Coming back to the house itself is pleasant, I suppose. The bed here is the most comfortable one I own, and the space in which I can laze about extends beyond the door, to the outside where there's overgrown grass and wet soil. But in my eyes, the mopped tiles and replaced bulbs are signs of aging, where loneliness is disguised as a presentable home.
A house may be presentable and that might as well be called a home. What is the difference? As long as its front is welcoming enough, it would turn into a home eventually.
Someone I used to talk to once shared with me his frustration of being surrounded by people incapable of thought, those shallow beings whose minds do not wander beyond the here and now. I want to let you know that I finally felt it, that frustration. Whether or not a sardine thinks like one is of no interest to me, and it can indulge in its simplistic musings until it dies a satisfied death, but when such a sardine goes out of its way to confront me, ridicule my unconventional temperament based on its own judgement, I have no choice but to acknowledge it. After 21 years of life, I've finally accepted the fact that people, a whole lot of them, have terrible insight.
You can beat me, rape me, then rip it out of your memory because you're a creature of the present and nothing else, but unfortunately for us all, my reclusive development created a broader mind, a whole new world which could take me in when the real one refused. And in there, time isn't measured by the ticking of a clock, the changes in minutes and hours, or even days. So I see what had been, what is, and what will be.
How long more do you think we can all be like this together?
Personally, I dread family gatherings. I can barely recall one where I am happy. All of you act if you cherish this time, and maybe you do, but it takes a special occasion for you to do so, doesn't it? What about waking and sleeping from day to day without even seeing each other in the eye? We don't have long together, right, then why don't you put down your fucking phone? Remember the dinner yesterday, where we had to wait for our food for more than 30 minutes and all the tables around us, the families and friends that were gathered, they held actual conversations. Our table, silent. I looked at all three of you, then up at the sky, and at the neon sign of an old hotel I couldn't locate. Suddenly, I miss our mother, whose overbearing goodwill is the only nourishment for our waning bonds.
Ah, disappointment is in the air. I am a selfish being who underestimates my own worth. Then again, nobody reassures me otherwise. Before I come to defend myself, I've already given up. I have never been taught how to speak to properly.
Wednesday, 17 January 2018
Monday, 15 January 2018
Youth with a Hair Dryer and Damp Laundry
How many instances in life do you find yourself sitting on the floor, blow-drying your damp laundry with a compact 1200W hair dryer? Is this youth? It must be. 青春っていいな～
This year, the gods are in a rather good mood, playing with the weather and flooding our islands in the tropics. Granting the wishes of us sweaty tropical organisms, the monsoon season graced us with temperatures that we wish would last for many months to come. Because I am an indoor parasite of extreme indolence, the storm, the flood, and the traffic jams are but newspaper cuttings and Facebook posts to me-- which is also why I am able to lie here in bed, snug, enjoying the chill.
Without the sun in my eyes, I'm really happy these days. However, laundry days, while already a hassle, have now earned the title of most dreaded days. The cold and damp, against the cold and damp, is it even possible for the water to evaporate? So I sit there, with a hair dryer in hand at 9pm.
Standing on where I was sitting, I realise how much warmth I've lost.
Did I ever think of buying a proper iron? Well, other than using it to make toast, I don't know how I'd go about ironing my clothes. Buttons and folds, laces and frills, creases, creases, CREASES! In the past when I'd attempt to be responsible and iron my clothing, I somehow permanently press the wrinkles into the fabric rather than smoothing them over. Perhaps I am fundamentally flawed to always do whatever the wrong way.
Lining dry the laundry under the sun gives it a distinct scent that reminds me of home because home is the only place where I could hang them outside, in the garden. High rises in the city, a student dormitory with a narrow balcony; even if it is the same UV rays that's cutting through the wetness, it just doesn't feel like home. Mother's mixture of too-much detergent, the smell of overgrown grass with German Shepherds sleeping close-by, all seep into the seams to create a scent that would push every dependent 20-something to run back home and reflect on their own incompetence while mother does all the work.
The only smell from the hair dryer is the smell of burnt hair.
It's okay though, because I'm going home tomorrow.
This year, the gods are in a rather good mood, playing with the weather and flooding our islands in the tropics. Granting the wishes of us sweaty tropical organisms, the monsoon season graced us with temperatures that we wish would last for many months to come. Because I am an indoor parasite of extreme indolence, the storm, the flood, and the traffic jams are but newspaper cuttings and Facebook posts to me-- which is also why I am able to lie here in bed, snug, enjoying the chill.
Without the sun in my eyes, I'm really happy these days. However, laundry days, while already a hassle, have now earned the title of most dreaded days. The cold and damp, against the cold and damp, is it even possible for the water to evaporate? So I sit there, with a hair dryer in hand at 9pm.
Standing on where I was sitting, I realise how much warmth I've lost.
Did I ever think of buying a proper iron? Well, other than using it to make toast, I don't know how I'd go about ironing my clothes. Buttons and folds, laces and frills, creases, creases, CREASES! In the past when I'd attempt to be responsible and iron my clothing, I somehow permanently press the wrinkles into the fabric rather than smoothing them over. Perhaps I am fundamentally flawed to always do whatever the wrong way.
Lining dry the laundry under the sun gives it a distinct scent that reminds me of home because home is the only place where I could hang them outside, in the garden. High rises in the city, a student dormitory with a narrow balcony; even if it is the same UV rays that's cutting through the wetness, it just doesn't feel like home. Mother's mixture of too-much detergent, the smell of overgrown grass with German Shepherds sleeping close-by, all seep into the seams to create a scent that would push every dependent 20-something to run back home and reflect on their own incompetence while mother does all the work.
The only smell from the hair dryer is the smell of burnt hair.
It's okay though, because I'm going home tomorrow.
Wednesday, 3 January 2018
鏡花水月
Sometimes I have to wonder, whether is it beating or is it hurting. Between a Thump and Throb, who can tell anyway, right? Shivering under cotton blankets with only a window left unclosed, a rooster crows down below. In this hour between dawn and memories of the new day, the sounds of the night remain in the cricket's continuous chorus.
Daylight approaches, but I still dangle between the darkness of yesterday, unable to cross borders, that bridge which once crossed, one cannot look back.
Oh, I wish, behind me crawl those who weep for me that their weight may ground me down in place. Not a flickering flame, but the hardened wax of a resolute impermanence.
Te-no-hi-ra-ha-na-re-ta-ta-shi-ka-ni-ma-da-ni-gi-ri-shi-me-ta-i
And they say that it is impossible to see in the dark. Within my rejection of its encompassing acknowledgement, I know now, that a distorted reflection can feel pain.
A pond is not a flowing river whose essence is passing time.
Sunday, 31 December 2017
Reflection of a Commodity on New Year's Eve
Am I upset because I'm lost? The borders that once stood between me and the horizon I could never see have expanded, as I sit, unwilling to move, only in wait of the their fall. Even if I've come to realise that they will only move further and further away out of sight, I can't seem to accept a bottled-up existence with infinite-finite possibilities. Breathing is still heavy, even when a room is no longer a room, and the ceiling has opened up to reveal an open sky.
Is this what freedom feels like? Being confronted with endless decisions, that in the end results in a day spent enclosed in a perfect cube, where even the sun is declined its routine greeting.
Due to a grave error in my flawed comprehension, I've begun to associate freedom with solitude, and solitude with independence. As a connector between both freedom and independence, solitude has become rather essential to the stability of my being. Once it is replaced by companionship, I start to break down.
Not to misunderstand what I've just said, I'd like to clarify that it is not that I don't NEED companionship, just that it shouldn't come to replace solitude. It gets lonely in life, and we all need a functioning support system of live human beings in the form of family and friends in order to stall the inevitable suicide of a mentally weak strawberry. Shallow connections which involve lunch dates and day-time gossip are plenty, enough to satisfy the daily requirements of companionship.
Is there a yearning for something deeper? But we all shouldn't just give in to our base requests.
Since when have I become even more shut off and harder to approach? We know. Don't you? In many ways it is indeed true that I have changed, but one fact remains the same: under my skin, anger is my flesh and hate is the substance that makes up my bones. It's sad, but don't pity one incapable of love.
Perhaps gratification is all I'm after in a world of superficial connections where you and I are both commodities and nothing more.
Tuesday, 19 December 2017
ウルトラタワー ULTRA TOWER: One of my Favourite bands, so please, LISTEN!
It is unusual that my selfish existence would take time off my idle schedule to blog about matters concerning the real world. Today, I'd like to recommend one of my favourite Japanese bands to you who is here. Am I in a good mood to do so? Not quite. The fact that nobody listens to them enough irked me to the point that I thought I'd at least write about them and make whoever is reading listen to them.
食戟のソーマ, Shokugeki no Souma, 食戟之灵, or Food Wars-- have you watched the anime? Then you must be familiar with its first OP theme, 希望の唄 (Kibou no Uta), Song of Hope. Having been chosen as an anime (a well-known one too!) OP theme, this song is of course widely available on the internet and illegal download sites but ignorant Weaboos, they often don't even credit the original band. Hmph. Since I realise that not all of you watch anime, and even if you do you might not have watched Shokugeki, here is Ultra Tower's most famous hit:
食戟のソーマ, Shokugeki no Souma, 食戟之灵, or Food Wars-- have you watched the anime? Then you must be familiar with its first OP theme, 希望の唄 (Kibou no Uta), Song of Hope. Having been chosen as an anime (a well-known one too!) OP theme, this song is of course widely available on the internet and illegal download sites but ignorant Weaboos, they often don't even credit the original band. Hmph. Since I realise that not all of you watch anime, and even if you do you might not have watched Shokugeki, here is Ultra Tower's most famous hit:
Empowering songs are often not to my liking, but I love shouting 生まれ変わる！今ここで！仰いでいた空超えて行く！握り締めて掌のその中に希望があったんだ～！whenever I'm in the car.
The next two songs are my personal top two favourites from Ultra Tower. Trust them to have more sentimental value with lyrics that stab you right in the heart.
The first time I heard Rin, my heart ached and even though I couldn't fully grasp the lyrics, I wanted to cry. If you must know, it is a song on unrequited love.
Between Rin and this one, which do you think is better? The title translates to The Leftover Snow in Spring.
Next up, we have HELLO, my number one before I discovered the rest of their songs. If you're wondering where I dug for their songs despite their obscurity, I bought them all on iTunes.
It's a cute song, isn't it? We're almost done! So far, I hope you've enjoyed listening to their music.
A little relaxing song called On an Idle Night, the Rain Falls to thank you for making it this far.
If you like them, consider buying their songs through iTunes! Some other songs I like but couldn't really find on YouTube include Sayounara and Fiction. But please, just preview everything for yourself and decide~
iTunes link: https://itunes.apple.com/jp/artist/ultra-tower/298383358?l=en
Oh, just one more video. It's their cover of Spitz's Unme no Hito which I think is better than the original version.
At the end of it all, they disbanded last March. Unfortunately, the bands Reicheru really treasure from the bottom of her heart are all no longer active, like Oasis. At least they'll be with me forever, so long as I don't lose my devices.
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