When I was 9 years old, I moved across states, with my new home 800 miles away. Of course, as a child I didn't want to, and saying goodbye was a task I found too heavy for my young heart. Ultimately, I decided to just… not say my goodbyes. I had a lot of close friends as a kid, and though they knew I was leaving, naïve as I was, I did my best to minimize my goodbyes. Prior to my leaving we had all come up with ways to stay in touch, whether that be email or phone numbers; I even had one friend give me their fax number. When I left without as much as a word to most of them and I found myself in the home I still reside in to this day, my torn, immature self decided to leave ties severed. I never contacted any of my friends. I received emails and home phone calls abound, and yes, even a faxed letter once. It felt nothing more to me than a burden to exist in their memories, that our times together should end at the loss of the here and now. This had unintended repercussions on my mental health and I feel as though my move ultimately split my life into two arcs. I was a completely different person as a child in my hometown. My severance became a split in my mind, and almost overnight I had lost my extrovertedness and sociable child self. I became awkward, introverted, unable to fit in, and in no doubt contributed to the mental health and self image issues I coexist with today at 24. To this day I still feel as though I am living in my second self, and my first one lies in the same forgotten realm with the memories of my childhood friends.

I would say it wasn't even until my late teens, probably pushing past my early 20s that I started to really mold myself back together. Building connections on social media gradually grew me onto the importance of holding on to your connections. Nowadays I am adamant on it and I do my absolute best to maintain the healthy links I have with my friends and peers today. I've found that there is no value in letting go the way I did long ago.

Klonoa is a tragic character. A called-upon savior, fated to always be a stranger in other people's worlds, to always save the day, and doomed to always leave behind the friends he makes. In his first outing, he attempts to reject this doom. He was young and naïve, but there was no resolution for him at the end of his time in Phantomile. He must always return in the end.

And later, thus begins his mission in Lunatea. Time has passed; he is noticeably older, and his demeanor, still loudly optimistic and unwavering, is noticeably more reserved. His attitude towards his companions, this time a young aspiring Priestess Lolo and her puppet companion Popka, shares none of his dynamic with his first companion from times past. He makes no long-term promises, he doesn't speak of his life or muse over his future like he did as a child. He is now always aware of his fate at the end (and so are you, the player) and has since adjusted his solicitousness. It's noticeable that he's had a number of off-screen adventures between the years. Klonoa isn't saving the world he knows and loves like he assumed back in Phantomile. In the end, he is always fated to say goodbye, and onto the next one. He’s resigned to his role as an eternal passerby.

The day is saved, the Veil of Lunatea has been lifted, and the inevitable runs its course. His demeanor here is one of full resignation, but it isn’t until his companion sheds tears and holds him tight in refusal, a complete reversal of that dichotomy from when we last saw him leave Phantomile, that the true extent of his maturity is spoken:

“I believe that if you don’t forget the sadness of this moment, we’ll always be together.”

To rescind the notion of leaving things as memory, to disregard that which ends purely because they end; that was the mistake I made as a child, that it isn’t enough to just cry out the losses. That which spells tears must also be overcome. To not heal from the powers that hurt you was Lunatea’s Veil. Sorrow cannot just exist as something to forget or beat down, it must ring in harmony with Indecision, Discord, Joy, Tranquility.

This wasn't just a revelation to be made at the end of this story, it was reminded along the way. On the final leg of the journey, as Klonoa traversed the empty, ruined kingdom of Hyuponia, he's followed by a harrowing, cacophonous symphony of his past. It would be wrong to assume that even though Klonoa moreorless accepts his role as a Dream Traveller that he has also healed from his hurt. Sorrow will always follow. It will taunt you. It will make you cry. The hurt must be risen above. The greatest Sorrow of all is the false acceptance that the loss of what you love has to be forgotten.