~ {la première mémoire} ~
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As I looked at her face, I realized that this would probably be the last time I will see her in this manner. There probably be some more chances along the way, but I believe no longer in this manner.
"I no longer understand what you really want. I don't know what to make up of you, and perhaps it would be better if we think it through whether we would want to continue."
That's a very kind way of initiating a break up, but I thought that the statement aptly described what I think of her. I couldn't much comprehend what she wanted, and thought perhaps this would be the end.
On a cold November last year, while witnessing the beauty of autumn leaves dried up along the alley of Kyoto Shi-jou temple, I reminiscence about a potential love blossom between us, thinking that we are meant to have closer than what we presently represent ourselves. I thought of her favorite animal, and bought a few tortoise handmade in clay specially designed by the kind warm-hearted o-ba-san at the clay-making station along the alley. The hard work and the patience she tolerated with me while I described what my admired girl would like would probably be the incentives motivated me to purchase the inexorably pricey souvenir, but it definitely was well worth. I took a pair to remind myself of the devotion we had - and the sealing of the relationship with that gift as the proposal.
And here I am looking at her, with blithe contempt, and little appreciation from her. Perhaps it was my fault in the first place, with so many commitment at church, in work, in my family, in some friends. And she with her ex-boyfriend, her lousy roommates, her terribly compromising landlord (at the whistle of a blow, the landlord would just run and hide) and of course, her great family background. And I accept the contempt, knowing that as the time goes, this perhaps would not be appropriate to continue any longer.
I have not heard from her since, which perhaps is a good thing. My head is clearer at times, and I am more sane towards the occasional emotive self.
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~ {le sarcasme premier} ~
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Every night before sleep, I would just look around my room from the back of my wall in which my bed leaned across. I changed the position, so that I could see a different point of view. The wardrobe being across me looking palely greenish from wear and tear, the abandoned study table, beech in color, left used only when watching movie in my room, the retro-looking bed mattress across mine, almost leaning against the pale wardrobe - which belonged to my roommate who I hardly talk to. The two fans reminding me of the "film noir"-istic art across Asian genre, and above all - the 3 guitars laying in front of me, with a Yamaha keyboard to accompany me.
I remembered the first memory of each of the instrument laid in front, and they were really something.
The first one is the electric guitar, a PRS SE Tremonti custom. I remembered purchasing that at a relatively high price at the pathetic music store in central business area. I didn't want to bargain because I saw the value in it, and definitely felt great playing it even till now. The sound was crisp and fat, especially when jamming along my favorite tune "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen always. I loved the lead line played originally by Brian May, and I didn't realize that the lead line were actually composed by the vocalist of the band, Freddy Mercury, who happened to be a gay and died of Aids during their hey day. Playing good classic songs as tributes, I would jam every day when the guitar were still fresh in me, and almost a year later, it laid in front of the bed most of the time zipped. Now that I think about it, I wondered why I bought that with a price that almost slaughtered my bank account.
The second one is the bass guitar, the Sterling by Musicman Ray35. The vintage Musicman with 5 strings was considered the best investment I ever had. Though relatively expensive, it was considered a deal a lot better than what I could have requisite in a regular music store. I remembered jamming along several funk and jazz tunes along with this bass. My first song that I played definitely was from Red Hot Chili Peppers "Can't Stop", remembering the vintage slap done by Flea, and very classic fat bass tone. Since then, I have been playing the bass mainly in church, and always with great Hillsongs and occasional Israel Houghton pieces. Unfortunately though, the bass didn't get much attention as well - perhaps because of the time spent to set up and to warm down every time.
The keyboard was the third I purchased, telling myself that I need a keyboard to compose song - which was true in fact. During the early days when I was still in my university years, I remembered suddenly able to play the grand piano situated at the piano lounge of my hall without anyone teaching. The touch somehow comes in magically and even some of my hall mates commented how weird they see me playing piano eeriely well, when I tell them it was the first time I touch piano. Since then I wrote a few songs on the grand piano - and upon graduating, I have yet to touch on one. Buying a keyboard is meant for the continuation, but somehow, after 2 years of hectic work, it seems like the motivation grew stale. Now it laid there, rarely been used unless I suddenly had an inspiration.
The last one, the acoustic guitar - that was the only vintage that I use every day, occasionally at night, but mainly during the day. It was one of the humblest instrument I ever had, perhaps unexpected as well. A nice soul in Osaka willed the Yamaha FG-401B to be sold because he disliked the scars he left behind. What he didn't realize was that though the scars drastically reduced the cost price, the sound remained the same. And a poor soul found this guitar well sounded and decided for a mere SGD 60 to purchase this classic, limited edition made in Japan acoustic guitar. The same guitar would be priced SGD 600 in Singapore actually due to the limited release. No doubt as well, this same guitar went through with me, through thick and thin, playing several pieces that I might not even be aware of, and also the guitar that I bought that motivated me to impress the girl waiting for me back home.
Now that I looked upon this guitar, I was reminded about the memory I had with this guitar and the girl, and with short remark of sarcasm she noted her discontent on musician and especially guitar players. A stab in the heart, but due to my devotion for her, I decide that perhaps she meant little. Nevertheless, the damage done during that time - and bringing back to reality - felt as if the wound was still fresh - even though it has been half a year since she mentioned that.
I took up the guitar, ignoring the sarcastic remark, and play the favorite tune I would cling always to... "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" by the poor George Harrison - the man inspired through his dark days ever since Eric Clapton's "Layla". And strangely, a humble dose of salty water flowed through the left iris of my face, and streamed down to the parched lips.
My life's a joke, perhaps.
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~ {les coullisses} ~
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The starkly dark view across the alley across the streets is enough to engulfed any patrons with eerie horror towards their safety as any would necessary take this chemin etroit vers le chalet. The terrible wind gulf blew hard on any poor soul's face, enough to leave the bare skin a few lines as reminder of not messing with the nature. Despite this however, even mother nature couldn't revoke the determination of this young gentleman wearing his almost worn-out coffee-brown trenchcoat.
He remembered the street well. The narrow path towards safety, towards the cottage with someone awaiting him - a nice coach alongside the fire chimney. Une telle chaleur! Mon chalet desire! My desired cottage, the chimney one, as he trodded along.
The journey has definitely worn him out. With much enthusiasm, he asked his parents for the opportunity to go out and see the world. He realized that in order to gain as much to recognize the beauty of living, he wants to savor all that is to the world outside. Greatly discouraged, his parents asked him to reconsider, because of the destiny that awaits him. He read stories on city triumphs, the many success behind those who sought after greater wealth and health. After all is these the essence of living in this world? Apparently his parents do not fully agree.
He couldn't see why initially - of course these books that I read must be true, no? - but 7 years of journey of discovering led him to believe the cote faux behind the magnificent stories of prosperity. He thought that with more money, he could get more for himself the satisfaction in life. The discovery of increasing wealth led him to instill fear among his colleagues and friends, sensing their every day friendliness as a means to acquire part of his wealth whenever possible. Initially he thought he was just being paranoid, until a day comes when he had all he wants, and realized that he cannot enjoy them all - all alone.
And then there's another aspect - the love. He thought he could find the love of his life when he acquired what he wants. And boy did he - an extremely beautiful looking 22-year-old lady who has great confidence in bringing out the best of herself. With much enthusiasm, they both sought each other. And the love - the gushing thoughts of romanticsm, led both to believe both to belong to each other forever. And so, affirming the newfound devotion, both decide for that single night, a night to remember. The initial love made, and admiring both naked bodies with so much convoitise, and through that fateful night - succomber a l'amour. That night led to many nights, and both are deeply in love every night they are in the bed.
4 months, and the amour has dissipated like vapor in the wind. The last night, he remembered, she has just merely allowed the fornication without much passion. After the night, both slept on separate beds, recoiling at the first sight after all that passionate moments. In the end, she disallowed him d'entree and left him outside - waiting for a way to get in for the next 4 months.
He thought about the love that was attended, and why in that moment all has lost. It took a weird cold April rainy day to strike him in his head. While shaving his deary face, he saw more than a wretched face with sunken eyes. He looked deeper and realized the person who used to fight for survival and fight to live - has now resorted to live each day as it is - submitted to melancholy and nonchalance. There's nothing else to believe in anymore.
Almost immediately after that, he decided to pack his stuff and decide that he needs to find a way back. Screw the girl. Screw the riches. Screw my residence here. I am coming home. Perhaps... someone can still remember me.
Perhaps... but would it be?
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~ {les reveil} ~
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The next morning, whenever there's emotions hung over the night before, I would spend some time thinking about things randomly. I would wish that life would be fairer, and that at least I have someone who I can trust with - but to no avail has this ever happened. I always evaluated and look around for possible solution in life but none ever worked. There's a period of time when I started smoking back because I would like to forget about the pain. The pain about life is too much to bear, and that I want to at least have some anaethesia to put off the panging effect. Most of the time, accompanied with vodka, I felt bad and often with little willpower left, I reached home late and take a bath and sleep. The heavy sleep often helped, but the next day I would still be reminded about the smell on my breath. People always noted that "Katsute kitsuen-sha wa tsuneni kitsuen-sha desu" (かつて喫煙者は喫煙者です). Once a smoker always a smoker. And it generally applied to all.
I remembered since young my tendency for intimacy. I have repeated too many times about this story and I do not think it deserved additional repetition, but I do find it sad to see that till this day, I have yet to resolve the guilt within me on the pain and the hurt that came across each time I see myself being a failure more than another story of urban independent successful gentleman. I have punkish hair cut, poor choice of literary representation, weird mix of fashion alchemy, and above all a soft spot for genjitsu no dorama (現実のドラマ). I wouldn't say that I am a hard guy to reach, nor am I a guy that is unusually unique, but I do know that I am not easy to get along unless a common thread of interest falls between. More often I would just be the supporting actor in a story described, or perhaps a person mentioned not more than 3~4 times when something is being brought up in a group chat.
Perhaps because of my tendency towards individualistic endeavors caused me to want to be introverted. There are only a handful of people who I want to be close to, and whenever there are people who are close with me on that level, it is easier for me to talk almost about anything to him/her. Unfortunately, most of the time I was the one who initiates the call just to chat, watch movie, hang around, play music - and sadly that perhaps is all that is left for me.
I see myself, gradually though, as someone slightly difficult to get along with at times, and now that things are getting from bad till worse, I do not know how to cope with the pain. I want to walk back towards where I belong, to people who I am close with. But whenever I heard of admonition from them to tell me to dress like them, cut hair like them, maintain a good diet like them, love things like them - I felt betrayed at times. I can love you for who you are, and I will not admonish you to become like me. In fact, I do not wish you to be likewise - but to insist that I should become like you in order that I can grow close to you - it cannot happen immediately. Perhaps never.
This reveal a lot about your expression of love, no? In order that I am better loved, you need me to emulate everything that you do. That may be right, if the intention is to follow the heart of the matter. But what if it's not?
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~ {les conclusion} ~
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I am always fascinated with Romans 8, because on a personal level that chapter always glued me back to reality of my reason in believing Him in a very unbelievable world. I see people measuring power based on how they often perceive themselves to be - wealth, health, prosperity, reputation, ownership, etc. But at the end of the day, especially towards each night, I would ponder upon the moon across, and think about Romans 8 to remind me of why I insist of living in an insane world.
Eugene Peterson brings it across well in his interpretation, and I especially like the following verses:
Romans 8:5 - 8 reads as below:
5-8Those who think they can do it on their own end up obsessed with measuring their own moral muscle but never get around to exercising it in real life. Those who trust God's action in them find that God's Spirit is in them—living and breathing God! Obsession with self in these matters is a dead end; attention to God leads us out into the open, into a spacious, free life. Focusing on the self is the opposite of focusing on God. Anyone completely absorbed in self ignores God, ends up thinking more about self than God. That person ignores who God is and what he is doing. And God isn't pleased at being ignored.
Perhaps we should all rethink how we think about ourselves. Notre inevitablement. Our inevitably state of fragility.
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