"I'll never forget how earnest and dedicated those otakus were." Recalling the time I attended a rural doujinshi event. / Thus Spoke Hijiki Isoflavone

Today’s theme is “a memorable event that left its mark on me.”

Although it’s been about a decade since I participated in my very first doujinshi convention, the total number of events I’ve taken part in and the doujinshi I’ve created is surprisingly low.

The reason for this is simple: for the longest time, I was based in a rural part of Japan, which naturally made participating in such events a lot harder.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the doujinshi-making process usually brings out my inner pantser in full swing, destroying my ability to follow any well-meaning plan I had set in place, causing me to go off on many tangents. The extremity of it all—for making doujinshi is an extreme sport—results in many a despairing moment that makes me go, “Writing doujinshi and manga is way too hard!” and vow never to put myself through that kind of torture again.

Since these “vows” usually last about a year, participating in doujinshi conventions has become an annual thing for me, and I publish no more than one book per event. That’s how I’ve been rolling for the past decade or so.

Surprisingly enough, the most memorable episode in my long and laid-back doujin life isn’t any of the times I set up a booth, but rather the time I joined a local convention with my friend. Most people might think doujinshi conventions only take place in major cities like Tokyo, Osaka, Nagoya, and Fukuoka, but they exist in rural areas, too, even if the numbers have been dwindling.

My friend belonged to a so-called oote circle—a term for a circle that’s extremely popular—and wanted to do a second print run of their books that had sold out instantly in Osaka. Wanting to take things easy this time round, they chose to participate in an event in their hometown, and I wound up helping them run their booth, selling their books for them.

If I were looking to buy their stuff, I would no doubt have been upset that they weren’t coming to Osaka or Tokyo. The good thing about doujinshi events, though, is that you have total freedom to decide where you want to distribute your works of labor.

I stayed over at my friend’s house, where I ended up spilling ink all over the manuscript that they had poured their blood, sweat, and tears into. (This was when everything was still done by hand; honestly, I should’ve been strung up from the ceiling for such a heinous crime.) Thankfully, we finished it in time and set off for the convention center the following day. The sights, train and bus ride on the way there, and venue were all completely new to me, and it was interesting to note the differences compared to the doujinshi conventions in my hometown.

When we got there, a complete hodgepodge of genres characteristic of local conventions greeted us—we spotted a jeep on display courtesy of one of the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force bases, as well as a cosplay area that took up half of the venue. As for the sellers’ booth area, it was obviously a complete change from the one in Osaka, and the circle members seemed satisfied with the slower pace of things.

Having just tagged along, I felt like the manager of a super popular idol group who’d come to the countryside on a secret getaway to escape the chaos of city life.

Still, I was able to meet all sorts of fascinating customers, such as the people who’d come all the way from Tokyo to buy the circle’s books, or the people who happened to be passing by and stopped in amazement upon seeing the genre of the books on sale.

This is something that can be said for all rural events, but because there are only so many circles that can participate, it’s pretty much a miracle when you find a title that you recognize. I can’t help but buy a laminated card from the booth when that hap—oh, I guess those don’t exist anymore, huh?

As we were enjoying the laid-back vibes, a voice suddenly boomed over the loudspeaker.

What in tarnation? We were startled at the interruption. Imagine my surprise when I realized a cosplay performance contest had kicked off on the tiered platform in the cosplay booth!

Not only did the cosplayers show off their costumes atop the platform, but they also performed a synchronized group dance and showered the audience with gum and candy in time to the karaoke songs. It was, in short, absolutely wild.

I can’t tell you how much this sight truly, deeply moved me.

Being in the countryside, I doubted they could rent a proper studio to practice in, so I imagined they must have gotten together on the weekends or after school to make their costumes and practice their dance for that day.

The cosplayers weren’t the only ones at the venue fueled by passion. All of the circles participating today had resolved to sell their goods on this specific date and prepared their books and merch for it.

And, of course, even those who were simply here to buy stuff had made the arduous journey to this remote, semi-deep-in-the-mountains town, determined to attend the convention and live their wildest otaku dreams.

Just remembering it makes me a little sentimental about how dedicated and passionate people who attend doujinshi conventions and otaku events are.

As someone who moved from the countryside to Tokyo, I feel that living in the city is far more convenient if you want to live your best otaku life, especially if you enjoy attending doujinshi conventions.

Venturing to a major city is no easy feat for people living in rural areas, and it comes with many obstacles. If you’re young and living with your family, you’d have to go through the trouble of convincing them to let you go before finally shelling out 20,000 to 30,000 yen for a round-trip to Osaka or Tokyo.

That said, that inexpressible, deep-seated affection I felt towards otaku at that local event is something I believe is universal to every otaku event, regardless of whether it’s held in the city or the countryside.

The more you get used to participating in conventions, the more desensitized you become to many things. Still, I like to recall how I felt witnessing the passion and earnestness of that day from time to time and let myself be moved by the books, merch, and fellow otaku I encounter at these events.

Lately, I’ve become so complacent and thick-skinned that I’ve started to forget things and have to improvise, like using duct tape in place of price tags or using an empty box of snacks to put change in. It makes me think that I seriously need to find ways to refresh my heart so it can flutter with overwhelming, delicate joy like the old days more often.