Untitled

I have a very clear idea of who I am. I can be introverted, extremely so. I can be abrupt. And I can bland. I have this guy that I know who probably thinks of me in this light, in this narrow, negative light. I'm very well aware that of it and he's not wrong to think that. It's the message I've been deliberately projecting for weeks on end now. Why? Because he's a childish, spiritualist, flake and in the early days here in Tokyo, when I was grabbing at friends I grabbed at him. I think what gets me the most is the childishness, the sniggering at the dumbest jokes and the repetition. He's a nice guy but he's too old to be that...silly. Or maybe the problem is that I'm too old for my mere 23 years. The one thing I've realised as I've gotten older is that I let go of people very easily. I don't know if that's a good thing though...

The works of Stieg

I just kinda finished the Millennium Trilogy by Stieg Larsson; I say kinda because I'm on page 698 and I don't really care to find out what happens between Gibraltar and Stockholm. The series was great. It was the first time I'd delved into the world of crime novels and this was the perfect one to start with. I could think of no flaws in this book save one. But I'll get to that later. I loved the strength of the women within the books,which in the third book, coincides with the theme of the legendary Amazons. I think was paramount because all of the books focused on crimes committed against women by men. Crimes against women is such a broad topic; it can range from rape to harassment to being labelled as emotional. The key difference lies in the distinction between physical and mental crimes; the latter of which is much harder to prove.

My main issue with Larsson's classic is the need to create this superfluous male protagonist. Mikael Blomkvist is so obviously the creation of a man. Why else would he be so smart, so sexually appealing to a variety of different but strong women, even though, according to Larsson, he's nothing particularly special. I don't get the sense that he's unattractive, but he's not Brad Pitt is my point. I think that Blomkvist represents what a man of Larsson's calibre finds attractive in other men. And it is at this point and only on the point that I find Larsson utterly predictable and annoying beyond belief. There is nothing attractive about a man who fucks around with anyone that catches his eye and refuses to commit. The thing that bugs me even more is that with both of his two major trists, (first with the dragon lady herself Salander, and then with the SIS agent Figuerola) you witnessed these women, these Amazons throwing themselves at this... guy.

Alas I could go on for quite a bit about this but I have a guesthouse to clean. Aside from that guy this is an amazing book that needs to be read by everyone that reads in the world.

It is his legacy.

Happy Birthday

My birthday was an interesting one this year. I had a budget of zero and a new job so I couldn't even ask for a day off to do the cheapest activity I could thinking of (nursing a 750¥ Ouzo), so I prepared myself for nothing, like so many other birthdays past. On the actual day, I got a call from my family back in London and a slew of birthday wishes on Facebook. We had a meeting at the guest house I'm living in; meetings tend to drag here so I figured I'd eat first. Big mistake. They had planned a surprise birthday lunch which I had to eat because they'd gone to the trouble. I can't not eat anything put in front of me. It's a curse really. So I ate and ate and gave out an excess food sigh. It was great though. I really appreciated it and it was the first time I'd actually been surprised like that.

p.s. I finally started my fashion designer project; I'm basically taking in a kimono and shortening it.

Time Travelling vol.1 chp 2 My Valentine

Sometimes when I time travel, I go back to the most uncertain times in my life. Whether that happens to be me being uncertain about getting work or me being uncertain about love is up to chance.

In the first couple of months I spent in Tokyo, I met a lot of gaijin and even though it was never in the plans, I spent time with them and got to know them. More than that, I was happy to know them. They provided relief in the, oh so nihongo world. I'd never thought about what the absence would do to me. Of those gaijin, I liked, not loved, one. And for the first time in my life I didn't mind the idea of being that other woman because I was certain that his gaijin-nihongo relationship was nothing but a fling. In my head she was a lovely girl; pretty and funny and friendly, but a fling nonetheless. So the notion of infidelity never seemed like something to question. But there was also an oddness about my feelings for him, in that, I never really felt jealous or hurt. I never felt pain at the sight of their embracing. It could have been a one-night stand never to be spoken of again, it could've been an affair. I didn't mind either way. All I knew was that I had a deep longing.

The problem with the me back then and the only thing that gave me pause was that I would, could never expose myself in that way. The idea of saying 'I like you, I want to have sex with you' was so unbelievably dangerous and raw and damaging. My fear of rejection was so great that I'd never let that thought stray any further than my mind and when I felt lonely or I saw him on a drunken night, that thought would creep, slowly at first and then with more and more vigour; fighting against my defenses but never winning because the greatest barrier I had was my fear. My crippling fear. He never knew how I felt.  He left Japan that year.

I was filled with ambivalence about that thought, and I still don't really know why. Was it because I only liked him so much or was it because I was cut off? Had I isolated myself without knowing and would I be like that forever.

It wasn't till later that I realised...

Second time lucky

I never looked up at the sky in London because, nine times out of ten, I was guaranteed a grey sky. Here, in Japan, even on the shit days there's a blue sky. I love that.

A couple of nights ago I went to an international comedy night in Shibuya. I had attempted and failed this very task the previous month when I was very new to Tokyo and didn't see the point in even attempting to read maps. I just followed. This time I was successful and in only to 3 mins. The night was quite interesting, in that the funniest comedian was actually a Japanese guy. Everyone loved him, even the uber obnoxious Brits; 50 something year old way past their prime, beer bellies and overbearing voices. Unattractive would be an understatement.

The was also a really cool Indian Woody Allen who highlighted the an (red bean paste) phenomenon. Funnily enough the very next day everywhere I looked there was an and for the first time in Japan I wanted something else.

Japanese Valentine's Day

So it was Valentine's day here in Japan a few days ago and I had the pleasure of hosting the weekly party at the hostel...sigh. Not my thing. I can cook but I don't like the pressure. To tell yah the truth I don't know how to cook for more than one... ME. And here I am being thrown in the deep end. I made it through the night with spag bol and crepes. I force fed my male friends, and then in turn, I was force fed crepes.

I'm going on a diet!

January

To sum up my first month in Japan would take more effort and patience than I have right now, so I'll give a brief overview. I got a job. I got my alien registration card. I got malnourished.
Maybe that was a bit too brief.

I got a job; in Kawaguchi with children. It's great cos I don't have to set up anything. They've got a clear curriculum. I just show up and sing & dance (learning the songs are a bitch though). Co-workers are great too.

I got my alien registration card; that's exactly like it says on the tin. I applied and I picked it up around the 31st. I'm legal.

I got malnourished; apparently 7Eleven doesn't have everything you need to help you grow up strong. That combined with not having eaten meat in 3 weeks left me sleeping constantly and anaemic.

Other than the anaemia, Japan's been treating me good, so long!

Things I like about Japan

1. 7 Eleven; open 24hrs a day, who knew!
2. Prawn tenpura bento
3. Nakano station
4. Mandarake in Nakano
5. Green tea (still hate black though)
6. Ramen
7. Udon noodles
8. Being able to walk on the road (freaked me out at first)

The wait is over........

.........and not in that crappy Rihanna way. I finally moved to Japan, Tokyo to be exact. While searching for accommodation I came across a guesthouse in Nakano, just like one of the main characters in Murakami's Kafka. It was a sign, I thought.

So here I am in Nakano and this isn't a sweet, delicious gingery/ lemony hot drink.

More to come hopefully...

Time Travelling vol.1 chp 1

In the months before I left, I didn't think too much. I tried not to think about the fact that I wouldn't be living in my house anymore, I wouldn't see my family anymore, I wouldn't my friends anymore, hell... I wouldn't see England anymore. I was moving on and taking the big leap. If I thought about it too much I would worry and fret over the fact that I'd be by myself in a foreign country with only my un-streetwise ass to rely on. Oh I was scared alright, I was scared shitless. But no one needed to know that; if they did, I'd be talked out of it.

Ding Dong Sheila's Dead

On a sad note...I got rid of my Toshiba laptop: Sheila. She just gave up. She is survived by her a replacement Vaio Laptop which will remain nameless out of respect for Sheila. She was a slow, power hungry bitch but she was all mine and will be missed... a little bit ^_^

...and, yes, that is my foot.

Working Girl

So I got a new job. No more McDonald's and all the shit. I've moved up from crew member to Catering Assisstant which basically means a 45p pay rise. No more minimum wage. Can you feel the joy? The thing about new jobs is that you get new bullshit to deal with. To some extent I appreciated the McDonald's zero tolerance for bullshit attitude. This new job has me constantly facing off attempts at brain washing; I don't like being told to be enthusiastic, I don't like shouting woohoo and high-fiving. Maybe it's the English in me. I believe that those things come naturally with time and I don't see the need to force it. It's seems to me that Company Speed (the imaginary name of my employers) has adopted a uniquely American brand of business courtesy of companies like Gap and Apple. I don't buy into the crap!

And then there's the baby... not my baby (thank God) but my sister's baby. Cute though she may be, crying is not my idea of fun. All she does is sleep, eat and shit - in that order.

In the end, I can't complain that much, not just because my wallet seems a bit fuller, but because I'm gonna be out of here soon. I leaving on a jet plane, I don't know when I'll be back again...

The Shit has hit the Fan

As if life wasn't crappy enough. We're in a recession/ suffering the effects of it. We hardly have any money and what money we do have goes to pay for the basics. The basics that are too expensive. Basics like bread, eggs and milk. People are having to make decisions about what not to eat in order to heat their homes. And naturally that brings about apathy...I think they call it anomie, at least that's what Durkheim says; events out of our control have deeply impacted us resulting in normlessness. While that is the reality, and it's a cruel reality, it doesn't excuse all the shit that's going on.

On a more positive note, these looters, anarchists and ne'er-do-wells are like the UN of looters, anarchists and ne'er-do-wells. It's a muticultural riot. Tony Blair (aka the devil incarnate) couldn't have wished for more. We've come so far.

The September Issue vol.1 chp 8 I like not being able to ride a bicycle...

...but you don't, I told him. What's so wrong about not being able to? I can take public transport, or a cab, or hell, I could walk. Sōsuke was on a crusade. Apparently it was unnatural, unthinkable that I couldn't ride a bike and I needed to learn immediately. I tried to convince him that I was too old and too easily bruised to worry about crap like that. But as I said he was on a crusade and wasn't taking "No!" for an answer. That's what led to me laying flat on my back in pain everywhere except for my ears.

He'd woken me up at 8 am that Saturday and considering I'd gone to bed at 3 am I was not pleased. I was hoping that if I ignored the doorbell long enough he'd get tired and berate me later. So I waited it out and he did leave after about 10 mins so I went back to my fantasy with classic Wentworth. All of a sudden I heard my front door open and my landlord's booming voice. The fucker had gotten my landlord to let him in. I was so incensed I got up without thinking. Two things happened: first, I exposed myself in my panties white, with a pink bow; second, I had a tumble - I suffer from chronic low BP, if I get up too quickly, everything goes black, I loose my balance. And that's just what happened. Luckily I was standing next to the wall so it braced my fall. It took about 15 seconds to clear up and when I could see again, there he was. You couldn't leave it alone could you? He grinned and said that he was worried. An obvious lie. I told my landlord that I was okay. He left and I went to the bathroom. There was no fighting with this idiot today and I was never gonna get my time with Wentworth back.

After I'd gotten dressed and he'd raided my fridge, we headed off to the park. We found a quiet spot on a hill-ish area and he started going through the basics of cycling  ie. peddle, breaks...wheel. I asked for training wheels but he said those were useless. He was on a mission to teach me and there was no stopping him. While he was spewing some crap about Voeckler and Sanchez I found myself wondering how the hell we got hear. I was a shit English teacher as it turned out; the only things I ever manged to get across to him were the swear words, but maybe that was because of my unruly student.

I finally got on and he pushed. It all happened very quickly. He said something about the best way to learn as he did so. I don't know what I replied but I'm pretty sure it wasn't PG-13. I don't remember much else. I'm pretty sure that my mind blocked out the trauma. I never actually passed out or anything but when I heard his footsteps I pretended to. He should be made to feel bad. I was soar, bruised and generally pissed off because of him. I've never in my life seen my melanin-rich skin so bruised. When we got back to my flat and he settled me on the couch, I told him that we were never doing that again. How about training wheels he said. We both smiled. As he got up to leave, I asked if he'd had a good birthday. The best he replied.

Interimission

I feel bad. I've neglected the blog I've come to love so much. And tthere are no proper explanations. I was busy, but I wasn't busy with anything special. In fact it was bloody boring stuff. In between that busy and boring stuff it was easier to not write or think about writing. But now I'm on this ricketty old PC on a Sunday with nothing to do and I get the urge to write. Truth be told I've been thinking about writing for the past couple of weeks except I have no pens in hand when this lightening bolt strikes and so the idea I had about the announcer at Waterloo or the woman with three bags is filed under my things I'll eventually get around to doing list.
What was it I was gonna tell you again...? My life, my impending doom and my constant waiting. Well, all of those things are still going on and I'm okay with that, people (I mean my family) still piss me off but now I'm gainfully employed. Yes that's right, I have an income. Unfortunately, it's an income courtesy of your local fast food restaurant (it rhymes with Ronald's). Normally I'm pretty miserable about it, but then I see my pacheck and little it may be, it's my own.