2017年10月4日水曜日

The Second Best Thing

 Me and my friend, we were both talking about how we like to shop. And I said I never have regrets over the things that I buy because it is always about that moment. That moment, that place, I feel my soul shivering from excitement to see "Something New" and then the next thing is that I want to include it in my life to see what would happen.

  My Closet is the collection of those moments, and sometimes I make mistakes and buy something that I really didn't need. But that could also be recorded as my moment. Its just like keeping a diary, or making a scrapbook. I just want to know what I am at that moment and I could define it  in so many ways. By the things I buy or desire,  by the things I write, by the pictures that I take, by the music that I listen to...

 Recording the mistakes is as important as recording the right things that I have done. And may I be honest, I rarely make the right decision. I make so many mistakes its un-imaginable. And to hide it would be to hide who I am.

I am always in search for the things that makes my soul shiver.  And as to why it shivers I never know. The reason comes after it.

 The world is a rather deceptive place where it makes you desire things you don't need.  And it is difficult not to be controlled by this force.  I try to train myself not to be controlled by it. The best way is to follow my heart however senseless it may seem.  However strong the force is I say no when my heart says no. And however useless it may seem, I say yes when my heart keeps on pounding.

 I always feel at that moment when I see "It" , "You are the only thing that I need and nothing else. "  I touch them with my fingers and invite them over to my room. "Come inside and join my party, and now that you have stepped in, you should know that you are a part of me and my life."


It is when I succumb to some force that I regret my decision.  When I follow my heart I rarely do.
Whatever the outcome I could take responsibility for my decision.

One time when thought that I was in love I just wished that I would have a chance to see that person again. And then it happened, and I bumped into that person several times. It was as if, the world was telling me to go ahead and seek what I desired. My eyes dazzled at the sight of that person. And words started to float out of my mouth as if everything were scripted.

And when everything started falling apart,  the story that I desired so strongly started to turn into something mediocre. There was the other girl, and she started to send me mails to remind me that I was the other girl and that that person had been lying to me.  All I could say was that all the melo-dramatic lines didn't interest me very much. It just failed to send any message other than the fact that she was upset that me and her partner were exchanging letters to each other.

 I don't remember exactly what I have written to her, but I just sent one mail. That whatever the circumstance is, it was me that liked that person.  And that I cannot hold grudge because I believed in her partner's words. Even if it were lies  it was my decision to believe in them.

 I immediately deleted all the mails that I have exchanged until then. Not because I wanted to hide it, but because I was afraid I couldn't find beauty in the words any more.

   When I look back to the whole story,  I feel tempted to write about what had happened because there was a lesson to be learned. That I had a story in my mind that I desired and I have written all lines for it, and so the world gave me the opportunity to act upon it. And the story was realised. We started to exchange words and we thought we understood each other well and we even used the word love to define how we felt. But when I did use that phrase I felt the word was stronger than what I was feeling. That I was forcing the word to my feeling because the story was already written and I had to use that term. Isn't that what every story needs? I dropped the very essence towards my story because I wanted it to be a good one.  But the feeling couldn't catch up to it.  I was the director and also the actor, and the actor couldn't feel what the director wanted her to feel.

We sometimes force a word to a feeling and put a corset so that it becomes amiable.  And the corset is so strong and tight, that the emotion dies underneath it.

 And it is only when when we don't force a corset to a feeling, that it could go on breathing.
 Giving word to a feeling is also about making it immobile.  Shaping it and giving contours is also about throwing away all the indefinite possibilities and choosing only one word.













2017年9月22日金曜日


 How yo create hope.
I come back to my room, sit and contemplate and sort through everything that I felt that day.
Not ever thing that I have seen, but everything that  I felt. My diary always lack facts because facts never impress me.  What I saw is what I felt. I only see what I feel. 

 I went into a restaurant and had some food. I opened my notebook and started writing a monologue.
 And when I finished eating I stood up and took the red check in my head. The lady who works at the restaurant told me " You never take your time to eat. You eat so fast."  

I went upstairs and headed to the register. "Already done? You eat so fast." "Really? I never noticed that." "Did you lose weight?" "Nop  Its coming back."  

I went to buy some coffee and the barista took my order without smiling. I look at her face and wonder whether anybody points that out.  Or perhaps smiles are taken for granted too much,  Maybe we should earn her smile. And when we did, we would feel more happy than that smile given out for free. Oh finally she smiled at me. 

 My smile is taken for granted. I smile because I feel its my duty to not ruin peoples day.
 I smile because it is a pleasant feeling.  I amile because I want life to be joyous. I laugh because I am also very timid. I laugh because that makes things easier.

 But suddenly, without even a warning, I stop smiling.  I  just notice that I can no longer smile.

  One time I had a very close friend and we used to share everything together. We shared every details of our lives together and I listened and pay attention and gave word to her. I placed her words inside my body and tried to sort out how I felt, What I did not notice was what I was absorbing. I was absorbing her words and her ways of seeing. I was absorbing her feelings about this world. And by the time I noticed, I lost all the words to say to her.  Her words were pernicious for my body. I started to block them. My body started to re-act against them because every word that she was emitting was untrue.  All that I knew was that she was losing it.

 That is not a rare thing. Everybody loses it. Everybody choose to lose it. Its their choice. Its how they cope with reality.  The feeling of self pity.  Its an easy way out. I won't condemn them.  Oh no, I do.
I do condemn them.  " You just took the easy way out, so blaim it on yourself. Its no one else's fault"

 Not having to change is the easy way out. Accepting the reality as it is is a easy way out.
 Reality is always in the making. We create this world. We are all part of it. and we are not the outsider. We are not the guest sitting on a comfortable red sofa, with a cup of coca cola in our hand. We are all inside of it, and everything we do, will change this world. Every word we emit will change this world.

 But not one really cares.

 I know how to create hope because I learned it from the master of hope, I call him my master because I loved his eyes.I loved the way he looked at this world. When he fell ill I felt my heart sinking. I didn't know what to say. I just needed to say something,  But any words felt futile.  Anything that I say would never help this man. I knew that he was  much stronger than me, even if his body was weakening.  I could only think of being honest to him.
  I wrote to him that I needed his help. I need him to exist because I need his words. I need his bright eyes to watch me so that I won't lose faith anymore. I asked him to give me the power that i need so that I could feel free to be myself.

After I sent this letter I felt such strong feeling of self-loathing. How selfish am I to ask for help to someone who is suffering more than I ?

 But then I noticed. That he got it. He got message. He knew exactly what I was trying to say.
 That there is hope. That we could dance together again. That he is going to live because I need him to. And I still dance with him inside my head. And He still gives me so much power and I create hope from that. That I met him makes me feel, that life is not that bad. And I sincerely hope he felt that way when he found me.  His smile was free, and his kindness was often taken for granted, but he didn't seem to care so much because that was how he wanted to live.

 "You should always feel free to live the way you want to."

 Ok, I will I wil boss. I will live the way I want to.


2017年9月9日土曜日

Michael


 Sometime, in this world, words loses its meaning and we communicate by way of certain electric signals. We just sense it, we just know it, and we don't even have to say it.

 It happened when I saw Michael.
 He had blonde hair with blue eyes, and he rarely smiled.  The words that came out of his mouth were often humorous, but his eyes seemed so dead. Not a hint of hope nor happiness. He seemed to me that he detested cheerful, timid people.

I was cheerful and timid. I often emitted words that were meaningless out of cowardice. I had no strength inside me to resist that force.  The force to be sweet and kind.  I filled my heart with sweet and kind words out of fear.  Of fear to be left alone.

He was the other way around. His candy jar was empty. He didn't serve words to please anyone.
Even when the candies were ordered, he resisted that force, and served instead,  words that were  bitter and violent. Everyone seemed to be displeased by them, and made a frowning face.

I was dazzled by his words.  "How beautiful." I listened to it, and felt that it was rocking my soul. "Oh wow." If this happens it means that I like it.  When I showed that I liked his words very much, people asked me, "Do you know what he is saying?"  I said. "Not really. No. I don't think so. "

It seemed to me, that most of the people were reacting to the meaning of  the words. But I was just simply reacting to how he phrased it.  I had no judgment over his remarks.  His words were silent and sincere. How could he be so silent and sincere if he were truly violent and bitter ? Those two qualities seemed incompatible to me. And I chose to believe that he was sincere and silent.

One time,  I was left inside a very small room with him. We were both silent. I had nothing to say to him, and he had nothing to say to me. But at the same time the atmosphere radically changed when we  were left alone.  I felt that we needed no words, and we both knew it. He knew that I thought of him as a sincere person, and I was not afraid of him. And I knew he thought that I was timid  and cheerful, but that was just a pose.

 Are there any exception to a rule? Can he be friends with what he truly despises?
 I often wondered.  NO he cant. He cannot become friends with me because I will emit words that are timid and sweet, and he would find it so tedious. But as long as I don't phrase it, it might happen. As long as I never say a thing to him. It might happen. As long as I show that I have nothing to say to him. It might happen. As long as I show fear, it might happen.

 I felt this force to remain silent. Even to say hello was forbidden. When I looked at him in his eyes his eyes said to me, "Don't you dare say hello to me". I submitted to that order and never said hello to him. And when I sense him walking behind me I quickened my pace to show that I was nervous. He seemed to like that very much and started to make louder noise in walking.  I started to sweat. But was I afraid? No. I wasn't. Was I nervous? Not at all. I just, naturally, submitted to the force.

Submitting to some force is really my strength.





2017年9月7日木曜日



    The store that appears in this story really exists. (Can you believe it ? ) 

     And the two cats wanting to be his dog, also really exists. ( Oh my) 
    And the owner of the store, Hirohisa Yokoyama really really exists. (Oh yes certainly )
    I met the artist Hirohisa Yokoyama by coincidence.
    I have never been to his store, since I haven't had the chance to go to New York.

    So for now, I visit his store now and then inside this story.
    Of the two clue-less cats, silly journey to become the dog of the coolest man in the world. 


2017年9月5日火曜日


  To live in a town that you love, is a great experience.

 It was when I moved to Greenpoint after college, that I started to realize I love certain places.
 I didn't know many people in New York, so I wandered pointlessly around the city with a camera in my hand.  My camera might have been an good excuse to walk around, but I often felt totally at loss, and couldn't find a good reason to justify myself being there.

 But then the people in Greenpoint were surprisingly kind to me. The man working at the store where I  bought fried chicken looked happy when he saw my face. He grabbed bunch of fries and pushed it into the paper box. "Its nice to see you."  When I bought a gum at the kiosk the young boy handed it to me saying "Its just about one thousand dollars."  Those small moments totally made my day.

  And the room I lived in. The tiny room that could barely fit a queen sized bed. One of the wall was painted lavender and it had a window that overlooked the small garden on the ground floor. The land owner lived there, and in the summer, their charming daughters swam inside the blue pool. "What a scenery!" I thought. "Life is sometimes lovelier than a film"

 Once, when I accidentally locked myself out of the room I asked the landowner how to get in. They also didn't know and said perhaps there is only one way: to get in from the window. Their uncle came back with a  long ladder and placed it in the garden. They all spoke polish but we knew what we had to do.  The man climbed the ladder and opened the window for me. Every body in the family applauded. They seemed happy to see me go in the room.

 What Greenpoint did for me, was to tell me that it was ok to be there. They welcomed me as if it was the most natural thing for them to do. I felt very safe there, and everytime I stepped out of greenpoint and searched for something else, I came back feeling that I was in the right place.

  When I came back to Tokyo, the first thing I did was to look for a town that I liked.
 I came to Shimokitazawa, because I liked Kyoko Okazaki, a female comic writer, who was brought up in Shimokitazawa.   My sister's boyfriend in college lent her one of Kyoko's work "Pink".  And she  handed it to me saying it was very interesting.  I was in high school at that time. Her words spoke to me in a way that nothing else ever did.  Everything in highschool was a bore for me, the words floating around in a rigid girls only catholic school barely touched my heart, but her words did. I felt that Kyoko Okazaki sketched the world around her with sincerity and  affection. If She was brought up in Shimokitazawa it must be a lovely town.

 And it was. A very lovely town. I was lucky to have found a job in a family owned photo studio in this town.   Everything that happened here is now embedded in my body and soul. At that time, I only thought that I was looking for a town that I like, but what  I really did was to choose a story that I want to tell.  I jumped into a story, like Alice jumping into the hole out of sheer curiousity to know where the rabbit was heading.  "The rabbit is, as we all know,( don't we ? )that feeling of wanting to know the unknown world,  that thing which jumps inside our body.  My rabbit was injured, as I was often reprimanded by the adults to follow their rules instead of my heart.  I rebelled, and paid attention to that rabbit who wanted to keep on going.

That is how an adventure starts. And was it unknown? Yes. Did it change anything about me? Yes yes. Was I surprised by what I saw? Yes. Every single day.

 Everyday I feel so excited to see this world.