Lost in anime land

What brings you to the United States?” the immigration officer asked, as he scanned the faces of my two granddaughters who had traveled with me from Manila. “We’re on holiday and will be visiting relatives,” I replied. “And where are you going?” he probed. “Mainly Los Angeles,” I said. “My granddaughters want to attend an anime convention.” “A what convention?”

“An anime event,” 22-year-old Julia volunteered, hoping that the officer, an Asian-American, would be familiar with the concept. “You know, animated films, particularly those based on Japanese manga characters,” she explained. “You make films?” he asked her. “No, sir, we’re fans, and the convention is a gathering of anime fans, many of them in costumes.”

“Oh, and when and where is this going to be,” the officer continued as he leafed through the passports looking for our American visas. “The Los Angeles Convention Center starting July 1,” Julia said. “Hmm, sounds interesting,” the still unsmiling officer said as he handed us back our documents. “Enjoy your stay!”

I have five grandchildren. Two flew with me from Manila, two arrived from Singapore with their parents, and one lives in LA. Just to be with all of them together, for almost three weeks, would be gratifying enough for me. I didn’t plan on going with them to any theme park or cosplay convention.

But, as a grandparent, I was curious about what obsessed them, especially the older ones. I wanted to understand what has drawn Julia to Japanese manga since high school, and why 13-year-old Jacinta is such a devoted fan of the drag queens in “RuPaul’s Drag Race” show. I was curious to know what it is about Elon Musk that 11-year-old Xavier admires, and why 7-year-old Alonso could spend hours listening to the pop rock band Imagine Dragons and talking endlessly about “X-Men” actor Ryan Reynolds. I wanted to know why nothing seems more fulfilling for 4-year-old Lila than donning the costume of a Disney princess with her playmates.

Tickets to the anime convention were sold out, but my daughter Nadya had thoughtfully purchased an extra ticket just in case I might want to see what goes on in such gatherings. I didn’t realize until then that the two girls who traveled with me saw the event as the highlight of their visit. Indeed, they had packed their own costumes for the big day. Julia dressed up as the fictional character Gwen Stacy in “Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse.” Jacinta came as Venti, the free spirit in the “Genshin Impact” world. Like his mom and dad, Alonso wore a Spider-man costume. Sporting loose jeans and a button-down shirt, I felt like an alien, totally out of place in a make-believe world inhabited by the most beguiling characters one could imagine.

The humongous venue was already filled with people in colorful outfits when we got there. What greeted us was a dizzying spectacle of characters straight out of video games, manga and Marvel comic books, Disney, and anime. Like a toddler being led into a vast game room, I followed my granddaughters, observing them as their faces glowed in joyful recognition of the characters that had long populated their imaginary worlds.

One character wearing black pants, a white shirt, and a tie looked like an office clerk at first glance. Except that he had a chainsaw for a head, and two more chainsaws by his side instead of arms. Who’s that supposed to be, I kept asking. “Oh, that one is Denji, the ‘Chainsaw Man,’” Julia said. But most of the time, I got no reply. I guess it was their way of telling me to just immerse myself in the moment and be amused.

I decided it was time to let the girls experience the event at their own pace. After agreeing to meet at a designated place at a certain hour, we went our separate ways. I headed out to the restrooms, hoping to find a quiet place nearby where I could rest. To my dismay, there were no seats and there was no quiet corner anywhere. Toward lunchtime, the mostly young crowd moved to the margins and began to sit on the floor to eat their snacks.

Feeling out of breath and thirsty, I searched the cavernous hall for directions to where drinks and snacks were being sold. I saw that the queues were long and decided it would be faster to find the rest of the family than to line up to buy food. I checked my mobile phone and realized that I had lost my Wi-Fi connection. To calm myself, I sat down on the floor, wondering why I was there at all.

Moments later, I headed for the exit to catch some fresh air. Then, the delayed messages started to come in. “Where are you, Lolo?” Julia texted. “We’re having lunch. Take the escalator down and I’ll meet you near the merchandise booth.”

I was never happier than to see familiar faces again. I had spent two hours lost in a world of simulacra, desperately trying to decipher its purpose. I should have known better than to ask why people engage in cosplay. The better question should have been: Why not? As the writer Stuart Jeffries notes in his book “Everything, All the Time, Everywhere”: “Once only artists could do this. But we are all creatives now, all of us makers of masks.”

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