happy

I think there's no other way to describe life here but to simply say that I am quite terribly happy. It took a bit of time to get there. I guess since I haven't had the opportunity to sit down with my thoughts and ask them what they think about the new arrangement.

We'll, I still haven't. But there are those moments when I am alone--rare as they are since most of my time is spent at our busy office, or at our lively dorm, leaving only that odd 30 minutes between work and home to really do some serious wondering--that I have to consciously will myself to believe that I am here, that I am here to stay.

And staying means I don't have to hurry about the experience. This is no short-term business trip, not a Cebu-Pacific-borne vacation. I am in Japan now, and whatever pace I take will be the fullest experience of Japan I'll ever have--because now Japan is my life.

There are no regrets for me now. Work is tough and demanding, but in a way I feel that it's my way of paying a little back to the community. And if things don't work out, I don't have to worry either. Getting here taught me how easy it is to make things happen in life. Claiming this dream made me feel like there's only more dreams to be caught ahead. I just have to take my pick.

Everything is possible I guess for those who give chase to their heart's desire. It's like the universe acknowledges your intentions, such that natural laws of momentum and inertia propel you ever forward with the blessings of the moon and the stars.

There is a blessedness here, and I am grateful. If you look for me, I'll be the smiling commuter on the 8:17 train to happiness.

hajime

For something that I've dreamed of for far too long, I don't feel as excited about this whole migrating to Japan thing as I thought I would be.

Though admittedly, there are those stray moments that assault me with such vicious joy from such ordinary things like kids on the subway, the stray smile of the cashier at the chicken place, or even the bright neon signs that light the last street home.

Such high points are fairly common for someone who's new, I would think. Novelty is fun and all, but by definition, fleeting.

Plus, there's also the whole commotion of living on my own. Having been sent to Cebu and Japan previously, I've already become familiar with spending time far-away from everything that is familiar. This would be the first time though to be apart for such a long time. There's also this part of me that understands that this parting is final. Reading my contract would say this would be a 3 year stint--hardly short, but not indefinite--but I know I'll be staying for a while longer.

I do not know how, but I cannot deny that my very soul acknowledges the truth in this sentiment. I do not know myself well enough to define why, but I've lived long enough to trust these inner rumblings. This inner compass of mine has lead me true, so far.

So why am I here, after all? To live out the Japanese dream. So how do I know I'm living it?

Experiencing the dream in hindsight is a rare opportunity. From this vantage point, and with utmost honesty, I would say I don't know yet.

I would assume that finding out would be a happy adventure.

the Old Soul

Like finding an old book in my library, lovingly worn, sturdy from age, carefully hidden, I found you. In the way that the true classics are cherished by (and in a nondescript way manage to change) its readers I've been gathering my fill through summaries and snippets of your character from off-hand sources. Somehow, I've put off diving into your pages. I don't know what held me back, if it was disbelief in finding something so ideal, or in putting-off for the sake of convenience. But your critics were kind and favorable, expressed in the strange glow they wear from making your acquaintance. I envied them.

And it was well I did, as I realized while leafing through you, your varied opinions, your inexhaustible interest, those smart quips that filter through your easy smile. It is though with some sharp pangs of regret, regret for lost time and opportunities. Like paper-cuts over and over, as I experience more of you, I am reminded how fleeting tonight will be.

I'm leaving after all, and where I'm going you cannot follow, choosing not to leave behind the musty, familiar tomes of your own library. This is your happiness, and I am but barely a day's observer and hardly one to judge.

But there is hope yet: a gentle truth that I've at least started, been introduced, and perhaps have been permitted to be a footnote in that noble story you would call your life.

Great books are books that teach us familiar lessons, you feel like an old soul, hearty with experience. I hope to read more of you, and grow accustomed to your delicate cadence and benevolent composition. I'll gently leaf through your every chapter, join you in your hero's journey. And maybe then, instead of drawing blood, every chapter will end with the gentle kiss of your endless script against my skin.

I look forward to your every crazy tale. Call it vicarious, or an act so superfluous. But just keep writing.