Tears

No one who knows me would say I'm a particularly expressive person. Hell, a complete stranger could probably tell that much from being with me for five minutes or less. The difference is that the former group knows that, deep down, I'm roiling with emotions—I just tend to pour them into my writing rather than my everyday life.

Age has changed a few things, though. Similar to what voice actor and YouTuber SungWon Cho (better known as ProZD) said in a recent Tweet, I've found that emotions come more easily than they once did whenever I'm watching, reading, or playing something. What triggered the change is beyond me, but it seems like it's here to stay.

A great example stems directly from my rewatch of Avatar: The Last Airbender. It's been a wholly satisfying experience for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that the show is even better than I remember. My parents are seeing it for the first time, and they're loving every second of it (minus "The Great Divide" and "Avatar Day," but we don't talk about those episodes).

[SPOILERS FOR AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER SEASON 2 COMING UP]

In "The Library," Appa is captured by Sandbenders outside of Wan Shi Tong's Spirit Library. The show does an excellent, excellent job of hitting you hard with Appa's loss, mostly through how the characters react—Aang more than anyone, as he has the deepest connection with the sky bison. It's not forced or contrived; the audience already cares as much about Appa by this point as Team Avatar does.

In the scenes when Appa is kidnapped, when Aang confronts the Sandbenders, and when Appa reunites with everyone, I found myself on the verge of sobbing. In the past, I would've done everything in my power to hold back, especially since my family was sitting there with me, but I just couldn't help it anymore. More importantly, I didn't want to help it. I cried, even knowing how the show plays out.

[SPOILERS OVER]

There are a plethora of other examples I could provide from ATLA alone, but the fact is that media this powerful merits this kind of untamed response. As an author-in-progress, I can only hope my work achieves this level of raw emotion with readers one day. Regardless, it feels good to let it out without worrying what others think.

Honestly, I couldn't tell you what inner mechanism locked out such emotional responses to media in the past. I don't believe that it's just "I was young"; I know plenty of people who are as outwardly affected by media as they ever were. The mystery is compounded by my lifelong belief that it's important to cry with those you love, even if I originally applied that philosophy to real-life situations only (e.g. getting messed up over a girl breaking up with me). I guess it doesn't matter, though, because the mechanism didn't just unlock: it disappeared entirely.

None of this means that I cry every three seconds when I'm watching a movie now, or that I've suddenly become a fast-talking partygoer. I suppose embracing my emotions rather than hiding them is a sign of... maturity, in a way. At a fundamental level, I will always be less expressive than those around me—it's a long-ingrained personality trait—but emotions happen, and I intend to let them.