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adoranymph · 4 years

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I was never the most graceful of children. Not much has changed since then, but I’d say I was far more awkward in my formative years. Especially my very early formative years. There were a couple of things I did that were very ungraceful indeed, and I’m still embarrassed still thinking about those things, wondering how stupid could I have been? Child or no. But for these perfectly human mistakes, it was enough of a reason for the rest of my elementary school classmates to pass judgement and decree that they’d make the majority of my waking school life Hell.

Fortunately for me, I had a set of loving parents (and a cat) waiting for me at home every day to escape to. And I did have friends, however, most of them were outside of my class, so it was a gamble during recess if I’d see them, and things like finding partners for in-class assignments were awkward at best.

And unfortunately, not all kids are even as lucky as that, and have absolutely no friends, and come home to family lives that are less than loving.

They say that “living well is the best revenge”, and oftentimes I would think as a child, “Just you wait until I’m a successful writer and you have some stupid boring job”, and that would get me through one day to the next. It was one of those thoughts that even my mother encouraged, if only to make me feel better. Not a nice thing, but there were other kids hurting her baby, so I’m sure as far as she was concerned, thinking that way in private at least couldn’t do any damage. I’d like to think that it didn’t, even as I still think about those kids and at this point just wonder if they’re managing to get through our current crises okay.

I haven’t been without my own moments of being mean, and in truth, I don’t think any of us really can say that we haven’t been. Unless we’re raised a devout, hardcore Buddhist who’s a natural at letting bygones be bygones. Indeed, if only we all had the patience of a saint and the ability to take everything with good humor like I’ve seen the Dalai Lama do in interviews. If anyone’s the pinnacle of that kind of merciful strength in a world like ours, it’s him.

Forgiveness is a complicated thing. It’s a big deal when we can say that we can forgive those who have wronged us. Depending on the wrong that was done however, that can factor into how easy it is to forgive. Which means sometimes it’s just impossible.

Some might call that a shame, and for the most part, I’d agree.

Like everything though, there are exceptions.

Unfortunately, at times, the desire of one who’s done another wrong to be forgiven for that wrong doesn’t always come from a place of sincerity. Which means it could be fair to argue that that person’s desire to be forgiven comes from a place of selfishness, which defeats the purpose.

At the same time, true guilt is a painful thing to bear, speaking as someone who’s felt heavy guilt as much as heavy hurt. Anything to make that feeling go away can drive anyone decent to desperation. So one of the first conundra is whether or not it’s right to seek forgiveness, if it’s more to make yourself feel better than to heal the hurt you caused another person. Not to say it can’t be both, but to forgo the latter for the former is, I really believe, missing the mark.

True desires for forgiveness only come from wanting to make the person you wronged feel better. Never mind those who try to just use it as a free pass to get away with what they’ve done, something which casts a shadow on those who want it for sincere purposes. Mostly because I think many are under the misconception that receiving forgiveness works the same way as would a Sham-Wow on their soul. Because I’ve thought that too. I think most of us have. Most of us have felt so bad about doing something terrible to someone else, we’d do anything to make that bad feeling go away.

Then there are those who would say that that bad feeling is in and of itself a punishment, hence the argument, “Haven’t I been punished enough?” But, again, the important thing is whether or not you learn from that feeling, contemplate on it, and understand why it is you feel that way, and how it is that you’ve brought it on yourself.

Even after all that, it isn’t enough to beg for forgiveness. And forgiveness just can’t be given. Like all the best things, it has to be earned. Sincerely earned.

I have made mention more than once before that I’m “glad” I was bullied. “Glad” isn’t really the right word though, not unless I were a glutton for punishment. More what I mean that I’m glad I was the one was bullied as opposed to the one doing the bullying, i.e., I’m glad that I had to deal with that and that dealing with that made me a stronger person, rather than get swept up in the self-esteem high that seems to come from putting another person down.

I’d like to think so, anyway. But seeing as how I’d prefer above all that to have not been bullied in the first place, nor to have ever bullied anyone (as I said, I have thrown out the occasional mean thing here and there and then regretted it, realizing I was totally not thinking when I said those things), I had to settle with what I got. Like most of us do. To this day, I think about all the torment I went through socially in elementary school, and to a lesser degree in middle school, right before my parents died and I got packed off to live elsewhere with my aunt and uncle.

In the anime film, A Silent Voice, Shoya, a boy who mercilessly bullies, Shoko, a deaf girl in his elementary school class, is forced to taste his own medicine when he himself becomes the target of bullying after Shoko is forced to switch schools just to get away from the abuse. Abuse which includes but is not limited to: destroying at least eight pairs of her hearing aids, openly mocking the way she speaks, and little things like drenching her in hose water and throwing dirt in her face.

The film follows his own efforts to atone, and how he and Shoko manage to form a friendship and learn how to heal each other’s hurts from the past in forming that friendship. It poses questions like whether it’s selfish for Shoya to seek atonement, and when enough is enough when it comes to being punished for something you did, especially now that you’ve changed. Truly changed. For the better.

And Shoya’s change is startling. In his elementary school days, we see him as that punk kid with whom the rest of the class is willing to along when it comes to laughs, which unfortunately includes laughs at the expense of others. Until one day when he “goes too far”, which doesn’t say much considering he was already going too far but I guess the line has to be drawn at some point, which in this case is when the teachers finally get around to getting involved.

(Which by the way, what was up with their teacher back then? That whole beleaguered jackass routine? Yeah, that didn’t exactly help matters.)

But after that, when he himself becomes the bullied, when he undergoes his own form of karmic suffering for what he’s done, he turns meek, unable to look anyone in the eye or get close to anyone. He loses old friendships, and is on the brink of suicide when he tries to make amends with Shoko, only to find himself trying to form a new friendship with her, and the from there the film plays out.

There are people in the world I know I can never forgive. That said, those I can’t forgive are usually people I can sense would never actually bear the weight of the guilt that most ought to feel for the things they’ve done. Still, a little forgiveness goes a long way in the grand scheme of things. Thankfully, most people are feeling individuals, so while I can’t forget what they’ve done, I can forgive for the sake of their sincere desire to change their ways based on their sincere understanding of why what they did hurt me and or others.

In stories, we have the benefit as the reader/audience of seeing both sides of a situation, the one who wronged and the one who was wronged. So, from that fourth-wall perspective, we find it at once easy and difficult to understand where the characters on both sides are coming from.

In Avatar: the Last Airbender, there was an episode where I felt this strong confliction of emotions. It was the episode where Zuko has left his father, the Fire Lord Ozai and ruler of the Fire Nation, in order to join Aang the Avatar in defeating him and his tyranny. But given his track record with Aang and his friends, having spent the first half of the show mercilessly hunting Aang down so he can present him to Ozai and regain his place as the Fire Prince, it’s understandable that Aang and the Gang aren’t particularly keen on letting him join their group. Especially for Katara, who seems to carry the deepest wounds where both Zuko and the Fire Nation are concerned. So, even though they do need someone to teach Aang Firebending, Zuko has to work hard to get into their good graces enough in order to be accepted, and even then, there’s still some shaky ground to cover.

Part of this is seeing how Zuko has to confront the consequences of his actions. Not just hunting Aang to the ends of the earth since the beginning of the series in order to please his father, and all the crimes against other innocents that that entailed, But also the fact that as he was starting to turn good, it seemed, towards the end of Book Two: Earth, before turning back “to the dark side”, as it were.

In the penultimate episodes of S2, he briefly gained Katara’s trust, presumably sharing with her the loss of his own mother when she broke down over the loss of her own as a casualty of this war that the Fire Nation started. Only for him to turn right around and take up his sister Azula’s offer to join her in taking Aang down in exchange for finally being allowed to come home after so many years of being banished. Just the same, it still hurt to see Zuko get turned away with so much anger when he tried to switch sides for good (in both senses of the word), especially when Katara drenched him furiously with water when he offered to be their prisoner if not a member of their group. As if we hadn’t already gotten enough of him getting kicked when he’s down in the episode “Zuko Alone”.

Then you have Katara scoff at the idea that he’s trying to manipulate them by “making himself seem like an actual human being”. Which he wasn’t, and we know that, but we also know that to her, it must seem that way, given what happened between them last time. Still it stings, and more so when Toph tries to talk to the guy and he accidentally burns her feet when he’s startled by her, then tries to apologize and then yells, “Why am I so bad at being good?!”, which is at once piteous and hilarious. I like though that that ties into the reason that Aang finally gives into letting Zuko teach him Firebending, when Zuko admits that he too needs to learn control, so that he won’t accidentally burn people again. Aang identifies with that after that time he accidentally burnt Katara while getting too enthusiastic with his own first attempts at Firebending. I appreciate that nuance, because it’s the smallest patch of common ground to start sowing new friendship on, as it was Aang himself who wondered aloud if the two of them couldn’t have been friends, back in S1.

Where Katara is concerned, she doesn’t really accept Zuko for a few more episodes down the line, not even after Zuko helps her brother Sokka break their father and Sokka’s girlfriend Suki out of the Boiling Rock Fire Nation prison. When everyone else seems to have accepted him, and she’s still clinging to her anger, he offers her the information on how to find the man who killed her mother as a means of appeasement. They go out together to track that man down, and Katara faces down her own demons, her desire for revenge. She realizes, after seeing how pathetic the man is, that he’d simply this small man who’d used his brief moment of power to take the life of an innocent, and what all that had amounted to. In the end, she can’t bring herself to kill him.

But it’s after that that she’s able to forgive Zuko, perhaps out of the fact that his taking her side on seeking revenge might have convinced her of the humanity inside him that was worth taking a chance on. That they do share the losses of their respective mothers in common as a result of Fire Lord Ozai and the Fire Nation’s war on the world. Unlike the ex-soldier who killed her mother, Zuko made not only a very human mistake, but one that he is genuinely, humanly sorry for.

Zuko had to work to earn that forgiveness, and through earning it, learned from his mistake, rather than simply wore it as a badge of automatic absolvement. He absolved himself of his guilt with his own actions, and not at the will of Katara, and only after did Katara forgive him. Which led to something that, as much as part of me ships them (sort of) I don’t think gets enough credit as a beautiful hetero friendship. (Plus, I love Zuko x Mai just as much if not more. But then, nine times out of ten, I agree with the canon ships in most things.)

Whether the initial desire for forgiveness was selfish, in the end, Zuko atoned for what he did and more, since in the climax episodes of the series he saves Katara’s life from a death bolt of lightning from his sister Azula by throwing himself in front of it. That he learned from that absolvement to be more self-sacrificing for the sake of those who are vulnerable (thankfully Katara takes Azula out right after he’s down for the count and it’s awesome). He didn’t just go back to his old habits, and was in fact able to clear that last hurtle to fully atone for everything he’s done. Pity the same can’t be said for his sister Azula, but I can set that aside for another post in future.

In the case of Shoya and Zuko both, we see them go through moments that would make you feel for him, even though at the same time you know objectively and subjectively both that they deserve what they get coming to them. What mother wouldn’t smack someone for psychologically scarring their child, as Shoko’s mother does to Shoya in once scene? And when Shoya is first trying to reconnect with Shoko, Shoko’s little sister Yuzuru tries to keep Shoya from getting to her, just thing to look out for her. Which is totally understandable. And she’s even the one who points out that if Shoya’s just doing all this nice stuff to make himself feel better, he’s wasting his time.

Only for Shoya to bring it back to how he still feels maybe the world would be better without him.

As it turns out, Shoko is just as or nearly as suicidal as Shoya was at the beginning of the film. Like when they were in school, Shoko just wanted to be friends. In truth, the two of them had more in common than Shoya would have initially thought. But it was hard for him to understand that in part just because Shoko was someone with whom communication was difficult. So when Shoya finds Shoko about to jump off a balcony to her death, he manages to pull her back in the end without regard to the risk to his own life.

From there comes an emotional wave-chain of weeping apologies and catharses. And Shoya and Shoko both come to an understanding that heretofore they hadn’t been able to reach. Once they’re able to bridge the gap between them, through a reaching out to the other, they begin to see the worth in each other’s lives, find reasons for each of them to be alive. Even before this moment, Shoya still seems to wonder if the world wouldn’t be better off without him, even after his mother’s already made him promise not to try that whole suicide thing again.

The two of them have different reasons for wishing they were dead, and for wanting reasons to like themselves again. But those desires in and of themselves serve as common healing ground for them both. The idea of playing these themes against a girl who’s deaf is interesting in its own way, if only because when we’re addressing those with whom we disagree as well as those whom we’ve wronged but can’t understand how, or who have wronged us, it can often feel like we’re talking to those who can’t seem to hear us, even if they do actually have a working pair of ears. Which can serve as yet another block to forgiveness.

Forgiveness as a concept is put on a pedestal it seems. That the ability to offer forgiveness grants you validation as a good person. That if you can’t, then there’s just some level of enlightenment that you have yet to reach. But, as said repeatedly above, it’s more complicated than that. There could be differences between forgiving a person, and forgiving their actions, and even vice versa, and every which way in between.

As I said, there are people and things that I can’t forgive in this world. And that I can honestly say after giving it some thought that I don’t feel bad about not being able to forgive them. Which is not to say that I wish them every ill imaginable upon them, and if I were in the very unlikely situation where they were dangling off a cliff and I was the only person who could pull them up, I’d pull them up. And that I could do that and still not forgive them I believe carries its own unique sense of morality: “I can’t forgive you or what you’ve done, but I don’t believe that you deserve to be left to die either. Not when I can save you, anyway.”

But who knows, I could totally be talking out of my hat.

That said, there are so many miseries that would be made less miserable if there were more forgiving people in the world. That despairing question cried into the void, when will the cycle finally be broken? I’m not sure that it can, but I think it can be broken down, and that’s starting with things like forgiveness. And to start with that, means understanding that forgiveness does not mean giving a free pass to people and their transgressions. More it should mean, “I am willing to give you a chance as a human being, because I am a human being too.”

To forgive is to be willing to open one’s heart to someone who has done them wrong. Sometimes that’s not easy on a personal level, and, again, understandable. But on a larger scale, I think it’s an important thing to consider. While there can’t be this illusion that forgiveness works the same as a magic finger snap, I still believe it can still work as a good first step towards something better than what we have now.

With recent events as they are, I’m taking a moment here to offer the below link as a way to encourage another small but meaningful way to make a difference.

Forgiveness I was never the most graceful of children. Not much has changed since then, but I'd say I was far more awkward in my formative years.

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