The opportunity to test this hypothesis arrived under the guise of medical observation. However, I had underestimated how much practice and finesse a Quirk requires. My father, Shigeo, controls gravity as easily as breathing or moving his own limbs. I now realize that his "ease" is actually the result of master-level discipline.
Had I been able to use the Force, I might have sensed the danger sooner... no, that is an excuse. I was simply careless. My foresight was lacking, and my training is woefully insufficient. It is quite shameful. I only hope the doctor in charge of me doesn't lose his license over my recklessness.
But more than anything, seeing my parents weeping inconsolably truly affected me.
It wasn't that I found them "annoying." It was a deep, gnawing sense of apology toward these two people who so openly loved a child who was, in truth, an anomaly—a being who had possessed an adult consciousness since the moment of birth.
As I've mentioned, Jedi are typically taken to the Jedi Temple in infancy, usually before they are six months old. Once they begin their training, they never see their parents again. They are never even told who they were.
This means that every Jedi grows up without knowing the concept of "parents"—or the specific, unconditional love of a family. I was no different. I knew nothing of parents. I had seen glimpses of family life during my years of service and missions, but that was academic knowledge, not experience. I had never known a parent's love.
In my generation, there was only one Jedi who truly knew that bond: the Chosen One, Anakin Skywalker.
"I'm lonely. I want to see my mother."
He had once whispered those words to me when we were both still Padawans. At the time, I was younger in spirit than I am now; my Master's teachings were my entire world, and I could not fathom the meaning behind his words.
After all, one cannot understand what one has never known. Children, in particular, have small worlds and often lack that specific brand of empathy.
"Attachment is forbidden, Skywalker," I had replied. I said it without thought, simply reciting the code as I had been taught.
It is no wonder he bristled at my answer. The look of sorrow on his face then... looking back, it wasn't just the loneliness of missing his mother. It was the sting of disappointment in a friend who hadn't even tried to understand his heart.
We remained close after that, partly because our Masters were friends, but I think we were just lucky. We shared similar hobbies, and that was enough to bridge the gap. Or so I thought.
I finally understand, Anakin. I understand how you felt from the bottom of my heart.
Having experienced it myself, I can finally admit it. To have a being who pours out pure, uncalculating, unstinting affection upon you... it is a massive, overwhelming thing. If even I, with my adult self-awareness, feel this way, the impact on a true child must be monumental.
Of course, if a parent rejects that role, or fails, or twists that love, it would likely swing just as violently in the negative direction. Either way, a parent's existence is the foundation of a child's world. It is a force powerful enough to drive a person to great deeds—or terrible crimes.
"Thank goodness... I'm so glad Koto-chan is safe..."
I am fortunate. I knew this as I watched Hiromi smiling through her tears while she held me in my hospital bed.
But it makes me wonder: Have I given anything back to these parents?
Raising a child is a duty, so perhaps I am not strictly required to repay them, but a debt of gratitude should be honored. More importantly, I am not a normal child. The fact that they love me so fiercely without a hint of revulsion is something I should be more thankful for.
To that end... yes. First, I must bridge the distance between us. Until now, I have called them "Father" and "Mother" with my lips, but I struggled to accept it in my heart. My adult ego was a barrier. I thought of them by their names in my head. I must change that.
It may be "un-Jedi-like" to foster such a bond... but I have been "Kotoha" for over three years now, and they have loved me as family for every second of it. To declare that love "unnecessary" is a feat I can no longer perform.
"I'm home... Father, Mother."
On the day I was discharged, I made my choice. I spoke those words upon entering our house and let myself lean into them. I don't know how to act like a child, and I don't truly know how to be a "daughter," but in that moment, I simply felt that I wanted to be near them.
Their faces crumpled with emotion, and with tearful eyes, they embraced me from both sides. It was somewhat embarrassing, and I laughed to hide my bashfulness.
So, this is the warmth Anakin knew. I see. It is a difficult thing to give up.
And I see why the Jedi forbade it. This is a bond so tight it is agonizing to break. When this warmth is stolen by another, a person could easily—so easily—fall to the Dark Side.
Yet, I also realized something else. The Jedi, who rejected this warmth and maintained a life of strict asceticism, were rightfully mocked for not understanding the hearts of the people they protected.
I am a Jedi. Or I was. But on this day, for the first time, I felt a faint flicker of doubt toward the Code. Perhaps... the Jedi were not always right.
Side Note:
The attempt to increase my midi-chlorian count using my Quirk was apparently more successful than I had dared hope. Shortly after, I succeeded in reconnecting with the Force.
Sensing the Force within this body again felt warm and gentle... oddly enough, it felt very much like my parents' embrace.
I wish the story ended there.
I did not expect that reconnecting with the Force would immediately trigger a Force Vision. I saw my mother, her face contorted in agony, surrounded by several men and women dressed in matching outfits.
Now I understand, with painful clarity, why the Jedi do not accept love.
But for this vision to strike on the very night I regained my connection... it feels almost intentional. I am overjoyed to be one with the Force again, but I think even the Force is being a bit "extra" by throwing this at me as a first move.
Force... couldn't you have gone a little easier on me?