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Some anime are fun to watch, but Gundam changed what anime could be. Before it, giant robots were just toys for heroes to fight with. Gundam changed everything. It showed that robots are not just symbols of power but weapons of war, built and used by people who are scared, broken, and human.

What made Gundam revolutionary was its serious treatment of war. It did not glorify battle or victory. Every fight had a price, every decision left a scar, and every death felt real. It made the audience think about the cost of survival, rather than just cheering for it.

But Mobile Suit Gundam did more ... than tell a story. It became a phenomenon. It captured Japan in the same way Star Wars captured the world. It gave people a universe to believe in, filled with politics, tragedy, and hope. Children built Gunpla models while adults debated the message about humanity and war that the models conveyed. It showed that anime could be more than entertainment. It could inspire thought, imagination, and emotion.

Without Gundam, there would be no Evangelion, Code Geass, Attack on Titan, and every anime that tries to portray the human cost of conflict carries Gundam's legacy.

The animation may be old, but its heart remains strong. The music still gives me chills, and every quiet moment feels alive.

Mobile Suit Gundam might not be my favorite anime of all time, but it's the one I've watched the most. Every time I return to it, I'm reminded of how it changed everything. It didn't just create a franchise; it established a legacy.

A Masterpiece That Taught Me Strength and Sacrifice.

Tiger Mask is a masterpiece in every sense. It was one of the first anime I ever watched, and it holds a very special place in my heart because I watched it with my dad. He is an orphan, just like Naoto Date, and that made the story hit even deeper for both of us. He explained everything to me, from the reason Naoto wore the mask to what each match truly meant and what it means to fight for what is right.

The story is simple but deeply powerful. A man who once fought as a villain in ... the wrestling ring decides to change his life. He turns against the dark organization that trained him and fights instead for justice and for the children in the orphanage where he grew up. Every time he steps into the ring, it feels like he is fighting for redemption, not for fame or victory.

The show is raw and emotional. It does not depend on special effects or fancy visuals. It shows pain, courage, and heart in their purest form. Watching it with my dad made it even more meaningful. He would tell me what each scene meant and why Naoto kept going even when it hurt.

Thinking about this anime now still makes me cry. It is not just nostalgia. It is the memory of watching it with my dad and the lessons that stayed with me ever since. Tiger Mask taught me that real strength is not about winning but about standing up again no matter how many times life knocks you down.

Even after all these years, Tiger Mask still feels alive. Its message about sacrifice and determination remains as strong as ever.

They always say the worst thing she can say is no. But after watching 5 Centimeters per Second, I realize that’s not true. What’s worse is silence. What’s worse is waiting. What’s worse is love fading away without anyone saying a word. That kind of ending is worse than death.

This film hit me because it feels so real. Takaki and Akari aren’t torn apart by some big betrayal or dramatic rejection. They just… drift. Distance grows, letters stop coming, and time keeps moving while their feelings stay frozen. Nobody says no. Nobody gives closure. And that’s the part that hurts most because sometimes in life, ... you don’t lose someone all at once, you just lose them little by little.

The movie is beautiful. The trains, the cherry blossoms, the sunsets. They look like paintings, but they don’t feel warm. They feel like memories that you can’t get back to. And that’s what 5 Centimeters per Second really is not a love story, but the story of love slipping away.

Everyone has that “what if” person in their life. Someone you cared about so much, but never got to say everything to. This movie drags that feeling out into the open. It’s cruel, it’s quiet, and it’s unforgettable.

I don’t think I’ll ever rewatch it often, but I’ll never forget it. 5 Centimeters per Second shows that sometimes the saddest words are not no, but the ones that are never said at all.

A classic that will always burn its Cosmos in my heart.

Saint Seiya is one of the first anime I ever watched, and it became a cornerstone of my childhood. Along with Tiger Mask, it taught me lessons that have stayed with me for life: no matter how hard life hits you, you cannot give up because giving up means losing.

At first glance, it might look like another 80s shōnen with flashy fights, but Saint Seiya is something far more meaningful. The Bronze Saints, Seiya, Shiryu, Hyoga, and Shun, are not invincible heroes. They are young fighters who bleed, suffer, and push themselves beyond their limits ... to protect Athena and humanity. Every victory feels earned, and every fight carries emotional weight because of the sacrifices made along the way.

The Sanctuary arc is one of the most iconic storylines in anime history. Watching the Bronze Saints fight their way through the twelve Zodiac Temples, each guarded by a Gold Saint, is an unforgettable experience. Later arcs, such as Poseidon and Hades, built on that foundation and added rich mythology and drama, while even the anime-original Asgard arc remains beloved for its characters and story.

The soundtrack deserves special praise. Seiji Yokoyama’s score elevates every battle and every emotional moment, giving the show an epic, timeless quality. The music makes you feel as though you are witnessing a Greek myth brought to life, and its orchestral themes remain among the most iconic in anime history. Combined with hand-drawn animation and passionate direction, Saint Seiya has a soul that still shines decades later.

For me, Saint Seiya is not just nostalgia, it is a masterpiece. It shaped me as a child and continues to inspire me to this day. If you have not seen it yet, you are missing a legendary series that defined shōnen anime and still stands tall decades later.

At first glance, it looks like another classic super robot show from the late 70s. You’ve got a giant combining robot, alien invaders, and kids as pilots. Sounds like the formula for adventure, right? But almost immediately, Zambot 3 makes it clear: this is not a power fantasy. This is a tragedy.

The main character, Kappei Jin, might be the most sufferable protagonist I’ve ever seen. He’s just a kid who wants to fight to protect Earth, but instead of being hailed as a hero, he and his family are cursed, blamed, and hated by the very people they’re trying to save. Every time he steps ... into Zambot, it’s not about glory or heroism; it’s about survival, pain, and sacrifice.

And the cruelty doesn’t stop there. Zambot 3 relentlessly shows the consequences of war on children, families, and ordinary people. There’s no clean victory. Every battle feels like another step closer to despair. By the time you reach the final episodes, it feels less like you’re watching a robot anime and more like you’re witnessing the destruction of innocence itself.

That’s precisely why this show hit me so hard. If we compare it to the real world, it rings true: no matter how much someone sacrifices to protect others, people can still misunderstand, resent, or even condemn them. That painful irony is what makes Zambot 3 stand apart from so many other mecha shows of its time.

And yet, through all the suffering, Kappei survives. That ending mattered to me. After everything he endured, it was almost shocking that he lived, but it didn’t feel like a cheat. It felt like a slight, bitter, but meaningful victory: a reminder that even in the darkest tragedies, sometimes one light refuses to go out.

Zambot 3 isn’t for everyone. It’s raw, unforgiving, and often brutal to watch. But for me, that’s precisely what makes it a masterpiece. It pushed the boundaries of what anime could say in the 70s, and in many ways, it paved the way for series like Ideon and Evangelion.

10/10

Watching Be Invoked was intense.

It doesn't build up slowly, it just throws you in. The moment it starts, things are already falling apart. People die fast. Sometimes without warning, sometimes without meaning. And it's overwhelming. Not in a flashy, dramatic way, but in a "this is happening and you can't stop it" kind of way.

Characters I spent so much time with are suddenly gone. No big speeches. No heroic last stands. Just fear, mistakes, and silence. The more it goes on, the more you realize this isn't about saving anyone. It's about how far everything has gone, and how there's no coming back from it.

Yet, ... weirdly, it's not hopeless. It's not even cruel. It's just... the end. But not an empty one. Those final scenes feel strangely calm. Like the universe finally took a breath. Everything ends, but there's something soft in the way it all fades.

I didn't walk away from Be Invoked feeling good or satisfied. I just felt still. Like all the noise had stopped. And honestly, I think that's what makes it so powerful. It's not trying to impress you. It's just giving you the last page of a story that always felt like it was heading here.

Many anime explore themes of pain, war, and collapse in intense ways. However, Be Invoked stands out. It doesn't seem to aim for a bold statement or seek to dismantle anything. Instead, it simply depicts what occurs when situations spiral out of control. When people are out of hope, time, and options, it isn't presented in a stylized or dramatic manner. It's colder and quieter, and somehow feels more human.

In the end, even in all that destruction, it felt... peaceful.

I’ve watched a lot of the big-name anime from the ’70s to the ’90s, but Ideon still hit me in a way I didn’t expect. I went into it thinking it’d be another classic mecha show, you know, big robot, space war, some tragic deaths maybe. But Ideon is something else entirely. It doesn’t just get darker as it goes, but it gets heavier too.

You expect the usual sci-fi setup, but there’s this slow build of dread that doesn’t let up. Every decision they make, every fight they get into, it all feels like it’s dragging them toward something awful. You can tell early on ... this won’t end well, but you still hope it might.

What hit me was how human everyone felt. They’re not brave pilots or heroes. They’re tired, scared, and sometimes completely broken. They argue, they make stupid mistakes, they get people killed, and honestly, that made them feel more real. It’s messy, and that messiness hurts.

And the Ideon itself doesn’t feel like a savior. The more powerful it gets, the more alien and terrifying it becomes. It’s not there to protect anyone. It’s something ancient, something no one fully understands, and you get this feeling like they were never meant to find it at all.

By the end, I wasn’t sure what to feel. Not sad, not satisfied, just… hollow. But not in a bad way. More like I’d just watched something that didn’t care what I thought, it told its story, and now I have to live with it. No big emotional payoff. No clear answers. Just this quiet, heavy feeling that stays with you.

10/10. Not because it’s loud, or dramatic, or intense. But because in its silence, it says everything.

Watching Tsuki ga Kirei for the second time, after the emotional whirlwind from Now and Then, Here and There (If you know this anime… I respect you), felt like stepping out of a violent storm into a warm, quiet room filled with golden afternoon light. It was a breath of fresh air. A gentle reset for the heart. A soothing balm for a soul that just went through hell.

The first time I watched Tsuki ga Kirei, I admired how sincere it was. It was quiet, a bit awkward, and ... just felt real like watching two actual kids slowly figure out what love is. Nothing felt forced or overly dramatic. It just unfolded naturally, at its own pace, and that’s what made it so special.

But watching it a second time, after going through the emotional wreckage of Now and Then, Here and There (seriously, if you’ve seen it, you know), it hit me on a whole different level. That show showed me the absolute worst of humanity, and then Tsuki ga Kirei came along and gently reminded me of the good: empathy, kindness, and how brave it can be to open up to someone and say how you feel.

Kotarou and Akane aren’t perfect or idealized. They’re just two ordinary kids trying to understand their emotions and move forward, and that’s what makes them feel so real. Their relationship isn’t built on dramatic moments or fate, but it’s built on texts, awkward silences, misunderstandings, and tiny acts of honesty. And somehow, that makes it feel just as meaningful as any epic love story.

And the ending… That final message, the epilogue, doesn’t scream, but it hits you right in the heart. It stays true to everything the story was about: quiet love, honest feelings, and the hope of growing up together.

9/10 Not because it's comforting. Not because it offers hope. But because it stares straight into the brutality of war and never looks away.

I've seen a lot of anime that deal with war, trauma, and child soldiers—Victory Gundam, Ideon, 08th MS Team, Bokurano, Grave of the Fireflies, and even Made in Abyss. So I thought I was ready.

I wasn't.

Now and Then, Here and There doesn't rely on giant robots or sci-fi politics. It just shows war at its most brutal: starvation, abuse, manipulation, and the destruction of innocence. The moment when Sara finds out she's pregnant from being raped and then tries to take her ... own life completely shattered me. It's one of the most brutal scenes I've ever watched.

And yet, Shu's optimism, his refusal to give in or give up, ends up being the heart of the whole story. Not because it's unrealistic, but because it's his only weapon in a world where everything else is broken.

I gave Now and Then, Here and There a 9 because it doesn't sugarcoat anything. It's raw. Unforgiving. Every episode, I had to grind my teeth and tell myself, "It's going to get better."

It never did.

And that's exactly why it's one of the most powerful anime I've ever seen.

I'll never rewatch this anime. But I'm glad I saw it.

Victory Gundam is one of the most intense and emotional series in the entire franchise. It’s dark and sometimes brutal, but what makes it stand out is that it doesn’t shy away from showing the actual cost of war.

The story draws you in from the very beginning, maintaining a heavy tone throughout. However, it’s not just about tragedy; it also emphasizes resilience, hope, and the importance of pushing forward even when everything seems lost. That message resonated with me.

The main characters, particularly the young pilot, endure significant challenges, and you truly empathize with them. The mobile suit designs are impressive, with the Victory Gundam being ... sleek, fast, and iconic.

While it’s not the easiest Gundam series to watch due to its serious themes, if you’re looking for a powerful and emotional experience that lingers long after it ends, Victory Gundam is a must-see.