just keep swimming

Right. Left. Right. Left. Breathe. Don't Panic.
Right. Left. Right. Left. Breathe. Don't Panic. Don't Panic.

It was swimming day today.  I had this weekly workout regimen: 3 weight-training days & 2 cardio days--with an optional 2 cardio days if the weekends were quiet enough.  It's a strict schedule, and if I happen to miss a weight-day, I'll have to sacrifice a cardio day for it.  So I'm quite happy it's swimming day today since it proves that I stuck with the plan this week. That and I'm starting to enjoy wearing skimpy trunks. I'd like to think I look passably OK in them.

Right. Left. Breathe. Don't Panic.

I had a lot to learn first though.  Much like the train system & conveyor sushi in Japan, they've industrialized the humble swimming pool here as well. At our gym, the top most floor housed 5 swimming lanes, each allotted a specific purpose.  Lanes 1 & 2 are for swim classes.  Lanes 3 & 4 are for circuit swimmers--swimming fro, and swimming to respectively.  Lane 5 is for walking, and cooling down. Given that a lot of the patrons are in their 60's, Lane 5 never runs out of swimcapped people trudging along with vacant expressions.

Right. Left. Right. Left.

Slow as they seem, they move like fish in water.  I found out "first foot" when I struck one speedy swimmer's head with my fluttering feet mid-lane; she had caught up with me.  And from then on, whenever I swim, I carry this small fear of striking some poor old lady's head with my extended feet.  It's not at all impossible. I could one day just as easily be "he who brings the watery death in passably OK speedo attire".

Right. Left. Breathe. Don't Panic.

So I push myself hard all throughout the 30 minute interval, 2 strokes, a snatch of air, and repeat until I reach the end. I keep going despite my thundering heart, the burning in my lungs, and the chemical water threatening to engulf me. I've gotta rush because in Japan, it's already embarassing to lose your beat, to make a mistake, to not be up to quo.  But to inconvenience someone, to actually interrupt someone's life (with my foot), is an altogether keener shade of shame. It's almost akin to stepping on a baby dolphin, or peeing in the Olympic pool, a culpable ignominy universally disparaged.

Right. Left. Don't Panic.

Life in Japan is tough. It's a given and I know this. I'm not native. I don't have a family to rely on, a network of friends I've grown with and trust implicitly, or even a citizenship that entitles me to some kind of government-sponsored coddling.  I am all I have and I am all there is. So what little I have must be utilized, improved, and taken advantage of. Push, and push hard.

Right. Left. Right. Left. Don't Panic. Don't Panic.

But it gets tiring, too. After awhile, I get worn out under duress of my own lofty expectations.  And I grow critical of other people who don't seem to see the opportunities slipping away, sinking further into the depths beyond sight nor reach. They have no idea how much they've held themselves back, this perceived emboldened ignorance stokes within me fervid hate I've never felt before.

Don't Panic. Don't Panic.

I'm 27, and the energy of youth is fading away, day by day. There's not much time left, but there may be just enough if I keep at it a little longer. The water's edge is near, the race will be over soon, a few more strokes will take me home.

Just Don't Panic. And Breathe.

Photo Credit: "Poolside" by Asimetrica Juniper

Eyes on the Horizon

We, all of us, have the capacity to hope.  I think it's a natural consequence of being alive and having an imagination. We live, experience reality for exactly what it isn't, and use our imagination to cover the gap of what it could be.

I imagine neuroses are born when we hold on to hope for too long and it grew into something we expect.  Probability would take our side, I mean, if you wait long enough almost anything can happen, right?

It'll be 1 year since I've moved to Japan. And in that length of time the gap between what is and what I'd like to be have grown closer.  I bought a bookshelf and books to go with it, have a daily gym regimen, biked around, climbed up and rode a snowboard down a mountain, drank beer under blossoms and leaves, got better in Japanese--at least I make them laugh now not just for having silly Nihonggo, but for actually being silly.

And there's still much to be done. I have yet to try archery, get a scooter, try surfing, or attend a proper tea-ceremony.

And even before I get those done, I've started dreaming farther.  Now I hope to furnish my very own place, be more silly on more sillier dates, find out what having a six-pack feels like, feel the security of having a well-stocked bank account, and pay with a swipe of a Japanese credit card with my name on it.

So much hope, so many dreams lay unclaimed in the next year.  What a wonderful perspective to have.

I hoped to explain this horrible feeling of disconnectedness that haunts me as I near the 1 year mark.  But after writing all that down, I feel reassured.  It wasn't such a bad year.  It wasn't easy, but I got through it somehow.  I'll get through the next one, too.

So until next year then, when I tease my dates with the shadow of six-pack abs in the privacy of an apartment paid for by saved money and plenty of credit to spare.

Photo credit: No Line on The Horizon - U2

almost forgot

Today was your birthday.  I almost forgot after the whirlwind that was the weekend swept over me and left me tired and vaguely functioning.  I forgot that Monday was a holiday, but still imagined I had a workday gap between your special day and the weekend.  So I came in Tuesday (looking a lot like someone who came from a whirlwind that was the weekend) with your carefully selected gift, with the plan to have it wrapped, bowtied, a bit of frizzle here and there, shiny and expensive looking paper, after work, leisurely, and with romantic thought-balloons hanging in the air.

I was wearing this oversized shirt (I've grown thinner and the shirt was sized for US constitutions) and helplessly loose pants (that was less punk, and more honey-I-shrunk-the-kids with a constant threat of indecent exposure) as I ran to the nearby grocery hoping to find a gift-wrapping service.  It was a simple gift, thought-out, and required that the packaging express the preparation involved.  I found the gift-wrapping counter(it was the one with lots of boxes) but to my dismay, only serviced goods bought from the store.  They were kind enough to direct me to the 100yen store across the floor that sold festive paper bags.

The played-down paperbag, in unobtrusive brown with a French blurb legibly written but unintelligible, was a perfect fit.  I shielded it from the sudden Autumn downpour that greeted me as I exited the train station near your office.  I managed to get to your office somehow without looking like a drowned kitty, and made my way upstairs.

As expected, you were hunched over your keyboard with an exquisite mess of hair held up by frustrations and glazed, honey-brown eyes transifixed behind a pair of glasses, quirky glasses.  You hadn't had lunch yet.  I sidled toward your desk, handed you the paperbag, and wished you a happy birthday in awkward Japanese, in suitably corporate tone, with an informal bow, with a rapidly thrumming heart.  You said hi and asked for a minute for you to settle something work-related on-screen, so I said hi to everyone else in the office, and tried to explain casually why I was there for lunch when I was supposedly working in an office 3 train stations away.

We talked on the elevator, nothing serious, nothing broadening, just friendly chatter about the concert you played in, how I think your tenor sax solo was wonderful and went well with the cabaret-themed dancers, how the weather turned to rain again, how we walked towards the shaded staircase near the smoking area, how you've started smoking again, that it is hard to stop smoking when we've got friends who smoke, how the smell of smoke reminds us of good things, and then if you were doing alright, how you celebrated your birthday with your parents at this restaurant near your place, how your mom picked the restaurant and by default paid for the meal, about how our friends teased you about this alleged Filipino custom of birthday celebrants giving gifts out, that that's a crock-of-you-know-what, how I hoped you would like the gift and my fear that you've already bought it for yourself(I had looked up how to say that in Japanese just this morning), that you haven't bought anything lately, that you plan to have dinner with your girlfriend next Thursday, and your hope that she bought a present, and that I thought girlfriends aren't required to bring presents (but it would be sweet if she did), how I had to go since it was almost the end of our lunchbreak.

The sun came-up again as I wished you goodbye, and once again, a happy birthay.  Somewhere in the conversation, I told you I would of course bring a gift. And of course this was because I will always be your friend.  That part, of course, I couldn't forget.

Kairos

When the tide of updated reports, strict deadlines, and unending reponsibilities ebbs out by some cosmic miracle, I take the time to walk along the shore and watch the stark silhouete of the coastline rouse itself from the depths of ambivalence. I study the eroded crags, pummeled rock faces, and beaten cliffs with unblinking attention.  What life have I wrought by staying here?

"Am I exactly where I want to be?" I have asked myself, on those most private of occasions. I went ahead and brought out my mental checklist:

"If my life was to end tomorrow, would I say I did it right?"

"Have I lived free of regret?"

"If I found a way to meet myself when I was 12, would the younger me be impressed?"

"Have I claimed all the happiness available to me at the time?"

Most days I would say yes. Even before the questions were asked, before the very thought of inquiry provoked, I would be accosted by some unintended, entirely casual experience.  It would be wholly mundane, something quiet and pretty and personal, like admiring the sunrise through clear skies, or arriving at the office after an uneventful afternoon commute, or hearing the clink of cold beer among friends and family at twilight.

My heart would somehow become overwhelmed with a feeling of appropriateness, a lot like serendipity, but less dramatic, like finding the missing pair of a sock. I believe that somewhere within me lies this intimate wisdom, an instinct of alignment, that would shout from within me a great "Eureka", echoing out from every corner of my soul.

Though life be a puzzle, it seemed that just for that day, I was the piece that fit.

The scenery of my life is a constantly changing landscape, but it always seemed to me quite naturally beautiful. I walk further along the beach in solemn introspection and gratitude.

Kids Who Knew Good Stories

"Catch Rurouni Kenshin on October 17, only at SM Cinema," the caption exclaimed beside the photo of the all-too-familiar orange-haired samurai in fighting stance.  It was the original poster of this year's live-action adaptation of Rurouni Kenshin. The ”かならず、帰る (definitely returns)” one-liner still starkly encrypted in all its vague Japanese glory.  Someone in SM Cinema was definitely excited to spread the news, blurb and PR-spin free, and couldn't be more right.

And just 30 minutes on the official SM Cinema Facebook Wall, the photo caught traction at 500 shares. By the 45 minute mark, it had caught fire at 1000 shares and still counting.

Listen to the social media clamor long enough and you're sure to strike gold eventually. October 17 may well be the day box office records break and are made anew, if all the Philippine anime fans had their way. For a populace filled with children who grew up on "Samurai X" repeats and have now become working, earning adults, the reaction was all too predictable.

But for the masses who missed those AXN, Studio 23, ABS-CBN noon-time anime mills, how will this movie fare, I wonder. I knew it had a love story, action scenes, social commentary, tear-jerker moments, cute kids, excessive swordplay, handsome actors and engaging actresses, all executed artfully against an amazing backdrop of Meiji-period Japan, then scored with strong music, framed in tasteful cinematography.

I am a biased anime fan, but I am also an avid movie buff. If you are at all like me, you'll come away from this movie with almost-tears, overwhelming nostalgia, and an arresting catharsis.

All those silly, odd afternoons waiting for these cartoons, humming unintelligible gibberish as the show starts to the tune of exuberant Japanese fanfare, have been vindicated.  We weren't being bug-eyed kids, we were being appreciative audiences to Japan's most wonderful tales. Where other's might see pedestrian Saturday morning cartoon fodder, we instead saw vivid characters and compelling story-telling.

It's time everyone realizes that fact: it wasn't just a comic, it was epic--and still is at 2000 shares and counting.

Photo credit: Cosplay Overload
BGM: サカナクション(Sakanaction) - 夜の踊り子(Night Dancer)

not epicureanism, but almost

I've grown the habit of telling people I did/am doing/will do someting crazy lately.  I guess the trip home reminded me what exciting opportunities await the brave foreigner in a foreign land; and also I owe everyone else who don't get to do these things a tale or two.  For the experience of it, since I'm stuck here anyways.

You could say I'm cutting loose, too. Far and beyond the reach of the prying eyes and unwavering judgement of everyone I used to know, I can do whatever I want as whoever I want to be.  Everything is a thrill and, following every venture, a natural high claims my very soul.  I'd smirk and think "That turned out better than I imagined," as I walked away with a carefree whistle.

Ann Radcliffe characterized the value of a thrill when she made the distinction between terror and horror. Terror is characterized by "obscurity" or indeterminacy in its treatment of potentially horrible events; it is this indeterminacy which leads to the sublime. She says in the essay that it "expands the soul and awakens the faculties to a high degree of life".  And I've never felt so alive as when I dare to do something I've never done before.

And what they dare dream of, dare to do.

I think its also the uniqueness of Japan that fuels the trip. It's a place sufficiently strange, but altogether safe; approachably exotic; a cultural smorgasbord, whose limited only by the gamut of one's apetite and the courage inside one's heart.

It's also a matter of age--that is, the progression of age.  As someone who values experience--and would be thoroughly bothered with just the risk of "missing out"--the pressure of seeing, tasting, feeling everything from the fresh perspective of youth urges me on.

As I change, so too will the things I experience as I unconsciously impose myself on them.  My views, opinions, values and all other things that grow and shift with me will influence my experience, and by consequence my life.

But what's wrong with the experience of old people? Well, it's a given that I'll get there much like everyone else eventually. So for now, I'm placing precedence on the vanishing commodity called youth.

So while I'm young, I'll be a little crazy; and I hope I never grow out of it.

once in a blue moon

With a bit of a wobble, Ryou-kun climbed the steel fence and hopped in.  It was past midnight, and everyone was drunk in the park, laughing in the moonlight.

All of us came together in this far off place in the middle of somewhere I can't pronounce to end the summer properly.  None of us had gone to hanabi this year, and Yoppie-kun thought to buy our own fireworks and celebrate it ourselves, here in this quiet park, among colorful swings and beside the concrete animals.

"Ki wo tsukete, yo (Be careful)!", I hollered after him. Soon, I was climbing the fence myself, and paused mid-stride as I watched him stretch out on the bench, the contours of his frame accented by the inviting shades of dark trees and the gentle glow of dimmed lamps.  I climbed down and sat on the bench, indicating he can rest his head on my lap, but he sat-up instead and looked at the moon.

"Tsuki ga kirei da ne(The moon's pretty, isn't it)?" I murmured, my eyes betraying the true subject of my thoughts.  He smiled, an easy smile as is his custom, and said that in this famous Japanese story, two lovers sat underneath the bright moon much like tonight, and one of them remarked the same thing.  "Atto, Aishiteru itta ("I love you" was spoken afterwards)," he continued, looking at the sky.

I nodded and hummed my assent, then looked to the same sky myself.

We were really drunk, and we somehow found our way to Yoppie-kun's place and made a fun mess of it.

When Saturday morning came soon after, Ryou-kun had to head home, and I tagged along, under the guise of catching my morning Nihonggo class.  We soberly walked the long route back to the station together and managed to talk.  I thanked him for being so kind during my first day at the community center.  He told me he didn't do it intentionally; he just acted according to his feelings, and his feelings said this guy's OK. "Hashirarenai (not someone to run away from)," he said.

I asked him if he remembered that one time when we were eating together and he asked me who I liked. I explained that he must have thought that it was Tomacho-kun, but I proceeded to correct him with a stammer.  "Ryou-kun ga, ano, suki desu (It's Ryou that I, well, like)."

It was easier than I thought, and my heart didn't trip over itself.  I realize he's become a friend of mine, and with dear friends, the truth came out naturally--language barriers or none.

He thanked me kindly, and said it made him happy to be told that. Without missing a beat, I said he can confide with me anything and ask me anything with no restraint. "Arigatou, arigatou (thank you, thank you)," he replied.

By then we arrived at the station turnstiles, and went through our goodbyes.  "Mata raishuu (see you next week)," we told each other, and I turned my back and walked away with no hesitation.

Photo credit: snappydessy
BGM: Chrono Cross - Guldove (Another World)