1326: Books with Shadows In Them

I have — I believe — two more chapters to go on Corpse Party: Book of Shadows, the sequel to one of my favourite PSP games, and, like its predecessor, one of the most emotionally engaging games I've ever played.

Book of Shadows is much more of a visual novel than its predecessor was — the RPG-style wandering around and pressing X on things is all gone now, to be replaced with either straight-up "read many, many pages of narration and dialogue" or, slightly less frequently, with some first-person perspective wandering and mild point and click adventuring.

The change in gameplay style isn't the most interesting thing about Book of Shadows, though; instead, it's the narrative structure. Rather than telling one continuous story like its predecessor, Book of Shadows is more of a spin-off than a true sequel — at least, as I understand it, anyway, until the final chapter — and instead chooses to spend its time telling self-contained stories that are either prequels to the events of Corpse Party, or "alternate universe" tales that answer a number of hypothetical "what if?" scenarios. For example, one scenario explores what would have happened if a character who died in the original Corpse Party had instead been rescued; another fleshes out one of the original game's "wrong ends" by showing you exactly what unpleasantness happened to a particular character; another still looks at the story of some incidental characters from one of Corpse Party's "extra" scenarios.

The fact that the game is being so experimental and exploratory in its various "short stories" is, in itself, interesting, but an even more intriguing thing about it is that the "correct" ending for each of the chapters is not necessarily a "good" one. Indeed, in many cases, all of the possible outcomes are filled with death, pain and suffering, but only one of them is the "correct" one that allows you to proceed to the next chapter. It's honestly surprising to see something really quite horrible happen to a particular character — even though I was expecting it, given the context — and for the game to then cheerfully announce that I had "cleared" that particular chapter.

This idea of a conclusion to a chapter not necessarily being a happy one is something the first game played with — the "true" ending to the first chapter of the original Corpse Party often has people reaching for the "reload" button the first time they see it — but Book of Shadows really runs with it. It's something that it's interesting to see games experimenting with, since most games still take the "happy ending" as the default, "best" or only option, and it's pretty rare to play something that genuinely ends on a downer. (Of course, I don't know how Book of Shadows as a whole concludes, but I have the distinct impression that at least one or more of the characters will probably not get out unscathed.) There are a few exceptions, of course — Conker's Bad Fur Day being one of the most surprising, best examples I can remember — but for the most part it's still quite rare to come across something deliberately designed to bum you out. (You have achieved a trophy: "Pass the Kleenex." Wait, that sounds wrong.)

Anyway, two more chapters and I can stop freaking myself out with this game — there's a deliciously uncomfortable, oppressive atmosphere about the whole game that makes it quite "hard work" to play, but it's enjoyable in that perverse sort of way good horror is. Next on the agenda, portable-wise, anyway, is Sweet Fuse, aka That Game Where You Play as Keiji Inafune's Niece.

1325: Focal Point

I'm sure any writer pals reading this can probably relate, judging from some things I've read recently: it is infinitely easier to focus on negative things than it is about positive ones. And those negative things absolutely dominate your thoughts, almost completely obliterating any good work the positive things might have done.

Let's take an example. Recently, I wrote a lengthy article about "otaku games" — that particularly misunderstood aspect of Japanese gaming where people who don't play them constantly judge them as being nothing more than pervy fanservice. To be fair to their opinion, there often is a fair amount of pervy fanservice in them, but it's pretty rare that is the sole or even the most important part of them. Check out the piece here.

On the whole, response to the post has been very positive. I've been very happy to hear from a lot of fans of Japanese gaming who thanked me for giving a reasoned, rational take on the subject — with input from people who are actually involved in bringing these titles to the West — and for treating both the games and their fans with respect. I've had people tell me it's a wonderful article, compliment me on covering something that other sites don't bother with (or take the more common "This is Bad and Wrong, LOL JAPAN" stance on) and generally express a very genuine-feeling sense of appreciation for something I worked hard on.

So what do I find my brain focusing on? The guy who tweeted at me saying "TLDR" (seriously, that is pretty much one of the most disrespectful things you can say to a writer, especially when they've worked hard on something — try giving some constructive criticism or, even better, actually engaging with the points made in the piece), and the commenter who complained about me "not talking about the game" in my Tales of Xillia review and lambasting me for promoting an "incest simulator" in an article about visual novels. (Said "incest simulator" was Kana Little Sister, an incredibly moving work which I've written about at length in a number of places on the Internet; to refer to it as an "incest simulator" in a distinctly Daily Mail/Jack Thompson-esque way shows an astonishing lack of understanding, my keen awareness of which was what inspired me to write the "otaku games" piece in the first place.)

I wish I didn't feel this way, but it made me feel somewhat better to read this piece over on Hookshot, Inc recently. Here's what was, for me, the most pertinent part:

"Reader feedback is, in many ways, wonderful. It pulls writers down from pedestals and/or ivory towers, and it democratises a whole medium. Every voice is heard, and charlatans are uprooted. A culture of reader-fear has, arguably, been fostered – but ultimately people raise their game, and those much-suspected dirty deals are (by my reckoning) far less likely to occur today than they were five years ago.

"The problem is that all this is incredibly unhealthy for writers with… what you might call an ‘amiably complex psychological disposition’. I’m one of these people (it’s hugely common in my field – and indeed any creative arena) and I couldn’t even count how many of my working days have been ruined by an angry person venting steam beneath a piece I’ve written. The black dog starts barking, and your creative mojo runs away.

"Sure, the trolls are generally a minority – but when your mind has been built to concentrate on negativity rather than happy, happy, joy, joy (and you work at home, on your own) then comments threads are a mental plague pit.

"As a writer – what can you do about this? Well, you can start making your review scores more conservative for a start. Oh, and you can definitely avoid rocking boats that contain angry devotees of certain platforms, genres and franchises. Oh, and how about excising all humour for fear of miscomprehension from angry dullards you’ll never meet?

"OMG HANG ON GUYS OUR COLLECTIVE INSECURITY JUST BROKE GAMES WRITING.

"So basically: say what you want to say, and suck it up. There’s no wrong opinions, only a lot of people who think you should be fired for having a right one."

I was simultaneously surprised, delighted and slightly depressed to read that. I wish it didn't have to be that way, and I wish it was possible to train oneself to be more like, say, Jim Sterling — someone whom I greatly admire for his no-nonsense attitude and at least outward appearance of having thick skin. (For all I know, Sterling might finish his day job and cry himself to sleep over the torrents of abuse he receives on a daily basis, and I wouldn't blame him if that were so — but I somehow doubt that's the case anyway.)

Ah well, as Will Porter writes in that excellent Hookshot piece — seriously, go read it if you have a few minutes — the only real thing we, as writers, can do is say what we want to say and suck it up somehow. If we start sanitising our own opinions, thoughts and even writing styles to appease the lowest common denominator in the comments threads, then the world of writing would be a boring one indeed.

1324: Fury

I hate anger in all its forms — whether it's directed at me, coming from me or going on around me.

I'm not entirely sure where this feeling comes from — perhaps there's some sort of deep-seated trauma from some event in my past that I'm repressing — but it means I've always felt enormously uncomfortable whenever there's any sort of anger present near me, whether "near" means physically close to me or simply within my frame of awareness thanks to the Internet.

I remember getting extremely upset any time my parents would have an argument when I was little. However much I was assured that it was a natural part of any relationship, it still always filled me with anxiety. I felt that same feeling of anxiety whenever I got angry at school — usually the result of being bullied — and fearing that I'd lose control. And I feel the same thing today whenever there's anger around me — or coming from me. I get uncomfortable, restless — even physically shaky at times if I'm the one expressing anger — and I hate it.

Consequently, I find it increasingly difficult to deal with the seemingly-constant fury that comes from certain quarters of the Internet. If it's not one thing, it's another — there's always something out there pissing someone off, and they always want to talk about it at great length, usually with some sort of public shaming involved. And I just can't deal with it, frankly.

The natural response is, of course, to simply switch off, walk away or unfollow these people altogether but that brings with it a whole host of modern etiquette questions that we simply didn't used to have to worry about. If I unfollow, for example, a Twitter user who is mostly a decent person but who occasionally descends into mouth-frothing zealotry any time certain topics come up — to what I consider an unreasonable degree, regardless of how valid their points are — what will they think of me? What do I say if I ask them why I unfollowed them, assuming they notice? Am I honest about it? Or do I make up some lie about that probably fictional Twitter bug that makes it "randomly unfollow" people every so often? (Oh shit, did I let the cat out of the bag? Sorry.)

I am overthinking this issue, I'm sure; if people make me uncomfortable, I should just take myself out of that situation and prevent myself from getting drawn into something that would make me even more uncomfortable. The consequences I worry about might not even happen at all; if they do, I just have to deal with them. The fact I'm unable to participate in some discussions as a result is probably a good thing in the long term — there are plenty of other things out there that I can engage with, so I should focus my attention on those rather than things that make me anxious or uncomfortable.

This self-indulgent stream of consciousness brought to you by Internet Rage. Now I'm off to go and play Corpse Party in bed. Good night.

1323: PAX Pox

Another Penny Arcade Expo (aka PAX) is coming to a close, and once again I find myself sorry I wasn't there — though perhaps not quite as sorry as I'd be if I wasn't working in the games press and would not therefore be obligated to, you know, write about stuff if I was actually there.

That said, attending an event like PAX as a professional is pretty exciting, too — though for different reasons to if you're going as a "civilian". I haven't covered a PAX as a professional since I've worked full-time in the biz, but I did attend a Gamescom for GamePro a couple of years back, and that was oddly thrilling. It was also completely exhausting due to the fact that I'd spend all day zipping between appointments and all night writing up the things I learned in said appointments, leaving approximately three hours for sleeping per night — no, I didn't do any socialising whatsoever, but you know me; that was, to be honest, absolutely fine by me.

Gamescom is a bit of a different setup to PAX, though — at least in my limited experience having attended one of each. While PAX is a sprawling consumer show that occupies convention halls, theatres and corridors, and at which you generally have to make some very tough decisions about whether to wait in line to see panels and/or concerts or actually brave the show floor, Gamescom has a very clear divide between the "consumer" bit and the "trade" bit.

The "consumer" part of the Gamescom I attended was even more chaotic than PAX. Several huge halls of the Kölnmesse were devoted to the event, and for some reason the organisers seemed to think that turning the lights down low would be a really good idea. The floor of all the exhibition halls was literally (yes, I mean literally) carpeted with discarded flyers and other rubbish, and it was noisy, crowded and difficult to get around.

Contrast with the "trade" part, which was over on the opposite side of the Kölnmesse, and was the complete opposite — in fact, much more what I expected from a games industry show, based on my extremely limited experience from attending ECTS once back in the '90s. A sense of calm; companies showing their products privately in booths, many of which had refreshments and comfortable chairs; a feeling of organisation rather than chaos. (Much more stereotypically German, to put it another way.) I vastly preferred the "trade" side of things, because it meant I got to see lots of cool stuff without having to fight my way through hordes of people who just wanted to stare at other people playing League of Legends on a big screen. This was largely because I had appointments to see specific people in the trade bit, whereas the consumer bit was pretty much a free-for-all.

That said, on balance I think I preferred my trip to PAX East to my professional engagement at Gamescom. At Gamescom I didn't feel like I was "at home" or "among friends", largely because I was just there to do a job and didn't really have time to enjoy anything. At PAX East, meanwhile, I was among friends — many of whom I was meeting in person for the first time after many years of communicating on the Internet — and I had a real sense of "belonging"; of being among people who understood the same things I was passionate about.

One day I'll make it back, and I'll make a point of making some time to hang out with cool people. Until that happens, though, I'll just have to gaze jealously from a distance at each PAX that comes and goes — and at my friends and colleagues who attend them.

1322: Online Gamers Aren't Always Jerks

Sep 1 -- Online Gamers People who play games online are always dickwads, right?

Wrong. For starters, if you've ever taken that attitude, it's entirely possible that you aren't a dickwad yourself and just simply find the prospect of coming face to face with a dickwad distasteful — and thus it stands to reason that there are probably other people out there like you. (You may also take that attitude because you're a dickwad yourself, and use it as an excuse to behave like a dickwad. If that is the case, I'd encourage you to take a good, long, hard look at yourself, and perhaps indulge in some self-flagellation until you see the error of your ways.)

Anyway, I have a specific story that happened today — one that filled me with a pleasant amount of hope. It was only a little event in the grand scheme of things, but it was one where I felt happy after it had transpired.

A little context, first: Final Fantasy XIV allows you to play cooperatively with other players in one of two ways: either forming a party with them manually, or by letting a mechanic called the Duty Finder match you up with people who are looking to complete the same challenges. The advantage of the former option is that you can get together with people you know, or at least people on the same server with whom you'll be able to communicate with afterwards. The advantage of the latter option is that it allows you to play with the entire player base of the game, rather than just the 5,000 (maximum concurrent players at the time of writing) present on your specific server. Both approaches have drawbacks, though: in the former case, it can often be difficult to find people who are available at the same time who want to do the same thing; in the latter case, you're usually paired up with complete strangers, with all the inherent risks that carries.

Earlier today, I took on one of Final Fantasy XIV's dungeons with a party of random people found through the Duty Finder. Things were going reasonably well to begin with — though I would have preferred that the tank mark targets to help mages like me know what order to set fire to things — but after a while I started to notice one of the players behaving a little strangely.

Her in-game name was "Amelia," and she was a black mage like me. She'd obviously run the dungeon before, as she was regularly charging ahead well before the rest of us had got our bearings — sometimes even causing enemies to start attacking before we were ready. Partway through the dungeon, I could see her continually running off in the opposite direction to us, only to come running back when the tank started the next combat. I could tell she was getting frustrated, but she wasn't saying anything for some reason. So, once the next combat had finished, I spoke up.

"Amelia," I typed. "If there's something you'd like to show us, please say something rather than just charging off by yourself. Thanks!"

I gritted my teeth and was prepared for a barrage of abuse. A lot of online players don't like being told how to play the game and get very defensive if someone criticises them. I was all set for "Amelia" to start yelling at me, or even to quit the party in a huff. It wouldn't be the first time I had seen something happen.

What happened next surprised me.

"Yeah," she replied. "I was just thinking that myself."

The rest of the party stopped — the tank hesitated before pulling in the next group of enemies — and I could feel virtual eyes on me.

"Communication helps," I typed. "Is there some treasure down there or something?" I asked, referring to her continual attempts to run off to the south.

"Yes," she replied quickly. "There's two chests down there."

"Okay," I typed. "Let's go get those before we go any further then."

After that, we followed Amelia's lead and, sure enough, found our way to some extra enemies and some treasure chests. I was sure to thank her for her help, and when it came to time to fight the boss at the end of the dungeon, she volunteered some helpful information that ensured we were able to take it down without too much difficulty.

Ultimately, a bit of communication helped rescue a party that was at serious risk of falling apart. I'm not-so-secretly quite proud of the fact that I was the one to initiate communication and help hold things together — and I was very pleasantly surprised to discover "Amelia" was receptive to the things I was saying, and apparently knew she wasn't handling things as well as she could have done.

So wherever you are now, "Amelia," thanks. And I hope we get the chance to play together again soon.

1321: My Blog Post Can't Be This Cute

I thought I hadn't written about OreImo before, but apparently I have, and with almost the same title as this post, too. Oh well. I'm going to write about it again, then I'm going to watch the last two episodes that are disappearing from Crunchyroll at 9pm PT this evening, because I'm hooked.

OreImo, or, to give it its full title that I have to look up every time, Ore no Imouto ga Konna ni Kawaii Wake ga Nai (My Little Sister Can't Be This Cute) is a really interesting show that wasn't at all what I expected it was going to be, and it made that fact abundantly clear within a few moments of it starting. I was expecting some sort of lighthearted slice-of-life anime with a long-suffering male protagonist dealing with the wacky behaviour of his moe moe little sister. Instead, what I got was an intriguing exploration of a number of interesting characters, and a genuinely surprising story that I found hard to predict — not in the sense that it was chaotic, but in that I was never quite sure which direction they were going to take it.

I'll refrain from posting spoilers here in case you're intending to watch it, but suffice to say it explores a number of interesting themes: what it means to be an otaku; dealing with the conflict between your public persona and your "true self"; what it means to confide in someone; the nature of true friendship; and the fickleness of teenage love. There is also an undercurrent of "will they, won't they" incestuousness, which makes some people uncomfortable, but having watched (nearly) the whole series now I'm firmly convinced that this feeling of discomfort is entirely deliberate. I shall say no more on the matter for now.

The characters involved are all interesting to explore, too. The protagonist Kyousuke is a late-teens guy who clearly thinks he's going nowhere, and appears to be quite depressed about it as a result — along with the fact that, at the outset of the series, his relationship with his little sister Kirino appears to be broken beyond repair. The two series then unfold as he tries to repair the rift between them by attempting to understand her and her tastes a little better.

It's not just a two-hander, though — there are others involved, too, and they each have interesting roles to play. Kuroneko, for example, is a character even more obsessed with anime culture than Kirino is, and appears to live her life in a constant delusion that she actually is one of her favourite manga characters — or at the very least, puts across that impression in order to escape from reality. Saori, another "otaku" character that Kirino gets to know early in the series, is also escaping from reality, but for different reasons — to explain why, however, would be a spoiler, so I'll refrain from talking further.

At the other end of the spectrum is Ayase, Kirino's supposed best friend and someone who is not at all sympathetic to otaku culture and tastes. Seeing Ayase struggle to come to terms with the truth about her best friend — and her feelings for Kyousuke, for that matter — is one of the more interesting parts of the show. Plus she's kind of a badass, too.

It's nearly 1am here, but I have a couple of episodes to watch before sleep if I'm going to catch them before they're gone, so I'm out of here. Good night!

1320: Anime After Hours

I started a new anime discussion community over on Google+. You can find it here. If you're wondering why I chose Google+, the most-frequently-ridiculed-by-people-who-have-never-used-it social network on the Internet, it's because Google+'s Community tools are both really good and extremely simple to use, with unnecessary fluff kept to a minimum. Also, it's ad-free, which is lovely.

Anyway, my thinking behind creating the Anime After Hours community, as it's called, was relatively simple. There are a number of anime communities on G+ already, but the vast majority of them tend to end up doing the same things: posting pictures without context (usually with at least one commenter yelling at the poster to remember to put a source in their post); asking the same simplistic questions over and over again; playing tagging and meme games; and only discussing the most popular, mainstream titles.

This is all fine, of course; it's great that there are active communities that allow people to discuss the mainstream side of anime — stuff like Naruto, Pokémon and the like — and that are friendly to the younger end of the market. But, as any anime fan who's looked a little deeper into the medium will know, there's a lot more going on than just Naruto. A lot of anime is aimed at more mature audiences; late teens at the earliest, grown adults in some cases. And I'm not just talking about ecchi or hentai adult content; I'm also talking about shows that take in mature subject matter, or which are violent, or which kids simply wouldn't get.

As I watch more and more anime series and find myself discovering the things I like, I was becoming more and more conscious of the fact that there was a serious dearth of places for people around my age to discuss the medium — it's difficult to be heard in the rapid posts of G+'s more popular anime communities, for example, and they're not saying anything particularly interesting anyway. As such, Anime After Hours was designed as a place for people to come and discuss their favourite anime, whatever form that might take. It's an inclusive community that will accept anyone, on the understanding that it's a community for talking and discussing, not for superficialities. Already there's 13 members, which isn't that much, but we've started kicking off some interesting discussions — and I'm sure as (if?) more people roll in, the community will become more active.

So consider this your invitation, dear reader; if you're the slightest bit interested in anime and you've been looking for a place to come and discuss the medium free of Naruto-loving kids, you know where to come. All you need is a Google account.

See you there?

1319: The Fine Art of Working from Home Without Going Mental

The title of this post would probably suggest that I am something more of an authority on this subject than I actually am, but I do at least have the benefit of experience to draw from when talking about this.

Working from home may sound like an absolute dream come true, but it can be surprisingly challenging, particularly from a motivational perspective. I'm fortunate in that I like my job and enjoy doing it; if I was doing something less enjoyable like, say, the audio typing for insurance companies that I did for one dark summer, I'd probably be feeling less positive about things.

That's not to say that even with a job you enjoy, working from home isn't fraught with distractions from all angles, ranging from something as simple as a desire to go and get yet another coffee to the myriad procrastination tools The Internet offers.

I think the most difficult thing to deal with, though, is the fact that there's no-one else around. I'm not a particularly "social" person, as you know, and struggle with small talk, especially with people I don't know all that well. However, that's not to say that I don't necessarily enjoy company; on the few occasions I've been down to the Eurogamer offices in Brighton, I've enjoyed being around other people doing the same things I'm doing, even if most of them spent most of the day with headphones on, immersed in their own work. It was nice to just be around others, and to be able to jump in to occasional conversations.

In order to counter the loneliness thing, I often make a point of going out, even if it's just to the local coffee shop. (I've been there so often now that the staff recognise me, though I've stymied their attempts to pigeon-hole me with a "usual" by regularly ordering different drinks.) I find that it's quite pleasant to change environment and do some work with other people around, even if I don't have anything to do with them directly. There's just a nice atmosphere; a sense of comfort, of not being alone. Weird, I know, but true.

It's not an ideal situation, of course — it's over half a mile of walking to get to said coffee shop, and then when I'm there I'm expected to, you know, actually buy something, which costs money, but eh. I can take the rough with the smooth.

Perhaps what I should actually do is open up a coffee shop in my living room so there can be people milling around at all times while I do my work. But that sounds like an awful lot of effort, frankly.

Eh. There's no easy answer, and I'm not sure I'm even looking for an "answer" — I think, on balance, I'd rather be doing what I'm doing from home than feeling my life slowly being sucked out of me by a traditional office job.

I'll leave you with this Mitchell & Webb sketch, which pretty much sums things up rather nicely.

1318: Cooperative Collective

I probably don't need to tell you this by now, but Final Fantasy XIV is really great, predictable MMO launch issues aside.

One thing I've been very pleasantly surprised with is how well it handles group cooperative content. This is something that its predecessor, Final Fantasy XI, did not handle as well as it could — which was unfortunate, since progression in Final Fantasy XI was pretty much dependent on you being able to reliably get into a group of other players.

Final Fantasy XIV has a nifty system called the Duty Finder, which is essentially a cross-server matchmaking system that picks up players who are looking to play a specific part of the game, groups them together in an appropriately balanced party, then sends you on your way to do the thing you said you wanted to do. It's a good system, though you can sometimes be waiting for up to half an hour or more depending on what type of character you play.

If you're unfamiliar with the way massively multiplayer online RPGs tend to do things, there's a fairly standard setup for a productive, cooperative party to complete cooperative content, and that is this: at least one "tank", who is designed to take the brunt of the damage from enemies and protect the other party members; at least one healer, whose role is self-explanatory; and the rest of the slots taken up by damage dealers, whose role is also self-explanatory. In Final Fantasy XIV, you'll either be in a "Light Party," which is made up of four members (one tank, one healer, two damage dealers) or a "Full Party," which is, I believe, eight people — though I'm yet to encounter anything that requires that many people.

Early to mid-level content is based on playing in a Light Party which has a few benefits: firstly, it's easier to gather four people together than eight; secondly, it helps everyone in the party understand what their role is and see how they're contributing to the group effort. In larger parties, it can sometimes be difficult to understand exactly what you're actually doing. If you're one of just four people, each of whom has a clearly defined role, however, you can see the effect you're having.

The established party structure has one unfortunate side-effect, though, and that is the fact that it's easy to assume that completing challenges will be impossible if you don't have all the requisite members. This isn't always true, as my experiences this evening proved.

A group of us — three "Free Company" (guild) members and a random fourth person — had entered the dungeon Halatali using the Duty Finder. All was going reasonably well until I had an unfortunate crash, and it took me a few minutes to get back into the game. When I returned, the random fourth person had vanished, apparently having tried to get the rest of the party killed before leaving. Dick. The three of us fought our way through a few enemies while waiting for a fourth member to come and join up. When they eventually arrived, we were good to go.

Unfortunately, our tank had a connection problem towards the end of the dungeon, leaving me, the other damage dealer and the healer stranded wondering what to do next. Eventually, we decided to charge forwards anyway and see if we could survive the dungeon's main boss — and you know what? We did, thanks to some excellent teamwork, and everyone doing their job properly. Sure, we probably could have done it a bit easier if we actually had our tank with us, but it was a fun challenge to do it without someone drawing the boss monster's attention away from me flinging fiery death at all and sundry.

We all had a good laugh about it afterwards — particularly at the fact that we finally managed to get a new tank to join us just as we were whittling down the boss' last 15% of health. By the time he'd run through the dungeon and met up with us, the boss was lying defeated on the floor. Immensely satisfying — and very amusing.

Anyway. Yeah. FFXIV is great — even for someone like me who is normally quite uncomfortable playing with strangers. I'm having a blast. And when the servers calm down, you should totally give it a chance, too.

1317: Never Gonna Dance Again

Aug 27 -- yay We went to a wedding today — that of our friends George and Mitu — and it was a pretty spectacular affair. Given their respective families' diverse cultural and religious backgrounds (civil ceremony, followed by Islamic blessing, plus traditional Bengali and Ukrainian ceremonies, plus some Greek dancing somewhere along the way), there was a hell of a lot going on all day. I wouldn't expect anything less from this particular couple; one of many complimentary things I can say about them is that they certainly don't do things by halves.

As the evening session got underway, though, I found myself becoming contemplative, specifically with regard to the matter of dancing. I have never been a particularly good dancer, though when I first started university all it generally took to actually get me on the dance floor was a few vodka and Red Bulls. These days, though… I just can't do it. I can't bring myself to do it at all, and I find that fact a little distressing.

It's not that I particularly want to dance, see — I think dancing is, on the whole, one of the more ridiculous things the human race has decided is a good way to spend its time — but it's more the wider picture: over the last few years I've become very conscious of the fact that I find it very difficult to outwardly express joy in any form, whether that's simply through saying something positive, "acting" excited or doing something typically associated with joyfulness like, say, dancing.

The precise reasons for this state of mind elude me somewhat, though I have more than a few suspicions that it's something to do with either or both of the two related issues that are depression and self-esteem. Whenever I feel like I'm being "pressured" to act excited or joyful, I just clam up and feel horribly embarrassed; like if I do outwardly display some form of excitement or joy, people will immediately call it out for being "fake" or something. Perhaps "fake" isn't the right word; it just doesn't feel "right" to do or express these things. I can't quite pin down if it's a sense of feeling like I don't "deserve" to feel these things — I don't think it's that — or whether it's just a sense of embarrassment at being anything other than the stony-faced dude in the corner of the room.

I think it's also something to do with social pressure. I have no problem with being excited when I'm by myself (ooer) and, as regular readers will note, I also have no problem with expressing excitement for something via the medium of the written word. But place me in a situation where I'm supposed to be acting excited? I can't do it. I feel like people are judging me and will somehow not believe that I'm happy or excited if I don't do it "enough" — ironically, though, this often makes me do some sort of half-hearted Fluttershy-style "yay" rather than genuinely act excited, which probably leads to the exact issue I'm afraid of.

(Incidentally, that whole "yay" scene with Fluttershy is absolutely, positively, 100% the reason why I love that show so much. I absolutely am her, in more ways than one.)

Sooooo. Yeah. If something cool happens to you, that's great. I really am happy for you. If I don't appear to be showing it on my face, however, it's nothing personal. It's just the way I am.

Yay.