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'. 

#LoveHiko

 The last few days before leaving is the absolute worst. Is it excitement that I feel? Anxiousness? I may even be a bit sad. As I hear the rain prattle on, I think of all the things I wanted to say to those I will not see again, for a good while at least. Having spent almost a year in a town which at first glance can offer absolutely nothing worth staying for, its treasure-- aside from the nationally recognised heritage site of Hikone Castle-- is its tranquility that can strengthen bonds, because if there is nothing else to do, best enjoy the company of each other. 

One year. I wouldn't say that this is enough but I wouldn't say that it is, either. Especially when the better half of my life here coexisted with the peak of Covid-19 and I had to spend everyday in my room, attending Zoom classes seated on the floor until I couldn't feel my buttocks, or legs. At some point I started to lie down in bed, or did stretching exercises. By tilting my laptop screen upwards, they could only see my head anyway. Besides, I doubt that anyone really paid full attention after the first hour.

During those months of beautiful spring weather, the only places I bothered going to were the 7-Eleven that's 3 minutes away, and the supermarket. Even the Cafe/Bakery I worked at took a month off, stopping its eat-in services for a while. I was called in again once they decided that it was probably safe to let customers dine in again so my workplace was added to the rather short list of places I go to when I'm not in bed feeling bitter about the pandemic. To be honest, I thought I was going to get infected at some point and die in Japan without seeing my family, but I'm glad that didn't happen, and surely, won't happen. Even if I get it now, I'll die on Malaysian soil. 

It is now nearing the end of summer and the hidden gems of Hikone keep popping up on my Instagram feed. When I said that at first glance, Hikone appears to be a deadbeat town with little to offer, this is what I meant. Retro Machiya turned cozy cafes, artisan chocolate, a good number of French Patisseries-- all tucked in random alleyways under the shadow of Hikone Castle. One such gem, which is rather conspicuous considering its strategic location that's next to the castle's outer moat, is my lovely place of Arubaito, Pomme d'Amour.  The owner is as sweet as their dessert and the always welcoming temperature paired with the aroma of freshly baked Croissants, has made it one of my favourite places here. That is to say, because I spend 3 to 4 days a week working 8 hour shifts there, it had become a place of familiarity and on my off days, I can never even finish the leftover goods I bring home so I rarely ever go to other Cafes. Though stumbling upon Pomme through the recommendation of a dear friend, has been the biggest blessing, and also one of the main reason why I was able to live out a satisfying life as a short-term exchange student. The love I felt, is real. Which brings me to my next wordy point full of the gratefulness so uncharacteristic of me: 

My time in Hikone would have been an absolute hell if it weren't for the people I've spent most of my days here with, whether it be those who came with me, or those I met after arriving in this town that's obsessed with a fat cat who wears a Kabuto. There are a few people I have in mind, and when I think of them, this urge to thank them over and over again rises like a wave, but I can only do so much as smile. I wonder if they know, that they are the reason I'm happy now. Some I sent letters, others I didn't, or haven't.  

Of all my experiences living here and there, meeting whoever and whoever, Hikone has been one that I cherish and hold dear the most. This, I can say from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for teaching me that happiness exists in being kind and being able to laugh together. It's no wonder that the people here are hippies who live for all things organic and all things vegan. Biwako's glistening waters may have their own secret after all. 

一年間、ありがとうございました！

#LoveHiko 

「い」

 汗まみれの体に虫だらけの真夏。3週間前、庭に植えた草はもう枯れてしまった。今の降っている小雨、もう少し前に訪れてくれればよいのに。で、私も水をやればいいのに。毎日クーラーで作り上げた涼しい環境で外の生き物を眺め、眺め、眺め続ける無責任の私は草に申し訳ない。

罪悪感を感じた今、私は水筒に残っているわずかな水を外に持って行って、あの救えない草にやった。飲んでたのかな。もう完全に枯れ切ったなのに。この哀れな荒廃した庭、ちっとも気に入らない。にもかかわらず、トンボはあっちこっちに飛んでいて、庭で鬼ごっこでも楽しそうに遊んでいる。こんなのは見たくもないのだが、目が引かれている。

「ろ」

 残暑の下に、私は久しぶりにアスファルトと向き合った。その眩しい昼間に琵琶湖の強い風、紙で作られたわけでもない私が自転車から転んでしまった。幻ではないかと思う私は後ろからの「大丈夫ですか」をはっきり聞いていた。今でも、脛に貼ってあるアンパンマンデザインのきずテープやももの青あざが証拠として残っている。

私は「ごめんなさい」と言った。「大丈夫」じゃなくて、「ありがとう」じゃなくて、落ちたぼうしを拾ってくれた人に「ごめんなさい」と言った。あれ、なぜ私が誤ってたのか？痛いのはこちらなのに？知らずに私は私を責めてしまった。弱くて情けない、もっとも嫌な気質がまさか最初から身に付けているとは。その後、体が震えている原因は擦り傷の痛みではなかったかもしれない。

「は」

 私、20年遅れたかもしれない。かつて子供たちが持っていた夢、なおさらこの瞳の奥に輝いている。希望は光っているのなら、その陰に眠っているのは絶望。誰かが送ってくれた幸せはいずれに去っていくのだろう。どのくらいかな、微笑みの飾れる時間。

わたがしのように、貴方への思いが甘く、柔らかく、たまらない。すぐ溶ける糖分が体中に盛り上がり、これが幸せだとばかりに雲より遠い場所まで連れて行く。けれど空に飛んでいても、見つかるのはただ白い白い飛行機雲。金色の雲はどこにある？

いつも手に入れないものばかりが欲しい。目の前に伸ばしてきた手をよそに、私はその伸ばそうともしない腕しか望んでいない。

「に」

░独░り░で ░考░え░て░し░ま░う░よ░ね░ ░か░す░か░な░明░か░り░が░身░を░照░ら░し░て░い░る░ ░隣░の░空░い░て░い░る░部░屋 ░誰░も░歩░い░て░い░な░い░廊░下 ░今░夜░は░意░外░と░寂░し░く░感░じ░て░い░る░ ░何░も░か░も░ ░思░い░の░な░い░夏░休░み ░刹░那░に░開░く░花░火░よ░り░短░く░て░眩░し░い░ ░目░覚░め░な░

Ghost

In memories shrouded by cigarette smoke, on hazy nights lost in the incessant hums of the air conditioner where my mind's eye can barely see the line between being awake and being asleep, I feel your warmth on my cheek, the beating of your heart, and how your chest rises and falls with every breath. You, are very real. Yet when it comes to knowing you, only fleeting instances of the coffee you ordered, that doughnut we shared, barely make up who you are.

Two bodies sharing the same bed. Nothing more. The TV glows late into the night and your eyes, streaked with red, are fixed onto moving pictures. Your rough hand cups my shoulder but do you feel it? Impenetrable as you are, as tight as these thin lips stay.

Somewhere in the dim light, there is a sound of a click. A fire flickers. I hear the Marlboro seep deep into your lungs, as though you want to dye your soul in its minty fumes just as well. Every bud that burns through, who are they burnt for? I pretend to be asleep, listening for answers in the smoke you exhale.

We are connected but shut off from each other's world. In modern terms: the Wi-Fi that connects to a device but fails to grant access to the internet. Yes, that is exactly how we are. I shouldn't let it bother me but I get stuck on the possibility that you might be thinking about it as well-- if you are indeed, like me.

And perhaps because you are like me, we can never open up. Beyond the clandestine curtains of our meetings, there is a lover that cannot be abandoned. Still, we seek that pleasure again and again, lost and frustrated, taking the blame out on the reflection of our misery. It doesn't matter if we like each other or not, because we feel the weight of our fault as we rest against the other.

I think, on this Spring morning where dark clouds loom and the winds of Biwako cast its timely wrath against the branches of trees still in winter slumber, I have come to accept our meaningless connection. We are but drifting souls caught up in each other's thread for the time being. Once my time here is up, so shall we slip past our memories and the sensations of a dream so real, never to materialize again.