Well, this is a surprise, even to me, as I never thought I'd be back here again. The last time I wrote anything Golden Sun was in 2004, three years ago, and that thing is left unfinished to this day. I don't know why really, but gradually, I just lost interest in writing about it, now that I was done with the games. Things slowly ground to a halt.
But recently, I went back and replayed both games (Easter Break- a whole month off) and it got me thinking about how I just kinda dropped this fandom suddenly, and left a lot of things undone. I never really did say goodbye. And to look at this now, and compare it to what I've written before, well, they feel very different to me. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, mind you...
Ah well, enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN IT, SO DON'T SUE PLEASE. I DON'T GOT NO MONEY.
- - -
She always thinks it's nicest when it's raining and there's starlight. She used to go outside and do twirls and cartwheels for hours on end, whilst the rain fell down and the people all around were asleep and dreaming of sunnier days.
Things never really change. She knows it well, you know. Once you've walked a thousand different roads and seen a thousand different faces, you might just notice that even though all those different places start to look alike, they don't ever start to look like home.
Nothing ever does. She's not sure who to blame for that, or if it's even fair to place the blame on anyone at all. She understands that the lives that they're living have been waiting to be lived for a very, very long time, and the thought alone just makes her tired. It makes it seem like there was never any choice at all.
Because there was…because things could have been different…because she could have made different choices.
She could have stayed, after all. There had been nobody forcing her to leave that safe, snowy place where she was born, and there had been no knife at her throat as she travelled through those wastelands and death-traps and war-zones. There had been so many other choices, so many places where she could have just stopped and said, "I just don't want to do this anymore."
But those places came and went. Those rainy days that everybody hated; those cold, wet nights spent trying to sleep underneath rainfall and starlight. The hopelessness that grips us all once in a while, and a little more than once in a while when you're spending your days perpetually in and out of life-threatening danger.
Everybody else hated those rainy nights, but privately, what she hated the most was that she was starting to agree with them.
And nobody danced anymore; they were all just waiting for those sunnier days.
- - -
Sometimes, the things that we think will be the hardest are the things that come to us the easiest of all.
Because now that it's over, she knows exactly what to say, and exactly what to do …
- - -
Years later down the line, and it's raining outside. She likes to stand by the window and watch as the sky turns from blue to grey; she likes to close her eyes and touch the glass, so that she can actually feel the rain again, because sometimes it feels as if the rain is all she really knows.
People never really change. She knows this for sure. When you strip them of their lives and of their experiences, and when you bring them back down to what they're really made of, what they're really made of will always be the same.
She is made out of rain. She is blue and she is grey and she starts to fade away when exposed to too much sunlight. Nowadays, it always amuses her (in an ironic sort of way) to think that, for a while, she actually started to wish for sunnier days.
"I just don't want to do this anymore…"
But those days all came and went, and she somehow managed to survive them all, just to come back in the end to this safe and snowy place, where she could be still and quiet and at home. After all, she has been to a thousand different places and spoken to a thousand different faces, but they were all just temporary stops on a journey that would take her right back to where she started.
And it's not a bad thing, not at all. It makes her feel warm inside (with the irony again) to be spending her days in the place where she is most needed, where she can do the most good, and where she can learn to be happy again with the snow and the rain and the paths never travelled.
Years later down the line, she might just learn to be happy again with herself too, and to be happy with the choices that she didn't make, but always thought she might have…
And she might dance again, someday.
But only if she feels like it.
- - -
Saturday morning, on the sunniest of days, Mia of Imil goes home.
- - -
So that's it. My proper goodbye to the writing world of Golden Sun. Three years late, but we don't need to talk about that...(cough)