie Hunter and the Enchanted Sword mode, respectively). Yet again, Ōkubo offers up the idea of balance within to his audience—this time, that finding balance between the strengths of offense and defence in all people is key to discovering true, overall strength.

As the creator of Soul Eater in general, Ōkubo was able to take the liberty of utilizing literary devices to help establish the life lessons he offers through his series. The strongest literary device he utilizes becomes clear in the anime’s finale—he relates madness to bravery, all the while associating both with strength. Maka’s persistence in fighting the kishan Asura is explicitly stated as her method of finding strength through bravery; as she later tells Asura, “bravery is in all of us.” His retort, “so it’s like madness then,” not only reinforces the idea that occasionally insanity can provide for us strength, but offers up another lesson that can be taken from the series—that all people have both sanity and insanity within. Ōkubo also came up with a vast array of quotes pertaining to fear and pain in the final battle scene that tie into these ideas—a notable one from Asura is as follows: “Sitting there in the dark, I had a chance to think about a lot of things, including the nature of the world itself. And after lengthy consideration, I realized something; when all is said and done, the world is a very unknowable place. On the surface, all appears rational, orderly. But what truly lies beyond that thin veneer of reason? Stability and superiority, or chaos and madness? What are we truly made of in the end? Is there truly any meaning to the lives we lead? Or are we nothing but hollow vessels? These are questions we can never answer, for we cannot see through the world’s fragile layer of skin. So we live our lives filled with uncertainty, never knowing what we truly are or what the future may bring, all we can do is imagine. Life becomes an unsolvable mystery with any number of twists and turns at the end. And that’s enough to fill any soul with terror.” Asura’s commentary is not only directly connected to the idea of finding balance on the spectrum between reason and madness, but also bring into the light the fact that no world, even one of fantasy, is as perfect as one is sometimes lead to believe. Which, in some ways, makes Asura a more relatable character—it is well established that fear and the illusion of inadequacy ran his life when he was human, and somehow still dictates his actions and thoughts as an evil supernatural being; there was no escape for Asura because he couldn’t find the balance between anything in his life. This along with many other literary liberties in the form of strong lines are devices the creator of Soul Eater used to pull in his audience and teach them that finding balance within is vital to finding strength within, which sometimes requires pain and fear to be felt rather than repressed.

Atsushi Ōkubo’s anime series Soul Eater has a lot more to it that just an action-packed joyride through the mystical realm of Death City. Delving deeper into it than just skin deep viewing, it is revealed that finding strength and balance in life come hand in hand—one cannot really have one without the other. Through the journeys each character undertakes throughout the series, Atsushi Ōkubo teaches his audience that every person has both sanity and insanity within, that regardless of this there is always a place for each, and that elements in the world such as fear and pain are not meant to be suppressed—only through acceptance of all this and finding balance and a place for each can one discover their true strength. As Maka so eloquently puts it at the beginning of each episode, spiritually and philosophically speaking: “A sound soul dwells within a sound mind, and a sound body.”

sources and references:-Soul Eater Wiki
-wikipedia (scythe history)
-GOOGLE images

A Father’s Love

In the moments after she gave birth to our first child, she was the most exquisite creature I had ever seen. Her expression was a mixture of both pain and relief–it was as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or smile. In the midst of the chaos of the hospital room, it was just me and her.

And then, I could see it in her eyes. Her body fell slack; some one pulled me away from her. I watched as nurses yelled to each other, sending shock waves through her body. She jolted, up and down and up and down.

A flat line, a dull sound. And then, the cries of new lungs taking air in and out for the first time. I had witnessed one life slip away quietly, painfully, as it made space for another life to begin.

In that moment, I didn’t know which hand I should take into my own–the one that belonged to the love of my life, or the one that would lead me to my newborn son.