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Being a pokémon trainer is to constantly assemble detachable parts. To be ready to change any composition of moves in the battle. To feel that, at any moment, you must take a shot to give a powerful return.
You only become a pokémon trainer by experience. There is no inatism, or hidden abilities that can prepare you. Just go, lose and learn. Knowing that the times you win are part of the process, as are the losses. You will lose, win, but those are occurrences that only come in the middle.
There is no end, unless you decide to walk a different path. It is not my case, however. I would never change anything on my journeys, or even stop traveling.
Being a pokémon trainer is, also, encountering other living creatures. Humans, pokémon, the flora we try to assemble as ours, our property. There is nothing in the world that we can truly call as “properties”, belongings. Everything is alive. We can be transformed by a song, from the silence to the sound of pidgeys announcing a new day.
Immersed in the universe, you are a part of it. Modified, deterritorialized, inspired.
I do not believe in such things as autopilots when the world around us is vibrant and powerful.
Once, at the age of thirty, a friend decided to ask me if I would, someday, produce an autobiography.
I told her that, as long as I am breathing and traveling, I am constantly writing my life. That said, no book could resume it.
As a forty eight year old man, white strands marking the black hair, Ash enjoys spending his mornings staring at the view his house’s widow has to offer. The place he often takes to sleep varies from a sofa in a friend’s house to his own bed, the one he shares with his soon-to-be-husband. Someone who still did not contain an infinite amount of energy, the trainer had to adapt to his body’s new demands, traveling shorter distances and avoiding nights outdoors. The prohibition of sleeping in tents came as an intimate, tacit, agreement, to prevent his back pains.
Aging is boring. Not a funny part at all. He could see by Pikachu, his partner, who despite developing a trained figure, seemed to need more effort than the habitual to climb trees and run as he used to do in the past.
Or Professor Oak, who had to abandon field research after fracturing a leg, without any possibility of going out of the wheelchair.
One day, your joints start to work differently, your eyesight is bad to the point you need glasses to read properly and your hearing is not the same.
Nevertheless, there is, also, nice changes. He can see the way he used to see life as an immature ten year old boy. It still gives him chills, to be precise. The Champion can see the development of a new mindsets all around those autumns, from the bright, slightly egocentric, simplest and reactive self to the thrive of an experienced, ripe, tolerant adult. It started the alteration of the idealistic way of thinking to a realistic one. Which does not mean that Ketchum stopped dreaming, he only started to see the rocks along the path, measure and take precautions without ignoring them.
Man, that was difficult. But look at him now. Alola Champion the thirtieth year, losing his crown as the world’s strongest trainer last competition, to a ten year old child. Still in contact with his old friends, constantly visiting and traveling with them. Engaged to his best male friend, who quickly became professor Cerise’s successor, despite being one of the most prodigious researchers to even study Mew. Knowing new people and pokémon every year along with his yellow buddy.
Not a bad thing at all.
Ash, from some years later, would be dying for losing his rank.
Ash, the actual Ash, is still training and battling. Not to get it back, as an revenge, but because it brings him joy. It is not about becoming unbeatable, but how this lifestyle can potentialize his life.
Or, as his adoptive brother, Lei, uses to say, “It’s all about having fun”. He is so proud of the younger one. The trainer can not stop imagining what kind of tactics he would bring next year.
People change. No matter the occurrences. It was such a long path for him to actually accept it.
It always comes. One way or another.
After spending what seemed to be an hour lost in thoughts, adorned by the view of the garden he and Goh are neglecting to take care of, the man got out of his chair in the living room to walk towards the kitchen. It was still early, however, due to the tiredness of flying all the way to Mount Lanakila in Charizard, he was wasted enough to fall asleep before catching up with his lover. Just to realize how it truly hurts the next day of doing those things at his age. But it was good.
That said, Ash decided to ignore the slight discomfort in his back to reach a bung of eggs, milk and flour. He can cook now. Without poisoning anyone or burning the whole house.
He got to munch a chocolate pancake while baking the rest of the dough. About a bite to finish it when arms hugged his body from behind. Morning break kisses planted on his already bruised neck.
Goh also changed, as expected. He is still a funny one, of course, however, he became way more irritating, as now he is aware of Ketchum’s weaknesses, as the trainer’s spine reached to the caresses.
“Why are you here?” Came the voice in his ear, provoking a smile. The brown eyed man’s hands reached his, entwining the fingers as the position allowed. Those mornings started to become more and more usual, however, it never stopped to reach his senses in such a pleasant way.
Ash loves him. It can be stated by the way he ignored the slight smell of burned dough, while closing his eyes.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Indeed. I slept very well last night.”
“Nice. My back is killing me.”
“Poor you. What happened? Who hurt my precious fiancé?”
“If you don’t know, I have no idea either.”
Their love only began to flourish without any tethers twelve years before they could call each other friends. But Ash does not feel like they lost any time, since friendship is an inherent part of their relationship, and will always be.