Hello folks, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today I’m happy to announce I’m feeling pretty darn emotionally stable, which puts me in fine shape to survive an episode of Journal With Witch. The show has so far done a commendable job of psychologically demolishing me with both of its first two episodes, digging into the intersection of grief, self-realization, and creative expression with nuance and acuity. Makio is one of the most sharply drawn characters I’ve seen in years, and through her awkward navigation of adulthood, parenting, and professional writing, Journal With Witch is constructing a human portrait as raw and incisive as its titular journal.
Our last episode saw Makio consulting with allies regarding the Asa question, conferring with first her close friend Nana Daigo, and then her ex-boyfriend Shingo. Unfortunately, as is often the case in such matters, they mostly just served to affirm things she already knew: that she couldn’t put off managing her sister’s personal effects, that her life would be changing rapidly now, and that in spite of it all, she would still remain her standoffish, singular self. Personal growth is both a practice and an inevitability; sometimes pledges turn to practices and then to habits through conscious effort, and sometimes we look up and have to blink at the figure in the mirror, uncertain how we assumed some strange new shape. Regardless, the fundamentals of the isolated creative life remain constant – we dig deep within and excavate our embarrassments, throwing them onto the page in hope of connection, simultaneously praying and fearing to be truly known. Perhaps next time, that hot stovetop might offer the validation we need, the certainty that we haven’t wasted our life in letters. Perhaps not, but what else is there?
Episode 3
We begin with a shot of Asa staring at the camera, marveling at the pile of mail flowing from her old family mailbox. One of those mundane, well-observed details that is so quintessentially Journal With Witch. Death is not just shock and grief and sorrow – it is also a deluge of phone calls, and a negotiation with various insurance representatives, and a pile of mail to be redirected or replied to. Some people find this additional slate of labors overwhelming on top of their emotional response, and others find it freeing, a sequence of tasks that help mitigate the pain, that give you a place to direct your energy
This production’s muted earth tones fit its drama well. Its characters live in a world of subdued emotion, of quiet and distance and empty spaces. The color design matches this tone, emphasizing the uninspiring mundanity of their grey, wintry world
The composition separates Asa and Makio as they ride the elevator, constraining each of them in separate parallel windows. Even within this shared room, they are isolated, each lost in their own thoughts regarding this somber ritual
“It’s stuffy in here.” “That’s what happens when no one’s around.” Such a familiar place, now eternally reframed through her parents’ absence. Bread and tangerines lie in bags on the counter, unaware that a morning which started like any other concluded with a final severance, a break in the continuity of life in this place. Now it is a room in stasis, haunted by absences, her parents’ specters filling more space than their actual presence once did
“Take your time. Don’t force yourself to get rid of stuff.” Something you can’t look at right now might prove itself precious down the line. Try to do right by your future self
A shirt discarded on a half-made bed. Plants in the window in need of watering. All these signifiers of life interrupted, an assumption of continuity upended by tragedy
“Discard.” An appropriate title. The sorting and discarding of a departed loved one’s belongings is a second act of loss, an acknowledgment that these once-precious objects no longer possess their original meaning. Discarding them hurts in its own way, as you are actively choosing to let them go
Makio is surprised to see her sister kept her school uniform, while she threw her own uniform out the day after graduation. Makio is clearly not precious about such talismans; like many writers, her actual living conditions are pragmatic and simple, while what is precious to her lives on the page
“That’s not the person I remember.” Another odd aspect of this process – “getting to know” someone after the fact, when any potential points of connection you might share are discovered too late to do any good
“The ‘next week’ that was supposed to come. The hand towel hung out for a quick dry.” Makio also reflects on the strangeness of this suspended moment, this ellipses of an apartment with no continuation
“Now it all just vanishes into thin air.” Her words are complimented by the window curtains dancing in the breeze, echoing this ephemeral, vanishing life
“You should have something to remember her by.” Makio foists the responsibility of remembering her sister onto Asa
And of course, her sister’s memory scolds her for her sentimentality. She is even closer at hand in this apartment, where her memory lingers
Unlike Makio, her sister embraced continuity and nostalgia, exhibited both through her school uniform and her continuation of their mother’s pickling process
“I just used the present tense. For Mom, I mean. Weird.” Asa also feels her mother in this place, where if she doesn’t actively think about the accident, it feels like nothing actually changed. Certain places are time machines; if you invest them with enough memories, separate, and then come back later, you can conjure the feelings of the past
Unsurprisingly, Makio thinks of this continuity of experience in terms of how you’d express it in text, through the present progressive tense. Human interactions are difficult for her, but if she can intellectualize them and break them down into prose, she can at least maintain some degree of mastery and control. It’s a funny thing how a lack of natural, assumed fluency in social interaction is often the impetus for diving deep into such topics in fiction; we seek to define through literature what we cannot naturally understand
“How you feel is no one’s business but yours.” Another extremely Makio line. This story does an excellent job of conveying her attempts to be considerate and accommodating as interpreted through her own philosophy
“You wouldn’t want to accidentally throw out anything you don’t mean to.” Through her repeating this refrain, it seems clear that coming here has prompted Makio to consider what she herself has thrown out without meaning to, whether in a literal sense, or through the steady winnowing of her life to its current, isolated state. Not keeping in touch with people is itself an easy way to throw things out without meaning to
“One thing at a time, their existence fades. It seems unreal how little I’m sad about it.” Here in this apartment, it seems Makio can hear her sister’s rebuke all the clearer
Fresh cherry blossoms herald spring’s approach as Asa heads out to her graduation ceremony. One of the classic markers of the season, as instructive as cicadas in summer
Asa runs into her friend Emiri at the lockers, who apologizes for revealing what happened to Asa’s parents to the school at large. Painful jolt of character acting here, as Asa pulls away in shock, her hands tense
“I just needed to get through graduation…” In harsh contrast with Makio’s accommodating attitude, everyone here wishes to either direct or console her. She is on stage here, forced to offer a performance for the benefit of others. The funeral can easily be the hardest part
All she wants is a slice of normalcy, and her “considerate” teachers have, by informing the school at large, robbed her of any chance of that
“Now everyone will see me as the girl with dead parents!” Asa explodes at last, grieving not the death directly, but the end of her life as a normal student
“Don’t take it out on others just because you have it tough!” Wow, these teachers are really impressively terrible
Another effective flourish of fantasy here from Asa, who envisions this whole scenario as a cheerful spring celebration centered around a maypole. She was looking forward to this ordinary seasonal celebration, but Emiri and the teachers stole it from her
Fleeing the school, she clings desperately to Makio’s declaration that no one can shame her for how she’s feeling. Of course, Makio’s ethos is in part a way of justifying her own life choices – but for Asa, it’s exactly what she needs right now
Her grief and distraction carry her “home,” to her parents’ old apartment. No surprise there; she’s been living in a new world with Makio, decoupled from her previous existence entirely, but returning to school offered a flash of normalcy that reawakened her old, assumed habits
Her mental disorientation is echoed by her genuine confusion with the subway system; having at last severed her last connection to her old, normal life, she can no longer find her way home
This soundtrack is so gentle yet so piercing, very much like the subdued color design
Makio eventually comes to rescue her, though the damage is already done
“When we get back, we’re having a foot bath. No one can think straight when they’re freezing.” As always, Makio’s bluntness and discomfort with intimate conversation is actually an asset here, as she keeps Asa’s focus on practical matters, rather than interrogating her about her feelings
“Mom would never say something like that!” Asa has finally gotten over her befuddlement at Makio enough to challenge her on her decidedly un-motherly behavior
“‘Nana-chan?’ When did you two get so close?” Unsurprising that Makio would be baffled by someone swiftly making friends
“The way I see it, fighting is reserved for outgoing people.” Another unlikely truth nuke from Makio. I don’t really have the social energy to fight with people; if someone’s acting in a way that makes me uncomfortable, I generally just navigate away from their presence
“Sometimes it really helps to have someone who’s known me since my teens.” There is indeed something special about having friends who’ve seen your adolescent incarnations. Misunderstandings and clashes of ego are far less likely with someone who’s seen you evolve into your current state
Asa retorts that Makio is breaking her “your feelings are your own” rule, to which Makio tells her to not take too much stock in the words of others. A breathtaking leap of hypocrisy, I love it
“You called me a drag again!” This is why Makio doesn’t talk to people
“That was a full day’s worth of talking…” Yep, it’s all too much work
Whew. Makio relates a moment from just after high school, when Daigo wrote to her that “I wouldn’t have been able to breathe without you.” A note that actually made life feel worth living to Makio – one of those rare, precious moments of acknowledgment, when you learn all of your suffering and anxious efforts have genuinely made a difference to someone. I don’t know how I would have made it this far if not for those moments along the way
Yep, here I go crying again
“The only time I feel like I’m really myself is when I’m with you.” Her words spark a memory for Asa, a moment when Emiri shared that same precious gift with her. We can go it alone for a while, but we are not naturally solitary creatures; ultimately, all of us crave that acknowledgment that someone’s life was made easier because we were there
A look of shock as Asa calls Emiri back. She doesn’t hate her; in fact, in this moment, nothing could be more important than affirming they still love each other
And Done
Oh god damn this show. Every episode just reduces me to a puddle, gently dismantling me with its insight, compassion, and eloquence, exploring the foundations of identity and coexistence with thunderous, soft-spoken clarity. In an episode that was ostensibly about setting aside the rubbage of past lives, Journal With Witch managed to capture the core of what we cannot give away, the memories that stick with us and the relationships that make life worth living. It is a harsh, alienating world out there, and if us fragile, unsociable people wish to survive it, we must take care to nurture and treasure those precious strings, the links we find to the few who’ve come to know and love us even at our weakest. The older you get, the more you realize ostensibly simple, superficial lessons like “always be kind” or “tell your friends you care” are not just pat moral statements; they are the closest thing we have to a survival strategy, a way of holding close to joy, and not letting time separate us from the things we too often take for granted. It is easy to withdraw, but it only hurts us in the end.
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