K-ON! AND THE SOUND OF AMPLIFIED YOUTH

RAHM JETHANI - Writer, 3rd Year, English

Functionally, this is also about Umineko.

SPOILERS FOR K-ON! AND K-ON!!

The fundamental idea that the slice-of-life genre is built upon is that of capturing the experience of some kind of daily life, and then projecting unifying themes across them. While the approach to telling these kinds of stories has generally remained the same over the years, the number of ways a series is able to depict this kind of “daily life” is, of course, quite varied. Although, in order to retain the attention of their audience, slice-of-life shows often place a large emphasis on comedy and character drama, which has the effect of these kinds of stories bearing repetitive narrative arcs with simplistic and clichéd characters. While words like “repetitive”, “simplistic”, and “clichéd” have accrued a negative reputation for themselves within the realm of media discussion, it’s important to realize that the slice-of-life genre almost demands this level of constancy. In this way, “slice-of-life” is more than a genre; it’s a mood, an atmosphere, and also an aesthetic. And, these traits almost always necessitate that their presentation be relaxing. Due to this, relaxation in slice-of-life is often achieved through the structure’s inherent familiarity rather than the events within the structure itself. This is to say that beyond shallow perception, there is a potential for deep, rich slice-of-life storytelling.

When I first entered high school, simply put, I did not fit in. As the new students began joining school clubs, I was also quickly pressured to do so but unfortunately, I did not have any particular passions. School life then moved by too fast, and as a result, I was unable to join any club and went through the entirety of high school feeling left out, not a part of any social group or circle. This then motivated me, as soon as I entered college, to join as many clubs as possible. I could not count on my fingers the amount of clubs I successfully joined during my first semester, but even then, my passions did not have any particular direction. And so, as my attendances in most of these clubs gradually waned, I was ultimately made to realize through my new close friends that “passion” did not solely facilitate me living the “best version of school life”. Rather, it was the expressive, thrilling, exciting, and beautifully fun experiences that I shared with my new friends that came to define my “best version of school life”.

To those who know the premise of the anime series K-On!, this anecdote should sound very similar to the show’s introductory episodes (as well as to whole of The Tatami Galaxy, but I’ve already written an article about that), and while stories of this type are general enough to resonate with a wide audience, one must also acknowledge that people often have a propensity to connect with the slice-of-life premise simply due to the comparatively small level of abstraction as compared to other genres. So considering both this fact and my own predisposition to connect to the anime’s central thematic axis, it is no wonder that as soon as I started watching, K-On! quickly drew me in.

But, while the initial hook of K-On! meets the qualities of what I find to be “interesting,” neither it nor any sense of relatability wholly kept me from watching the show. Rather, what kept me watching until the very end of both seasons were ironically several storytelling aspects that I have, in the past, often dismissed as being “uninteresting.” When I say “uninteresting,” you might assume that I’m referring to lazy narrative clichés, poor writing, or something just as equally and subjectively prone to a viewer’s worst kinds of judgments, but you would be wrong. No, I had initially brushed off many of the best aspects that K-On! proudly touts with the term “uninteresting” exactly because I truly believed this anime was just as fantastic as its reputation had made it out to be. Before I had even watched its first episode, my preconception of K-On! was that it was a shining example of the best kind of anime from its era, produced by one of the most highly acclaimed animation studios of its era, with some of the best “high school girl band” anime music ever in the height of the “high school girl band” anime era. I had grown up with K-On! always being in my peripheral anime-sphere vision. And every person I knew who had watched the anime had told me that it was awesome. And so, because of the aforementioned “shallow perception” that one could develop towards slice-of-life stories, and this collectively perfect image that made up the animation entity known as “K-On!,” I had subconsciously condemned it as “uninteresting;” the epitome of the “it’s not for me” sentiment.

As a quick side note, a “perfect story” does not exist; there is no objective way to create perfection in a narrative work. Some have brought up ideas of a perfect story being self-contained or having the most satisfying plot points, but these definitions don’t have any quantifiable way of being proven correct either. Final Fantasy XV is an incoherently cluttered mess of a video game, with prequel movie, a prequel anime, several pieces of downloadable content most commonly in but not limited to sidestory episodes (one of which being an epilogue that fundamentally changes your understanding of the antagonist unless you already watched a different prequel anime), and finally an epilogue novel that rewrites the original ending of the game. The way to experience the story of Final Fantasy XV is objectively not self-contained, and yet I personally think it is a better story than something completely self-contained like Code Geass: Shikkoku no Renya, for example, which is a crime against all that is good in the world, and can burn forgotten in a dumpster fire. This is all to say that perfection is subjective, and as one’s views grow, change, and develop, so too do their views on what makes a good story.

With this in mind, at some point in time, after I had seen and learned more of the world and of media, my tolerance and viewpoint on the platonic idea of “perfection” had changed to where I was willing to watch K-On! on the suggestion of a friend. When this friend suggested K-On!, it wasn’t like it was an out-of-the-blue kind of thing, either. Before this, I was also recommended classics that I had never seen, such as Neon Genesis Evangelion, Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann, and Dragon Ball, just to name a few. While I took K-On! as simply another one of these, something had profoundly changed within me after watching those other classic anime that had removed “uninteresting perfection” as an obstacle for viewing media (a subject best left for a different article).

As I started my journey through the first few episodes of K-On!, I slowly became familiar and immersed in the high-quality aspects of it that one would come to expect, namely the soundtrack, artwork, pacing, writing, and atmosphere. But as I became more accustomed to the anime’s structure in these early episodes, I became aware of a quietly remarkable feature that carries into each episode for the entire series. This feature is K-On!’s ability to create an interesting and entertaining episode with only a small amount of things actually happening in them. Drastically simplifying this episodic structure, it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that very little of actual consequence happens in most episodes. While this literary tool is fairly typical in slice-of-life shows as a whole, K-On! manages to stand out. This is especially notable due to the timeframes that the two seasons occupy, with the first season spanning two years and the second season spanning one year. Also of note, the second season is twice as long as the first despite taking up half the time chronologically. Even though time might be tempted to inflate and stretch in a story paced this way, K-On!’s use of memorable and charming characters and events serve as anchors, and do a great job of grounding the viewer into the daily lives of these girls going through their high school lives.

The way that K-On! is directed also dedicates its efforts into showing how the main characters perceive that high school experience. Many anime of this type (and slice-of-life shows in general) tend to show their characters’ inner thoughts and feelings through a somewhat contrived or non-immersive method, such as characters having inner-dialogue soliloquies or addressing the viewer directly to communicate themselves. While this type of presentation isn’t bad by any means, I find that lighthearted media whose characters communicate to the viewer directly or indirectly have the risk of feeling disingenuous, as though the writers either don’t trust their viewers’ intelligence, or lack the ability to effectively pull off the “show, don’t tell” writing sensibility. In comparison, I think K-On! bypasses this pitfall in two ways. Firstly, there is almost no inner dialogue in the entirety of the 39 episodes, and if there ever is, its usage serves as a specific joke rather than a comedic or narrative crutch. By having the characters voice themselves audibly in their high school environment, most often to their classmates and friends, every instance of a character’s development feels natural and built up to. For this to be done so effectively in an anime that contains barely any tension is a testament to how thoughtful the masterful writing and direction is. The second way K-On! bypasses the feeling of disingenuous presentation is its very conscious treatment of time. In many slice-of-life shows, the issue of time is often trivial, with all involved characters being able to speak in a non-conscious void of time (whether this be inner-dialogue or addressing the audience). Any conscious attention drawn to time, then, is often left feeling like a plot contrivance rather than a natural force, both in terms of the feel of pacing and in terms of audience perception. However, due to K-On!’s slow yet constant sense of time progression, there are many instances where main characters involved in pivotal plot points are not given time to show the audience their feelings and thoughts. Because of this direction choice, the viewer gets a more accurate sense of what it is to live a daily life; you don’t always know what everyone else is thinking. Even if you were to try and observe everyone you knew, you would inevitably neglect certain aspects of that attention. It is an impossible task. We all live with biased perception, after all. But, even as K-On! masterfully portrays this concept, it always does so in a way that strengthens the time given to the characters who are portrayed, instead of weakening the time with those who are not. Decisions like this, as well as nearly every directorial decision in this anime, are used to lighten the mood, help the viewer relax, and provide an authentic and cozy experience. All of this is shown honestly to the audience in the first few episodes, and highlights an extremely important element of K-On!: it trusts you to understand. K-On! trusts you to enjoy it, and to love it.

Among the many strengths of K-On!, one that I never doubted my potential enjoyment of was its cast of dynamic yet cohesive characters. They each broadly fit an already established character archetype, but do so in a way that compliments other characters and fits the anime’s excuses to get everyone into numerous hijinks. Ritsu is the impulsive and brash leader, Mio is the nervous/shy and serious foil to Ritsu (often serving as the tsukkomi to Ritsu’s boke), Mugi is the kind and pampering mother of the group, Yui is the charming yet airheaded child-figure, and Azusa fills Mio’s serious role as Mio starts lightening up throughout the series. These characters go through their own journeys of self-discovery and growth through their interactions with the other band members, but their personalities largely remain the exact same at the end as they were at the beginning. I often praise anime characters for being subversive, as I believe that is one of the best ways to keep things interesting as a viewer, but K-On! reminded me of the strength that comes with well-executed tropes. The consistency and reliability of each character’s personality, while dually serving the aesthetic of comfort and coziness of the show’s aesthetic, also made understanding their motivations and actions more accessible as a viewer. Furthermore, the anime’s focus on comedy was also able to be used in order to accentuate the differences of each of its different cast members. As a result, if these characters had had more layers, or if they had been less archetypal, I genuinely think that the experience of watching K-On! would suffer. This is not to say that the characters have no depth or complexity at all, but rather that along with their unique qualities, they also still fit snugly into pre-established archetypes while endearing a viewer to them. By crafting this kind of balance, with by-the-book characters and moments of idiosyncratic character bonding, the show writers create a rare experience that still meaningfully engages the audience through innocent and wholehearted entertainment. This is one of the many ways in which K-On! embodies the essence of youth; a deeply methodical presentation of simple-seeming constants.

Going more into the time dedicated to character bonding (and to character interaction overall), it’s clear that this is where K-On!’s presentation of youth is the most strong. Every instance of people talking to each other in the anime serves a purpose, whether it be to diegetically communicate information to the viewer, help move the plot along, or create various moments of emotion or humor. Despite each interaction clearly serving an identifiable purpose, in practice nothing in this regard is executed in a heavy-handed fashion; again K-On! takes great care to have its meticulousness become invisible. This is especially impressive in scenes consisting mostly of pure humor, which is to say, a majority of K-On!’s scenes. The dialogue between the characters maintains a comfortable and natural pacing, with the punchlines and gags serving as energetic high points for the less energetic and simmering buildups of daily conversations. Eventually, a viewer may subconsciously get used to this structure, as it becomes the most common way the anime greets them. Therefore, the frequently occurring changes in conversational dynamics both engage the audience while furthering K-On!’s focus on its lively characters.

In both seasons of K-On!, its plot works from the shadows. You hardly notice the methodical structure of carefully placed story moments unless you’re looking for them, or unless noticing these narrative moments is an intentional decision by the showrunners. Oftentimes, as K-On! is quite episodic in nature, the story in each episode has ample room to breathe and showcase the many sides of its characters. As stated before, this process is often done through innocent yet wholehearted humor, which is always interwoven with the plot of any given episode to endear the viewer to many of the directions K-On! takes them. And, for a third time, much of the magic in this aspect of K-On! shines due to how unnoticeable it makes itself. Standout examples come from the multi-episode mini-arcs focusing on Ho-kago Tea Time going on summer trips, going to a music festival, and preparing for their final school festival. In these episodes, humor is mixed with meaningful character moments that give insight to their motivations and history. Furthermore, the tone of each episode is flexible enough to vary from a bubbly whimsicality to a surprisingly genuine sadness, while supporting the various plot points along the way.

While it isn’t always done, the times when K-On! chooses to actively use continuity are thoughtful as well, used to emphasize different aspects of its plot. An example is during the music festival mini-arc, which has an episode focusing on the entirety of the Ho-kago Tea Time band members. They have their own set of varied shenanigans and antics, and moments of introspectivity that serve as some of the highlights to the anime, at least in my opinion. The following episode, though, shifts its focus to some time in the near future, with strictly Azusa as the focal point. The choice to depict the next chronological point of the story this way, with a recognizable shift in focal emphasis, can make the observations from Azusa in this episode feel extremely personal to a viewer. When she thinks about her busy friends who have just come back from the festival, when she is shown to feel left out, and when she is shown to hang out with friends other than the Ho-kago members, these are points that are given to the viewer to digest for themself. As the ideas in K-On! can be both broadly interpreted and applied to many peoples’ lives, these kinds of plot points scattered throughout the entirety of the anime facilitate a conscious awareness of one’s own life. I find K-On!’s presentation of this idea to be successful, due to it conversing with an entity separate from just a “viewer” or even as a “person operating off of the same social understanding slice-of-life shows are built on.” People are fundamentally being talked to by K-On! as just “people,” which as basic as it sounds, is a level of respect many slice-of-life anime fail to demonstrate. After all, the less present narrative abstraction is, the more likely an audience will buy into the narrative itself.

As K-On! continues, and especially in the second season, all of its meticulously crafted aspects begin to emphasize time, as the main cast bar Azusa are now seniors who are bound to graduate at the end of the year. While whimsy and episodic plots centered around humor are still the bread and butter of the anime, there are many more occasions compared to the first season that emphasize a longing for things to remain the same. There are more moments of introspection, moments focusing on final exams and final performances, and moments that will now actually make an audience sob. In order for this transition to have been made, the many previously hidden aspects of K-On! now no longer hide themselves. The episodic plots become more noticeable due to it being a constant in the midst of the social and schedule changes of the main characters. The masterful character moments begin to incorporate more sentimentality into the cheerfulness (an excellent example being the end of season 2’s episode 20), and the characters themselves become more busy and less able to do the things they used to with their band members. Practice becomes more infrequent, people’s constant procrastinations become more stressful, and time continues to slip painfully by. I am conflicted on how to interpret the tonal shift in K-On!’s second season. On one hand, as a terminal VisualArts/Key fan, sentimentality and tear-jerkers are what I’ve come to judge slice-of-life anime endings by, and K-On!! builds up to this state much better than others of its type. On the other hand, sentimentality has a very palpable risk of overpowering the balance of a show, especially one not built to handle such a change. I’ve seen many examples of shows that use the golden syrup of sentimentality without realizing how strong it is, and the end result becomes an ending that feels both unrewarding as an invested viewer and unfulfilling as a person seeking meaningful art. After seeing it through to the end, my belief is that K-On!! ends with a measured balance of sentimentality when looking at how it affects the show’s other aspects. Due to not abandoning its strengths in favor of any kind of overdrawn emotionalism, K-On!! instead shifts its focus to use its strengths to emphasize the aspect of limited time. This technique works because the aspect of time was not only given a whole season to be developed, but was also a natural consequence of the environment the anime was set in. A thematic conclusion to fictionalized high school character journeys in media, especially in Japan’s three-year system, lends itself well to lining up with graduation. As such, K-On!!’s direction doesn’t feel out of place, and instead acts as more of a foil to compare and contrast with the first season. In order to discuss why the ending of K-On!! means so much to me, though, I need to jump back to the concept of “slice-of-life.”

The slice-of-life genre is philosophically incomplete as a narrative structure; it works based on a shared communal consensus of how the real world operates in order for a viewer to be fully engaged with the ideas presented in the work, in a much more concrete way than many other genres of fictionalized storytelling. As such, even though I’ve marveled at and greatly enjoyed nearly every element presented by K-On!, those same simple and rich elements had been subtly begging me to stop. They had begged me to stop my mindless acceptance of its message, and to bring in my own understanding, as well as to bring in myself, so that I might integrate an even more profound message into myself. After all, without being conscious of this self, my self, that was actively being conversed with by the work, how could I possess any accuracy or basis for my judgments about it? What sense of validity did I possess to judge any piece of art that didn’t make me question my thoughts, not only about the work itself, but also about the same thought processes used to question the art? To experience another’s art is to simultaneously become the product of the artist ourselves, and while the same efforts and feelings put into the work will almost never transfer one-to-one into the output we receive, our reception is, of itself, a unique canvas. I had, in my initial viewing of K-On!, nearly robbed myself of this gift given so directly to me by its youthful introspections. This realization caused me shame at first; I had been so eager, for so long, to abide by my surface and outsider impression of K-On!, yet when I had committed myself to its ideology I had almost neglected one of the most important of its many messages. However, as I luckily caught this feeling, the feelings of shame shifted towards optimism.

As a viewer, and more essentially as a human being, the idea of handing ourselves over to artistic visionaries is both easy and frequently rewarding. To be given a passionate artistry, and to let its mood and ideas wash over you can provide a wholesome pleasure that very little else can compare to. K-On! offers this experience to the viewer, but also quietly urges another one beyond it. Beyond its peace, and beyond its safety, K-On! offers resolution. When unquestionably accepting an artistic work, for any reason, we disengage with the ability to develop an independent viewpoint on the world or any grasp of personal artistry. K-On! offers its viewer personal artistry. It offers its viewer this freedom through its inherently unfinished narrative structure, and through the mundane magic of a carpe diem-ified high school life. When I realized this, in perhaps too apologetically of a manner, I took the gift placed before me. This gift, the allowance of my own canvas, was different from prior, seemingly similar ones I had used for introspection. Rather than being given a canvas by a monumentous cultural landmark and in turn shaping the piece I produced, this time I was being asked to show my already-present piece to an inconspicuous anime show about a high school girl band. In other words, other media of this type that I’ve covered in the past, even including my favorites, had never so insistently demanded any of me from my piece. And although K-On! was not the first piece of media that had demanded me from me, the honesty at which I felt this request was so humble and so kind that my compulsion to honor its wish forced a level of introspection I had not reached into so deeply before. But even in this case, for which I’d been sorely unprepared for, and even though I didn’t have my piece ready, K-On! had given me the permission to go out and paint with my own brush. So, for this commission of the soul, I decided that my brush’s palette would be the graduating classes of 2023 and 2024.

In previous drafts of this article, I reflected on recent personal experiences with my graduating seniors. I talked about my sentimental memories of us going to various restaurants every week around Berkeley, trying to make the most of their last year. I had never eaten out so much, so frequently, in my entire life. I compared this to Yui’s wide array of new life experiences and associations when she met the other members of Ho-kago Tea Time, and again when Azusa became one of the main characters. I used this as an avenue to contemplate the human phenomenon of unproportionately associating people with the places we spent time with them in, and how those places would, as a result, continue to remind us of the people we know, even without their constant presence in the future. This actually has a relevant example, with the real-life school K-On!’s one was based on almost being destroyed before the show’s making, with its newfound relevancy ultimately saving it. I talked about other things, too: random encounters with my upperclassmen after and before their graduation, conversations about “the good old times,” and many moments I spent with friends that I still think about fondly years later. However, I’m choosing to omit the majority of the details of those musings here for a few reasons. Firstly, in all of this article’s iterations, I was never able to put my complicated feelings into words that I felt justified their inclusion. Ultimately, it boils down to a personal sentiment and experience that shows itself differently to every person, and chances are, you know what it is to reminisce about the past and about people (and if you don’t, you should definitely watch K-On!). The second reason why I’m choosing to omit these sentimental recollections of times past is that I want to offer you, the reader of this wildly long and out-of-hand article, the same gift K-On! offered me: an opportunity to put down the lens of media analysis and the spoon feeding you a random person’s subjective philosophies. I want to offer an alternative, even if that means that you stop reading this article right now. I want you to simply live as hard as you can. No amount of clever comparisons or allusions to an impersonal fiction can enhance the real thing; that’s on you.

In thinking about the time I’ve spent with the seniors of 2023 and 2024, I recalled Azusa’s plea at the end of K-On!! where she meekly begs her friends, the graduating seniors: “卒業 しないで,” or “please don’t graduate.” The honesty of this feeling, conveyed so succinctly, is a reconciliation with the unavoidable passage of time. To watch the unfeeling present morph into the unreachable past brings a pain unable to be dissuaded by a simple goodbye. Each new parting, each new semester, and each new year brought about concessions we needed to make with ourselves about our changing social lives and identities (at least in the school setting). It would therefore be accurate to say that those of us who remain had had a part of ourselves “graduate” along with each graduating class that left: part of our time and youth, prone to varied amounts of mutation in our future recollections; like a nearly empty club room, with a fleeting dream of a golden togetherness.

I don’t like the idea of things disappearing. I never have, and I’m not really sure if I ever will completely understand how it is to let something go. How does one contend with the horror of that kind of fading memory, retreating into the recesses of our minds? What solace is there in accepting loss, except for the aching, ironic realization that one might have the strength to move on with their life afterwards if they were lucky? Is there something crucial that we’ve lost by just accepting the departed? This is Azusa’s “卒業しないで、” her “please don’t graduate,” her “please don’t leave me,” said in that excruciating moment of denial and grief. I thought again about my friends who would be graduating at the end of this year, my friends who would be graduating next year, my friends who had graduated last year. My friends, who had shaped me in nearly every facet to be better and healthier and happier. The countless memories that I wanted to hold onto forever, and the feelings I wanted to treasure. This constant cycle of separation and coping with loss. “卒業し ないで。” Was that enough? In this war of philosophy, I could feel the sheer weight of this desolate question crushing my mind. Was the mere act of acceptance enough to make peace? It couldn’t be, I told myself. It didn’t solve anything. Everyone would still be gone. I couldn’t bear it. The consequences of this decision to accept my loss, I thought, could never be taken back. I couldn’t move forward with any idea. I couldn’t retreat backwards into the golden reverie of the past. I wanted a beautiful “forever,” suspended in blissful magic. I knew it was selfish, but I wanted this “forever.” “Forever,” I thought, would cure the agony of time. I didn’t want to say goodbye.

Yui, Mugi, Mio, and Ritsu played a song for Azusa after she asks them not to graduate, called “天使にふれたよ,” or “Tenshi ni Fureta yo.” They had prepared the song weeks in advance for Azusa before she had pleaded with them, but nevertheless, at that point, they sat her down to play for her, one last time, on their final club meeting of their last day of high school. With each passing lyric, with each passing line of earnest friendship materialized into song, and with each passing moment of time unable to be brought back, I began to understand the solution to what saying “goodbye” really looked like for me. It was not just the words of 天使 にふれたよ that conveyed this message to me; it was the Ho-kago Tea Time’s band members’ playing that gave the final push into a clear tangibility. As Azusa points out, the band’s playing still isn’t very good, despite everyone having practiced music for years at this point. However, the fact that everyone made and played this song out of passionate friendship, despite “not being that good,” was the point. One must, as I think Azusa too understands, be true to the experience of that fading present, with as much genuinity as any other moment that it still existed in it. Even if it only feels like shallow pretending or acting, this would make sure that each moment was perfectly itself until its natural conclusion. By honoring the passing memories of happiness, this would keep the past in the present, while still being able to move forward. And even though a “goodbye” was inevitable, it was not the end. Life would carry on. The myriad of the world’s colors would continue to flow, and the time spent together with everyone wouldn’t disappear. And, everything in our hearts would remain. 天使にふれたよ’s prechorus and chorus especially communicate this idea, with optimism and lovingness being at the forefront of its delivery, despite everyone facing an unknown future:

なじんだ制服と上履き (We got used to the uniforms and indoor shoes)

ホワイトボードの落書き (And the scribbles on the whiteboard)

明日の入り口に (For entering into tomorrow)

置いてかなくちゃいけないのかな (We wonder if we’ll have to be prepared)

でもね、会えたよ！すてきな天使に (But you know, we were able to meet a wonderful angel!)

卒業は終わりじゃない (Graduation is not the end)

これからも仲間だから (Because we’ll remain friends forever)

一緒に写真たち (Photos of us together)

おそろのキーホルダー (Our matching keychains)

いつまでも輝いてる (They’ll shine forever)

ずっとその笑顔ありがとう (Thank you for always smiling)

The two seasons of K-On!, apart from both being masterful, wonderful, simple, and wholesome slice-of-life anime, had given me so many of the tools I needed to teach myself how to say goodbye. While every person will walk away from this anime with a different perspective and experience, to quote a friend, K-On! is “not the type of work to leave a man indifferent.” For what K-On! has shown to me specifically, I am deeply indebted in a way that, while I’ve tried to articulate it here, I will most likely never be able to replicate through text alone. K-On! had taught me that minimizing the pain of farewells was pointlessly counterproductive to what it even meant to say hello, and I could instead focus on minimizing regret until the point of departure; we are meant to truly live in those passing moments of time. To minimize regret in this way, then, meant to seize the opportunities I could while I could, and to treasure everything without dreading its disappearance. It would mean honoring the experience my departing friends left me with, without letting it hold me back. It would mean living for myself, and for the potential to impart new people with the same love of living I had gained from my friends. These desires wouldn’t be out of fear, instead coming from love. And when I would eventually have to face the reality of once again having to say goodbye to my graduating friends, I would do so with full understanding that while it would hurt, it would also heal. Then afterwards, I would look back on our memories with a happiness incapable of being dispelled, while I carried on ensuring this same journey to those younger than me.

In every age, in every place, the deeds of us youth remain the same. And so, to my friends who have all changed my life, both new and old: thank you. “Graduation is not the end, because we’ll remain friends forever.”