Today, while talking with Chialin, I realized why I'm drawn to Makoto Shinkai's work before The Garden of Words. Perhaps it's because during that period, he tried to express something delicate, something most people barely notice—like the subtle emotions we felt as children. At the time, we couldn't fully understand them, and even now as adults, when we occasionally recall those moments, we find ourselves still trapped in those childhood scenes.
In The Garden of Words, a young man falls for someone older than him. In 5 Centimeters per Second, an elementary school student is separated from someone he's drawn to before understanding his own feelings, moved to a distant place beyond his imagination. In The Place Promised in Our Early Days, after making a promise, all contact is lost until adulthood.
Looking back as adults, we might smile at these memories of our awkward youth. But to our younger selves, these were completely incomprehensible, and the feelings and struggles in our hearts were the most profound memories of that time in our lives.
While organizing my articles these past few days, I came across a comment about my former self:
This time I finally made up my mind to organize all my articles from Blogger and Medium. Just like a physical move, the process is always messy and painful. But when I pick up something I wrote carelessly over a decade ago, I hate that naive self, while simultaneously envying him for being so carefree.
Truth be told, some of the questions from my childhood still remain unanswered. When they occasionally come to mind, I don't know what emotions to feel.
Shinkai's early films feel like he took the profound impact and confusion of childhood, let them settle over the years, and then conveyed them again through cinema. And those who remain confused are drawn to and moved by such delicate sentiments.
Perfect Days, on the other hand, represents a different kind of feeling. It's more like after years of refined contemplation, through the repeated ritual of daily life, discovering that ordinary, monotonous yet unutterably beautiful path. Walking along that trail, rediscovering the beautiful things in life. Even when memories of the past bring tears, once you return to that cyclical daily routine, you can lift your spirits and continue noticing those beautiful parts of everyday life.
Shinkai's confusion and Wim Wenders' conviction form an interesting contrast. The former is trapped in childhood emotions, and in situations beyond explanation, projects the audience into the imagined world he's constructed through scene descriptions that transcend detail, sharing his confusion. Wenders, meanwhile, firmly presents his own answers while simultaneously revealing his own uncertainties.
Whether questions or answers, both are forms of exploration. They've each walked far enough along their own path of answers. I, too, often answer my own questions. Every time I make a decision, I never know if that choice is good or bad.
In the end, perhaps there's no such thing as good or bad. It's simply a path that keeps moving forward. Between questions and answers, we redefine ourselves again and again, carefully polishing and carving ourselves into the shape we want to become.