the March of Clouds

Most days, because of the hectic schedule, I end up taking lonesome lunches. It doesn't really bother me eating by myself, but I make it a point to find a tucked-away nook where I won't have to worry about seeing anyone else. I'm not embarrassed or anything, I just don't want to have to explain why I'm by myself, nor consider if I should join them for lunch. I just want to get this necessary routine out of the way so I can get back to the stack of work waiting for me at my desk.

And when I do this, my favorite spot is over by the windows. In our 8th floor cafeteria, the ceiling-high windows are lined with white-clean, narrow counters and a row of stools each. The counters are just wide enough to accommodate a tray of food, and allow for a commanding view of the surrounding suburban sprawl as you munch on lunch, or the glittering city skyline as you partake of dinner. It's a nice place to sit, and conveniently let's you turn your back on the crowded floor and instead watch the wide horizon.

But yesterday, after the typhoon-drenched weekend past, the afternoon view was bright with sunlight and the sky gleamed bluer than usual. The Tokyo weather portrays so well the calm beauty after the storm. The lofty clouds, so massive, somehow hang upon this calmness as they gently wade across the sky.

Or I may just be projecting my own sense of quietude. The 4 month long project just succeeded in a vital release earlier this week, and I'm recollecting the days gone by, how quickly they move from reality to memory as the present shifts into the past.

In the time of the project, I've joined a gay chorus, sang in a concert, lost weight, gone bungee-jumping, gone to Izu and Nagasaki, settled my credit card debts, regained some semblance of financial stability, been promoted, gained back some weight, gotten drunk more than usual, volunteered for LGBT parades and movie festivals, said goodbye to a few friends, shook the hands of a few new ones, kissed deeply and have made good memories.

I worry, actually, that the road of my life is milestoned by work. And in between these milestones, there is nothing but grit and the fading remains of my footprints. But it seems this isn't so, I've managed somehow to live--despite myself.

I look out the window and watch the majestic clouds again. They seem so voluminous, so awkwardly large, I wonder how they can proceed so serenely, so placidly, through the vastness of the seas, the tumult of storms, and the peaks of mountain ranges.

A good friend of mine, while we were walking home, told me how people who live in cities forget to look up at the sky, forget how big it is, and slowly lose that sense of perspective of how small we are in the grand scale of things.

I see his point now. We're all just clouds in the infinite sky. We grow dark and stormy sometimes, or get pulled from here and there by capricious winds. But we all manage to march on with our lives, across the endless blue, and always toward our horizon.

Photo credit: Passing Clouds by Dumdad

this Solvency

So I've recently achieved a major milestone in my life: financial independence. This is, in my understanding, being able to pay for all my past credit, my immediate needs, and my future wants. Most people I believe will probably say, "There's nothing special in that. You just have to live within your means." But in my case, my prime directive in life is to maximize experience; and keeping to that personal mandate means spending a lot of cash all the time.

So this marriage of my philosophy and financial security is such an amazing feat for me. An extraordinary feat--by reason of it being completely impractical--that requires an extraordinary act: which is working in another country--which I did.

And now that I've achieved this previously impossible dream, I've been left to think, "What else is there to life?"

I mean, the challenge has been met, the day won, the prize seized. What is there left to chase after?

My dear friend and officemate, Flo, quaintly explains it in this manner: goals are just steps. Once you reach a goal, it is the human tendency, no, prerogative, to move to the next. Dreams are something you imagine, do, and eventually replace.

So now that I'm here, I am satisfied. And since satisfaction is a completely different concept from happiness, I've still got a ways to go.

So I've been enriching my life, by joining clubs and groups and communities. I've participated in volunteer work, concerts, religious fellowship, drunk revery, bbqs, random little things that happen in the course of life. I've said yes to every opportunity, never said "No" to any invitation, pursued any and all possible avenues for experience, exposure and excitement with an open mind.

And after all that, I can safely say I know what I want in life. Or, to better define it, I have found the proof that asserts what I've yearned for all along.

And in a way, I think that, compared to being able to pay for your own rent, knowing what you want in life is the most empowering thing you can ever discover about yourself. I hope you find it, too. Because life is a long road, and though the trip may be fun, nothing else fills you with confidence and self-assurance than knowing that unwavering truth of where you're going. The joy may be in the journey, but if you're lucky, knowing the destination will fill you with ease and simplify everything.

I know where I'm going: a house on the edge of the sea, watching the beautiful vista as I feebly, but steadily, chase the words that could capture the magic of a sunset shimmering into dusk on the infinite horizon. 3 years in, I feel like it won't be too long 'til I get there.

Work, Work, Work

I guess it's about time I said something about the new place, the culmination of months of careful planning, and the final resting place of my (latest) hopes and dreams.

Well, it's great.

That's what I tell everyone who asks at least, then I swiftly distract them with a story of how everyone in my department are all [swarthy] men from America, Europe, and elsewhere, which to me is both encouraging and invigorating all at the same time, except when they wear shorts, and I end up mentally halting mid-line-of-code and thinking, "Ho- shi-, I'm such a lucky basta~rd!"

But the truth that lurks behind the wall of small talk and entertaining banter is that I am so terribly in love with my job. I am so genuinely happy to have landed this job where I get to work on projects that, from the perspective of someone who's been making little, quiet applications hidden away in some forlorn server on the dark side of the earth, has more screen time  has more far-reaching impact, has more fancy buttons and slick animations to complement every user twitch and twiddle. A big upgrade, I'd say, from the mangled hex digits, encoded dates and obscure toggles that were as intellectually challenging as they were obscure.

Where before my canvas were the pedestrian crossings and bike lanes of forgotten country roads, now I can paint frescoes on basilica walls. The beauty of mobile applications is their [prevalence]. For the humble app developer, his stage is the palm of your hand.

There're other things to consider at work, though. Like, as I mentioned, the manly colleagues, who are clever, intuitive engineers one second, and a rambunctious gang the next. They're like the brothers I never had, who have grown together, have so gotten used to each other, to a point that, from the uninitiated ears of an interloper, their varied interactions would come temperamental and brash. But they are all quite kind, the silly, boyish, lot of 'em, and are also quite human, prone to mistakes that in a team such as ours just manages to mix and dissolve together into a brew of stumbling, raving, genius.

What I initially saw as excessively vocal, was actually frank honesty. I've come to deeply respect this. What better company is there, than with those we trust?

So after the job, the people, that leaves us with the infrastructure of the company, the policies and perks. There's free lunch at the cafeteria, and vending machines at every floor, with an ATM at the 12th if you feel like dodging the sunlight a bit longer. My personal machine is a highly-spec-ed laptop on Windows to support any corporate application requirements, and my development machine is a powerhouse of a desktop, with dual monitors. One of which, is a wide-screen 23-incher in portrait mode. Oh, the number of lines of code I can see in a glance is a coder's wet-dream.

It's great, and my only challenge is, earning my place here.

Photo credit: Spring Fresco in Santorini from Jeremy Rutter
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