To you who I almost loved

Do you remember the time when you plucked the first note and how starry-eyed I looked as you played your lullaby? I kept every melody, the way your caramel eyes looked whenever you entered in the trance of your own music, and every lyrics I've been wanting to sing but never did.

Do you remember those mornings when we'll bask in the sun and get lost in each other's broken language? Laughing, dreaming and me, quietly wishing it would never end?

Do you remember when we would dare dream about the future? Yours was as bright as the sunlight against my stark and hopeless dreams of what I could be?

If you don't, I do. Until now it still haunts me; your songs in my playlist became a shadow of you; your stories remained tattooed but narrated in someone else's voice now; the time I've spent with you became a distant memory, a memory I hope never to go back to.

I was ashamed.  I was guilty of dreaming of loving you. I looked like a complete idiot, thinking that I could finally allow myself to love someone again.

It was a bright afternoon, I remember. I rushed down the flight of stairs, my heart pounding against my chest.

"You could do this! You got this" I repeated to myself. "Today is the day I'll tell!"

My palms were sweaty and you kept your eyes fixed on the ground. We walked past one, two and on the third block, you stopped and turned around. You looked nervous and your voice was shaking when you said, "Did you know?"

How could you bring yourself to forget the day when everything suddenly fell apart? Like the ground swallowing you up or someone hammering your knees but you were not allowed to scream or cry in pain?

"Yes" I croaked and swallowed hard as my heart was being torched to ashes.

Yes. I knew.

I knew that you love someone else, but I was just too afraid to say I do. I saw the signs, but I shook it off as a bad dream. I prayed and I hoped that for once,what my gut was telling me was a completely and utter lie.

And yet, I have to hear it from you, because if I didn't, then I would be trapped in this stupid fantasy.

"Do you feel anything for me?" you asked so softly, as if you were being careful not to break me.

Did you know, during that moment, I have to fight with all my might not to cry in front of you? Did you know that I forced myself to smile and say 'no' so I won't have to put you through any pain because of my puny and desperate feelings for you? Did you know that I did all of that because I almost loved you?

I waited until I could no longer see you from the corner of the street. I tried hard to stop myself from running to where no one could see or hear me and cry and scream until I fall asleep. When I finally allowed myself to breathe, bleed and grieve,  I let myself bury every memory of you so I could stop myself from running back and tell you that 'yes, I do feel something for you'.

It was too late, I know, but I didn't regret it. I was consumed with loathing for myself then and I wouldn't want anyone to deal with that.

I hope that you are happy and healthy wherever you are right now. I know that somewhere out there, with your heart on your sleeves, you are chasing after your dreams on your big bicycle.

I could still see you running barefoot in the grass, laughing and jumping, in my mind. I could still hear the echoes of your music, but not your voice for it has completely faded away.  I could still remember your favorites, but I'll avoid them in the aisles of the grocery store.

The bleeding has stopped now and the wound is starting to heal.

I hope that you are too, with whatever pain I caused you, but I hope with all my heart to never see you again.

More Than Six Months After

Was it after I came back to Okinawa? Was it after I turned down numerous invitation to parties and meet ups? Was it when I've decided that I will press the restart button? I can't remember the exact date I stopped writing or rather...forgot how to write.

I could remember so vividly the days I wrote feverishly on my train ride home, my body swaying but my pen and paper steadily and desperately trying to keep up with my thoughts. I could recall exactly the moments when words would haunt me during my walks after work and I, running like a mad man up the steps to my home, possessed by the hunger to give life to those words.

When did I stop? When did I stopped trying? When did I forget? I couldn't recall.

Writing is what I've worked so hard to be known for. Don't get me wrong. I am not a professional writer nor did I get a formal education on it. Days when my eyes would strain from reading, sleepless night because I couldn't put down a book, and words of the authors I so dearly admired were the things that shaped me as a writer (in my dreams!).

Now, you might be wondering why I am blabbing about writing. Well, you see, my mom, whom I spoke a couple of days ago asked me why I stopped writing. My sister did ask me the same thing a month ago too.

Those questions struck me hard.

Like really rock solid, avalanche and tsunami mashing up together, rushing towards me kind of hard.

It's the same as if they're looking for me. Kind of like - Daphne, where are you?

And oh my god! Did that wake me up.

"I'm here! I'm here!" I wanted to yell.

"I just kind of forgot where I was....I guess?" 

I am not yet in my 60's and yet, I am starting to forget. The one thing I have passionately fantasized about, daydreamed all my life, and built my dreams on is slipping from my heart. AND that's one of the worst possible things that could ever happen to me. 

That's kind of sad, don't you think?

It stirred my insides in a different kind of way - something like a seasick and post roller coaster kind of sick.

That's why I am here, jamming on my keyboards desperately, the kind of desperate that maybe, my whole system would wake up and start writing again not like I used to, but more than I used to.

Sincerely and would write again (I hope),

Daphne


**If you've read until the end, I've sent you a million of virtual corgis to keep you warm throughout your million lifetimes. You rock!

Through Foreign Eyes

Leaving the familiar faces and the comfort of the walls you’ve known as long as you can remember is indeed, daunting. It’s not as if you will never go back. It’s just the fear of the unknown – what lies ahead? Will I be able to swim around this new strange land that my eyes have only touched in colorful videos and the glossy pages of my textbooks?

And yet, you gave it a go, a heartfelt “yes” with your eyes brimming with both excitement and fear. Before you knew it, you’re hopping into the plane en route to Japan, saying your tearful “see you soon”, “be sure to call me” and “take care” to your family.

It may seem a long journey – probably difficult, probably scary but definitely worthwhile. Soon, however, you will pack your backs and you will have to say your “be sure to keep in touch” and “take care” to your newfound friends.

This article is intended to offer you a glimpse of what it is like to live as a 留学生(ryuugakusei) or Foreign student (you will be holding on to that title for a while).  Written below are based from my own experience.  

  

Phase 1: The Adjustment

As soon as you take your first step in the concrete lands of Japan, it will feel as if everything is a moving picture. The beauty that suddenly is tangible feels too overwhelming. The phrases that you hear from your audio tapes in your class suddenly fall from the lips of real people. The food that you so longingly wanted to try tasted unlike how you imagined them to be (delicious or disgusting as you may have expected it). You unpack your bags and quietly arrange them in the corners of your room – a home you will call it for a year or so. You will be reluctant to travel around the city for a while. You will draw a map of it in your palms and mark an ‘X’ to the places that you deem safe. You will be greeted by your new professors, your new classmates and your new subjects to take. You will have to speak Japanese every single time and will find comfort in speaking your native tongue when you met a fellow from the same country. You will always feel tired from all the adjusting and will fill this insatiable rush coursing through you at the same time from all this possibilities lain before you.

Phase 2: Lectures, Friends and Routines

You finally have settled down. The scary streets are not so frightening no more. The ‘new’ faces are now your friends and people you can lean on. The moving pictures are now places familiar to you. You can walk on them like they are the streets you’ve grown up at. You are still frightened of the locals but somehow have the courage to strike a conversation with them. You will go to class, receive loads of homework and somehow, still find a way to go to parties organized by your classmates and go drinking and talking with them until dawn. You will fall into this ‘routine’ where you add beautiful moments each time in your life.

Phase 3:  What lies ahead

You felt that your Japanese have improved. You can now write coherent sentences and you can report in front of class whilst your shaking knees and fingers. You have somehow gotten to around Japan, marking your map with an ‘O’ for each places you’ve touched. You have tons of photos and videos of you and your friends, but you also have tons of photos of the beautiful sunsets and sunrises that you knew will forever remained tattooed in your memories. Then, questions of “what will you do after you go home?” start pouring in. You are caught off guard each time you hear one. ‘Where should I go?”, “What should I do after?” crowds your head. You look ahead, you sketch a map and everything gets more confusing. Soon, you will leave this place and the reality will start seeping in. And yet, no matter how lost you feel you might be, deep in your heart, you know that you will find what you are looking for because you managed to survive a year or so in a land so alien before to you which now you can call home.

 I haven’t reached the last phase but I am heading there soon. It is hard to imagine saying goodbye to the scent of the breeze gently making its way to you in the morning. I cannot bear to part with the friends I have shared so many great lessons, failures and success and adventures with. Somehow, someway, I know that because of this experience as 留学生 or foreign student, I know that I can get through whatever comes ahead of me.

Sometimes, being lost and confused is a good place to start, you know? 

Wednesdays

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.

My heart leaps.

It's dear Wednesday again.

The leaves shine a little brighter, my heart beats a little faster and my mind turns a little hazier.

I wipe the sweat from my palms. I straighten my skirt. I check if I still have some lipstick on.

It's Wednesday, after all

A moment when I allow myself to be a little selfish than usual - a day when I am allowed to hear your voice and memorize its every rise and fall. Minutes when I can stare back at you unashamed and speak to you with all honesty - except that I can't say how much I like you. Seconds when I hold on to the sound of your laughter and etch your smile in the canvas of my brain.

And after all, it's all I long to do when it's not Wednesday again.

Thursday - I see you in the crowd.
Friday - I hear your favorite song in the radio.
Saturday -  The late sunset is your favorite color.
Sunday - Writing about you in my journal.
Monday - I dreamed of you again.
Tuesday -  I remember your wish.

Then, I saw you on your white shirt walking towards me, one Friday night. My voice quivers from my throat. My world quakes a little every time I hear my name from your lips. I did my best to hide how clumsy I am in front of you.

Your eyes lit up from the lights of the stars I gave you, one Saturday night.  I don't know if you notice how I was shaking all the way through as I bravely stepped in your front door. I don't know if you saw how I leaped above my fears so that you won't be alone on the last eve of your 20's.

But it's not a Wednesday. I am stripped of my entitlement. I am out of my league.

I wanted more. Not just a Wednesday. I want to quietly sip my coffee with you on a Monday. I want to sit by you as we pass the roads overflowing with lights on a Tuesday. I want to hear all about your old adventures on a Thursday. I want to be there for you when you think you have no one to hold you on a Friday. I want to lay down under the stars with you and hear you hum my favorite song on a Saturday. I want to curl in front of the TV and say nothing at all with you on a Sunday too.

But that's not the case.

We live in a separate world when it's not a Wednesday. You made that clear for sure. I closed my eyes when you slammed the door. I shut my ears when I heard the silence. I covered my mouth when you said nothing but my quiet prayers.

After all, it's not a Wednesday.

I am doing my best to digest it. I am convincing my heart to ingest it. I am telling myself to swallow it.

But It's not a Wednesday.

When it is not, you are too far away for me to reach and too dangerous for me to touch. We revert back to strangers, shadows, a distant dream. Our worlds turn black and white, far apart, unrecognizable.

After all, it's not my dear Wednesday.

Cigarette

He took me out of his pocket,

Playing me between his fingers

before placing me

in his milktea-stained lips.

He filled his lungs

with the already nicotined and polluted air of his worries,

blowing me a gentle exhale that made me shiver.


"It's not gonna light itself."


The touch of the flame was pain and honey sweet.

I didn't mind.


I didn't mind at all.


He took his sweet first puff

and let it linger inside his mouth,

his eyes glimmering,

hands shaking.


We went on.


He inhaled.

I hurt.


I didn't mind at all.


My ashes drifted in the hazy air,

like fallen feathers from a dying angel.


I knew.

But I didn't mind at all.


Until,

he had come to the end of me,

consumed all of me

and

I am nothing

but a twisted burnout cigarette

on a dusty sidewalk.

The Fixer

She saw the cracks lacing on his skin, from his eyes down right to his toes. He smiled but she dared not smile back. It was in that moment that she knew this person is her 'masterpiece'.

It was months of blissful moments. He never told anyone the things he told her, she knew. He never treated someone how he treated her, she knew. He never said the things that her heart was screaming every time he looked at her..she will never know.

It was also months of fixing, breaking and fixing and breaking. His voice would quake on the telephone at 3:45 in the morning, breathing words after words of emptiness and torment, and she will be there, holding the other end, pretending as if those very words did not haunt her. His touch would linger for a second, he would lean a little too close, but his hands nor his lips did not dare taste the sweetness of her skin. Their eyes would meet, their shoulders would touch, but he was always the first to pull away.

'Vulnerability is appealing', she thought, 'such an atomic, destructive and insatiable fire'. If she could somehow go under his skin, if she could somehow learn how to stitch his broken heart, if she could somehow glue the pieces of him back together with her love, then there will be nothing else in this world she could ever wish for.   

She was consumed with this 'masterpiece' of hers. She would begin and end her every prayers with his name before she would crawl to sleep. His brokenness pulled her. The blood trickling down his jaw mesmerized her. The way he would fall apart in front her made her stay a little longer.

One, two, three, four...

Breathe...

Five, six, seven, eight...

He will come...yes...he will

Nine, ten, eleven....twelve...

She was breaking apart...piece by piece, dissolving into her tears.

He was nowhere to be found. She's bleeding and crumbling and he was nowhere to be found.

Yes, that's right. She knew it from the very start. It kills, this fantasy she's in. It breaks bones. It crushes hearts. It tears people apart. 

She was consumed with the foolishness that her 'masterpiece' would fix her brokenness too. She expected him to be in her front door when she's about to call him. She hoped to fall in his arms when she was burning inside. She thought she would make him her Arthur after she's done fixing him. She hoped and waited in the dark for him, watching for his shadow, listening to his footsteps.

But she was wrong.

All she heard was an echo...a far away distant silence. 

She was too caught up, too drunk, and too weak to follow. 

All she have in her hands were the pieces left of her and half of which, she used to fix her 'masterpiece' who was nowhere to be found.

At the edge of 29

To my fellow 1986 born babies who has not yet reached that daunting chapter of their 30's,

Is it just me or do you also have this indescribable fear inside your chest as your birthday approaches closer each day?

It feels like standing at the edge of a cliff and you have no idea what's waiting down below for you. Will it be an avalanche of new responsibilities? Will the questions "when you will get married?" or "when you will have kids?" or "do you plan to even get married?" grow even louder? Will your road be smoother or will it be rougher and tougher and will it push you down to your knees? Will you one day wake up and have a number 30 written on your forehead? Will kids start calling you 'tita', 'obasan　おばさん', 'ahjumma' or worst 'old'?

The list only grows longer as my worries and anxiety pounds louder on every corner of my head.

Maybe I worry too much since I only know one person here who has the same age as me and we have different opinions about it.

One day, I asked him, 'aren't you scared of turning 30?' He only shrugged his shoulders and said 'I don't mind. I'm actually looking forward to it.' How I wish I could have that same courage.

So, what is it that really scares me? Is it the pressure of the society to settle down and have everything figured out at this age? Is it leaving behind my precious twenties and start acting like a REAL adult? or is it the fear of actually planning and acting upon those plans for the near future? Because you know, time runs like a reindeer on Christmas Eve when all kids are asleep as Santa Claus soar the skies and drop them gifts.

The answer is YES to all of above.

I'm standing between the line of having the responsibility to grow up and the line of staying carefree and happy like a child. Honestly, I'm frightened to leave the latter.

Have I stepped out of my comfort zone far enough these past few months? Am I ready to face this new chapter? Will I need to leave behind my heart full of wonder, curiosity and swallow the fact that unicorns does not really exist?

The truth is I'm just fanning the flames to my already mountain of worries. Why can't I just live the remaining days of being 29 as happily as I could? When I reach that day, it's not as if my world would shape shift and transform everyone in it. The only one who is doing the changing is none other than...me.If I am to transform, can I please get eyebrows as perfect as Audrey Hepburn's, please?

And I'll be taking my childish heart with me if that's not too much to ask. Besides, I have a lot more to write, to do, to learn and to explore and I need that naivety to make it all the more colorful and magical.

I don't think my dreams of being chased by a man with a blank empty face would stop until I reach 30. Eventually, he will catch up to me and I have no choice but to embrace him, not without a snot and a bagful of matcha chocolate, ice cream and a river of tears. I can't just go down without being a Drama Queen.

As I am counting the very last few days of my lovely 29th chapter, let me plug on my playlist of the 90's greatest hits and reminisce my days of cassette tapes, VHS tapes, Playstation 1 games, throwback Anime and awesome board games.

I guess I need to start looking forward to that new adventure called 'The Dawn of 30' from now on and just be happy about it.

Until then,

Your ever faithful and curious,
Daphne

Those days when kissing this fish was my only real goal.