New Year not so New Me

 This year, I'm not going to try to become a better person, consciously. I've decided that it'll be a year where I'll meet up with all the people I've missed, and be honest with everyone. Let me make it clear: I'm frank but I'm not always honest, and even though I don't tell a lie, whatever I say isn't always the truth. Maintaining relationships require some empty words at times. Even though I don't see a lot of people, rarely drop anyone a text, or have anyone strike up a conversation with me, of the times that I do have the occasional human interaction, I filter in my head 99 horrible thoughts to find the 1 sentence which is inoffensive. As you can imagine, it's exhausting indeed. 

When somebody tells me how great somebody else is doing, I'd say wow, good for them! but I would like to have answered with 'so?' instead. Both of them are conversation stoppers but the former doesn't offend whoever is speaking. I still have so much rage inside me, and if the lid comes loose, there'll be wafts of smoke: I Don'T CaRe FFS stOp tAlKing aBouT oThEr peoPLe yOu MiseRabLe BiTch

Over the years, the container which houses my salty pettiness and rage has gone through many significant upgrades that now, even if its contents manage to leak, there's a filtration system in place to ensure that whatever gets out still does minimum harm. Like 'so?' 

It's nothing more than an excuse at this point, but in order to see some of the wonderful people in my life, I'd have to fly (though not very far but still) and spend some time where they are. So I've also added travel to my short list of new year resolutions. I haven't any savings but as I've always found a way to survive, I'll make it through-- at least I hope so. 

One country I've put off visiting for too long is China. I wanna go eat fruits in XiAn, explore the ancient city and take photos of the terracotta warriors! Then there's a friend in Zhejiang who said she'll bring me to Wuzhen, also a historical town with much of its ancient charms still preserved. How much should I save for my grand Chinese tour? If I start now, I'll be able to go in 2024. Which brings me to my third resolution for the year-- Grand Chinese Tour Piggy Bank. 

I prefer travelling alone since I'd have nobody to bicker with, but it gets lonely, and I'd have nobody to take photos of me. Counting the very few friends I have off the top of my head, even if there are people who I would travel with, I doubt that they'd take a month off work just to go on holiday with me. Plus, would they even be able to afford it? Not saying that they're troubled financially, but unlike a certain someone, people have great plans for the future. I am irresponsible at best. 

Fantasies of a wonderful holiday aside, I've been thinking of going back to school, getting a masters in something. The only reason is because work is under stimulating and reading non-fiction or research papers in my spare time simply makes me feel like a psychopath. A masters in literature would be a disaster, considering what happened the last time I decided to study literature. Folklore would be nice, and since the stories aren't 3000 pages long, I should suffer a lot less. Then I start thinking, what on earth am I supposed to do after that? Imagine how it'd go at my next  job interview: 

So you quit your job to get a masters in... Folklore? 

Yes. 

Why? 

For fun. 

...

...

If you're reading, I think you know what field I'm in these days. Maybe I should just get as many external certifications as possible, and ruin my life further by crawling deeper and deeper into the hole of IT where the deeper I go, the less sleep I get. The future is dark, cold, and sleepless. I will admit it's fun to figure out what's wrong, and telling your clients NO YOU CAN'T DO THAT YOU DUMB FUCK in polite Japanese, but I'm not sure if I'd like to go down this path. What I enjoy most is still working at a cafe, or at a place with nice decor where I can dress up and blend in with the shop interior. Isn't it perfectly fine to want very simple jobs...? After all, we're working to survive, and not the other way around. 

I'll be 27 this year and I'm more lost than I've ever been. When I'm in a new place, I just walk wherever the road takes me and make a turn at a corner I think looks cute, or walk into a street with a funny name. I'd get lost and anxious but I'd never admit it because anywhere, is somewhere. I've applied the same philosophy to living my life and you may laugh at me now, for having no sense of direction whatsoever, vulnerable and insecure from all perspectives, be it financial or professional. 

Oh, and a lot of the people I went to school with have gotten married, pushed a baby or two out of their wombs, and lead a seemingly nice life playing House. Meanwhile, I'm eyeing the ungrateful mutt who lives with me, asleep with his belly exposed at three in the afternoon because he spent all night barking and headbutting the sliding doors. Do I seem happy on social media as well? I guess I'll have to find out from the people I'm going to see. 

For now, life's not all that bad, if I don't think about what lies ahead. 
お互い良い一年を 

720 Days Later

It hadn't occurred to me that it's been two years since I last visited. 

The last time I'd visited was when I'd been confined in a hotel room, overlooking the crowd of shoppers and not-so-carefree salary (wo)men of Bukit Bintang. Two weeks of breathing in the musty air-conditioned air of an old hotel; by the third day, I remember, I was pressing my face against the window trying to suck in whatever air that could permeate through the glass panels they use at 5-star hotels. 
I still find it a little hard to breathe when I think about those two weeks, but I would gladly be locked up in that fancy deluxe room again. 

Two years, two awfully long years, where did all the time go? I wonder, if I wasted more seconds that I could count. As they say though, no news is good news, so there might be that slight-- ever so slight-- possibility that I've spent the past 720 days or so dancing in the fields, flower behind my ear. 

No, none of that. Although, there might have been a flower behind my ear at some point. 

But has it really been two years? I remember long days at home: waking up next to my laptop and starting work, while still under the blankets, half asleep. Then I would go downstairs, go out into the garden and greet all three dogs. One of those days in January ended in rain and in sorrow, as the sun set, only two furry companions were left. 

We never really got over his death. My sister's lockscreen is a slideshow of the black furball, and my mother would look as though a wisp of her soul got sucked out of her at the mere mention of Casper.

 My heart still aches when I scroll through my camera album, and I see him, smiling, rolling around in freshly cut grass, but in the next photo, I see his round eyes glazed over and tongue purple. My baby died in my arms. 

I had no idea what happened in 2021. The whole year was a blur, or rather, blurred over by this film that wrapped itself around my days. The film, as you might have guessed, is called Work. Days blend together and suddenly we're here in September 2022. 

Far from being a millionaire, my bank account balance is still staying the same as it had been during my student days, even though I actually have a job now. It's one of my life's mysteries that no matter how hard I try, I cannot save. The Mystery of Rachel's Stagnant Savings Account-- both a horror and a mystery at the same time. My life is quite thrilling, in that sense. Now, I accept donations. 

In January, I'd lost my dog, but in July, I lost my grandfather. 

Ever since then, there's a sort of worry, a twitch in my eyebrows, and a knit between them. Can you blame me? If it starts to rain again one evening, I can't be sure that there's not going to be call, or a text, informing me that someone else has passed on. No news really is good news.

As time goes on, and everyone gets older, some a lot older than I would like, it isn't the fear of growing old that brings anxiety, but the fear that the days I can spend with the people I love are coming to an end. Those who took care of me, the food I will never get to taste again, and old traditions I will not carry on... These are the thoughts which would make an adult wail, and wail, and wail. 

 My grandmother sometimes forget, that my grandfather is no longer with us. 

She sits in her wheelchair all day, at times awake, at times vacant. There's still no telling what's going on in her head, if there's anything at all. I feel sorry, and can only hope that she'd been happy at some point in her life. What makes a parent proud? What makes a grandparent dote on their offspring's offspring? Love, as they say, is unconditional, so maybe, to them, we're just too cute. 

I don't claim to know how someone who has pushed a baby or two out of their bodies actually feels about loving their children, but I have a pup which I love. Even if it shits and pees on my carpet, gets a huge pile of shit stuck to its arse, chews my furniture, and eats my money away,
I find that I don't mind-- I do, but then it's too cute.

What else is there? 

Uneventful as my days usually are, I've probably mentioned the significant changes in my life since the last update. In case you might be wondering, I'm still not any closer to achieving my hopes and dreams (goals are nonexistent) so, if I may quote those unhelpful self-motivational "advice" giving assholes: hopes and dreams will always just stay as hope, and dreams. 

Do You Get What I'm Trying to Say?

 I tried scrolling through my dark history and scraping it out of existence but with this new layout, it's too much work. I can only stand being reminded of what I used to be for no more than 5 seconds. It's embarrassing. I'M EMBARASSING. At 23, I think I will have to accept that I am this delusional bastard who refuses to get a grip, despite having said that I will, eventually. But that time hasn't come, and I doubt it ever will. Once pathetic, always pathetic. Or something like that. 

I came across some old poetry. "Poetry". All this while, I'm amazed that I managed to click on the bright orange publish button and let these words float somewhere in the dense cloud we call the internet. It is likely no one has found them, and I hope nobody has. Actually, I think that it's more probable for someone to find a message stuffed into a bottle and thrown into the sea, than this blog. Like the test papers we keep under piles of old reference books, this blog is hard to reach, though in the first place it doesn't stir anyone's interest enough for them to even want to take a peek. 

As long as I'm happy, it doesn't matter, right? Going nowhere is absolutely fine. I like it better when I see the sights of rice fields and old houses pass by anyway, because then I wouldn't have to do anything, but watch. Then I reach my destination and I'd have to move, think of something to do, or look busy just to fit in when really, I just want to be leaning against a wall, staring blankly at the changing destination signs, my gaze following the stream of commuters that flow past the gates after each arrival. 

Hello, Pulis? 

I swear I'm not a stalker. 

Where do you suppose I'll be once I'm 30? Time seems to move faster, but our lives are somehow delayed. Prolonged studies, listless job hunts, late marriage, and an ageing population of single, melancholy sacks of meat past their sell-by date. If I die at 50, which I hope I do, I wouldn't need to worry about post-retirement since I'll be long dead before I can retire. Realistically speaking however, I will likely live past the age of 65 unless some (un)fortunate accident were to happen. That would be the biggest surprise I'd ever receive. 

There's no theme to any of this which makes it hard to end. Don't just say that I can cut it off with a "goodbye" or "goodnight" because it wouldn't feel right. Think about all the relationships that you've had, how did they end? Now think about all the people who you've made a connection with but decided that you'd be better off never seeing each other again, how did you cut them off? I'm thinking too much? Yes, I am, and that is why I can't find the proper goodbye. I don't want this to end, I don't want anything to end, but all things must come to an end. Goodnight. 

あなた、信じられる？

 最近ストーカーに関する短編小説を読んだ。その後、ストーカー被害を受けていた男に経験したことを語ってもらった。当時に住んでいる寮の鍵を盗まれたり、部屋に忍び込まれたりされたという話だ。ストーカーは女の子であった。あの女はどういう気持ちに行動したのだろう。彼の煙草を吸っている間に、涙でもこぼれてしまったのでは？

彼の優しさに触られたあの子、そして手を伸ばしてやった彼。あの2人の中に好意がそれぞれ咲いていた。と言いたいが、親切な彼にとって、好意は誰にも表すものだという。男のぬくもりの知らないあの子には、ほんの少しだけのその熱さが芯に火をつけた。燃えていく、燃えていた。

この話には続きなど一切ない。ではなぜかこの話をしていたというのか。さあ。何十年後、例の男はまだどこかで炎を煽いでいるのかもしれない。だって、男は信じられないもの。

Exhaustion from a Wave of Optimism that I should have known too good to be true

 Aren't we all too connected? I'm exhausted at having the world condensed into a 5.8" screen that weighs approximately 150 grams. It fits into the palm of my hands, and gives me no excuse to refuse participation in the on-goings of the world despite being isolated in a room I cannot leave, 8 floors above the supposedly busy streets of Bukit Bintang. Would it be irresponsible of me if I deliberately made myself unreachable? As I should be. 

Closed-off and shut in like a diseased pig, I should lose all sense of time save for discerning when it is day, and when it is night. Though that is not the case, as I can know down to the second this precise instant is. I stand by the wide panes, never once thinking that I should like to join the slow walkers and backpack carrying salary men.  

Scrolling through my WhatsApp history, what used to be a friends and family only chatting application now hosts a a string of unsaved, and unknown numbers, offering me jobs that were never intended for me, asking for details then never heard from again. And I sigh, losing hope with each breath. Since a young age, I knew I never wanted a life like this. So I thought I could write, write my way out of the socially paved order of things but that also amounted to nothing. 

To say that the future is looking grim when ever since the start of this year the planet has gone to shit, is I think, at this point in time, nothing more than a silent whimper. I had been hopeful. The blue skies of Hikone and its crying cicadas gave me the energy of an excited child during summer vacation. But now that I've left and can no longer hear the creatures calling out from the bushes, the echoes of city life that knock on my window day and night demand a compensation for that carefree summer full of optimism, loud with laughter. Now that good times have ended, I have to bear the weight that comes off as the flip-side of happiness. 

I have another 11 days to sort myself out before I step into the giant pressure cooker that's preparing a dish called 'Future of Rachel'.