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Simping For Hina

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Simping For Hina

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12 hours ago, Yui said:

top 5 best things about hina, go

Top 5 things? That is an absurd metric to consider, and I won’t entertain the idea of categorizing how I love her in all the ways that I do. But I do think that phrasing the questions to: “things that I love about Hina” feels more appropriate to shape this arduous and relentless idea. I think that it should, to begin, stray away from the idea that I love Hina, as that is already something to declare. Where I want to begin starts from the position of muse, what I ruminate over when I think about her, when I come back to the times that we share and remain separated, from the moments that kindle that feeling that ignites warmth, remembrance, admiration, and that twinge of sparkle that returns from the mirage left around in her absence. My thoughts of her begin from this state, a muse and mirage: Euterpe, the muse of poetry and lyrics, and for Hina, the sentiment left behind from her words, from her rhythm and speech, from the music that speaks only as her breath lingers past the words that leave her tongue. Have you ever heard such passion that remained not from what is being said? No, it is passion that ripples through even to what is wanting to be spoken while remaining all the more silent. I do not think it would be fair to share her own personal writing, and looking back at some things she has posted here would not hold the same weight in referencing. I will go over this though, and this is more for those who have talked to her: her passion is learning, and it is more about using herself as a medium for what she is learning. The interests change, the mediums change, all of that changes, but learning is something that remains. It can meld into curiosity, passion, intrigue. Hina translates these little quips into an endeavor, a fruitful adventure that only shapes her more and more throughout the different points on her itinerary of each individual interest. She turns just thinking into something of an insurmountable task, and just as people are affected by the weather, she is molded by the singular thoughts that guide her through what she is learning. This becomes displayed in the eloquence establishing each new thought that comes off of her tongue.

I think that last thought is going to be the most crucial part of this, and I could render myself thoughtless trying to concern each of the muses with the radiance that is exhibited through Hina’s words; it would be as wondrous and refraining as it would be repetitive, and I still wouldn’t be exhausted concerning myself with the eight other muses all to provide a glimmer of the bursting light that ignites all because of her. Erato, the muse of poetry, and the imaginations that are impaled by her command of metaphor beyond their own writing meaning. Even to Urania, which instills subjects which seem devoid of art: the sciences, mathematics, and physics. These subjects which render the world and compel us to make sense of it, for Urania molds these scholars, and while Hina is only a figure of these scholars, she acts more like Urania than the artists that turn to these muses. Science is evoked through her quips, if one could remember her memeingful joke about “being more African than Dad” (if one can remember that). Sure, in the face of Elon Musk, this might be some trashy phrasing; those who read it this way would be offended by the reality of the joke, and even though that is the appropriate item to consider it, it is something still so much more than just a joke: it is the form of humor and the care that Hina has placed in both who she is, her histories, and the identity that Dad (another member from back when). Further than this, and connecting it back to the realm of the artist: her care and delicacy for science, her love of the “making sense” of the world is propagated in her love for the limits of this. It comes from a Borgesian idea: the knowledge is infinite, and the order of that knowledge turns these ideas toward their finity , but even from one singular point a whole new world is constructed. Her love for art begins from the sciences, takes shape from making sense and then forming that sense into something that retains the very magic that was firstly undone by making sense of it.

Is it so much to appreciate the care that she models through her passion? And would this be so much as love as it is more admiration? Like looking at a picture: though still, it radiates and sparks from inside the veiwer, overwhelming things. Instead, Hina resembles more of an ever changing museum. One might move from picture to picture, form exhibit to exhibit, only to find a singular piece that inspires another glance, but Hina curates and organizes the pieces, and places them around, where each piece needs another glance, a glance after that. The form of art is a spatial narrative: one travels, with their eyes, through each corner of the frame, as one navigates the hallways of the museum in search of this one piece. The Louvre, the National History Museum, each only a sideshow tourist trap. Hina stands as the world, a world a her creation, where I am a measly explorer trying to surmount the Everest of her knowledge, while falling through her Mariana Trench, while each being deliberately developed in the style of an exhibit. The piques and the valleys, all only new places of her newly acquired interests. Would I be able to explore it all? I think not, and her world is not even finished, yet I am left back with Mirages. This is a hyperbolic matter, of course: it does as much to explain as it does to confuse exactly what I am reminded of when I think of Hina, and in the moments where she leaves, I am reminded all about why both her presence and absence are something simply musing. Never will I know as much as she does, never will I know everything about her, and as much as she desires to learn, I desire to sit and watch her learn; how can one not remind themselves of a painting, a gallery, an exhibit, or a museum? And yet, these are still pieces that could hardly be known to represent her.

There is one thing that I mentioned: her histories. I could call it a history, or her past. I think calling it a “histories” is reductive for everything that I can and cannot say about her, and it does more than those other words. I want to ask: How much does one know of Hina? I think I know something more, and as I have said before, I will never know anything. But what I can learn is through our intimacy, our together, where she reveals not just her passions, it is also her muses. I don’t think I fill that space, something that inspires her. I think I am more of a partner than I am an inspiration, but she speaks to me just as I am speaking to you about this, about what she cares for and why she cares for them. It is as delicate as the knowledge that she investigates. I will refer back to the comment of Dad: “more African”, then divulge these circumstances which brought her to be such a magnificent person. She is connected through the world: this is not just who she is or where she resides, or even from her family members, but how each of these ideals have moved throughout the world to be where they are now, from their family to their ancestors, and more the other monikers which can represent a portion of them, she seeks out the path backwards to find the connection that remains. Her African side is not a matter of race, place, is a movement backwards through the records that have remained: her genealogy, her linguistic turns, the identity that her family has. It is not wrong to call her more African, and thought it was placed in the frame of a joke, it comes back to the ability to seek out and explore, to learn and be molded, and if one knows of her family and that care she holds so closely for that, then one knows exactly what I am trying to say her. And I still feel like it is not enough, but, for Clio, another figure which takes more as the muse than the artists before. This is where, rather, I can call myself an artist only using pieces left behind to create my own. I guess, what does she do for me? Is this question even something to ask? Or is it too general to know what I am wanting to address specifically?

Let’s look back at not what I appreciate from her, as that is all I could be doing her, and now look at what I take from her and mold for myself: it could come back to knowledge, it could come back from the little twinges she gets when what she says is not enough, the slowness of her focus when something draws her eyes. Maybe even mention her brown hair and compare it to the natural world? None, and all, would be reducing her to an object, and that feels like it is something I want to avoid, because as much as she draws my attention, she also brings about what distracts me from her. I came to love Borges, reading his comments of Nietzsche and his interpretations of the eternal recurrence, and this also occupies my own thoughts. Think of Junji Ito’s uzamaki, the obsession with spirals. It would be more to assume that I spiral around these images, the metaphors of Borges that includes in his own work. If one knows how much I have written about him, one thinks I could translate all of that back into Hina. And it is, another 15000 words would not suffice. I learned about Borges through her, beginning with a suggestion, “let’s read ‘The Library of Babel together and talk about”. As it seems that she has moved on from Borges, I am still obsessed with him, and haven’t read enough. Though, 15000 words is probably more than most people, and I think that is just what I can remember of what I have written down. My love, and the things that I have come to love as much as it is, begin with a simple question that Hina has asked me to implore with her. If people say “love at first sight” is the return of the second glance, for me, it is that constant spinning and spiraling of all that I have come to imbed my time into. I could say that I got into Philosophy and Literature because of her, I could say I became a teacher because of her. And these are things that define me, so it would be littling to say that she has defined me, and it is still something that I could add to.

Sorry, if at the end this feels rushed: the more I write about her, the more I am confusing tossed into. Has anyone ever had a feeling of lightheadedness that brought a smile? That is just where I am trying to comprehend what I love about Hina. She distracts and focused me, she inspires me and keeps me still. This is why I say I am a simp, because everything else is just not enough or just too much. I look at her in awe and I am moved by her to move forward. Does this do enough to explain where I can begin to express my love for her?

I plan to write more, but I am not there right now to go further: right now, I am overwhelmed by trying to write just what I have. I blame Hina for this, too.

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