Defining 'Self', and Chance Encounter

It was mid-morning on the Hyuuga compound, and Asami sat in the bedroom of her family’s estate, holding the sleeve of her kimono back as she gracefully drew her ink brush across the blank page in front of her. She found calligraphy to be a relaxing past-time, and had been learning it since she was old enough to grip a brush. ‘Calligraphy is an expression of the infinite energy of the universe, creation without color or form,’ her instructor had once told her. ‘It is an expression of the true self, which is a problem for the mind.’

‘My true self,’ Asami wondered, while she dipped her brush again into the ink on her stone. She often contemplated that same question. She knew who she was brought up to be, as the daughter of a prominent and respected Hyuuga clansman. But her opportunities to express her individuality were rare, and indeed she often struggled to determine what her individuality even meant. Her hand moved to create a gently sloping stroke down the page.

Was it her preferences that made her who she was? Could her entire ‘self’ be summed up by which color she likes, which food she hates? No, she thought. It had to be something much deeper than that. For all the value that a human soul had, it had to represent something more. She looked down at the finished character on her page. Shinobu (忍). ‘To endure.’ The same character was used to describe the vast majority of the people who resided here. ‘A shinobi is one who endures’, she’d learned during her earliest lessons. But the character looked flat on the page, not exactly bursting with a sense of ‘self’. Still, Asami wondered if the key to understanding her true self might be buried somewhere within her shinobi path. Maybe one day she’d find it, and the character ‘shinobu’ would come alive with the strokes of her brush.

She picked up her brush and ink stone and took them to the edge of her porch, slipping a pair of zori sandals on her feet and stepping around to the bucket of water that was sitting on the ground. There she cleaned them both carefully, before patting them dry and returning them to her room for storage. She didn’t have any missions today, and so she was struggling to find a way to fill her time. Meditative calligraphy had served its purpose, and had given her something to think about. But she couldn’t sit in her room painting pictures all day. Her eyes drifted around her room for a moment, landing on the katana she had purchased at the shop the other day.

She hadn’t really gotten a chance to use it, yet. But her father had plenty to say about it when she brought it home, regardless. ‘A true Hyuuga does not need a weapon. Master the way of the Gentle Fist, and your body will become your weapon.’ As much of a purist as her father was, she had decided to keep the katana, despite knowing that he would disapprove of her studying such an art. But she could be stubborn, when she really wanted to be. Picking it up, she tied the scabbard around her shoulder and walked out of her room, getting almost to the front of the house when her father stepped out of the sitting room. He emanated an air of dignity in his pure white yukata, his black hair combed back to reveal his striking features. Even in his older age, the man radiated power, and Asami stopped walking, lowering her eyes and bowing her head respectfully. “Chichi-ue…”

Her father looked at her with his penetrating gaze, his eyes landing on the hilt of the sword resting on her shoulder. His face spoke volumes more than the words that came out of his mouth. “Your training in the Gentle Fist will be doubled if I find it deteriorating in any aspect. You are a Hyuuga. I expect you to remember that.” Asami’s hands clenched against her sides, and she bowed before quickly continuing past her father and down to the front steps, where she put her shoes on and sighed a deep breath.

She knew it would be something like this… but she had felt something when she picked up this sword, and she wanted to find out what that meant, even if it meant triggering her father’s ire. Buckling her sandals, Asami stood up and walked down the long path into the streets of the Hyuuga district, one hand brushing her hair back from her face as she looked far ahead, passing small groupings of homes and shops. She did want to go to the training grounds, but it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time around town, first. The Hyuuga population was generally friendly toward her, and one of the shops did sell her favorite jasmine tea and rice cakes. She decided to stop there first, and went to stand in line, waiting patiently to order.
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