Some days, the pounding, clunking, grumbling of the world just plain makes your head want to cry. Where is the quiet in this place? Even here, the suburbs have no silence, even at night. When will I hear that open quiet, free from this go-go-go, look-at-me lifestyle?
August awaits.
Post-a-day 2017
I guess that whatever we are accustomed to having around us, ends up being what feels like “normal” to us. Like how my life never seems to feel very exciting or special – it has become my experience of “normal”, and therefore can’t seem exceedingly exciting or abnormal to me.
I regularly feel as though everyone can speak loads of languages, and so I’m nothing but average (or even below average) in that field. But who are my acquaintances? Well, we tend to end up spending time with people who, in some way or other, are quite similar to ourselves, do we not? It is no wonder, then, that I have so many friends who are bi- and multilingual, and who have not only visited but lived in at least one country other than their own. This isn’t to say, of course, that all of my friends meet this criteria. Certainly not. I just happen to have a lot of friends who do.
So, when I have a night like tonight, where my friends and I sound to an on-listener like we can’t seem to pick a language, as we constantly switch around between English (our one common language), French, and Japanese, I all too easily forget that this is not normal in the world. Sure, it is normal for me and for my life, but that doesn’t mean that everyone does it regularly. It doesn’t even mean that half the world could do it regularly, even if they wanted to do so.
Or perhaps they could. I think, nonetheless, that I severely underappreciate my language abilities, by subconsciously expecting that the people who most closely surround me are an average sample of the whole. What is normal for one person simply is what is around that person in life. And two people with closely aligned lives might find the same things as one another to be normal. So, of course the people who are out doing the same things I live to do, tend to see the world in a similar way to how I see it, and hold a subconscious standard of “normal” that is similar to my own. That’s why our paths cross in the first place – we’re all into* this particular kind of awesome.
Filing a room with awesome people doesn’t mean that they aren’t all still awesome, just because the standard in the room is about equal. It just means that you have an extra-awesome room that is full of a ton of awesome people.
I guess what I am aiming to say here is that, despite my feeling below-average and utterly “normal” and boring at times, I realize now that I am not viewing things outside of my nearest surroundings (so to speak), and that I realize that I am, in fact, awesome. And I’m proud and happy about that.
Peace, y’all. ❤
Post-a-day 2017
Tonight, I met a sweet old man named Ozawa Masashi (Masashi Ozawa in the American style of names). He is a monstrous 195cm (6’5″), with an incredibly sweet and open demeanor, and he owns a restaurant in Tokyo, where we ended up tonight after dancing. As I commented on how massively huge this restaurant owner was compared to the average Japanese person, I was informed that he was, in fact, a retired wrestler. Sure enough, photos inside the restaurant tell a black and white story of this man’s wrestling adventures Stateside in the 80s, with matches against André the Giant and the likes. Killer Khan is the name, and wrestling was his sport.
We ate his food (delicious), tasted the hard-to-get sake (fabulous), and enjoyed his happy talk about just about anything (including the facts that his son is about 208cm and looks like him, his daughter is a martial arts champion in the US, and that he himself spent a year in Dallas about 22 years ago). He even showed us photos.
We watched a small bit of one of his matches, and it was amazing to see this man in action, back in his days of wrestling. He was even more of a monster in terms of size, and the other guy in the ring paled in comparison. Frankly, Killer Khan was the epitome of ‘scary wrestler man’.
And now, here he his, across the world from his wife and kids, running a restaurant in downtown Tokyo. I am 100% not a wrestling fan, however, I am definitely a fan of Ozawa Masashi, this happy, massive, sweet old man, who likely hunches from habit with such low Japanese doorways, and who just so happened to be part of a lethal show 30-ish years ago.
Post-a-day 2017
Tonight, I’m just not feelin’ it…, though I’ll write anyway, and just make it quick.
Walking home, I stopped to smell these flowers (despite the fact that it was near one AM already, and I was exhausted [still am, too]) I was passing. I read this thing on the inside of, I believe, a Dove chocolate wrapper, and it said, “Take time to smell the flowers.” Somehow, it translated to, ‘Take time to stop and smell the flowers,’ and has stuck with me as such ever since then. I make particular notice whenever I see flowers and feel as though I don’t have the time to stop, and I re-evaluate how I am living my life each time I see flowers and am reminded of this line (almost every time they look pretty).
So, tonight was no exception. I stopped and smelled these flowers, flowers I had yet to notice during he daytime. And, would you believe it? They smelled like popcorn. Buttery popcorn, though only lightly buttered, came in through my nostrils at every flower. They might even have been a sort of roses. White, popcorn roses. It was spectacular, and I don’t even particularly like the smell of buttery popcorn.
Post-a-day 2017
I feel a little bit like I was part of the film “Legally Blonde” tonight. Remember how Elle said that a sorority sister of hers threw up on a guy on their first date, and they ended up engaged/married? (It was something very similar to that, anyway.) Well, tonight, meeting up with a guy for the first time (outside of just seeing one another at work, and Maybe exchanging a word or two), something in that same category went down. In a sense, anyway… you can judge for yourself, if you think it really is in the same category of events.
We met up to go look at these really cool buildings, with artwork all on the sides of them, done by this one particular artist. As we were finishing up, we decided to go get some food together. We settled on ramen, as it is kind of the go-to food in Japan, and I’m usually okay eating it. However, for whatever reason, this ramen decided to disagree with me more than usual. Much more than usual, in fact.
As I explained that my typical US diet was one that included veggies, fruits, seeds, and nuts almost exclusively, and no meat, fish, or grains, my new acquaintance started apologizing to me. ‘No, no… it’s okay. Really. I’m used to it.’
Except that it kept getting worse as we walked around the neighborhood, headed for the riverbank. When we reached the riverbank, I had to lie down on the ground, my stomach was is such a miserable state. After another minute or two, I suddenly changed my mind on the offer of a bathroom, and said that I needed one asap. Hurry, please! I thought, as I focused on breathing deeply, he continuously asked me if I was alright, and little pebbles (from my lying on the ground) shoved their ways lower and lower down my pant legs.
We finally made it to the grocery store. I told him to shop a while, we both chuckled, and I practically ran to the bathrooms. I tell you, I almost cried while in there, so bad was the pain in my stomach. I have no idea what was in that ramen, but it was one of the worst things I’ve had to eat since living here (in terms of effects on my body).
And, of course, I had to have this happen while spending time with this new guy. Good thing I’m not too big on looking good and first impressions being amazing or anything. This was just plain ridiculous. However, he had an amazing attitude about the whole thing. And that’s how it reminded me of Legally Blonde. Rather than push us apart, it felt as though my mini illness actually brought us together – we made it through the hardship together, you know?
Anyway, that’s that. And it might have even been a date (according to my Japanese girlfriends). 😛
Post-a-day 2017
I miss having friends like myself. Life is just so much more exciting when they’re around.
Tonight, I found out that a friend was on his way home on the train. I knew his route, so far as trains were concerned, and his final station was a small one, with only one exit. So, even though we have plans to meet tomorrow evening, I thought I’d surprise him tonight. I got two different types of tea (green and milk), cold from the store, and headed to his station. Based on where he was when he had last mentioned to me that he was on his way home, I would be just in time to meet him, and I might possibly beat him by a good ten minutes to his station.
I was already on the first train he could have taken home, and he didn’t seem to be on that one. So, once I arrived to his station, I checked out the exit options – yes, there is only one – and then found a place to settle down and read on the platform.
Almost an hour later, I am on my way home, still carrying both teas. He didn’t show. I don’t know what happened, and I likely won’t ever know, because we don’t entirely speak the same language. And I think I really don’t mind so much that he didn’t show. It’s more just that the whole thing made me miss my especially close friends, the ones who would have known that I was waiting at the station for them, simply because I had asked where they were beforehand.
The thing is, I don’t do well with packing. I’m not sure what is in the way of it for me, but I almost always seem to resist packing. I so desperately want to get myself packed up, and like right now, right now. But I’ve been unsuccessful in doing that for the past three-ish weeks already.
The worst part of it this time is that it is stressing me out extremely, and I still can’t seem to get over whatever it is, and just pack. So instead, I get to be stressed and to think of all hear things I miss and of all the things that drive me nuts here.
That’s all I have to say about that right now.
Post-a-day 2017
I feel like I am going insane right now abouts. I was talking with a new acquaintance today, and I came to saying that I think I am afraid of going back home to the US, after I’ve gone through so much development and transformation as I have this past year (with all the depression and life experiences and all here).
I really think that I am afraid of being myself as I know myself to be now. Or rather, … well… I’m afraid of being myself and being rejected, unwanted. However, I think I already deal with that in the first place, and I have for a good chunk of my life. So, that’s nothing new, then. Therefore, I can keep that same concern as always, and just be myself anyway. This way, I am fulfilled in who and how I am, and the people who do love me get to love me for who I truly am.
Sounds good to me. Let’s do this, banana.
Post-a-day 2017
People always seem to ask me my type. Possibly, this is more of a recent thing, as it is one of the top questions Japanese high school students ask, and I don’t really remember having considered the question’s answer more than once or twice before this past year. Nonetheless, it has been on my mind for quite some time now.
The deal is that I have never really known a type for my own interests. I find attractive to be attractive. Period. However, I have been recently distinguishing even further the difference between being attracted to someone and that of wanting to be with someone. On this distinguishing inquiry, I have at last found one definite common factor between men when I instantly find attractive, and with whom I always want to develop a relationship of some sort (even just a friendship), and often actively pursue. That factor? Being tall. It’s not that I don’t find men I average height to be attractive – I definitely do find them quite attractive on a regular basis. However, I tend to have a quite strong desire at least to be around handsome men who are also tall. I have found shorts men to be handsomer than taller men, and yet the taller attractive guy always holds my attention much better.
Just something I discovered/noticed this weekend.
Post-a-day 2017
I’m sitting on the bathroom floor, eating bagel-shaped bread (that is not a bagel), stretching, occasionally gulping water, and writing this. My two roommates are asleep already, it is 6:05am, and I have spent the past many hours dancing.
The ballroom sort of closed around 4:30, but I was having such a great time dancing, I didn’t want the music and dancing to stop. Plus, I hadn’t gotten to dance with one friend who was still there, and I had been wanting to dance with him since I’d first seen him at the dance event earlier tonight. So the DJ – he also happens to be the event director – said that just the friend and I would be dancing, and everyone else would watch (seeing as the ballroom was closing and all), and announced us as though we were a couple in a competition from earlier tonight.
For whatever reason, everyone, as they gathered around in the floor, ended up encircling us, and stretching out their legs so that they formed a very large star around us on the floor. As we danced, they clapped along and cheered us on. When we finished, everyone agreed that another couple needed to dance, now that we had started this whole contest idea. The DJ, glorious in his will to be ever-spontaneous in order to suit the current situation, allowed and rolled with the idea.
So, another couple danced, and we cheered them on. And we went through all five couples sitting on the floor, plus the one girl who had been recording, over to the side. One of the other girls and I traded off dancing with her, since the DJ declared that he had to remain DJing. (Cough-cough, though really I enjoyed getting to lead in his place.)
We didn’t do an all-skate at the end (where all the couple dance one song together). Most everyone was too tired. But that’s okay. We had an amazing Superstar dance contest in the middle of a human star, and that’s more than fine with me. 😛
Post-a-day 2017
“Share your story here…”. Share your story here. Share your story here? What is my story?
Tonight, my story is that I am like Rapunzel, locked on my own in a tower, merely dreaming of what life could be if only I weren’t stuck in this tower. I want to cuddle up and cry with my despair and loneliness. The earth just shook long and low beneath me, deepening my unease for a handful of seconds. I don’t want to turn off the light – there seems to be a certain power in its being illuminated (and I do not mean the electricity), a power to keep me safe and okay and able to handle things.
Tonight, my story is that I am lonely and alone, and, though I am so close to being in a place I could and do call home, I feel as though I am in the point A to point B race where you constantly only go half the distance, thereby making progress toward the desired destination, but never actually arriving there.
Also, that just reminded me of how much I love Patrick Swayze. I wish I could have been in the film “Dirty Dancing”.
Anyway… I want to cry tonight, and to let it all go, leaving me to wake up refreshed and excited and capable in the morning.
Post-a-day 2017
hannah ananas 