The writer spoke to three friends about their love for the show “Avatar: The Last Airbender.” The following may require some previous knowledge of the show and contains spoilers. This is the first half of a two-part piece.
In K.’s bedroom, jars of paint are scattered across the floor. Her paintings — many of East Asian women — hang from the walls.
“I should say my favorite character is Katara,” K. remarks, now scrolling through ATLA fan pages. “She gets so much undeserved shit.”
Like what?
“People can’t accept that Katara gave Sokka shit about not loving their mom as much as she did. Yes, Katara has real issues. But if fans can forgive Zuko for pursuing Aang across the world for a year and trying to kill him, they can forgive Katara for saying some rude things in the middle of a breakdown about her mom, while also taking on all the ‘mom duties’ in the group and dealing with all her brother’s hyper-masculinity, misogyny shit. Plus, she’s being betrayed by men like Zuko and Jet and taking on emotional labor for Aang. Katara gets her redemption arc eventually. But because she’s doing all this actual work, her problems aren’t as visible as everyone else’s.”
K. has not breathed once. So who’s your actual favorite? I ask.
“Oh. Azula, of course.”
Why?
“She’s pretty.” She extends the e.
I make an indignant noise.
“What,” she snaps, “is that not a valid reason? Does everything have to have some deep reason behind it? I can like someone because they’re hot. Liking someone over emotions has never worked well for me. Now I choose my favorite characters based on aesthetics.”
I blanch. When did emotions not work out for you?
She dwells on the question. “Emotions change,” she says, rubbing her nose. “I used to want to be like Katara. She handled everything. She said in book three, episode three: I will never, ever turn my back on people who need me. Now I understand that you can’t romanticize being strong while you’re still hurting. I see too many parallels between myself and Katara. I don’t want to be her anymore.”
Azula has a lot of emotions, too.
“Yeah, but they’re all bottled up. Take season three, episode five: They have their little bonfire sesh on the beach, where everyone reveals their traumas, but no one actually resolves any of them because all of them are bad at talking to one another. Ty Lee is saying how she felt insecure, and proud to be a circus freak, and Azula looks at her out of the corner of her eye with concern. But when Ty Lee looks at Azula, she looks away. As if she doesn’t care.”
Rolling over, K. laughs with her face buried in her phone. A second later, she reemerges. “Bro,” she gasps, eyes wide. “Do you know that one scene where she’s attacking them, and she falls off the ship, and they’re like, is she gone? And then she appears with her hair blowing in the wind, and Zuko’s like, of course she didn’t die? Wow. Azula looks super sexy there.”
She sits up in the bed, giddy with delight. “They made all the villains hot. Have you seen Ozai’s abs? Nice.”
I am expressionless, and she stares at me for a moment. I am thinking suddenly of how Q. and F. speak of ATLA too: as if it were their earliest romance.
She grunts and lies back down. “The problem with so many Asian girls is our ‘we can fix damaged people’ complexes,” she mutters. “We’re like Katara. As daughters, we’re forced to do all this emotional labor we’re not supposed to do. And we learn to like damaged boys like Zuko. Who are also pretty and have nice hair.” She stares at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I would like to be Ursa. Disappear with no warning. Or,” she exclaims: “Yue! Ascend to the skies, and never return. Both times, leave a crying boy behind.”
Yue died. Which character do you actually see yourself in?
K. shrugs. “Oh. None of them. They’re too cool for me.” She rearranges herself under her red floral comforter and faces the wall. “Anyway,” she mumbles as I stand to walk out, “It’s easy to pity Azula. Her breakdown is obvious. Azula needs therapy. Maybe that’s why we like her. I need therapy, too.”
***
At the end of our interview, Q. and I sit in a long stretch of silence. I lie on the rug and stare at the ceiling. Beyond it, I hear a howl and crackle and the desperate moaning of the sky.
She begins to chuckle in a soft crescendo. “I just sound crazy sometimes,” she says, clapping both hands on her head. “Because after five minutes with literally anyone, I’ll look up and be like, you’re Fire Nation. You’re Water.” She jabs a finger at the couch and at my La Croix. “I’ll say it out loud because I need to understand them. It’s almost like that’s my manual for understanding human behavior. Like quiz templates are the easiest way to make people intelligible to me.”
Which do you think is more complex: humans or ATLA characters? I ask jokingly.
She actually stops to think. I gape at her. “Humans are infinitely more complex than dialogue and animation,” she muses. “However, I think most people can go through their entire lives without knowing people better than the ATLA characters. You follow them even when they’re alone. You see their ugliness, and their beauty when they do good deeds with no one watching. People don’t often enter spaces of such honesty. Where they’re able to see someone fully.”
She tosses her hair. “Of course, our friendship is abnormally honest and intimate,” she declares. She glances at me. Her eyes look like they carry the universe.
We’re just the lucky ones, I say.
***
I stare accusingly at F. and the sunswept glint on his eyeballs. I’ve interviewed three of my closest friends, I howl as we walk away from the park. All three like Fire Nation best!
He rubs his chin, sage-like. “It’s not very popular in the fandom. My sister loves Earthbenders. My dad likes Airbenders. I’d hazard you’re a Waterbender. Maybe this is more a reflection of you, and who you choose your friends to be.” He snickers at my expression. “Many people search for friends who fulfill their emotional needs…” he continues, but I have drifted off.
What’s up with me and the Fire Nation? I feel a fearful edge of nakedness, and I bury my face in my hands. To know myself is a sort of clarity that has never felt possible. But if only I could answer this question! My heart thunders against my chest. If only I could place myself in the world ATLA gave me — then, perhaps, I might get somewhere, after all.
Winona would like to thank her fire editor Christine Mui (pun intended).
You can read the first half of this two-part piece here.
Image Credit: “Fire on the breath” by R’lyeh Imaging is licensed under CC BY 2.0