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There is no emotion, there is peace.
A year before Ahsoka ever set foot on a battlefield or leaped out of a LAAT with a lightsaber blazing, she was already fighting a war. It was a war against herself and the emotions swirling beneath a careful facade of calm—a constant, ever-present fight in the back of her mind that refused to go away.
Sometimes the emotions slipped free, spilling around the lid that she struggled to keep over the churning maelstrom beneath. In these moments, the bottled feelings bled into her actions—urging her to put just a little bit of extra force behind her training saber during a session or pulling at her expression during meditation. Sometimes it brought tears to her eyes and coaxing large, fat drops of frustration and disappointment and shame to roll down her cheeks.
The inevitable explosion of anger ate away at her core like a poison, feeding into a terrible sense of failure. Experiences, victories, achievements—what good did they make when she felt like a fraud? The whispers spoke in her mind as she walked the halls with datapads clutched to her chest, a Jedi cloak wrapped tightly about her shoulders, mud stains still standing out against the rough cloth from group missions with the other younglings—a victorious moment that she could not accept.
A perfectionist, that’s what her instructors said she was, someone who always wanted to do better, to do more. But no matter how much praise she received, the anxiety kept growing. She was terrified of failure, and that there would be no place for her among the Jedi ranks; the thought of a Master seeing that fear, that deep sense of apprehension and instability, was petrifying.
The war was in full swing, the Republic forces spread wide across the galaxy, forces led by Jedi—by legends like Yoda, Master Wendu and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Ahsoka wanted to be there, to help as best as she could, but also to become like those Jedi. To be powerful. Balanced.
Those Jedi didn’t have fear, they couldn’t. No Jedi was supposed to feel such a thing.
But Ahsoka did. She always did.
She felt it when she checked her test results and submitted her papers, when she mounted the obstacle course during practice and during sparring. She even felt it when she was doing nothing, the act of relaxing coming across like an icy dagger to her mind—a betrayal and mark of weakness.
Her confidence came in the form of a gentle hand that one day dropped onto her shoulder as she practiced katas in the practice dojo. By all means, she should have sensed another presence, but, as she had discovered over time, fear led to anger and such emotions led to inattention. Inattention that she knew was a rookie mistake, juvenile and silly for someone so close to graduation.
Ahsoka nearly jumped out of her skin, stumbling forward and uttering a soft cry as she made a mad scramble to recollect herself. Her control slipped, and a wave of embarrassment and shame crashed down upon her shoulders. Eyes burning, she bowed, mind still fighting to grasp the fact that she was facing a legend—a Jedi who she’d only watched in passing and tracked via the holo.
A hero, that’s who he was, and one of her role-models. He was a legend that she feared and respected, someone she’d only dream of meeting one day.
“Calm yourself, young one.”
For the man known for his icy glare, for his resolve in diplomacy, and skills on the battlefield, Master Kenobi’s voice sounded… kind. The same sense was reflected in the Force, as his presence reflected a light not unlike that of a small sun—warm and welcoming.
“I’m sorry, Master—” Ahsoka stammered, “I was distracted.”
A smile played about the Master’s lips. “It’s alright, no need to apologize. From what I have heard from others today, it has been a difficult week for everyone.”
Ahsoka breathed, struggling to calm herself. She felt shaky and oddly dizzy, still in shock at the current circumstance—the state in which she’d been found still sending ripples of shame and self-consciousness through her.
It was only after Master Kenobi offered her a datapad that Ahsoka noticed he was holding a stack of them, the thin, digital devices held against his body.
“Congratulations, Ahsoka, you’ve been selected as a Padawan learner.”
Laughter welled up inside her, nearly bursting free as she took the proffered datapad, nearly dropping it.
“I…” She swallowed thickly. “Thank you, Master.”
Master Kenobi nodded, smiling. “You’ve been assigned, but your prospective status is secure. Even I do not know who your Master will be as of yet, but it would be best for you to prepare yourself for anything. These days, your first meeting with your Master may be offworld. The datapad has more details on the procedure.”
Ahsoka shook herself and nodded. “I understand.”
For a moment, both of them stood there, a deep sense of awkwardness blanketing across the room. Then, Master Kenobi’s expression softened. “Are you alright?”
Ahsoka so dearly wanted to impress him, for him to somehow see her commitment and desire to be selected by him as a Padawan—as impossible as it was. Even so, the words seemed to slip past her lips before she could stop them, urged on by the surprisingly warm and comfortable presence and energy he exuded in the Force.
“I… I’m not sure.”
Master Kenobi stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder, eyes twinkling. “It’s understandable you’d be under a lot of pressure right about now, Ahsoka. Graduating year is a difficult time. But have confidence in your abilities. There is no shame in making mistakes, and there’s certainly no shame in feeling the way you do.”
Ahsoka blinked. How did he know? How in all hells could he know? She’d been doing so much to try and hide her anger and fear… How?
“Being a Jedi doesn’t mean you can’t have those feelings. It’s about how we manage them when they come—how we let them go through the Force.” Master Kenobi began to retreat back toward the dojo exit. As he reached the door, he cast a glance over his shoulder. “I have faith in you, young one, don’t hold yourself back.”
Ahsoka felt the beginnings of a sob work its way up her throat, constricting her breathing. She wanted to bawl, to do nothing by plop down and let the tears slip free as the anxiety—months in the making—relinquished its iron grip from her shoulders. Master Kenobi smiled and she returned the expression, bowing to him once more as he swept from the room.
“Thank you, Master,” she whispered as the tears finally came, “thank you.”
There is no emotion, there is peace…
But a Jedi must embrace both.