Post #8

I live in a country of Cicadoidea, or commonly known as the cicada.

They are loud, obnoxious little suckers. Like clockwork, they chirrup after the sun has set and they'll be there help wake you up by sing a morning melody in the morning.

Why they are everywhere, but you hardly ever see one, and honestly you don't really want to. If you happen to see one, it'll probably fly into your face - I've seen it happen on more than one occasion. And then, there's the play dead cicada. Just the other day, there was a cicada the size of a half-dollar coin lying on its back as I parked my bicycle in my garage. I was cautious to not beckon its awakening. Looking closely, I was able to confirm, yes, the little bugger was still moving its legs. The next day when I went to take out my bicycle, it had already left. This little vagrant reminded me of the men (or sometimes foreigners without cash) who sleep in a box outside of Tokyo train stations.

Whatever works as shelter, I suppose. My garage is kind of like a capsule hotel room, minus the telly, but definitely classier than a box.

Post #7

He knows without thinking. The date on the top left corner of his cell phone display, beneath the signal bar and the battery icon, tells him that her birthday is coming up. There are some dates that just stick, even years after it has become insignificant.
He’ll do what he does every year. He’ll send her a message to wish her a happy birthday. It would be nice to send a gift, but it never seemed appropriate, and so one was never sent and never will be.

After he checks his messages, he puts his phone down and continues to watch television. In the background of his mind, while the television program continues to zombify him, his subconsciousness plays with buried expectations. If they were to be projected, it would play out like this.

He leaves work early to make her a birthday cake, probably tiramisu because it was the first cake they ever made together. He picks up her favorite flowers, lavender, from the florist before heading over to her place. When he arrives, she gives him a warm hug and they have a nice, pleasant dinner, pasta with clams and mussels mariniere, over wine and an engaging conversation. After dessert, he presents her plane tickets and rushes her to start packing. Their vacation would end at Myrtos beach, viewing all the colors of the water as the sunsets. Wow, what a pile of vomit inducing cliches.

And then there is reality. When the day comes, it would pass like any other day. He would sporadically think of her as he glanced at the time throughout the day, when he is on the train, when he’s in his office, when he eats his lunch, when he watches the evening news, and once more before he sleeps. Good night.

And all of his expectations will remain expectations. And one day as he is driving home, he is stopped at the corner waiting for the green light. All of a sudden he realizes that his expectations is the orgastic future of the lover after him. The current had carried his boat away many years ago and it was futile to ceaselessly locate the past.

Post #6

Can you take the peace?

I can't even lie about it, I live in Nippon Suburbia.
It's a community where younger children are running around in the sandy playground, older housewives gather on the porch to socialize, and the common workers might not have ventured into Tokyo for decades. I wake up in the morning to see my neighbors take out the trash and I greet them all as I make my way to drop off my garbage into the pile. Then it's off to work as I bike past Junior High School students in their neatly pressed uniforms and Salarymen with briefcases. The way back home is not much different, only the sky is darker.

As I sit in my home, I can hear all the distant conversations that my neighbors are having just outside. Walls are thin and my windows are often open, so voices seep through from all sides. All around me are foreign sounds that I can't yet understand (although they might be too soft anyways). And then when the sun has finally set, it is still quiet. Occasionally I can hear the water running down my pipes, the neighborhood biker gang (really more like scooters and totally not intimidating) driving by in the distance, the chirping of bugs in various plants, but sometimes I hear nothing. It's like living in a vacuum with your thoughts.

And suddenly, there will be an earthquake. I'll be reminded, yes I am living.

Post #5

I woke up in a frenzy. The conductor had already announced my stop twice already and just before the doors closed, I was able to squeeze out onto the platform. Usually I would feel extremely embarrassed in a situation like this, but I was still shaking myself out of the nap when the local train disappeared into the distance. I gathered myself and headed out the station. The walk back home was no more than 5 minutes, and since the weather was often humid, I took my time walking. Even at my slow pace, I was able to pass this old granny with a noticeable hunchback. She said, "good afternoon," to which I replied, "good afternoon."

When I finally got home, I tiptoed into the apartment. I lived alone, so it wasn't like I was expecting someone to be at my place. Being quite paranoid, I can always imagine the apartment being broken into and the burglar was still inside. Like any other day, the only noise came from the drapes in the living room, swaying from a slight breeze. Like clockwork, I walked over to my computer to check my mail. As it was waking up, I noticed a book on my bookshelf. It had been one that I brought over to Japan, but there was something peculiar about it. I took it off the shelf and examined it from front to back. I couldn't read a speck of it. I took another novel off my shelf. The same thing. My eyes bulged. "This is not happening," I told myself. I turned on the television and for the first time, I understood everything the news anchor was saying. Then it was true, I had somehow lost the ability to comprehend English. So I asked myself, "what language am I thinking in?" I realized my thoughts are instinctively in Japanese and as hard as I tried, it remained that way.

While my brain was processing the logic behind this phenomenon I just wanted to shut it off. I just wanted to clear my head. I know what this all means. If I can no longer think in the same language that I had been conditioned to up until this afternoon, it means I am no longer myself. This new me has come to replace me.

It is not possible for everything to be translated.

Post #4

Since landing in Japan, I've already ventured out into the big bad city of Tokyo, Shinjuku to be precise, on my own. Having been given brief directions, I left my hotel in search for the Post Office Bank to exchange some Dollars into Yen. It was a straight path there, but crossing the street for the first time in Japan is like crossing the street for the first time period. In Boston, I would casually cross when there was no oncoming traffic, but here everyone waits for the signals, so I had to control myself to do the same. At the post office, I used a combination of very basic Japanese and English to convey my desire to exchange currency. The bank section was closed and I was instructed to return tomorrow at 10am. Brave and bold, I continued to patrol the streets while the cloudy skies began to form rain clouds. Ducking into a Lawson convenient store, I made my first purchase in Japan, a clear Japanese umbrella. Unable to understand the cashier as she spoke to me, I just nodded and left the store feeling no less different than a mute. Hungry, I found a friend back at the hotel and together we went to grab some food at a nearby Curry place. Instead of placing an order with the waiter, I experience the wonderful process of Japanese eats. We bought a food voucher from a vending machine and handed the ticket to our server, who then brought out our food. All of this took place in less than minutes. This was amazing, no conversations necessary. I guess I can survive in this country, for now.