Almost exactly a year ago, right after Akira Toriyama passed away, I wrote about Dragon Ball and how formative my introduction to manga was. Since then, I’ve mostly held off on rereading the series so I could do it during a time that I was capable of properly feeling joy (rather than just ignoring the pain I was in for all of last year), but I have spent a lot of time, on and off, thinking back to my childhood library and my introduction to the series. And comics (specifically the ones that didn’t appear in the “funny pages” of the newspaper my parents got) as a whole, since those were all sorted together. Surprisingly, out of basically no where, some of those memories became relevant again. You see, in the early days of my local library putting comics out in a place that kids like me could easily see them, there was one other manga series available for people to borrow. I avoided it at all costs because, even then, I was aware of the expectations placed on me by my parents that I avoid anything that might be construed as “girly” or “soft” and the image of a young woman and two young men on the cover screamed “romance” to me in a way I absolutely couldn’t have verbalized as a child. So, rather than invest in my emotional intelligence (which, coincidentally, was something my parents wanted me to develop despite them often signaling that it wasn’t a masculine trait like all the others they tried to cultivate in me), I invested in my creative intelligence and passed over the inexplicably named “Fruits Basket” manga in favor of the action-y one that was filled with fighting and whatnot.