(This is a thread from Mizahar's fantasy role playing forum. Why don't you register today? This message is not shown when you are logged in. Come roleplay with us, it's fun!)
The player scrapbooks forum is literally a place for writers to warm-up, brainstorm, keep little scraps of notes, or just post things to encourage themselves and each other. Each player can feel free to create their own thread - one per account - and use them accordingly.
Dear Lord, I just laughed out loud on a crowded bus. You have a talent, Vanari. And now I'm going to remember your version every time I see Winnie the Pooh.
This PC has the Blight gnosis. As such, you as a player need to be aware of what that consists of. Wrenmae has an invisible aura that amplifies sickness and disease. Wounds may become infected, small sneezes may become coughing, and a slight fever may become more serious. A nuit's body will also break down faster in the presence of the Blight. These effects may not be immediate, but within the few days following your encounter, the symptoms will manifest. Some sooner than others. I cannot control your character, so creativity will be left up to you. Best wishes and stay healthy!
I feel like I've been neglecting my scrap despite some severe needs to express and vent, so here is just whatever is happening at the moment!
You couldn't rock OR rap harder Miss Janelle Monae, much <3 And Frank Ocean's voice just tugs at them heartstrings. These two should totally collaborate...or have they already?
Stuck in a weird place, so I'm just steam rollin' through the shaky times with the help of these two incredible artists + 100% completely not doing any actual work...at work. Progress so far:
Pic :
Sorry it's so humongous (I was too lazy to shrink it before I realized how ginormous it was) and for having the most primitive photoshop skills ever. I'll get better I promise, as soon as I rack up that 30 grand to go to art school
Welp, I saw a drawing yesterday someone did based on a resin doll head and got inspired so I googled like a million ball jointed dolls. Speaking of which, I'm still on the fence about them after all these years. They're incredibly gorgeous, but creepy at the same time. Especially the ones that are anatomically correct. Eugh, why?
Also, I'd buy one if a full sized doll plus all those clothes and whatnot didn't cost about oh, I dunno, a year's months worth of groceries.
That's all for now. Oh, and one last thing: ^me steamrolling all them negativities
It's been a long time since anything has got me worked up enough to scrap about, and since I don't think anyone I presently know wants me to rant on and on and on about this in person...scrapbook it is.
I'm not proud to call myself American for a lot of things, and Japan is one of them.
Yesterday, I found myself sitting in the quaint, homey, and spotless living room of a 90 year old Japanese American woman. It was filled with loved ones, giant wreaths of flowers, and snacks, snacks, snacks. So many snacks. Grammy was so persistent in feeding us that her family had to shout at her to stop. They only shouted, of course, cause she's hard of hearing, but the frustration was lovingly present as well.
Painter, writer, and victim of the Internment Camps. I knew this well before I met her, partly from stories and partly because of all the deeply emotional abstract paintings hung all over her house and books stuffed into every shelf available. But yesterday evening, I knew her simply as an adorable, sassy grandmother to a wonderful girl I was lucky to be roommates with for all of college, and mother to an amazing woman who died from lung cancer not two weeks ago. I'm not even going to get into the stupidity and greed behind why we still don't have a cure for cancer yet, but suffice to say I wept at the funeral like a helpless, angry little baby. It isn't fair, it never is. Yet, their family holds each other tight and carries on, knowing without a shred of doubt that is what Joy would have wanted them to do.
Grammy has a bit of trouble remembering things and spends half the time reciting our names --when she isn't cramming food into her hands, that is. Whenever she gets to me, she pauses for a moment, tips her head back and motions her hand as if she's drinking something, then splits into the biggest grin in the whole world as she sings, "Jin, like Gin!"
After a while, most of the guests and well wishers leave. Only a few of us remain seated on her well loved couch, mostly family and the rest, her granddaughter's former college roommates. Inevitably, in the midst of our humorous and upbeat conversations, she brings up the subject of internment camps.
She mentions that she never graduated from high school because camp interrupted that, interrupted everything. It is so unfair to her, even after all these years. The fact that the American government eventually (after most people from that era died) recompensed her with some money and a high school diploma did nothing to erase her resentment. So she remains indignant, and rightfully so. Then what does my foolish self do? My foolish self says, "Hey that's really interesting, my grandma was kind of the same too! She was at the Chicago Art Institute when the first revolution broke out, so she was called back to support her country and never finished her education either."
Normally, that's an interesting tidbit of history for those who care to know. But when it comes to Japanese and Chinese relations during WWII, you know...*cue noises of explosions* It's usually not pretty.
It's a given Grammy's family had nothing to do with mine whatsoever. And I had no intention of bringing up any awkwardness, only seen a connection and thoughtlessly pointed it out. No more of this subject was discussed, of course, cause I kept my mouth firmly shut after that embarrassing bit. My friend in 5th grade once broke down into tears because some mean, chubby little Chinese boy yelled at her for murdering his people half a century ago. I found that so meaninglessly stupid I decided right then and there that governments who sent their militaries out to kill people were the bad guys, and not innocent folk like my friend who had no say in the matter, who weren't even born in that time period.
Honestly, I knew what I was going to say before I said it. But I figured, this family seems so progressive and I had nothing to do with all that past jazz, and I obviously hold nothing against Japanese people, so it should be okay to bring something as harmless as my own grandmother up. Ah...well, I was somewhat wrong. Not entirely, but I caused some unease I wish I hadn't.
But here's where things got kind of mind blowing. After I'd blurted out my two cents, one of my friend's aunts starts a roundabout way of addressing the slight friction.
Aunt: One of the things I really like about Japanese culture is that they distinguish between war and life. What happened in war happened in war, they just leave it behind and move on. They don't hold grudges or anything. I had a Caucasian friend who went to a WWII memorial museum in Japan and he felt really uncomfortable. You know, cause of the atom bombs. But the Japanese people there were asking for his autograph! They love Americans and they aren't resentful at all! Grammy: Ohh yess, Japanese love Americans. Just love em! Aunt: Yeah, no grudges. War and life. *looks in my direction*
They go on to talk about the bombs briefly and whatnot. Grammy mentioned something about the bomb ending the war. Yes, bomb, singular. Her son in law tries to correct her, stating there were in fact two bombs, but she is super, super hard of hearing, as well as wondrously stubborn. Grammy might have trouble remembering names, but she has zero trouble remembering the trials of her past.
I was silent this whole time, wearing a facade of polite attentiveness and enthusiasm, but inside I was roiling with shock and anger.
How could they ever, ever, EVER think Americans deserve Japanese admiration?
For the record, let's get these facts straight, because sadly most of what we know is either so inaccurate or full of holes we might as well admit to knowing nothing.
1) The two bombs were endearingly nicknamed Little Boy and Fat Man, respectively made of plutonium and uranium. Sure, anyone could know that. What most people DON'T know is that using those bombs did not necessarily end the war. In fact, many argue it was major overkill on a country who was already on its knees. Soviet Russia declared war on Japan after the first bombing as well. What more reason did they need? Certainly not ANOTHER horrific bomb dropped on Nagasaki. There are so many details to this argument it's impossible to cover in one book, let alone one scrap. But here's my take:
Truman, in all of his military might and wisdom, wanted to see what those different bombs could do. Maybe even outpiss Soviet Russia with his huge, nuclear dick ahead of time. A warning, if you will. And as we all know from the internment camps (and much, much, oh so very much more) Americans were racist as fuck then. The Japanese people were not people to him and many others. They were vermin--belligerent, out of control vermin, even--that needed to be stomped upon. Anyone read or watch Ender's Game lately? Yeah, something along those pre-emptive, macho, violence-induced lines.
I've rarely if ever agreed with violence in our world, so call me a loony, naive hippy if you like. But I just personally think that atom bombs are a bad decision. Period. And that anyone who thinks otherwise may need to neuter themselves. Right now.
Oh, and also that militaries like to kill people, specially if they've been on a roll for freakin' ever, having it drilled into their heads that the enemy deserves to die and are no better than roaches to be exterminated. Fancy that?
Alright, I think it's safe to move onto giant fact number two.
2) Americans fucked Japan up with their occupation. What a surprise. Yet, you never learn about this in the school history books.
Burning of books, self-censorship, nuclear plants, half Japanese babies, day laborers, aw my gad you name it Americans had a hand in it. This one can get long, so I'll break it up into separate parts: A) Screwing with the psychology of the Japanese people, B) Screwing with their natural environment, and C) Screwing them in general.
A) We all know Japanese people have legendary manners and sense of honor. But this whole overly-polite-especially-to-Americans business? A ploy. Created by the Japanese and US governments' combined efforts to turn Japanese nationalism into self-monitoring roboticness. Everything from propaganda to external censorship was employed, of course, but they managed to turn some of Japan's greatest cultural strengths--their devotion, their honor, their fierce sense of community--to one of their worst weaknesses to this very day.
At the time the government was trying to reform the country, especially economically, with the aid of the U.S. (hmm, wonder what's in it for them? Oh, wait. I know. $$$!) The people were literally not allowed to say anything bad about the Emperor or the Americans, even though these two entities were solely responsible for all the suffering and devastation they experienced. When these changes were first being made, the people were too hungry to care. They were literally starving because of the war. Grave of Fireflies, not an exaggeration whatsoever. It took a long, long time before the people got some of their power and voice back, for them to even realize what the government was doing because there was just not enough FOOD. Who cares about politics when you're so hungry you'd eat...well, anything?
Why are Japanese people so afraid to speak bad English around you? Why do they work themselves to death, sometimes literally? Why they are so incredibly suppressed as a whole, especially sexually? Because of self censorship, that's why. And who brought about this nonsense? Well, now you know.
B) Godzilla = The U.S.
When Ishiro Honda made the film, he was trying to work around the currently imposed censorship. American nuclear testing in the oceans near Japan left toxic levels of mercury in so much tuna the fishermen had radiation poisoning and to THIS DAY seafood still has trace amounts mercury left over from those same tests, even in our own grocery stores. Hence, Honda's decision to make this film, which is essentially about a giant monster (The U.S.) awakened from its slumber by nuclear shenanigans to wreak havok on the Japanese people. He meant for it to incite some kind of true nationalism or action from the people themselves. Don't let the big bad foreign monster destroy us! We should band together and drive it away! Which, you must agree, makes it horribly ironic that Hollywood is trying to make a remake of a remake. Some forms of stupidity only get stupider.
Right now, the youth of Japan are pretty jaded about their country, but not for the reasons you necessarily assume. Too much technology, or work, or anime, or sake and karaoke? Hah. No. Many are downright furious because the government does nothing and the people do nothing. Everyone is just doing a whole lot of nothing while their situation only grows worse. They know they are watching their nation decay and no one can be moved to even break past their self-censoring masks and speak out against it. Don't take my word for it, just listen:
C)American soldiers were gettin' jiggy with Japanese ladies and vice versa while the U.S. Army occupied Japan not because they had such a natural affinity for one another, but because said ladies were hungry, destitute, and out of options. They could not rely on Japanese men to provide for them because there were no real jobs right after the war, and the ones that eventually came about sucked ass (A whole comic exists about day laborers. Read all about em). So they did the only logical thing they could. They sold themselves to soldiers as prostitutes. Pan Pan girls had pretty sweet lives, for a price, and ignored jeering insults on the streets, enduring them with thoughts of their well-fed bellies and the comfort of their expensive, lovely dresses. Not that this was necessarily discouraged, of course.
"Immediately after World War II, the Recreation and Amusement Association was formed by Naruhiko Higashikuni's government to organize brothels to serve the Allied armed forces occupying Japan. On 19 August 1945, the Home Ministry ordered local government offices to establish a prostitution service for Allied soldiers to preserve the "purity" of the "Japanese race." The official declaration stated that "Through the sacrifice of thousands of 'Okichis' of the Shōwa era, we shall construct a dike to hold back the mad frenzy of the occupation troops and cultivate and preserve the purity of our race long into the future."
What the fuck?
BONUS ROUND! Some interesting tid bits people usually don't know:
-Did you know that the interment camps were seen as a blessing by many? Many Japanese Americans were destitute, like Grammy's son in law's father, and the camps, for a lack of a better phrase, sort of...leveled the playing field. It was so much better for the poor, who actually had stuff like food, for once. Completely different views, depending on who you were at the time.
-Japan was NOT always homogenous. They had a lot of other ethnicities living in their nation, including many Taiwanese and Koreans. But the government kicked them all out in the name of national pride, uprooting them from their businesses and families, leaving many of them essentially penniless. What happened to them was far more extreme than what happened to the Japanese Americans in the U.S.
So, in conclusion. I felt a lot of pain and disgust, for many reasons, while I sat there on that squishy couch, listening to Grammy say, "Ohh, how those American guys loooved those Japanese girls!" The truth is so much more vividly ugly than it is in her head that I just sat there, nodded, and let her be. She already felt enough sorrow as it was.
Grammy wasn't born in Japan, so she couldn't have known. Just like my own grandma had no way of knowing who was really responsible for her family having to continually run from city to city, and why it took her forever just to be able to appreciate a Japanese actor or actress on TV.
The truth sucks, but only in understanding and accepting it will we ever even begin to see a glimpse of real change. Invest in our youth, invest in our creative abilities not only to create art and express the troubles of our fellow men and women but to problem solve as well, and never, ever give up hope.
There is always a way. Never just lay down and accept what others claim will be your fate.