My extreme tenacity and resilience is less innate than cultivated — mostly by my mom’s very “extraordinary” way of teaching. And thanks to her very extraordinary way of teaching I was able to find my joy amidst the more toilsome days and occasions demanded of me. 

 

Apart from “Papa”, “Mama”, or any other pronouns relevant, I ambiguously learnt how to read, speak, write and even think from my idiosyncratic practice of manga. Every day when my mom came back home from work, she took me to the nearby manga cafe where we would usually sit at the corner while wistfully reading different kinds of manga of the fin-de-siècle, e.g. 20th Century Boys, Monster, The Kindaichi Case Files. My mom has a penchant for something unusual, by this I mean, she never felt burdened to have put me in the possession of fear, fright, suffering, revolution — the abysses that Jean-Jacques Rousseau would love his students to experience: "LET HIM SEE, LET HIM FEEL THE HUMAN CALAMITIES!" While my peers whom I supposed would be reading Cinderella or Three Little Pigs, my mom read me Revolutionary Girl Utena 少女革命ウテナ, Special A, Touch, NANA, LIFE... 

 

My mom didn’t quite make any effort into teaching anything educational or practical in relation to the linguistic or narrative features. Rather, her attention was arrested on the philosophical spot that helped train and shape my naivety. She talked in a seemingly sophisticated way (at least for a child it was), trying to elevate my imagination to a broader socio-cultural perspective. For example, women are not pre-programmed to feel dependent on men. We, as women, should be responsible for our happiness. It’s not my intention to put her into the entitlement as a “feminist”, but this flash of “worldview” that I gained from the reading of Revolutionary Girl Utena not Snow White — for it was engendered in the midst of dread and hopelessness including several moments when Utena was belittled and scorned — produced in me a lasting effect, starting as I read with my mom, a ceaseless vibration of courage. I say courage, because I was more able to be fueled with a liberal sense of imagination, in order to think beyond the convention in this normative society. When Himemiya told Utena, “You can never be a prince because you are a female”, my mom forthwith showed a direct disproof, turning to me with an indulgent grin, “We don’t have to be someone else’s prince, just be ourselves.” As a child, I did not realize that I had been already under the spell until I had gained more experience manoeuvring the morals and complications in this world. 

 

I am also convinced that, because of manga, my mom is more open-minded (comparatively). She wouldn’t mind me holding gundam models, kamen rider figures whilst my younger brother playing with Pretty Cure and cinnamoroll dolls. I remember there was a time I received little advice from my teacher, reporting to my mom that I could have played something more “feminine”, which however was neatly squelched by my mom, 

 

“This was the joy of my children, what things in the world mattered?” 

 

The question mark was very homely, and most importantly, it revealed a real acceptance of my non-performativity — I paraded with my light heart. 

 

We indeed read A LOT OF and DIFFERENT VARIETIES (even horror) of manga together. It would be impossible for me to recount them all except for the overwhelming memories of reading Captain Tsubasa キャプテン翼. If you are a good friend of mine you know my bias is Genzo Wakabayashi (若林源三) for a very superficial reason: he is left-handed as I am. My mom, on the other hand, showed her liking for Misugi (三杉淳) and she had a special reason which needs to trace back to my inward battle of congenital heart disease ever since I was born. Seeing the resemblance between Misugi (who has also been suffering from heart disease) and I, my mom used this character to fairly stir me with a sense of positivity in the face of my disease. Instead of avoiding the suffering, she tended to acquaint me with bad incidents that might happen in a human life, through inviting me to identify with the tragic hero, whose distress was transformed into compassion and bravery. My mom was reading Misugi’s quote with with a sort of passion of tenderness, “It’s moving. My heart... it’s still beating,” while touching my heart as well as hers, of which the beat had remained with me as that of the sweetest of human warmth, that smothered night before the operation. 

 

There came to me a bewilderment and wonder of vision of which, after many years reflecting on all these, the practice of reading manga with my mom, albeit unordinary, served more as a lifelong learning. It could be bizarre to tell people that you learn to become what you are through manga, but I really do: What is perseverance? What is hard work? What is endurance? What is cruelty? What is ideal? What is bravery? What is violence? What is friendship? What is benevolence? What is equality? What is justice? What are men and women?, etc. I have read different answers, coming in the form of extraordinary blast and chills through the narrative art of manga — invariably keeping me beguiled, befooled, bewildered or believed. And there is this wonderful lady whose peculiarity somehow saved me from revulsion and turmoil. 

 

Last month, I received this message from my mom that gave me onion: