I know that everyone here understands the power of online communities and the friendships you make in them. Racketboy has always felt like an alma mater to me, with the folks I've known the longest or who were the most active when I joined feeling like a part of my graduating class. Gunstar was one of my Racketboy classmates, and I'm devastated by the loss of him.
I have very fond memories of spending a lot of time in the Racket Slack in the mid 2010s, and Gunstar was always a regular there. He was the kind of person who never failed to be genuinely enthusiastic about what
you were excited about. Just a steady, positive presence -- the kind of person you'd describe as the bedrock of something, or the glue that holds things together. The kind of person whose presence is going to be sorely missed by everybody, because he added something lovely to everyone's lives just by being around.
So, I'm going to take you back in time a little bit and tell you my favorite memory of Gunstar.
One day, all those years ago, the Slack chat got talking about Gundam model kits. Gunstar mentioned that he'd always wanted to try building one but had always hesitated because he wasn't sure he'd be skilled enough to do it. We cheered him on pretty hard, and over time he not only got into the kits, but became seriously accomplished at the artistry of post-build detailing: penwork, topcoats, and the pinpoint application of ridiculously tiny stickers.
Some time later while I was downsizing for a cross-country move I reached out to him to see if he'd like to adopt my own two unadorned Gunpla. They were intended as gifts for him to keep and practice on, but to my surprise, after he'd detailed my favorite one, he pinged me to say he was ready to come home if I wanted him. This is how my beloved baby Juaggu returned to me looking super sharp from what we called his "spa treatment," with just the right amount of stickers to look elegantly badass.
Through our conversations it was clear that Gunstar weathered his condition with an almost unreal level-headedness. We commiserated sometimes over medical stuff, and he would give me updates on his latest checkups or procedures in the same tone that one might describe their daily errands ("Well, I went to the store and did this, and then after that I got gas, then I figured I might as well do this other thing, and now I'm at home and resting!"). No lamenting, no hand-wringing... just a clear-eyed view and a deep trust in his decisions and those of the people who cared for him. This is someone who was grateful for life and enjoyed it. It was our honor to know him.
I want to end this by sharing one last anecdote. In the Twitch retro circles I roll in there's another person with Gunstar in their handle, so whenever GunstarGreen would show up, I would call him "
my Gunstar," in the way you do to differentiate a dear old friend from others of the same name. I can't express how much I hate that I'm eulogizing him right now, or how much I wish I'd talked to him more in recent years. He resonated with so many of us, and will always be
my Gunstar, my dear old friend.
More [large] pictures of Juaggu under the spoiler: