i hate the summer. at least in Japan, i do. it's a weird thing to say for someone who comes from a place that's covered with snow for 5 months out of the year. but in Kyushu it's as if the life force drains out of me along with the sweat, and any cleansing cold showers i take are useless, as the grit and dirt of melancholy stick to my body and refuse to evapourate into the sticky mass of the air, because it can't take any more.
i will be 25 in less than 2 months. i promised myself i wouldn't get depressed about it; in fact the thought hadn't even occurred to me until now. but 25. i should be ... you know, established or something. established as what, that's a damn good question that i don't even begin to know the answer to. yeah, i'm an english teacher and i'm employed and don't even live in the same country as my parents let alone the same house but.... for some reason it's not enough for anyone. i thought it was enough for me, but maybe i was wrong. maybe i'm not strong enough not to succumb to all that crap. all that buying a house and picking out bridesmaid dresses and getting stock options with your giant fortune 500 company employer the hybrid vehicle to show how responsible you are the cheerful abandonment of the sheer unabashed cheeky cockiness of your university days when you were going to change the fucking world and look good doing it.....
choose life.....
Monday, July 30, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
a festival atmosphere
i'd made it as far as the elevator door tonight when i realized how little i wanted to be in the sweatbox that is my apartment. likewise, i didn't want to wander Ekimae street alone, but still i turned around and wandered off into the night.
something about these summer nights -- the air so thick with sea-salty, subtropical moisture it feels like you can grab a sticky handful of it, the faint smell of sulfur exhaled from the mountains, the sound of firecrackers in the distance-- brings me back to my first days in Beppu when i'd wander the streets and sit by the beach by myself. watching the moon glitter off the surface of Beppuwan as the oil slick churned underneath.
tonight, Ekimae-dori was awash with girls in colorful yukata, the breakdancers in front of Tokiwa, crappy reggae covers emanating from the sports bar that i despise (but every foreigner here seems to love), mothers and children attempting to catch fish from plastic kiddie pools, guys screaming solicitations to buy whatever edible item they're selling, and charcoal grill smoke rising up from the stalls on both sides of the street. i walked on the sidewalk instead of going between; thought it would make me less visible. ghostlike.
the isolation. the alienation. feeling invisible and yet painfully aware that everyone must be wondering, "who is this weirdo and why doesn't she have any friends?"feeling like there's no one i can really talk to in any language. knowing that, while i'm acquainted with a ridiculous number of people, i actually have very few friends.
then i'd remember that it was exactly the same way back home. "home." whatever that means.
has my situation really changed all that much in 2 years? i mean, suppose the few people i'm really tight with suddenly ran into visa troubles or started receiving Yakuza death threats or something had to leave the country--i'd be in exactly the same place as before.
there are those here who said they'd take care of me if i were to stay a long time.... but i'm reluctant to count on that. nothing is permanent here.
or maybe i'm just bored in my sweatbox apartment on a Friday night and ruminating.
something about these summer nights -- the air so thick with sea-salty, subtropical moisture it feels like you can grab a sticky handful of it, the faint smell of sulfur exhaled from the mountains, the sound of firecrackers in the distance-- brings me back to my first days in Beppu when i'd wander the streets and sit by the beach by myself. watching the moon glitter off the surface of Beppuwan as the oil slick churned underneath.
tonight, Ekimae-dori was awash with girls in colorful yukata, the breakdancers in front of Tokiwa, crappy reggae covers emanating from the sports bar that i despise (but every foreigner here seems to love), mothers and children attempting to catch fish from plastic kiddie pools, guys screaming solicitations to buy whatever edible item they're selling, and charcoal grill smoke rising up from the stalls on both sides of the street. i walked on the sidewalk instead of going between; thought it would make me less visible. ghostlike.
the isolation. the alienation. feeling invisible and yet painfully aware that everyone must be wondering, "who is this weirdo and why doesn't she have any friends?"feeling like there's no one i can really talk to in any language. knowing that, while i'm acquainted with a ridiculous number of people, i actually have very few friends.
then i'd remember that it was exactly the same way back home. "home." whatever that means.
has my situation really changed all that much in 2 years? i mean, suppose the few people i'm really tight with suddenly ran into visa troubles or started receiving Yakuza death threats or something had to leave the country--i'd be in exactly the same place as before.
there are those here who said they'd take care of me if i were to stay a long time.... but i'm reluctant to count on that. nothing is permanent here.
or maybe i'm just bored in my sweatbox apartment on a Friday night and ruminating.
Friday, July 20, 2007
house plants
my friend left the country today, back to the life that awaits her in Tennessee. she’s not the sort of person i probably would have befriended if not for being foreigners in an absurd country, but i’m very happy that we did.
she had a rather large collection of house plants, most of which she’s entrusted to me.
normally this time of year is when i start mourning the people i’m losing. but you know what, life's too short for that. i am sad to lose her, but grateful for our brief friendship. and for the greenery and fresh oxygen in my apartment.
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