Can’t keep it in.

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When I have this feeling I feel like I can do anything.
When I have this feeling I want to flip the tables and forget about all of the phone calls. I don’t want to think about the 9 to 5s, the To-do lists, the bucket lists and the shopping lists. At times like these I am just excited and want to create. I don’t want to do anything else at times like these. I want to put all I have in my head, the good and the bad, and have it find its way to blank canvas before me. I want to be sucked into the raw act of art and forget where I am, who I am. I want to digest all of my daily experiences through sketches and through my lowly attempts at making the memories last. I want to show them to people and share them to further domino the effect.

I am just too excited now to keep it all in.

Leave me like a dream

photo-160The Sakura season in Kansai, Japan is slowly coming to an end. The petals drop to the ground and all the tourists (a LOT of tourists) and locals await another year to sit under the trees and celebrate the coming of spring. Although the weather has been quite cold, it’s a great feeling to finally think that the winter and all of the crazy ups and downs in the temperature could finally be over.

I have two new jobs, making three in total. I would like to blame that for my absence on this site, but it is only partially true. More than being tired, it is my attitude of “I can’t be bothered” when it comes to writing a new post. Procrastination is not one of my greatest traits, but I don’t hate that part of myself. I try to not be upset these days because otherwise I will only be fighting an endless battle that ends in frustration.  A friend of mine told me that I must try to embrace it and accept who I am rather than forcefully try to make changes. Slowly with that awareness, those traits can leave like a dream.

In the meantime, I’m currently enjoying sitting down in my favorite organic cafe’, listening to something that is a mix of Japanese jazz-rap-fusion and find my mind traveling to different places. 

Mr. Sunny, I can’t thank you enough

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This will be my 6th post in the series ST-Bound with the ST standing for Singapore and Thailand. I had a lot of adventures and one blog post wouldn’t cut it. Check out the past ones here for the one you are about to read to make more sense:

1.My Indian Friend, The Salary man, and Mr. Lebanon 2.The Feeling of Arriving 3.I shall call this post Emily 4.This Table is Reserved  5.High Expectations of the Bus Driver


From Singapore to Thailand, I chose to take the bus instead of the plane. With a lot of trouble throughout the night, I had only gotten two hours of sleep. I finally stepped off the bus at 10:00 in the morning and found myself in a bustling city. Locals frantically tried to get us into their cars, doing their best to convince us that their way would be the cheapest way. Looking around I saw food stalls, other tourists and curious people who kept staring at our group.

With quick goodbyes to my bodyguard friends, I got a couple of watercolor sketches ready and passed it to them as a thank you. I scribbled my name on the back of both in hopes they would find me online. I jumped on my bus and waved to their backs.

Thirteen of us including the drivers got packed into a small van with all of our luggage. I felt like I had been crammed into a can of sardines. My backpack stole half of my seat, leaving one of my legs dangling while the other sat firm in the gap by the sliding door. Although I was fairly comfortable, sitting a few hours in that position without moving made my legs swollen without my noticing. I got the shock of my life when I looked down to find my feet looking more like an elephant’s than my own.

I thought that I would be without friends for the remainder of the trip, but I started chatting up the man sitting next to me. They were also on the first bus, but I did not realize that all nine of them were on a family vacation together. I did not converse with them the whole way to Thailand because I didn’t think they could speak English. I was happy to have been forced into such close quarters, having the excuse to make more formal introductions.

He was a young man with a sweet smile. He wore black rimmed glasses and spoke earnestly. His wife was younger than him, my age. If memory serves rightly, her name was Ayu which means “Beautiful” in Malay. It could not have been a more appropriate name.

I spoke mostly to the husband because of the positioning of the seats. While he and his wife spoke English, the rest of the clan could only pick out words. At the one and only rest stop, I was happy that they invited me into their group and shared their spicy coconut snacks with me.

Upon getting back on the bus, I shared my story and background with him. He also shared his and we enjoyed a couple of hours of conversation. He expressed his worries about Singapore and the direction it is taking. From a tourist or expat point of view, everything seems normal. However, if you have a middle-class job the salary just doesn’t cut it for all of the living expenses. Although the people of Singapore seem content, there is a fault line underneath the surface. Shops in Chinatown and Little India close down because of the cost. People cannot keep up, forcing them to go to neighboring countries. His prediction was that in the future, those lower-class areas will be wiped out completely, leaving room for the rich to move in.

Whether what he spoke of is true or not, it was interesting to get an insider’s point of view for the first time.

Though the last bus driver was a nightmare, this part of the ride probably was the most dangerous. The speed limit was 80, which I am sure most people exceeded. The ride was like a video game, barely dodging the cars as they came by, or going into opposite lanes with cars coming head on. If you could drive on that road for even half an hour, you could drive anywhere.

I alternated between talking, sleeping, and staring out the window. Looking out, I noticed that all of the trees were incredibly straight. I was informed later that they are all farmed for their rubber.

Cows were also everywhere along the way. I saw beaches, advertisements, photos of the king, dirt roads, dogs roaming — everything I would expect Thailand to be. Similar to how I remembered Bali, but with everything in Thai writing. To my eyes it looked similar, but the air was different. Something about the people was different. I would have to go there more to see if I could differentiate the countries.

The family was able to get driven right up to their hotel while I would have to find another taxi to get to my Villa after reaching the main drop-off point. We exchanged goodbye’s and wished each other luck on our travels. They dropped me off at a busy street and I had the challenge of making deals with some locals to get another ride to my hotel. I kind of knew the drill — never take the price they suggest initially. Being physically and mentally exhausted I could not get it down too much, but I couldn’t be bothered to work harder for a local price.

My final driver was everything I wanted my first bus man to be:
He was slightly over-weight.
He took his business seriously.
He had no problem finding my destination.
He was soft-spoken.
He answered my questions as best he could in his limited English.
He had a kind smile.
His name was Sunny.

When I got to my Villa, I kissed the ground. I couldn’t believe it — I got there in one piece with an added bonus of being mentally sound. And it was all thanks to the Malay Bus Driver, My Singapore Friends, and Mr. Sunny.


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Keeping the kitchen sink clean

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I have been doing a lot of moving around Japan and have also been doing a lot of thinking. All of the people that have crossed my path, all of the same old ideas, fresh ideas, are going in circles in my head. I am trying to take in all of these things. I am trying to understand the confusion, the slight leaps of joy that my heart takes, the indifference that I feel when there should be emotion. I am wondering why certain things decided to play out in my life and I cannot be too sure if it will have a positive or negative effect on me. Some say that life is what you make out of it. A beautiful idea, but also a scary one for me considering the struggle I have to even keep the kitchen sink clean.

From a young age, I wished to be in control of my life. I would make lists and itineraries for myself to finish each day, and that would give me my sense of security. Making those lists and checking off the things I had to complete is what made my world comfortable and beautiful. Now I am skeptical to whether or not you can let beauty be forced rather then just let beauty be. Lists have their benefits, but for me they left me feeling passionless. They got me somewhere, but when I arrived I felt as if all my effort had been in vain. Nothing I did would ever be enough.

Recently, I have been reading things that have put my mind at ease. I am reading things that I enjoy, that I can understand through my own experiences. You may tell yourself that you are inadequate, but it’s okay. There is beauty in that. There is beauty all around, in the people, nature, and your own self.
It doesn’t have to be clawed out, but will shine through once the walls that the world made you build around yourself get torn down. For myself, I can only hope that something beautiful can someday come out of this wrenched soul. I can only hope.

In the meantime, I will hop on my bus back to Osaka and start my new job at the Bistro. I am looking forward to seeing what stories may come out of this experience.

9:43

Open, close. It’s 9:43.
I hear the loudspeaker and see what I see.
The windows of the train holding all of those lives that are fleeting.

The girl with siren red hair, laughing. The old woman in the purple coat shivering. The suits going to their companies. The girl falling asleep on her knees.

They are all you, they are all me.

That was the train that left at 9:43.

Bubblegum Clouds

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I saw the bubble gum color clouds tonight mingling with the light blue sky in the evening. A blue that took me back to when I was younger. I played a black and white memory that I could not recall as well as I would have liked to.

They were gone- those clouds in a moment. I left the room only for a short while, and came back to wanting those bubble gum clouds and that light blue to wipe the blues away from my life, but they left.

They left the night asking, will we come back?

(Sept. 2014)

To the boy sitting next to me

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To the university boy sitting next to me on the train yesterday:

Thank you so much for tapping me on the shoulder. Thank you so much for pulling out Google Translate to make an attempt to appreciate a stranger. Thank you so much for telling me about yourself. Thank you so much for letting me talk to you about my life. Thank you so much for wanting to meet again. Thank you so much for not being like the rest of the population. Thank you for giving me my favorite memory of the week.

I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of meeting you if I hadn’t missed my stop.

Again, thank you.