we create, therefore we are
On creating, connection, and remembering who we are
Welcome to the seventh issue of Slice of Life — a newsletter about life lessons through anime.
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Back in school, I often stayed up until 3am — secretly watching anime, reading and writing fan-fiction, and talking to other fans who became friends online. It was one of the rare times I felt peaceful and understood, despite being perpetually online. Even though it was before the age of all-consuming social media, being online was still considered unhealthy — a contradiction which made my sense of peace felt undeserved. Even then, I felt more alive. I contributed to my favourite fandoms by drawing and writing for my own enjoyment, bringing my favourite characters to life from my imagination. Eventually reality caught up, as there was no clear “progression”. Growing up taught me what “value” meant, and it wasn’t this. So I stopped, and tucked my interests away.
This is why I related to the main characters of “Look Back”, a short anime film exploring creativity and the bond of two young artists.
(Warning: This piece contains spoilers)
Fujino is a popular elementary school kid known for drawing manga. When everyone starts praising Kyomoto (a shut-in kid who’s also good at drawing), she gets thrown into a frenzy. She channels all her time and energy into improving: buying art references and guides, practising obsessively, late nights, and saying no to everything else. She finally reaches a sense of satisfaction when her work starts to show results.
However, one day while drawing in her classroom, a classmate tells her she’s getting too old to be drawing manga because it’s for “losers”. It’s not the first time she’s heard something like this. But this time, the words click. She quietly stops drawing and goes back to her regular social life.
From their perspectives, her friends and family want the “best” for her: study and get good grades, and a normal social life. To them, isolating yourself to draw isn’t sustainable — it doesn’t lead to healthier choices, good career prospects or the kind of social life they equate with a successful future. While those may be true, to Fujino, she might have felt unsupported and unseen. What they don’t see is drawing isn’t a chore for her. It gave her purpose. Even though Fujino was the one who stopped drawing, it was the weight of their expectations that made her do it. To others, she might seem happier now, but the spark we once saw in her has disappeared.
Everything changes after a visit at Kyomoto’s home. Fujino starts to draw again, this time with Kyomoto. This was the start of the budding creative duo.
“Look Back” is about creatives, for creatives. You can witness Fujino and Kyomoto growing up together toiling away but enjoying the whole process of drawing for years. They draw, day in day out. They win competitions. Eventually their manga gets serialised by a popular publisher. They become each other’s muses. They never stop drawing, even when Kyomoto went to art school which ended their friendship, much to Fujino’s heartbreak.
Like Kyomoto, I started creating out of boredom and isolation. What started as a hobby turned into something meaningful that I looked forward to do. I read many amazing stories, made online friends, and fangirled over shared obsessions. The community supported my idiosyncrasies, which made me feel accepted and safe enough to create and express myself. This sense of belonging gave me the confidence to create even more, and that act of creation helped form a part of my identity too.
If it weren’t for the support, I would’ve given up faster, just like how Fujino almost did before she met Kyomoto.
Kyomoto bloomed, because of Fujino. Fujino is like a firework, bursting with sparks and energy, compared to Kyomoto’s mellow and withdrawn self. Her admiration of Fujino gave her the courage to leave her comfort zone. She grew, drew more, and went out into the world beyond her home. It might have seemed like Kyomoto didn’t need Fujino anymore when she decided to pursue a different life. Fujino felt betrayed and devastated. She felt like Kyomoto was abandoning the life they built together and their shared dream for art school. But really, Kyomoto is simply becoming her own person.
Still, neither of them stops making art. Art is already in them. It was so ingrained into their very being that they didn’t need each other to continue, but it was their connection that gave them the courage to create.
So, why do we create?
It brings meaning. We create to externalise our ideas, feelings and thoughts to life, moving beyond passive consumption to intentional expression. It’s how we showcase our individualities, our sense of identity. It’s how we leave proof of our existence. It’s not just the act of creation, but also the act of creating who we are as authentically as we possibly can that aligns closely with us.
Slowly, like-minded people are able to find us. When a community sees and supports us, the process becomes less lonely. We feel safer to put out more of our creations and be ourselves. We believe in the community that believes in us.
Creating is never easy. It takes much effort, and sometimes comes with pain and self-doubt. But it builds us from ground up and shapes us from the experiences and the choices we make. And sometimes we continue to create, even when there’s despair.
The next time Fujino finds Kyomoto is on her deathbed, being one of the victims of an axe-killer at her art school. She falls into a hiatus, consumed by grief and guilt. She blames herself, because she felt responsible for Kyomoto’s death. If Kyomoto hadn’t left home to make art with Fujino, she wouldn’t have ended up like this.
When Fujino visits Kyomoto’s childhood room, she is taken aback to find all her own manga volumes, and even the robe that Fujino autographed for her when they were younger. Despite drifting apart, Kyomoto had always supported her all this time. She never stopped believing in Fujino. Then Fujino remembers. Kyomoto — and their friendship — was the reason she kept drawing. With this realisation, she returns to draw again, in memory of her best friend.
Despite everything, drawing is in her core — it’s in her blood. It’s already her way of life and what makes her feel alive.
It took me a while, but in recent years I started to write again. This time it’s through personal reflections, thanks to the community on Twitter. I also make videos and take photos. These creative acts fuel me and bring more sense of aliveness I had once forgotten.
We create more than we realise—when we cook a meal with care, write a thoughtful message, or arrange a space to feel like home. Or even staying up late sketching our favourite character. These tiny but deliberate gestures are quiet testaments to our inner lives. They’re part of how we shape our worlds and reflect who we are, even when no one is watching. So, we don’t need anyone’s permission to create or start again. The only one we’re waiting on is ourselves.
If you’ve been holding off on creating something of your own, let this be your sign.
Because when we create — and are seen — we begin to come home to ourselves.
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See you in the next issue!
Warmest regards,
Yihui
never heard of this anime before and now I want to watch it 😊 thanks for sharing!