When I lived in California, the apartment I rented had an
outside Jacuzzi. I liked taking it at night, seeing the sky above.
Under the palm trees, I watched an airplane’s small dot of light
blinking and moving through the stars. It was the moment that I felt
like a winner who obtained a life in paradise by getting out of not only
Japan but also my family to which I had been a bound successor. Prices
in the U.S. were extremely low compared to Japan back then because of
the strong yen. It seemed to me that everything was on sale and I
literally lived in a bargain country. Sadly, my life in paradise didn’t
last long, though. The Japanese economy crashed and yen turned weak.
Inflation had edged up in the States as well. Price hikes assaulted me
in all directions. I became unable to pay the rent even if I had moved
into a cheap motel. I was practically kicked out of the States and the
plane brought bitterly-discouraged myself back to Japan where I returned
to a life of reality in a teeny-tiny apartment. Time went by, and I had
benefited from technological advances like the Internet and computers,
and also from the fall of housing value in Japan. Those benefits let me
live in a condominium that has a communal spa. I take a Jacuzzi there
watching a beautiful view of the mountains with lingering snow out of
big windows. One day, I felt so euphoric that I thought this wasn’t
real. I thought I may have already died from that northern Japan’s
severe earthquake or from the subsequent meltdown of the nuclear plant,
and must be in heaven now. That reminded me of the sensation I had felt
in a Jacuzzi in California. I had never expected that I would experience
an equally enraptured life here in Japan when I parted with it there.
If I traveled back in time with a time machine, I could talk to my other
self who was in despair on the flight to Japan from the States. I would
say to her, “Years from now, you will get another chance to live in
paradise!” I would tell her that she wouldn’t give up music and would
have completed two songs back in Japan that had quality she had been
craved for and entirely satisfied with. How easier the flight would’ve
been if I had heard those words there. I was too hopeless to imagine so
much as a speck of the possibility. I always find myself foolish in
hindsight whenever I look back later. There are tons of things I have to
say to my past self beforehand. The question is, what would my future
self tell me now if she looked at me taking the Jacuzzi here. Would she
say, “Embrace the moment. It’s the pinnacle of your life”? Or would she
say, “Prepare yourself. It’s just the beginning”? I desperately hope for
the latter…
Saturday, December 16, 2017
A Heavy Gate hr601
On the day that I would meet my former high school teacher for the first
time in decades, I commenced a journey by train from the hotel I stayed
to the station of our rendezvous. I had made a detailed plan beforehand
for this train trip since quite a few transfers were involved along the
way and the area was unfamiliar to me. I took the first train and
repeatedly looked over the note I had taken for which train of what time
at which station to catch. The plan was perfect. Now that I got on the
first train right on schedule, all I needed to do was just moving the
rest of the way according to the note. The train arrived at the station
where I was to make the first transfer. I was standing in front of the
car door to get off when the train stopped. Oddly, the automatic door
wouldn’t open. I was waiting for a while until I heard the departure
bell ring and noticed a sign saying ‘This Door Doesn’t Open. Use One at
Opposite End of Car’ I panicked instantly. The train was about to depart
and I had to reach the opposite end of this long car. I dashed down the
aisle like a sprinter while all the passengers were startled at my
frenzied run. I was barely in time to get off. As I passed a close call
of the day, I transferred to the other train line with a relief. Then,
the bigger trial assaulted me on the platform of that line. An electric
board that shows the upcoming trains in the green light had turned all
red. It indicated that all the trains were delayed severely by heavy
rain and the next train was cancelled. My jaw dropped. I didn’t see that
coming as it wasn’t raining at all here. Plus, the next train that had
been cancelled was the very train I was going to take. What are odds
that the exact train I was taking is the only train cancelled among all?
Taking that train was crucial because I had more transfers to make on
the way ahead. Missing that train would disrupt the whole connections. A
big piece to complete my journey fell off and my perfect plan came to
naught unexpectedly quickly. Now I was officially in a panic mode. I
tried to come up with an alternative, thinking hard about which train to
take instead and where to transfer to get to my destination. When I
frantically looked through information boards on the platform, a
delayed, out-of-schedule train came in. Its destination was a big famous
terminal that I thought would take me somewhere from. I hopped on it,
and found out that the train to which I was going to transfer later
would also stop at the terminal. If I had caught it there, I still could
have made it on time for the planned appointment. As soon as the train
arrived at the terminal, I was a dashing sprinter again, rolling down
and up the stairs to move between the platforms like a cartoon
character. When I zipped by a businessman in a flash in the middle of a
flight, my bag somehow caught his umbrella. I found myself running
dangling an umbrella. I ran down to him who gaped at me, returned his
umbrella, ran up again, reached the platform and jumped in the train.
Inside, I realized that the train wasn’t what I had planned to take but
the one happened to be there after a few hours’ delay. It didn’t depart
on schedule, which meant I didn’t have to dash around the terminal like a
maniac. This unknown train turned out to go straight to my destination
without transfer. In a very weird way, I made up for the disruptive
schedule with each delayed train and arrived almost on time. I stepped
out of the train, completely exhausted. I wondered why I had to endure
great hardship like this in order just to reunite with my former
teacher. It wasn’t such a long distance. I simply wanted to see my
teacher and bridge the decades’ gap. It was supposed to be easy, but it
wasn’t. I saw the reason why I had never tried to see her up until now. I
wasn’t brave enough to show myself to her. I had believed I ought to be
successful when I met her again. I hadn’t had the courage to admit that
I haven’t achieved anything and I was still nothing. To see her, I
needed to verify what I’ve done in my life so far and get over my
foolish pride that I had held onto for a long time. In this trip, I
challenged it. This trying journey to see her signified a long difficult
way to accept who I am. I struggled around, but reached after all in an
accidental way. Over the ticket gate at the station, I spotted her
waiting for me smiling...
Saturday, November 18, 2017
A Long Journey hr600
I have been estranged from my friends for a long time. There are only
three people with whom I keep in touch by a Christmas card once a year.
They are my kindergarten teacher and two high school teachers. I feel a
lifelong obligation to those three for each reason. I came across one of
the two high school teachers when I was a senior. She had just
graduated from a university and started teaching at my school as a new
teacher. She taught Japanese classics and I was one of her first
students. The Japanese classics class consisted of a mere dozen students
who selected the subject to prepare for the entrance examination of a
university or a college. As the class was unusually small and the new
teacher was young and friendly, it soon became like a big family. It was
as if we had a weekly family gathering that happened to have a specific
topic of Japanese classics, rather than a school class. In my dismal
and miserable high school life, the class was a chink of light. It was
the only place at school where I could breathe and came to life. I took
the initiative in having fun. Mostly my target was the new teacher. I
pulled various pranks on her at every class, such as all students hid in
the cupboards and she walked in the empty classroom, perplexed. On a
perfect sunny day, I suggested having the class outside and she taught
us in the schoolyard like a picnic. I tried what hadn’t been done at my
school before and she just cracked up every time. It seemed I was really
good at making her laugh. The whole class eventually laughed all the
time, and the old strict teacher who had her class next room often came
in to tell us to shut up. She sometimes called my teacher out to the
hallway and reprimanded her. Nevertheless, my teacher never hushed us,
and continued laughing at my jokes and having fun together. She helped
me with those bright hours in my dark last year of high school and I’m
thankful for that forever. She quit and moved to the other school when I
graduated. We have exchanged New Year cards or Christmas cards ever
since. While I write simple season’s greetings on them, she somehow
knows and writes what I want to hear most. For instance, toward the end
of the year in which I’d had a hard time and felt discouraged, her
Christmas card said ‘Hang in there! Things are turning better!’ and made
me wonder how she could ever know. We somewhat have a lot in common
with the way of living, too. In those years, most Japanese women got
married and quit working when they did. While I work and stay single,
she also continued teaching at school and didn’t change her last name to
her husband’s when she got married as the Japanese tradition goes.
Without seeing her in decades, I’ve felt strange bond with her. Last
year, my parents moved and their new address startled me. By pure
coincidence, it’s weirdly close to the teacher’s. I mentioned about it
on the Christmas card to her and then things developed quickly. During
my latest trip for a visit to my parents’, we had a chance to meet each
other for the first time since I was a teenager. The hotel I stayed in
on the trip was located in Osaka because I flew in this time instead of
using a train. From Osaka to the station we would meet though, it was a
two-hour train ride with several transfers. It would be a long trip but
we would bridge a decades’ gap in two hours. I thought of the gap, and
suddenly came to myself. Shouldn’t a reunion with one’s former teacher
be an opportunity to show some achievement for gratitude? I had
forgotten about it because the process to this meeting had strangely
gone smoothly as if it had been happening automatically out of my will. I
had tried and worked hard all those years, but achieved nothing, no
money, no fame. I recalled I had said to her that I would become a
musician when I last spoke to her. During the course of life, I did. But
that’s it. I haven’t gotten anything to show to her. I wondered if our
reunion might be an embarrassment where a teacher would see her
student’s unfruitful result of many years…
Saturday, October 21, 2017
Challenge and Disappointment hr599
A lottery promotion is occasionally held at 7-Eleven stores in Japan. A
customer draws a card from a box by every six dollars purchase. If a
winning card is drawn, the customer can get merchandise that the card
shows for free. The prize merchandise varies in what is sold at about
one dollar, such as an ice cream, a snack, and a soft drink. In my
experience, one in every three cards is a winning card, which is a
low-risk-low-returns lottery. As a greedy person, though, I face heavy
pressure to draw despite the cheap prize. When the cashier holds out the
draw box in front of me at the counter, I take a deep breath, close my
eyes, concentrate and pray for a wining card just to get a one-dollar
prize. I push my hand in through a hole of the box and my hand rummages
and searches for the right card by touch in the box until the cashier
gives me a dubious look. Right before the cashier decides to ask me what
is going on, I pull my hand out of the box with a card. If I win, I
repress hard an urge to jump and scream, and instead put a weird grin
that stretches across my face. If I lose, I desperately bear not to drop
to my knees, and instead simply droop over the counter. I know the
cashier is wondering what is a big deal, but I can’t afford to keep my
composure. For the rest of the day, I’m tortured by disappointment and
remorse. I ponder about why I drew a blank and the meaning of that. Was
it because I had done something wrong before I drew the lottery, or was
it a sign telling me something hereafter? Since the matter is too
trivial, the answer usually can’t be found. A small lottery causes such a
commotion in me, regardless. Although I really hate this pitiful
struggle, I’m willing to wage a fight at 7-Eleven whenever it carries
the lottery promotion. At the store, I put goods into the basket doing a
sum in my head to get the total amounted to six dollars that qualifies
for the drawing. To challenge the lottery, I even get something I don’t
need and play into the hands of 7-Eleven. This unwise challenge of mine
somewhat resembles my career as a musician. It is the source of my
trials and tribulations, and yet I can’t stop. The difference between
the two is that I’ve won several times at 7-Eleven while I’ve never won
as a musician. But my challenge continues all the same…
Saturday, September 16, 2017
The New Song Completed, Again hr598
After a one-year-long struggle with mastering, I completed my new song
and got to open Moet Chandon. I took a long summer vacation for the
first time since I became a musician. Then I got down to post
production, starting with mastering the instrumental track of the new
song. The instrumental track isn’t important, it’s a kind of an
incidental that is prepared just in case. I was going to take it easy
and get it over quickly. That approach of mine led casual settings for
the effects and their readings. I tried an experimental setting that I
had never applied on the master track since I knew it would go
overboard. While it was easy to imagine that the resultant track would
be bad, I just did it for some sort of fun. The most difficult part of
mastering is to boost volume. To get the song to its adequate volume, I
spent an unbelievable amount of time sending the master track into the
effects repeatedly by which the volume got bigger little by little. But
as for this instrumental track, the volume got magically big on the
first try of my experimental setting. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I
saw the track’s fat audio wave. In a case like this, I knew too well
that its sound would be crushed and terrible. I listened to the track
and I couldn’t believe my ears either. The new instrumental track
sounded better than the finished master track. I tried to grasp what was
going on. The only explanation I could find was that this was the
instrumental track without main vocals. The track with main vocals can
be another matter altogether because vocals tend to complicate effects’
settings. The settings that work for the instrumental track don’t
necessarily work for the one with vocals. The problem here was though,
that I was assaulted by an urge to try these settings on the master
track. I battled with the urge by asking to myself: Haven’t I declared
the song’s completion? Am I redoing all over again? What if I bog down
into that notorious endless mastering loop again? Am I really willing to
repeat that struggle? Do I prolong this project even more? Although I
did my best and tried the limits of my abilities for the new song, I
couldn’t deny that there were some aspects I had to give in. It sounded
slightly different from what I really wanted, but I couldn’t find the
way no matter how many times I tried. What if these new settings were
the solution? If I wanted the song to be perfect, wouldn’t it be worth a
try? The urge prevailed. I redid the mastering with the settings that
happened to be found for the instrumental track. It worked. On one try,
the song turned into exactly what I had been searching for. I had no
other way than replacing the version I had completed with a
one-year-long struggle with this new version completed in a few minutes.
I felt rather chilled than happy. I experienced the inexplicable. The
very thing I had struggled to get over one year was found totally
accidentally, ridiculously easily. It was as if the date for the song’s
completion had been fixed long since. The song has been completed surely
this time, but I had already finished Moet and had nothing to celebrate
with. I was too embarrassed to tell my partner who works as the
producer this course of events. I didn’t have the nerve to tell someone
who had waited for the song with enormous patience during the
one-year-long mastering that I changed the master track to the one I
just finished in a matter of minutes. I hesitated but eventually
confessed. Sometimes, taking time doesn’t mean the best result. I still
feel that someone else was mastering the song in place of me while I was
taking a summer vacation as a reward for having done my best for one
year. Music can be after all what is given, not what one makes…
Labels:
completion,
Cubase,
effect,
instrumental,
mastering,
Moet Chandon,
producer,
reward,
song,
track,
vacation,
vocals,
volume
Saturday, August 12, 2017
The New Song Completed hr597
At long last, my new song is finally complete. It took about five years
to finish it, which seemed too long, but my previous song took more.
That previous song of mine was my everything. I had always craved just
one song that I could think I was born to write, that represented
myself, my life. The song was exactly what I had been after. Since I put
everything I had into the song, I was almost going to retire when I
finished it. I said all things I had wanted to say to the world and
summoned up all skills I had to the maximum in the song. I thought I had
nothing left in me. But once I tried to retire, I found myself at a
loss. Nothing except for music interested me. I also realized I couldn’t
do anything well other than music. I decided to continue writing songs
and singing, by way of retirement. I set about my new song with an easy
mindset intending to make light work of it because I considered my chief
song done. However, it didn’t go that way. As I went on, I couldn’t
help working seriously. My easy attitude toward the new song quickly
vanished. The more I worked on the song, the deeper I was in it. The
concept of retirement was simply pushed away. I even revised the words
and the song became profound. I was as focused and eagerly desired
perfection as for the previous song. As a result, it took five years
while at first I had meant to finish it in a week. I put everything I
had again in the end, and I was filled with rapture that I didn’t feel
in my everyday life when the new song was completed. The feeling
lingered for several days and I didn’t feel like doing anything. It was
like all energy was drained out of me and I was absent-minded all the
time. It seemed I lost my concentration as a whole. I knocked off a
glass and wasted my drink that I never do, though I’m clumsy and a
regular dropper. Even my bowels were loose. The completion of a song
doesn’t necessarily mean all the work is over. I need to make a backup
of all data, store them, convert to several different formats, release
publicly, arrange distribution, and so on. Although those mountainous
tasks of post production await me, I still have a thick head and haven’t
gotten down to it for a few weeks now. I noticed that I was less
anxious to release and promote my new song than before. I used to get
down to post production right after a new song was completed so as to
make it public quickly. But I don’t have zest for it as I did before.
It’s probably because I don’t expect the world so much any more and my
trust in human beings has decreased over the years. I’ve learned that
songs in which I do my best and with which I’m satisfied completely
don’t have to do with the market. My previous song proved it. The song
was fruition in which I got a real sense of fulfillment. Yet, it was
totally disregarded by this world. I get used to seeing my songs ignored
and my expectations failed. Big sales or admiration are no longer such a
big deal to me. I just wish my new song would reach someone and help
her or him in some way when it’s released a few months later. I hope my
songs are heard by those who need them, and play an important role in
their lives. I believe it will happen, somehow…
Labels:
Music,
musician,
new song,
Singer and Songwriter,
singer-song writer,
sound effect,
streaming,
work,
worry
Saturday, July 15, 2017
Saturday, June 24, 2017
A Sentence Finisher hr595
I don’t like someone to tell me what I’ve already said or known. There’s
no such thing as copyright to what we utter, but I always feel like
claiming it. Actually, I often urge people close to me to admit I’ve
already said what they just said. It doesn’t matter how ridiculously
trivial the issue is. As long as I recognize I’ve said the same thing
before, I declare that I’ve said it before they said it. Even when I
haven’t said it but known it, I can’t help telling them that I’ve known
that. It’s impossible for me to hear through something pretending that I
hear that for the first time or I didn’t know that. My mouth
involuntarily utters “I’ve already said it!” or “I know it!” I’ve had
this irksome habit since I was little. Suppose I said to my mother,
“It’ll be hot tomorrow, I’ll wear summer clothes.” Next morning, when my
mother said, “It’ll be hot today and I put out your summer clothes,” I
instantaneously claimed, “That’s what I said yesterday!” She would go,
“Is it?” And I would go, “Sure it is! I said that! You should add ‘as
you said’!” If I’d heard the weather forecast for rain and my mother
said “It’s going to rain today,” I said, “I know!” at once. As such an
annoying child like that, I gave my parents painful conversations when
they inadvertently touched what I had said or known and forgot to add
‘as you said’ or ‘you may know’. Their experiences must have been so
torturous that my father still hastily adds, “As you said,” when he
talks to me to this day. It seems my childhood practice caused him a
trauma and he sometimes adds ‘as you said’ to what I haven’t said. My
terrible habit hasn’t subsided, it has, rather, aggravated to sentence
finishing. Now I anticipate what someone is going to say and want to say
it before she or he actually says it. I just simply can’t wait for them
to finish once I make out what’s coming. For instance, my partner
begins, “Tomorrow, I’ll…” and I interrupt him, ‘Go to the convenience
store to make a payment for something, right?” The problem is I’m more
than often wrong. My partner answers, “Yeah, that reminds me,” and he
forgets what he was really going to say. My interruptions make our
conversations unnecessarily long and cumbersome. It appears that I want
to be ahead of everything by showing that I know everything beforehand.
And that’s all because I want to appeal how smart I am. No wonder I’ve
been disliked by anyone, including my own blood relatives. Of course I
can imagine there are numerous other reasons for that particular matter…
Saturday, June 10, 2017
A 1000-Year Life Expectancy hr594
I’ve heard some scientists and science-fiction writers say the average
life expectancy of humans will get even longer fast and we could soon
live up to 1000 years old. If it’s true, it’s a huge game changer.
Supposing I live until 1000 years old, the shape of my life will be
entirely different as of today. First of all, the pace of living will
get slower. I won’t have to hasten anything since I’ve still got more
than 900 years left. I won’t fuss over the quick completion of my new
song for which I’ve been deep into mastering. When I complete it without
hurry, I will move on to another song and take plentiful time to finish
it again. Even such a slow worker like me can stock ample songs in over
900 years. With that duration of time and the number of songs, the odds
can be better that one of my songs could be found by some chance and be
a smash hit, which will make me a celebrity and lead me to Monaco to
live in. Secondly, I will be freed from fear of aging. I seriously
resist getting old, sometimes quite hysterically. Of course no one likes
to see their skin sagging and all wrinkled. But when I see my
deteriorating looks, I feel a deadline for making my dreams come true.
Getting older means getting closer to the deadline for whatever we
haven’t yet achieved. The sense that we might not make it is dreadful if
we have something to accomplish. Now that the deadline is well over 900
years away, how peaceful I can feel for the moment! I don’t have to
pronounce my dreams dead just yet. The day could come when I see people
all around the world listen to and hum my songs. If I moved in Monaco at
the age of 300, I could live there for almost 700 years. In the course
of 1000 years, it could become a common practice that a human body is
replaced by a cyborg. Aging could be extinct. I could be a ballerina as I
dreamed of when I was a child. Or, I would be the president of the
united world when I’m 500 years old. As a simpler alternative, I could
win the lottery before I die, since the odds turn good with the
innumerable lotto strips I will get in over 900 years. That could give
me a come-from-behind fortune. By making a smart investment of it, I
could end my life as a team owner of Formula One. It seems anything is
possible once I have 1000 years. This rapture is weirdly familiar to me.
My grandfather. He had the habit of saying he would live until 100
years old when I was little. Back then, not so many people lived so long
and everyone of my family used to scoff at him. Although he couldn’t
reach 100 but died at 96 years old, it was close enough to his fantasy
goal. In that respect, I could go as far as 900. But I noticed a long
life expectancy is not necessarily all good. Life requires money. I’ve
made ends meet with bare life so far in my life. As anything is
possible, it’s also possible this state continues as long as I live.
1000 years of financial worries? It definitely sounds like a living
hell…
Labels:
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cyborg,
deadline,
dream,
Family,
fortune,
grandfather,
hell,
hit,
investment,
life expectancy,
lotto,
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Monaco,
money,
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science-fiction,
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Saturday, May 20, 2017
A Routine Thief hr593
I’m particular about almost anything. That’s why my daily routine is
inevitably quite precise, especially for details in it. My routine
includes taking a bath at the communal spa and exercising at the
communal gym both located inside my apartment complex for the residents.
One night, I found an unfamiliar woman in the Jacuzzi of the spa. This
Jacuzzi has eight spots to sit inside and I have my particular spot I
usually sit in. The spot isn’t popular, as other residents prefer
different ones. But this woman was sitting right in my spot, which made
me move to the other. The spa has a sauna that stops being operated
early in the evening. I take it after its operating hour in the late
evening as a low-temperature sauna since heat remains. No residents use
it that way and I can monopolize it. One night, I found the same woman
in the sauna, using it as a low-temperature sauna like I do. My days of a
sauna monopoly are over. I’ve seen her more and more and it seemed she
is a new resident in this apartment complex. I bring a big hook to the
spa and put it on the wall of the shower booth to hang my bag of
amenities from it. No other residents do something like that as they put
their amenities on the booth floor directly. And one night, I noticed
that new woman began to use a big hook on the wall of her booth. Now I
was convinced it was no coincidence. She apparently imitates me. There
are four tubs in total in the spa with different water temperatures and
different tub sizes. I take every one of them. Other residents don’t
take all, just taking a couple according to their liking. One night, the
mimic woman began to take all tubs like I do. I exercise inside the hot
tub while I’m submerged in the bath water, which no other residents do.
And one night, the mimic woman even started exercising in the hot tub
just as I always do. I sometimes have a chat with other residents when
we share the locker room. And as she has become familiar to them, she
also began to have a chat with them intimately and impudently while I
still talk to them modestly. Before taking a bath, I exercise at the gym
next to the spa, which is also one of my daily routines. The other
night, I went in the gym as usual and, look, who was there, the mimic
woman! She has started exercising at the gym and then begun to bring her
husband there. They had used different machines beside me for several
days, but her husband began to use the exercise bike I regularly use.
Above all, she imitates my own timetable so that I see her every day,
everywhere, doing exactly what I do. My spa and gym time was completely
copied by her. Usually, it’s nice to find a person who has a lot in
common with me. I would like that person and sometimes build a friendly
relationship. In that respect, I should be pleased that I’ve got a new
neighbor resident whose liking is the same as mine and with whom I have
so much in common. The strange thing is, it’s not the case this time at
all. This particular woman really annoys me for some reason. While I
realize it sounds totally irrational, I dislike her so much. Every bit
of what she’s doing irritates me and disgusts me. Her any behavior, the
way of her talking, and even the tone of her voice get on my nerves. As I
was curious what makes me loathe her, I studied her closely. She’s
thin, pretty, and a showboat. She always has to be the center of
attention. I’m jealous of her looks – that’s a given. And I’m indignant
because she grabbed my routine that I took years to establish. But
except for that, nothing is wrong with her. She’s just too much like me.
I may be looking at myself through her. Now I see how I look to others.
Does it mean I hate myself? Do others look at me as a loathsome person
like her? I feel like they do. I can’t stand to look at my lousy
behavior through her any more. Not to see her do my things, I had no
choice but to change and reconstruct my routine schedule entirely…
Saturday, May 6, 2017
Illusions of Completion hr592
My work for the new song is drawing to a close and it’s in the mastering
process now. I usually make the master track and leave it for a few
days before the final check. The interval is essential for me because it
gets me out of the zone, calms me down and gives me ears to listen
objectively. Since this particular new song of mine required difficult
mastering, I had trouble with finding the solution. It took much longer
than I had expected to make the master track. I finally got to make one
and tried to forget all about it for a few days. After the interval, I
got so tense and excited that couldn’t sleep the night before the final
check. What made me sleepless was the thought that on the very next day,
I would finally end this painfully prolonged mastering and could see
the song completed. I knew I needed a good night’s sleep for a good
physical condition to make good judgement, but that pressure for all
good kept me awake all the more. I listened to the master track the next
day carefully and objectively, and found one slight flaw. I was
disappointed that it wasn’t the day. I had to correct it and hold the
completion over. I repeated the process of mastering, taking an
interval, having difficulty sleeping, and making the final check. Then
on the day I believed this would be the day of completion, I noticed one
minor kink. I redid the process all over again. At the moment, I’m in
this loop and can’t get out of it. I’m literally stuck in the mud of
mastering. I make it a custom to open champagne when a song is
completed, which doesn’t happen often because I’m a slow worker.
Completing a song is so infrequent that I celebrate with Moet Chandon.
It’s my favorite but too expensive for me to drink except for New Year’s
Eve. This time, I put it in the fridge months ago when I thought this
song was completed at any moment. And it’s been there unopened for
months, as I’m deeply caught in the mastering mire. Every time I open
the fridge, I see Moet chilled so long and almost frozen up, blaming my
prolonged work. I keep declaring to my partner that today is the last
day for this song, and retracting it at the end of the day. He doesn’t
say anything but I feel his disappointment and anxiousness. As I’ve
taken back my words of the completion so many times, I fear that he
might see me as a useless liar who is just lingering slow work. I can
take as much time as I like in theory since the deadline doesn’t exist
for the song. Even so, I’ve already spent five years working just on
this song and it’s too long for a slow worker like me. That notion puts a
lot of pressure on me to complete fast. It seems to me as if both
Moet’s and my partner’s patience is running out. Workdays have dragged
on and on, and it has begun to eat me mentally. These days, when I
finish my day’s work and tell my partner that the song hasn’t been
completed again, I sense that he throws me a cold glance implying, “I
thought so.” The other night, I had a dream in which I cried for joy
because the song’s mastering went perfectly and it sounded flawless. The
other day, when I failed to finish the song for umpteenth time, I was
so irritated that I took it out on my partner and had a nasty
dinnertime. In this anguish, winter ended and spring has come. I’ve been
correcting small parts that I’m not satisfied with, which hinders
completion. The thing is, those parts are too small to be called flaws
or even kinks. I’m certain nobody would notice when he or she listens to
it. Then what am I doing? What am I chasing? I may have lost a
definition for completion. What is completion, after all? I’ve asked
basic questions to myself and the answer is the same. I just want what
I’m entirely satisfied with. If I called anything other than that
completion, it would be a lie. I would actually become a useless liar
and be done for. I would rather be bogged down in this mud of searching
for my perfection than that. So I go on, starting another loop yet
again, while I keep crying completion to my partner, to myself, and to
Moet Chandon…
Labels:
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Saturday, April 22, 2017
Checkout hr591
I got up early in the morning on the last day of my latest trip. The
reason was simple; I was going to the hotel’s exclusive fitness club one
last time before the checkout invalidated my free ticket. I passed
through the heavy double doors of the club again and the clerk ushered
me as a personal guide as it happened last night. Since the spa and the
locker room don’t open until noon, there is a special locker room for a
member who uses the pool in the morning. It was much smaller, but robes,
towels and amenities were fully provided. The morning light liberally
came in through the glass-dome ceiling and filled up the poolside. I had
the large pool facility all to myself again, the whole morning through.
It seemed as if the gorgeous pool was reserved just for me. I doubted
if Bill Gates even had this scale of luxury. I saw my room through the
glass ceiling and spotted my partner who was standing by the window.
While I was taking a Jacuzzi on the poolside, I waved at him. He waved
back and looked a little sad because he couldn’t enjoy this free treat
due to his atopic eczema. On one hand I felt sorry for him; on the other
hand, I enjoyed to the maximum such a luxurious, refreshing, and dreamy
time that I had never had before. After I took a shower in the elegant
shower booth, I left the club. It was about noon and I passed the
members who were coming in. It is said that the gap between the rich and
the poor is generally small in Japan. I had thought there weren’t so
many mega-rich people in Japan as in the States until I came here. But
now I realized quite a few mega-rich Japanese people existed, as I
actually saw the members who apparently paid the five-digit membership
fee. I hadn’t known that because they lived in a different world from me
like in this club. I wondered if I could ever visit this club again and
wished strongly for that. I came back to my room, packed in a great
hurry and checked out. I didn’t forget to have expensive coffee and tea
for free one more time at the hotel’s privileged lounge before I left.
The receptionist was the same person and got familiar since I came here
three days in a row. She knew I used the lounge for free and I felt
embarrassed. When I left the hotel, I missed it more than ever now that I
experienced the fitness club. I got to another shopping mall by train,
bought a skirt 80 percent off and had dinner at a Mexican restaurant
that we rarely find in Japan. As the mall is adjacent to Tokyo Disney
Resort, I saw the fireworks of the park from the mall for free. I took a
train again to Tokyo Station and looked around the shopping area while I
was waiting for the bullet train on which I had booked the seat. Just
when I was looking, half-off stickers began to be put on packages of
sushi. I got one of those and had it on the bullet train with the
leftover wine from the hotel that I had brought in a plastic bottle.
Although I was exhausted from lack of sleep and swimming, I really
wanted to do this trip over from the beginning. I pondered when it would
be that I could take a trip like this one. While I recalled the
heavenly sensation I had when I was swimming alone in the pool inside
that fitness club, the bullet train ran through several long tunnels and
sent me back in my town that was packed in deep snow. I took a cab to
my apartment. It was a blizzard. I could see nothing but hammering snow
out the windshield of the cab. With that near zero visibility, the cab
was running into darkness at breakneck speed toward my accustomed world…
Saturday, April 8, 2017
Another World hr590
At the end of a glass corridor in the hotel, there were heavy double
doors painted to imitate marble. It was an entrance to the hotel’s
outrageously expensive exclusive fitness club although its appearance
was rather like some shady bar. I mentioned the membership fee is
expensive, but the degree of expensive far exceeds my definition of
expensive. It’s a five-digit matter. I was standing at the doors holding
a magic piece of paper that nullified the fee. It was given at the
front desk when I checked in as I was staying here with a special
low-priced promotion that included the free use of the club. I pushed
the heavy doors open with my trembling hand. I prepared myself for a
counter, but instead I saw a huge vase of flowers majestically sit on
the center of a small hexagonal room. The club spares this space just to
welcome a member. Walking into the next room, I finally found the
reception desk behind which two clerks were standing. I handed them my
magic ticket and they told me the club rules. Those were common rules
such as no tattoos, no makeup, and a shower before a tub, but required
my signature on the paper. Then, the clerk acted as a guide and
courteously ushered me to an exclusive elevator at the back of the
reception room. The elevator door opened to a member lounge and a member
restaurant. Beside them, round marble stairs led to an entrance to the
locker room. Along the carpeted hallway, several private massage rooms
lined. Rows of lockers were surrounded by luxurious tables, chairs, and
benches. Each locker had a display and the key was digital, by entering
numbers of my choice on the pad. Inside, I saw a purple robe neatly
folded. Up to this point, the place was already much more gorgeous than
any club that characters of Michael Douglas had used in the movies.
Since the club rule strictly indicated to wear the robe in the locker
room area, additional purple robes of all sizes were abundantly stacked
on the shelves, like at an apparel shop, not to mention fresh soft face
towels and bath towels, which were all free to use as many as I liked.
After my personal guide left, I removed my makeup at the spacious powder
room section. All kinds of high-end amenity I’d never seen were arrayed
with cottons, tissue and a hair dryer on the dressing tables with sets
of mirrors. I was looking around restlessly like a bumpkin and went in
the pool. It had a glass dome roof above and wooden tables and deck
chairs, shower booths, a sauna, a Jacuzzi and a tanning bed on the
poolside. On the edge of the big pool, there were wide round stairs to
get into water that looked like an edge of a stage. Except for a pool
side clerk who stood behind the counter and politely greeted me, no one
was there. I monopolized the heavenly place, swimming, taking a Jacuzzi,
looking out a night view of skyscrapers and streets. When I was
leaving, a fresh towel was handed by the clerk. Next to the pool was the
spa. It had both a Finnish sauna and a steam sauna beside a hot tub, a
cold plunge and shower booths. I got in them repeatedly and used
imported shampoo by an amount I never used daily. By then, I was dying
of thirst and went out to the locker room area for some water. Beyond
the powder room section was a relaxation section that had a circle of
five or six robotic massage chairs. On the wall, I found something like a
water cooler. I took a paper cup and my eyes popped out with surprise.
What looked like a water dispenser was a free soda fountain! A wide
variety of quality-brand soft drinks such as sports drink, 100% fruit
juice and soda came out for free. While I was gulping down eight cups of
all kinds, I was quite certain that I had somewhere died and was in
heaven now. I spent three hours in total, which wasn’t enough to look at
the gym, the indoor tennis courts, the indoor driving range and the
putting greens. I wondered how happy I would be if I could live in this
completely different world from the one I knew. I also duly knew I was
only a visitor who had to leave since I can’t possibly think of a way to
be a resident of that totally heavenly world…
Labels:
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water cooler
Saturday, March 25, 2017
The Main Attraction hr589
On the first day of my latest trip, I checked in the hotel after I left
the shopping mall. The room had a big window looking out on Tokyo Bay. A
night view of the jet-black sea and glittering skyscrapers of stylish
condominiums was spread on it. Onto the gorgeous glass table, I laid out
packs of deli foods that had a sticker telling ‘Half Price’ on each lid
that I’d gotten at the grocery store in the mall. My chief delight of a
trip is to enjoy drinking in a hotel room. I usually get food outside
the hotel and bring a small plastic bottle that I refill with cheap
brandy beforehand at home. Compared to the room service, the cost is
digits lower in this way although the place to have it is the same. It
feels like I order room service of a space as an elegant cocktail lounge
by staying at a hotel instead of drinks and foods. Since I bring cheap
liquor and snacks, I can enjoy drinking in a quiet, luxurious setting
without worries of the bill or the closing time, which is somehow my
main purpose of a trip. I was nibbling on half-off seafood looking out
the view that I couldn’t possibly see out of my apartment window and
wished this moment would last forever. Although I had feared the hotel
might be crammed with Chinese tourists because of the Lunar New Year, it
wasn’t the case here and I didn’t see many of them. But as the way the
world goes, hotels are never quiet enough to sleep in well. I woke up
next morning by noises from neighboring rooms without sleeping tight.
Quite a few hotels stand together in this area and I walked to the
different hotel for lunch. A restaurant in that hotel has a lunch buffet
that is reasonably priced and served in a chic atmosphere. About 95
percent of the customers are women and the place is always full. I had
no trouble to get a table though, as I had made an online reservation
that gave me a discount. I enjoyed as much roasted beef and dessert as I
wanted that was too expensive to have in my daily life. Then I moved to
a nearby outlet mall. Because my apartment is about to be burst with
cheap clothes already, I just strolled around as a window shopper. But
when I found a bracelet at $5 that was marked down from $30, I couldn’t
help jumping at it. I was staying at the same hotel that night, which
meant my favorite drinking time would come again. I got a plastic bottle
of wine at $4 and, as I was still more than full from the lunch buffet,
some salad and light snacks for dinner at a convenience store and
walked back to the hotel. Before going back to my room, I had an
important thing to do – using the hotel’s premium member lounge as a
nonmember, again. I repeated the extravaganza of the previous day there,
having expensive coffee and tea for free as much as I liked. I didn’t
know why free drinks tasted especially good, but I knew for sure that I
was the one who made the most of the free use of the lounge as this
hotel’s off-season promotion. It was early evening and there was still
time until I opened my cost efficient bar by myself in my room. So I
went to the fitness club of this hotel for the first time. The club
requires an outrageously expensive membership fee and normally I just do
nothing but ignoring its existence. Only, this off-season promotion
stay came with preferential treatment at no extra cost that included the
free use of the club. I was curious what an astronomically expensive
fitness club looked like. As I walked through a glass corridor leading
up to the club, I saw the whole new world unfold before my eyes. I had
cherished drinking in a hotel room as the main attraction of a trip for
years till then. Yet the experience I was about to have in this fitness
club overturned and changed everything so easily…
Labels:
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Saturday, March 11, 2017
Free Foods and Drinks hr588
The bullet train ran through several long tunnels in the mountains and
carried me out of snow. In less than twenty minutes, I was in a
different, snow-free world where the sun was shining and the blue sky
spread. I put on my makeup and had rice balls that I’d gotten back at
the station. By then, my worry about this trip had dwindled away and I
began to feel thrilled. On the other hand, my poor partner who
accompanied me on this trip had been suffering from atopic eczema and
was sitting next to me nervously, as his body was itchy. We arrived at
Tokyo Station where we walked through an underground passage that was
busy and crowded with people and transferred to the local train. As this
line runs along Tokyo Bay, the ocean can be seen out of the train
window. It was so refreshing to see a stretch of the horizon over the
sea for me who live surrounded by mountains. I thought I finally got my
breath. The hotel I’d booked was close to the train station. I got in
there but wasn’t allowed to check in until 7 p.m. since I chose the
bargain rate for the room. I went straight ahead to the top floor lounge
to enjoy the afternoon tea for which I had collected points diligently
for two years to exchange to a fifty dollars off coupon. Although a
small usual disappointment was alongside, which there was a family with a
noisy child even in a luxury lounge like that, I was in seventh heaven
looking out the magnificent twilight view of Tokyo Bay. And it was
practically free because I paid only a fraction of money thanks to the
coupon. Then I moved to another lounge that was exclusively for the
hotel’s premium member. This bargain rate stay came with preferential
treatment at no extra cost as their off-season promotion and I was
entitled to use this lounge. It had a single-serve coffee machine and
expensive soft drinks. I had two cups of freshly dripped specialty
coffee, two cups of specialty tea and a bottled sparkling water along
with elegant cookies that the receptionist had brought to me. And
everything was free! I wondered why something complimentary was always
gone to my stomach easily and endlessly. As it was still too early for
my check-in time, I was headed for a shopping mall near the hotel. When I
was walking on the broad sidewalk beside a modern convention center and
looking ahead the twilight skyline of tall buildings, I somewhat missed
urban life. I stepped in the gigantic shopping mall and looked around
the grocery floor for something to eat in the hotel room. The floor had
ten times as large space as a grocery store of my town and had all kinds
of deli foods, salad and bread. I imagined how much fun it would be if I
shopped daily at a place like this. Adjacent to the mall was Costco. A
lot of kinds of free samples were being given out there, such as
beefsteak, salmon, sushi rolls, and croissant. I became full enough with
those. My partner took free samples and had them too, which was odd.
He’s usually a little lofty and conceited and doesn’t like to get free
samples. But this time, he willingly joined the line for a sample, took
it, swallowed, and eagerly repeated it over and over. I observed his
strange behavior thinking that he must have been so much hungry, or the
samples must have tasted so good, or his atopy must have been bad enough
to affect his brain. After our free sample jamboree, I dropped by the
food court of Costco. The place to eat was dirty and looked like a
visitors’ room of a prison. But considering the incredible size of the
hot dog and the cup of soda, they were virtually free because their
prices were incredibly low. I gobbled them and walked back to the hotel.
The first day of my trip ended this way, filled with freebies and
savings…
Labels:
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Tokyo Bay,
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urban life
Saturday, February 25, 2017
The Beginning of A Winter Trip hr587
The mountainous region where I live is in the depth of winter and it
snows day after day. Now that the snow covering the ground has
accumulated over my own height, I was having a sense of claustrophobia.
That’s a cue for my annual three-day trip to the Tokyo metropolitan area
that doesn’t have much snow. I set about arranging this year’s trip
online. I successfully booked the room in a hotel of the Japanese luxury
chain at a greatly economical rate by making the best use of coupons
and their off-season promotion. The stay would come with preferential
treatment at no extra cost as part of the promotion. To get to the Tokyo
metropolitan area, I need to ride the bullet train that is expensive.
But I got a 35% discount for the ticket by reserving early in advance. I
was all set to get out of snow. Although it had snowed every day, it
rained on that particular day when I set off on a trip in the morning.
Rain is more troublesome than snow. I would take a local bus to the
bullet train station. The bus stop is near my apartment but it has
neither a cubicle nor a roof. When it snows, I can pat off the snow that
comes onto my clothes while I’m walking to the bus stop and waiting
there. But in the rain, my one hand is occupied with an umbrella as I
carry all the bags, which would cause awkward walking that inevitably
wets me. I would freeze while I’m waiting for the bus. I bore an
unexpected expense and called a cab. The dispatcher told me it would
take long to come to pick me up due to high demand. Since I had the
bullet train to catch, I gave in to my umbrella and walked toward the
bus stop in the rain. I felt miserable while I was waiting for the bus
with many bags around me drenching. Out of the bus window, I saw snow
plains beneath which were parks, rice paddies and sidewalks. The road
was plowed, but the snow was pushed off to a long, tall snow wall
alongside. The lengthy massive white wall was taller than the bus and it
looked almost like a snow-made tunnel. I started to feel claustrophobia
again. I cheered myself up by thinking I was soon in the snow-free
city. I made a wish for a nice trip upon the closest mountain that had
turned completely white. On the platform for the bullet train at the
station, I found many Chinese families and tourists. That suddenly
reminded me about the Lunar New Year during which Chinese people took
vacation and traveled. The hotel I was staying at might be crowded with
Chinese tourists as well. I couldn’t believe why I was so careless that
I’d forgotten about Chinese New Year. Among the gleeful Chinese
tourists, I stood waiting for the train with a long face. Rain and the
Lunar New Year seems more like a bad omen, and now I became unsure as to
whether or not this trip was the right move…
Saturday, February 11, 2017
A Picture-Card Show hr586
I was absorbed in one kind of play when I was about seven years old. It
was paper play called ‘kamishibai’ in Japan. It’s a picture-card show in
which a performer tells a story while showing a picture that
corresponds to it. A performer impersonates the characters to say their
lines and flips a picture to the next one when the scene changes. It’s a
sort of street performance that is hardly seen these days. But when I
was little, an old picture-card showman came to the small park near my
house every two weeks or so. He would walk around my neighborhood while
ringing a bell to let children know the show was coming. When I heard
the bell, I would spring toward the park clenching small change in my
hand. The show was free, but the performer sold cheap snacks and candies
before the show. His theater was his bicycle. On the back of the
bicycle, a big wooden box was fixed that contained both the pictures and
candies. Once the show started, the box transformed into the picture
holder. By tacit agreement, children who had bought candies stood in the
front and those who hadn’t stood on their toes in the back to get a
view. Although the story itself didn’t interest me so much, I loved the
experience that I saw a live performance while eating delicious snacks.
It was a luxury to me. Probably because I liked it too much, I asked my
parents and got a picture-card show play set. The play set was available
at a bookstore and came with a sono-sheet. A sono-sheet was a very thin
flexible vinyl record on which the story, the lines of the characters
and the sound effects all that corresponded to the picture cards were
recorded. The instruction for the timing to flip the pictures was also
recorded. The story and the pictures were from a popular TV animation
program for kids. Unlike the picture-card show at the park, with this
play set, I was a performer. Since there was a vinyl to be played along
with it, I could sit in front of the picture holder and watch it as a
lone audience while listening to the record. Only, I wasn’t interested
in being the audience. I’d rather stood behind the picture holder and
flipped the pictures according to the instruction played on the record.
The characters’ lines were printed on the back of each picture and I
read them along with the record. The number of the picture cards were
over twenty and I practiced flipping each one of them in the perfect
timing and reading the lines with emotions by imitating the voice actors
on the record. That was my favorite play of my childhood and I spent a
lot of time and energy every day. The funny part was, I didn’t need any
audience. I practiced intently not to show the play but to perform
perfectly. And I performed exclusively for myself. This play couldn’t be
accomplished without the record player that sat in the guestroom of my
house. I would sneak in there to play with the set because I couldn’t
concentrate on my performance if someone heard or saw it. In case my
younger sister asked me to play it to her, I drove her away. Not to be
bothered by anyone, I didn’t even turn on the light of the room. I would
play the show along with the record alone in the dark, and relish
satisfaction and joy when I thought the performance went perfectly.
Recalling my favorite childhood play now, it awfully looks similar to
the way I engage in my work of music. I guess I make my songs
strenuously for perfection not for audience’s reception. I always
thought I pursued people’s attention and stardom, but it wasn’t true as
long as I remembered how I felt happy in my childhood. That explains why
my songs don’t ever sell. I perform to no audience. It seems that’s the
way I liked, and the way I’m destined for…
Labels:
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bicycle,
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Childhood,
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song,
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story,
street performance,
theater,
voice actor
Saturday, January 21, 2017
A Train Ride in Japan hr585
My main means of transportation is the train. As manners and common
sense vary in countries, I introduce here what a train ride in Japan is
like. In the Tokyo metropolitan area, it’s just atrocious especially
during the rush hours. I had had a lot of trouble when I lived in the
area. It’s almost impossible to get a ride since both the train and the
platform are packed with people. The train is full, which means in
Japan’s case that you can’t move as you’re pressed firmly against other
passengers’ bodies around you. Because I’m short and feel claustrophobia
only in a few minutes, I have to pass several trains to wait for a less
crowded one. That results in a long, inefficient travel although the
trains run every ten minutes or less. As the night deepens, the smell of
alcohol fills the train car that has more drunken businessmen, some of
whom are befuddled. It used to be common that men openly spread and read
porn magazines and tabloids in the car, but thankfully they are
replaced by smartphones now. There are women-only cars that men aren’t
allowed to get in during the rush hours. Too many cases of being groped
or molested in a crowded train car made railroad companies invent this
crazy sexism solution. I myself can’t count how many times I was touched
or saw a man expose himself in the train. When I once squeezed myself
into a packed car on my way to school, I barely got my body inside the
car but my bag couldn’t. The door closed on the handles of my bag and
left the bag outside. I rode for three minutes with my bag dangling
outside the train, swinging violently. In daytime, the murderous
congestion subsides. Instead, enters a group of housewives with large
strollers that block aisles. They ignore their children who are crying
and shrieking. Some passengers eat snacks, rice balls or sandwiches in
the train. Some eat cup noodles or lunch in a box called bento. Even
drinking alcoholic beverages is okay. But, people dart an angry look at
someone who is putting on makeup. One of major complains to railroad
companies is making up in the train. I don’t have the slightest idea
what that means. It’s acceptable no matter how drunken or how loud you
are inside the train, but not that you’re putting up makeup. I heard on
the radio show that an elderly woman complained about a young lady who
was putting on mascara in the train. Her point was she couldn’t allow a
woman to turn up the whites of her eyes in public. It doesn’t make sense
and to me, it sounds clear sexism. I almost always put on makeup on the
train for time efficiency and wage a quiet battle against other
passengers’ angry glances. With good or bad manners aside, trains in
Japan are generally safe and a murder or a robbery hardly happens. A
pickpocket steals a wallet from a drunken passenger who has fallen
asleep, or a drunk beats a conductor, that’s the maximum. If you have
carelessly left your belongings in the train, they’re found and
delivered to a station in most cases. It may be too extravagant to
complain of Japan’s trains that are well maintained, so clean, and
graffiti-free. While it’s sometimes uncomfortable to share a ride with
people whose likes and dislikes are pretty different from mine, it’d be
better to relish the difference and be surprised by it. That may help me
grow leniency. Besides, there’s no such thing as the world going round
solely by my own rules after all…
Labels:
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Friday, January 6, 2017
Gold Dust hr584
“Would you believe it if I said gold dust could fall on you?” I was
asked out of nowhere by Kuri-chan who sat behind me in the classroom
when I was a senior in high school. I had known her since junior high
and we had chatted casually all the time. Although we had never belonged
to the same group to hang around, the last year of high school made us
closer as we were in the same class sitting next to each other. She
abruptly asked this question with strange solemnity, looking set on
confiding her big secret. I had never seen her like this. While I had no
idea what she was implying with the question, I answered I would. I
thought someone who was seeing the meteor shower was so excited that she
or he felt that gold dust was showering on her or him. Or, someone
having the happiest moment in the snow might feel the snow gold. Or,
gold dust was simply an analogy to an inconceivable happening that made
someone very happy. Those thoughts led my answer to yes, on which
Kuri-chan hesitantly began to explain her question. She had visited
frequently a certain shrine where gold dust fell on a person who
believed. And she wanted me to come. I promptly asked her if it had ever
fallen on her. She said it hadn’t because she hadn’t believed enough.
Then I asked if she had ever seen it fall on anyone. Her reply was no
and she added, “But there are people who have seen it.” My head got
filled with doubt and questions. How often does it happen? How much does
gold fall when it happens? By what size? How is it collected when it is
sprinkled all over her or him? Are a broom and a dustpan provided near
at hand? Don’t other people scramble for the fallen dust to steal it?
How do you declare it as yours? And when you collect it safely, where
should it be brought? Can it be cashed out? Does it fall at a time with
an enough amount to make a living? I couldn’t subdue my curiosity,
greed, and weird self-confidence. What if it fell on me today? Actual
gold dust, not an analogy, could be possible when it comes to me. I
followed Kuri-chan to the shrine after school, feeling as if I was going
to a casino, although I sensed it was some sort of cult. The shrine was
in the vast, luxurious premises. There were many people in the main
hall, mostly middle-aged and elderly. They were intently praying, which
seemed waiting for gold dust to me. A large framed portrait of the
founder of the religious sect was hung on the front wall of the hall.
Kuri-chan told me that gold dust fell on him first. I somehow refrained
from asking her if he built this cult with the money from that gold
dust. In my mind, though, I was thinking it would fall quite an amount. I
sat face to face with Kuri-chan inside the hall and she put her hand
above my forehead. She was going to pray for me and gold dust would fall
on me if I believed. I was told to keep my eyes closed until the
praying was over. It lasted for about five minutes and I believed hard
that gold dust was falling on me now. “It’s done,” She said. I opened my
eyes and looked for the dust around me. None. I asked her, “Didn’t only
a bit fall?” She smiled wanly and said no, looking surprised that I
thought it would happen to me on the first try. I was led to a small
room for a new comer. A group of ten new comers was greeted by an
unnaturally friendly middle-aged woman. She told the story about gold
dust falling on the founder but didn’t explain how to cash it out to the
end. When we were leaving, a woman who was an acquaintance of Kuri-chan
ran toward us and said hello. She offered a ride to the bus stop. She
casually asked where I lived. She said she knew the area well and would
drive me home. I began to feel uncomfortable. I declined repeatedly, but
she insisted strongly. The car finally stopped near my house and I said
goodbye. To my surprise, she told me to let her meet my parents. I
asked why and she said she wanted to tell the story about the gold dust
to my parents. She gave me a ride to recruit. I was too stupid to know
earlier. I said my parents were out for work, but she said she would
wait. I said they would come home late because they were farmers, but
she was adamant about waiting. I asked her to leave, but she wouldn’t
let me out of the car. I felt scared as if I was kidnapped. Kuri-chan
joined me and asked the woman to let me go home. With repeated angry
begging from two of us, she finally gave in and released me. Next day at
school, Kuri-chan apologized to me about how it had gone. “It should
never be that way. Trust me. I didn’t know that woman was wicked”, she
said regretfully. A few days later, she asked me to go to the shrine
together again. I rejected. She asked, “Why? You said you believed gold
dust would fall.” I still believed it but wasn’t interested in the cult.
I thought if gold dust fell on me, it would happen anyway, with or
without a cult. I’ve never joined a cult. But the fact remains that I
believe in miracles…
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