The blue sky must be forever tall and forever clear. That’s the way the world should be.

~ Gentatsu Takatsuki, in conversation with Shigure Takimi, Rurouni Kenshin: Ishin Shishi no Requiem

I was able to meet my longtime friends Genefel and Melody at SM Megamall last Wednesday night for a good old gabfest over hot and cold cups of Starbucks java.

We talked straight for three hours and would have continued until dawn. However, I had to get back to my hotel to prepare for my early morning flight while Gen and Mel both had work the day after.

They gave me the most amazing metal chandelier earrings adorned with glittery crystals. Arigatou gozaimasu again!

I arrived from Metro Manila on Thursday, following a quick, uneventful airplane journey.

The moment I got home, I could not help but immediately pop my newly acquired copy of Rurouni Kenshin: Ishin Shishi no Requiem (Requiem for the Ishin Patriots) into my VCD player.

The movie has a simple, straightforward story that would be appreciated even by someone who is not familiar with the Rurouni Kenshin mythos.

I absolutely loved the charismatic and noble Shigure Takimi, one of the movie’s central characters and arguably Ishin Shishi‘s primary driving force.

His noble warrior’s philosophy and driven, staunchly patriotic character reminded me very much of Katsumoto, brilliantly portrayed by Ken Watanabe, from the 2003 Tom Cruise starrer The Last Samurai.

Yesterday evening, I received an e-mail from the organizers of the National Novel Writing Month that I have been officially accepted and listed as a participant.

NaNoWriMo 2005 will be my first year in the project, so I am really looking forward to all the novel-writing excitement and mania that will ensue when November rolls about.

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Right now, I am suffering from a three-fold obsessive affliction.

That is, a coffee craving that shows no sign of abating, Kill Bill: Volume 2 and, of course, Rurouni Kenshin. As I write this, I am downloading a helluva lot of RK images and wallpapers to tide me over through the long Ramadan weekend.

I also wish to share with all and sundry that my father is now, officially, a Kill Bill convert.

This past week, I was able to purchase a video CD of Kill Bill: Volume 2 as it came out in our local stores and ended up watching it when I got home.

Father passed by the television set, paused for a glimpse of the action, and asked if it was David Carradine (Father being part of the Kung-Fu generation) playing Bill, to which I answered yes. The rest, as the cliche goes, was history.

From then on, Father proceeded to watch both installments of the Tarantino sword-slinging saga. He also made this analysis: “Bill loved Beatrix, and still did, even until his dying breath. Things could have worked out if the Bride had not left his side to give their child a different, if not better, life.”

Amen to that, Pops, and everything.

Amazon.com provides the summary of the movie:

With this thrilling, must-see movie event, writer and director Quentin Tarantino completes the action-packed quest for revenge begun by The Bride (Uma Thurman) in Kill Bill: Volume 1.

Having already crossed two names from her Death List, The Bride is back with a vengeance and taking aim at Budd (Michael Madsen) and Elle Driver (Daryl Hannah), the only survivors from the squad of assassins who betrayed her four years earlier.

It’s all leading up to the ultimate confrontation with Bill (David Carradine), The Bride’s former master and the man who ordered her execution!

As the acclaimed follow-up to the instant classic Volume 1 – you know all about the unlimited action and humor, but until you’ve seen Kill Bill: Volume 2, you only know half the story!

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He bids the flowers of Spring
Mount the tree-top that men may raise their eyes
And walk on upwards paths
He bids the moon in Autumn waves be drowned
In token that he visits laggard men
And leads them out from the valleys of despair

The above verse is an excerpt from a character’s invocation in the Noh drama Atsumori, penned by Zeami Motokiyo.

It is the story of a warrior-turned-priest, Rensei, who meets the ghost of a man he had slain in battle, Atsumori. We staged this play in college, part of a four-act, all-Asian extravaganza entitled Dream.

Some time after the breakthrough staging of Dream, our theatre group TAGISAN was invited to join the Iloilo Theatre Company. Along with groups from other universities, we collaborated on an innovative post-modern, Asian-spiced rendition of T.S. Eliot’s Murder in the Cathedral.

The costumes from both Atsumori and Murder in the Cathedral were, naturally, based for the most part on Noh get-ups. Included in our research for authentic inspirations in the outfits were the most notable and intricate masks worn by the characters in the Noh drama to represent a greater metaphor than just their individual persona.

I was able to locate the Noh mask images that I downloaded some time ago:

These are mere icon-size versions as the original images were quite large. From left to right, they are:
· Fusikizo: Youth, vigor
· Okina: Age, wisdom
· Hannya: Demon, primal instincts

Do the last two names listed above sound familiar?

They most certainly do, as both Okina and Hannya are characters from Rurouni Kenshin, also known in some parts of the world as Samurai X. In the series, these men are part of the Onmitsu Oniwabanshuu.

Okina, represented by a Noh mask of a grizzled old man, is the elderly (but still delightfully hale) Nenji Kashiwazaki, mentor figure and fount of wry wisdom. Hannya, the ninja who perpetually hides his visage behind a fearsome horned mask, is likewise represented by a Noh mask of a laughing horned demon/spirit.

The fusikizo mask could be applied to, arguably, Aoshi Shinomori. He became Okashira (leader) of the Oniwanbanshuu at the age of 15 and his actions were pivotal in determining the direction that these ninjas would take in the new Meiji era. In the Noh drama, it is always the youth who takes action, driving the story onwards.

There is something about this triumvirate that rather strongly reminds me of the Freudian Id (Hannya), Ego (Fusikizo) and Super-Ego (Okina). Somewhat interesting parallels, as the Noh began to take form roughly five hundred years ago, way before the word “Psychology” got its meaning that we know of today.

On the other hand, I may just need some more coffee.

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Earlier today, I randomly went through my electronic poetry collection, which includes the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Christina Georgina Rossetti and Rabindranath Tagore, among others.

One of the poems that has long since pulled at my heartstrings is The Gardener by Tagore. The entire work is quite lengthy, but it never gets stilted.

I first heard of the author when I was in my first year of high school, at our Values Education class wherein he was quoted in our textbook. I looked him up in the library and eventually came across some of the poetry he had written.

I was proverbially reunited with Tagore when excerpts from The Gardener were quoted in a Rurouni Kenshin fanfiction series, Of Love and Honor. This work, beautifully and lyrically constructed by Tin Mandigma, remains unfinished to date, but is recognized as one of the best fanfic pieces in the RK fandom. The central characters in Of Love and Honor are Aoshi Shinomori and Misao Makimachi – the Oniwabanshuu Okashira and his Itachi Musume.

Excerpts from THE GARDENER
by Rabindranath Tagore

I love you, beloved. Forgive me my love.
Like a bird losing its way I am caught.
When my heart was shaken it lost its veil and was naked.
Cover it with pity, beloved, and forgive me my love.

If you cannot love me, beloved, forgive me my pain.
Do not look askance at me from afar.
I will steal back to my corner and sit in the dark.
With both hands I will cover my naked shame.
Turn your face from me, beloved, and forgive me my pain.

If you love me, beloved, forgive me my joy.
When my heart is borne away by the flood of happiness,
Do not smile at my perilous abandonment.
When I sit on my throne
And rule you with my tyranny of love,
When like a goddess I grant you my favour,
Bear with my pride, beloved, and forgive me my joy.

Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.
I have watched all night,
And now my eyes are heavy with sleep.
I fear lest I lose you when I am sleeping.
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.

I start up and stretch my hands to touch you.
I ask myself, “Is it a dream?”
Could I but entangle your feet with my heart
And hold them fast to my breast!
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.

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