Goodbye, Class E (A Love Letter)

My friend does this thing that really bugs me. When he finishes watching or reading something, he’ll usually say something like, “8/10 for how well the thing was actually made, 6/10 for enjoyment, because I thought it was a little boring,” or vice versa, and such. Very rarely do his two scores match. This bothers me for a variety of reasons – the first being that I subscribe to the idea that art is always subjective, and can’t have a “set” level of good or bad. As a consequence, if you like something, you must inherently find some level of value in it. I tried to tell him this, but he insists on going about thinking of things the previous way, and while I respect that, I definitely let him know that I disagreed.

Then, one day, I was looking for the dates that the manga I followed would get new volumes (in English), and, Assassination Classroom being one of them, I found the date for volume 21.  

“Oh,” I said, “this is the last one? That makes me a little sad.”

Then I saw the cover (pictured above.)

As you can see, it depicts Class E standing around their mountaintop classroom, observing the beautiful night sky… and one of them is pointing up at Koro Sensei’s (their teacher) face, imprinted in the stars.

If you're unfamiliar with Assassination Classroom, it's a manga (Japanese comic) series about a group of drop-out eighth graders who find themselves held hostage by an alien creature after he blows up the moon into a permanent crescent. This creature, who can move at mach 20 speed and transform his body at will, says that they have the school year to learn how to kill him, and if they can't, he'll destroy the Earth. Along the way, we learn that this creature (named Koro Sensei by his class, after the Japanese word for "kill") is not a monster at all, but a wonderful teacher, who, despite being able to always thwart their assassination attempts, does not want to hurt anyone -- he only wants to pass on his knowledge to kids that believe life has left them behind before his inevitable death.

In many ways that people get wake-up calls in their life, this volume's cover, for whatever reason, hit me like a ton of bricks. It’s over. Assassination Classroom has ended. I guess the pointers were always there; the students had only a single school year to succeed in their goal in assassinating Koro Sensei, and it’s not like time doesn’t pass (unless you’re Ash). But the thing is, it’s a Shonen Jump action manga. A cheesy, dorky, stupid comic about a bunch of kids trying to kill their alien teacher, and they were set up for failure in every chapter with his insane superpowers and their childish antics. So, despite reading so much, I never really paid mind to the idea that the series would truly… end.

And up until now, I looked at Assassination Classroom with relative fondness, but no real critical praise. It’s just alright. What you expect to happen happens. Good triumphs evil. Boob jokes. Crazy superpowers. "It's entertaining."

What I didn’t realize is how the story filled my life with things I could hold on to. I can’t say I’ve truly had issues making friends, but I certainly had issues fitting in. Going to class every day from grades 6-12 was a trip to stress-town, and in that state of mind, there’s the need for little “ropes” we can easily grasp. One of those ropes were my friends, who, despite the teasing and the bullshit, were there when I needed them. Another one of those ropes were the teachers who cared. We’ve all had ones that don’t – but the ones that do will do anything to help their students, be it with their grades, with their personal problems, or anything inbetween. That’s what educators are truly there for.

And of course, another little “rope,” was my favorite things to read.

The manga encompassed all of that. Stories about friendship twelve ways to Sunday -- touching, heartfelt stories about a teacher and his students, and silliness that reminded us of the good things in life -- and all of them delivered to the me in a comfortable, engaging way to read.

I guess finally understanding that Koro Sensei was going to die set in stone the shift in my life from high school to college – teen to adult. I won’t have those friends in my class anymore. I won’t have those teachers in my college professors, and as much as it’s making me just about to burst into tears writing it, someday soon, I won’t have Koro Sensei and his hilarious class anymore to escape to when the “ropes” in my life have, for whatever reason, been tugged away from me.

All good things must come to an end. And bad things too. Nothing lasts forever.

Likewise, absolutely having to have everything be critically flawless in order to enjoy it is a mindset I can’t fully subscribe to anymore.

It's still so clear to me -- the day I stumbled upon a series in my bookstore about a mysterious creature that destroyed the moon, and threatened to do the same to Earth if the under-appreciated Class E didn’t kill him first. In good times and bad times, I read about that creature teaching his class how to grow as human beings. I read about those kids acing their entrance exams, just as I was finishing my own high school experience. And as some of the most important friendships in my life drift away and I learn to truly become an adult, I read the second to last volume and... well, I won't ruin it here, but if the series has taken hold of you like it did me, you'll need some tissues.

This story helped me cope with so many things in my adolescence. Other stories are too heavy for times of stress. Others are just not even worth your patience in the best of times. But when I sat down and read Assassination Classroom, I knew Koro Sensei’s face would make me laugh. I knew the students would try, (and fail) to kill him, but they’d always learn something new, and improve on their former selves. True, they can somehow become better athletes than most Olympians in just a year, rebuild a school in a weekend, and even be sent to space and back, but I just don’t care. When I was feeling shitty because of something someone said, when I just finished my homework and wanted a break, and even when I just had a rough day and needed to laugh, I knew that big, dumb, yellow smile would be waiting for me. At the end of the day, that’s really all I was asking for.

Assassination Classroom was different. And now, it’s over. 

Nothing can replace it.