I’m not telling you how to write Hanahaki. Merely forwarding some ideas I’ve had so you can play with them.
You may be being entertained by some of the stuff I put up here. I can’t tell. Nobody comments on this stuff. As far as I’m aware, apart from the occasional rare like, hardly anyone looks at this stuff at all.
Welcome to a brand new word. So new, that I’m still debating how to pronounce it.
I want you to imagine, just for a second, that the only representation of your identity that you ever saw, anywhere, ever, was some hideous and monstrous parody of often inaccurate stereotypes and tropes.
Statistically speaking, a mentally disabled person is more likely to be attacked or harmed by a sane person than the other way around.
The clock ticks around and the alarm in the form of I Got You Babe asking Cher to put her little hand in Sony’s.
Let’s get my credentials established. I am not a movie critic. I have not done film studies at all. I have no background in any of this at all. My only means of qualification is that I am really, really, really sick and tired of the Generic Romcom Formula.
The sorrowful, dramatic, and heartbreaking music swells. The man in the white coat looks at his results once again and steels himself to deliver the bad news. “The results are in,” he says. “There can be no doubt. Your child is… a burden.” She screams and cries, the dramatic sting sounds as she collapses against her supportive other.
You’ve likely seen them without ever knowing they’re there. They’re in Hallmark movies. They’re in Hero movies. They’re in your after-school special.
Beloved and I went to see two movies just a few short days ago: Into the Spider Verse and Bumblebee. Both are very different movies, but they have one thing in common – a healthy dollop of nostalgia.