Cycle I: Coming on Strong
The Hidden Voice
Record ~ Kawaii · 19 (v1.00)
THE HOUSE OF ZAN — Zan
♡ TOMOO — Super Ball
OPENING: 数字で何がわかる？
I hate it when water splashes out of the sink and goes up my sleeve.
Absolutely dreadful.
Anyway…
How old does somebody have to be before they’re supposed to know everything?
I’m asking because I’d like to prepare.
Apparently, becoming an adult comes with an impressive collection of expectations.
You’re supposed to know what you want.
Understand yourself.
Make sensible decisions.
Manage your responsibilities.
And develop sufficiently sophisticated opinions about furniture.
That last one is important.
I’ve noticed.
At some point, people begin discussing chairs with an enthusiasm usually reserved for extraordinary scientific discoveries.
Lumbar support!
Adjustable height!
Excellent construction!
Goodness.
How thrilling.
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
Although I do appreciate a comfortable chair.
Especially when somebody has something interesting to say.
I might be there a while.
But here’s something I’ve noticed about adulthood.
Some people become wonderfully capable.
Others become very good at explaining why they’re capable.
And some manage to do both.
Impressive!
Unfortunately, age doesn’t always help me tell the difference.
I’ve encountered adults who can discuss complicated subjects with remarkable confidence but become completely helpless when asked where they’d like to eat.
Whatever you want.
I’m fine with anything.
You choose.
Three adults.
Not a single restaurant.
A tragic failure of civilization.
Meanwhile, a younger adult might have an entire afternoon planned before anyone else has finished considering the possibilities.
Perhaps they’ve researched the location.
Checked the hours.
Considered the alternatives.
And prepared an excellent argument for why their suggestion is superior.
Now that’s attractive!
Competence.
Initiative.
A little enthusiasm.
Perhaps even a willingness to disagree with me.
Although we shouldn’t become carried away.
I still expect a convincing argument.
But I suppose my point is that I enjoy people who know how to think for themselves.
I don’t particularly care whether they’re older than I am.
Younger than I am.
Or exactly the same age.
Well.
I care a little.
I’m allowed preferences.
Everybody is.
But I don’t think a birthday tells me everything I’d want to know about somebody.
Especially if we’re both adults.
Adults.
Let’s establish that.
I’m talking about people who are old enough to make their own informed decisions, who can decide what they want, and who are free to say no.
That isn’t a decorative qualification.
It’s the starting point.
And it doesn’t magically answer every other question.
But I have a feeling somebody has already decided what I’m trying to say.
Oh, I know that expression.
You think age doesn’t matter?
No.
I think it matters differently depending on the people and the circumstances.
Now, I happen to find people interesting when they haven’t finished discovering what they enjoy.
Not because they’re waiting for somebody else to tell them.
That sounds exhausting.
And slightly suspicious.
I mean people who remain curious.
People who can say, I’ve never tried that before.
Or, I used to think something different.
Or even, I have absolutely no idea, but I’d like to find out.
Wonderful!
I like that.
Especially when they already have plenty of opinions.
There’s something entertaining about somebody who can be completely certain of one thing and genuinely curious about another.
I’m confident about many subjects.
Very confident.
But there are still things I haven’t discovered.
Music I haven’t heard.
Places I haven’t visited.
Ideas I haven’t considered.
Possibly even a few opinions I’ll change.
A few.
Let’s not become unreasonable.
I would hate to reach an age when people expected me to stop being curious.
Imagine somebody announcing that I’m finally complete.
Congratulations!
You’ve become the finished version of yourself.
Please refrain from developing additional interests.
What?
Absolutely not!
I have plans.
And I reserve the right to develop more.
Which brings me to a small astronomical disagreement.
Pluto.
Poor Pluto.
For most of the twentieth century, people learned that our solar system had nine planets.
A perfectly respectable number.
Very organized.
Then astronomers adopted a new definition in 2006.
And Pluto was reclassified as a dwarf planet.
Nope!
Not a planet anymore.
Well, not one of the eight planets under the new definition.
Apparently, there are requirements.
Scientific requirements.
I’m sure the discussion was fascinating.
Although I imagine Pluto found the announcement rather inconvenient.
One moment, you’re everybody’s favorite distant little planet.
The next, somebody has revised the paperwork.
Dwarf planet.
Imagine!
And Pluto hadn’t even gone anywhere.
It was still making its way around the Sun.
Astonishingly slowly.
Taking approximately 248 Earth years to complete a single orbit.
Two hundred and forty-eight years!
Goodness.
Now there’s somebody who understands taking their time.
I wonder what Pluto thinks about all this.
Probably nothing.
It’s Pluto.
But I like imagining it receiving an official letter.
Dear Pluto,
Following careful consideration, we regret to inform you that your previous classification no longer applies.
Your continued cooperation is appreciated.
How rude.
(｡•́︿•̀｡)
And yet…
The scientists did have reasons.
They weren’t simply trying to hurt Pluto’s feelings.
Which would have been a strange use of scientific resources.
They were reconsidering how objects in our solar system should be classified.
And sometimes, when we learn more, our definitions need to change.
I can appreciate that.
Even when I preferred the old arrangement.
Especially when I preferred the old arrangement.
…
All right.
Perhaps not especially.
But I’m trying.
Still, here’s the part that interests me.
Changing the description didn’t change Pluto itself.
It existed before the classification, and it continued making its way around the Sun afterward.
Now, before somebody gets excited—
People are not planets.
And I’m not suggesting that every rule should change simply because somebody finds it inconvenient.
Some boundaries exist for excellent reasons.
But people do have a peculiar habit of treating certain assumptions as though they’ve been scientifically established.
Especially when it comes to other people’s relationships.
Suppose two adults enjoy each other’s company.
One is older.
One is younger.
Perhaps their differences are interesting.
Perhaps they have something meaningful in common.
Perhaps they discover that their experiences give them entirely different perspectives.
Or perhaps they’re terribly incompatible.
I couldn’t tell you.
I haven’t met them.
But somebody else apparently knows everything already.
How remarkable!
They know which person is sensible.
Which person is inexperienced.
Who’s supposed to have the better judgment.
What each must be looking for.
And why the whole thing can or cannot possibly work.
All from two numbers!
I would love to see the research.
Not the impressive-sounding explanation.
The actual research.
With examples.
Evidence.
Perhaps a little chart.
I’m feeling scientifical!
(｀･ω･´)ゞ
That’s not a word?
Well, it’s an excellent one.
And you understood me.
Age can matter.
Quite a lot, actually.
An older adult might have more experience.
More resources.
More confidence.
More influence over how things happen.
And that can create an imbalance.
Sometimes a serious one.
I don’t think pretending those differences don’t exist is particularly clever.
Especially if one person begins using them to make decisions for the other.
Or making disagreement feel impossible.
No, thank you.
I like taking the lead.
You’ve probably noticed.
I enjoy making suggestions.
Organizing plans.
Occasionally announcing that I’ve discovered a wonderful idea everybody should consider.
I’m very good at it.
But there’s something important about the people I enjoy spending time with.
They have to be there because they want to be.
Not because I’ve convinced them they aren’t capable of deciding for themselves.
Not because they feel obligated.
And certainly not because I’ve mistaken their uncertainty for an invitation to take over.
I already have enough responsibility.
I don’t need somebody else’s entire decision-making process.
Besides, imagine how disappointing that would be.
I suggest something.
They agree.
I suggest something else.
They agree again.
Eventually, I’d wonder whether they had an opinion of their own.
And if they didn’t?
Well.
I’ve already discovered how strange that can become.
My imaginary universe was very cooperative.
Terribly cooperative.
I think I’ll leave it there.
But here’s another possibility.
Suppose someone younger has an opinion I hadn’t considered.
They explain it.
I listen.
Perhaps they’re right.
Perhaps I’m right.
Perhaps neither of us has enough information.
We could investigate.
Imagine that!
Two adults discovering something together.
Without either person having to pretend they know everything.
I like the sound of that.
I might even enjoy being corrected.
Under appropriate circumstances.
With suitable evidence.
And a respectful acknowledgment of how unusual the occasion is.
I have standards.
Now, I know there are people who hear about a relationship between adults of different ages and immediately begin searching for something that must be wrong.
Perhaps there is something wrong.
That’s possible.
But I don’t think a suspicion becomes an explanation simply because somebody repeats it confidently.
Sometimes there are concerns worth examining.
Sometimes the people involved want different things.
Sometimes one person has far more power than the other, and that difference is affecting their choices.
Those things matter.
I wouldn’t want to dismiss them.
But sometimes two adults simply find something appealing about each other.
And I don’t see why that possibility should become impossible before they’ve even spoken.
Nor do I think somebody’s interest in an older partner automatically tells us everything about their upbringing.
Goodness.
Imagine having a stranger explain your entire personality because you found somebody interesting.
How efficient.
And how convenient for the stranger.
They don’t even have to get to know you.
I’d rather ask questions.
Not necessarily polite little questions designed to produce the answer I want.
Real ones.
What do these people actually enjoy about each other?
What do they want?
Are they comfortable making their own choices?
Do they have room to disagree?
Are they interested in the same kind of relationship?
And does any of this change once they spend time together?
Those answers would tell me considerably more than the numbers alone.
Although I should probably admit something.
I have made assumptions about age myself.
Of course I have.
I’m not immune.
Sometimes I expect somebody older to know better.
Sometimes I expect somebody younger to be interested in things I haven’t considered.
Sometimes I’m correct.
Other times?
Well.
Let’s just say the universe has provided several opportunities to reconsider.
Very generous of it.
I don’t recall requesting so many.
But there they are.
Which reminds me of something people say.
Never say never.
An interesting little expression.
A dangerous one, too, if you take it too far.
There are things I absolutely intend to say no to.
And I don’t need somebody treating those boundaries like invitations to negotiate.
But when it comes to assumptions about what I might enjoy?
What I might learn?
Who I might find interesting?
I try not to turn every preference into a permanent law of nature.
That would be rather embarrassing.
Especially if I changed my mind.
And I do change my mind.
Occasionally.
Sometimes I learn something.
Sometimes an experience changes my mind.
And sometimes somebody presents an argument so convincing that I have no respectable way to disagree.
I hate when that happens.
It’s very inconvenient.
I have to rearrange everything.
All my lovely conclusions.
My carefully organized beliefs.
Sometimes an entire collection of assumptions.
And the person who convinced me?
They become absolutely unbearable.
Smiling.
Looking pleased with themselves.
Knowing they’ve won.
…
I suppose I understand the appeal.
It’s rather enjoyable from the other side.
(￣▽￣;)
But I don’t want somebody to become a project just because they haven’t discovered everything about themselves yet.
I have no interest in finishing another person.
I haven’t finished myself.
And frankly, I’m having a wonderful time.
I can value experience, curiosity, and knowing what you want without expecting everybody to develop them at the same age or in the same order.
Some people become more adventurous.
Some become more cautious.
Some find interests they never expected.
Some settle comfortably into the things they’ve always loved.
And some spend years insisting they’ll never enjoy something, only to discover that they were spectacularly wrong.
Imagine!
Not me, obviously.
…
All right.
Sometimes me.
But I maintain that I had excellent reasons at the time.
Which brings us back to the question.
How old does somebody have to be before they’re supposed to know everything?
I haven’t decided.
I’m beginning to suspect the answer is considerably more complicated than I’d like.
That doesn’t mean every difference is harmless.
Some things deserve a firm no.
Others deserve serious consideration.
And some might turn out to be perfectly ordinary once people stop imagining extraordinary explanations.
I’d rather distinguish between them than decide from their ages alone.
That’s what I find attractive about a good mind.
Not the number of years it’s been around.
The fact that there’s somebody using it.
Somebody curious.
Capable of making decisions.
Willing to have opinions.
And prepared to disagree with me when necessary.
Although I hope they’ll occasionally appreciate how often I’m right.
It would be nice.
I’m not unreasonable.
…
Usually.
Now.
Where were we?
Ah, yes.
Pluto.
I still think you were a perfectly respectable ninth planet.
Even if the classification has changed.
So before anybody announces that they already know what somebody else must be like—
Or what they’re allowed to find interesting—
Or what their future possibilities have to be—
I have a question.
Already decided?
Because I haven’t.
Not entirely.
And I’m rather enjoying the possibilities.
…
Now, would somebody please explain why water keeps splashing up my sleeve?
I’ve spent all afternoon presenting a sophisticated argument about adulthood.
And apparently, I still haven’t mastered the sink.
How embarrassing.
Perhaps I should ask somebody younger.
They might know.
Although if they do, I’m going to be terribly annoyed.
ENDING: What can a number tell you?