Pink/Pretty Please/Pokemon

12 05 2008

When are you officially too old to have a laundry disaster? I opened the machine, found a mountain of pink waiting for me and thought, how clichéd. The culprit was an eight year-old fuchsia pashmina that I could have sworn I’d washed before. I mean, eight years…seriously. The damage was manageable: two shirts of Mr. Rose (haha. I mean, oh no!), some striped socks that are now even more striped, and a white top with green and pink embroidery that is now, well, even more pink. So, all in all, not too bad. Though I really thought I was past pink laundry…

The landlord is coming over soon to empty his cupboard –yay! I please-please-pretty-pleased for months and now he’s finally taking me seriously: it’s summer and where’s a girl to put all of her summer clothes if half of the cupboard space is occupied and chained closed (I have to admit, kinda curious. I think I’ll be casually lurking in the background as he empties it). One thing’s worrying me though: since moving in I’ve kind of, well, redecorated a little. It started innocently enough, putting away some vases with plastic roses and the like. But I’ve since got rid of the dining table and chairs (relocated to the balcony), the hideous painting (stacked in a bedroom), coffee table (ditto), some other chairs…and now I look around and I have to admit that very little remains of the original décor. Will he mind, I wonder..?

And I just saw a Pokemon cloud. Couldn’t help sharing…




Scatterhead

8 05 2008

I just accidentally deleted a nearly finished post, so I’m slightly miffed. Why does that keep happening to me here? Is it WordPress, my laptop, me? Hrmpff…anyway. Here we go again.

I was saying that I’m all over the place right now. So I was in the middle of giving you an all over the place update. Don’t expect great heights of literary clarity or flair…

There’s been a lot of Japan in my life of late. Last week I had a friend over from Nagoya. We trudged around BCN, shopped at Zara (which has made it into the J-guidebooks as THE place to shop. On some levels, I quite agree), chilled here in Sitges, cooked paella (man, it was good!), planted the asagao seeds he brought for me, along with some Serrano pepper seeds I had lying around, started a nuka base to make tsukemono (the yummy pickled veg that go with most Japanese meals), roller bladed, walked on the beach, laughed, talked, connected.

As a result, I’m feeling quite disoriented and disconnected from myself. This may be an artist’s thing, but I’m just not feeling me at the moment, haven’t since I got back from Japan. That was Travelling, Being Away. Then there was two weeks of Limbo, where I was waiting for my friend. I knew that if I got myself into writing mode then, I’d be bad company when he got here, so I didn’t. Then a week of Hanging Out, and right now I’m sort of at a loose end…

But there’s more company, my husband is around at the mo. More talking, connecting, and trying to figure out something that works for the both of us. In a way, the long distance thing does work and might be the way we’ll go, but it’s not really there yet and everything still seems complicated. So back for a few more trips through the emotional wringer, which left me feeling hung over this morning. Trying to get back into my exercise routine, which has been on hold since Nihon. Ooof, it kinda hurt…

I’m planning some trips too (when I’m ever going to get any work done is beyond the powers of my imagination): a quick one to Montpellier in the South of France the coming weekend, and a two week-ish one to Brussels towards the end of June. I’ve decided to spend my birthday there, which could go either way really. But part of me feels like the comfort of home to face 2-9. Also, my mum is getting a new kitten, and I so want to be there to see the look on our old cat’s face when he waltzes in…

That’s it.




A Promise

24 04 2008

As funny as the whole motion sickness business was –especially afterwards, as some people pointed out– it prevented me from doing the one thing I needed to do while in Japan. I wanted to do a lot of things, of course, and I had plenty of reasons to go. But I needed to go to Koyasan.

Soon it’ll be one year since the death of my friend, Ryutaro. He died of pancreatic cancer, something I wasn’t able to write down while it was happening. It’s not that I was trying to escape from the reality of it, I think. But at thirty years old he was just too young. This is an illness that happens to older people. The name of it brought too many images of pain, and I couldn’t think of him like that.

Koyasan was his favourite place. He used to go there once a year at least, said he loved the “out of this world feel” of it. His ancestors were buried there and he, too, sleeps there now. Though not in a grave. I heard his ashes were scattered at the root of a tree, and I’m happy about that. I can picture him sitting there, his back against the trunk, looking up at the leaves. And I wanted so much to sit with him for a while. I know he was waiting for me. But going there meant four hours on a train, something I just couldn’t manage while I was in the area. Though now, with the luxury of distance, I wonder if that’s really true. Maybe I didn’t feel like the hassle of being sick. But I could have done it, maybe…

As the shinkansen pulled out of Kyoto station I did feel sick, and of course it was a welcome justification of my decision. But I felt him tugging at my heart, and I could have cried. I dreamed of him a few nights later. In the dream he told me he would die on Wednesday, and asked what time would be suitable for me because he wanted me to be there. I wonder if it was a soft reproach for not making time for him in my busy life, just because it was inconvenient. Though I know he wasn’t that kind of a person, and I guess he understands. Maybe it’s just me who isn’t convinced of the purity of my feelings. There’s a lot going on in my personal life, and maybe I was too preoccupied with myself to make an effort. But then, maybe he understands that too.

It feels like much longer than a year to me, the last time I heard from him. I’ve been wondering if I remember him correctly. And I start to doubt my feelings: did I really love him so very much, and why? But then today I reread some of his letters and, suddenly, it’s very easy to understand…

I know I will go back, of course. And next time I’ll make it autumn, his favourite season, and see the coloured leaves of Koyasan. I hope I’m worth waiting for, just a little longer. Forgive me, Ryu. I’ll be there, 約 束.




Rose

23 04 2008

Today is Sant Jordi, a Catalan holiday I only found out about yesterday. Basically, on Sant Jordi women give their men a book and men give their women a rose. So the beach front was littered with stalls selling both, and everywhere I looked I saw people carrying presents. Sweet. Old men carrying bouquets home, young blushing boys handing a single one to a giggling girl…really, sweet.

I browsed for a while and considered buying something for myself. A rose then, since I’m the girl, and as you know I love them. But I’m also a total book worm. And I thought briefly that maybe women are getting the dodgy end of the bargain here. Think about it. A rose: costs about 3 euros, lasts a week. A book: costs about twenty euros, lasts a lifetime. And you can’t spend a whole day absorbed in a flower…In the end I bought neither. Felt a little silly really, so I slowly wandered home.

When I settled in front of my laptop a while later, I noticed I received an email from a local almost-friend. Dear TR, it read, all women receive a rose today, and it would be a shame if a woman like you didn’t receive one on her first Sant Jordi. Attached was a picture of a rose…

Now that is honest to goodness kindness. And, sentimental sap that I am, it really made my day.




Kami-Where?

21 04 2008

Right. So we met in the hotel lobby at the ungodly hour of 10am (which translates into 2am Spanish time, but hey…) and set off for Tottori. Lots of talking and giggling for breakfast, along with a rice ball I bought at a convenience store on the way to the station. Actually the rice ball was still dangling from my wrist in a little plastic bag, because eating while standing is a no no. So is eating on a train, by the way, but you have to draw the line somewhere. I tucked in as soon as we started moving. The train ride was supposed to take two and a half hours, and my friend’s mum was expecting us for lunch. Everything was looking good and, Nihon-style, right on schedule.

The first signs of motion sickness appeared about 15 minutes into the trip. But I’m used to motion sickness (my mum used to clean my ears a bit too vigourously when I was a kid so, ever since, I’ve been stuck with it. And whenever she tries to deny this, all I need do is remind her of the time I got up after one of those ear cleaning sessions and walked straight into the wall. My sense of balance has been altered beyond repair), so I didn’t think too much of it and just tried to focus on a non moving object for a while. No joy though. Luckily my friend fell asleep, so I was saved from trying to make conversation, not an easy thing to do through gritted teeth.

An hour later I could no longer take it. The floor was moving and everything around me spinning. I wouldn’t have felt any worse inside a giant pepper shaker on a crazy helicopter ride. I must have looked like death on a stick as well, because a complete stranger came up to me with some medicine –which, kind as it was, I didn’t take. There were only some half characters legible on the aluminium foil, so heaven knows what it was, and how much of it. But I had to get off the train. I woke my friend and got up, leaving her to collect my stuff. At that particular point in my life, nothing in any of my bags was worth a second of my time.

We got off the train at a town somewhere to the North of the middle of nowhere called Kami-Gouri. Neither of us had ever heard of it. Two tracks and one platform surrounded by a bunch of mountains is about as descriptive as I can get here, I apologize. I was trying my best not to faint. I sank down on a bench and let my friend explain to the conductor (who, incidentally, had followed us off the train) what the problem was. He told us not to worry, we could just take the next train two hours later. Some people just have the knack for telling you exactly what you want to hear, haven’t they? I replied that, really, I was happy to be on solid ground for a bit. He nodded at that and offered to go and find out if there was a bed for me to rest on somewhere. How utterly sweet. He returned five minutes later with two of the ground staff (or the train equivalent…what do they call them?), all hunched and apologetic because there was no bed. No problem, I reassured them. But they insisted I lie down somewhere, so I ended up sprawled across three folding chairs in the little (heated! just what I needed) waiting room. My friend kept me company in between trips to the smoking area, and called her mum to tell her we’d be running two hours late. Lovely lady, she told us not to worry…

I was just beginning to feel a little better when the train showed up. I obviously would have preferred not to board the thing, but since going back to Osaka would also involve a train, I thought I’d better suck it up and get on with it. Mind over matter, right? Boy oh boy, how very very wrong. I managed for ten minutes this time, breathing deeply while focusing on the mountains (beautiful, a real treat), sitting cross legged on the floor because our seats were facing the wrong direction…I mean, honestly, I could have done with a little cooperation here! There’s no way, I said to my friend as we pulled into the next station. So off we got again.

Legs shaking like nobody’s business, I stumbled across the platform and very nearly walked right off of it, onto the opposite track (yeah I know, Simon, in light of recent events that’s not very funny. You crossed my mind right about then…). Someone held onto my arm, maybe my friend, maybe another conductor. What happened next is a bit of a blur…

So my friend asked her mum to come and pick us up. I was beyond mortified: asking a lady to drive one hour to pick up a wet blanket of a girl she never met before and back again. She showed up with a big smile and a blanket and pillow in the back of her brand new car. During the return trip, she happily dished out anecdotes of my friend’s childhood, interspersed with suggestions on what to do in case I had to throw up: you could tell me and I’ll pull over, or you could use the blanket, or…I thought I’d sooner slash my wrists and bleed all over the new seats then vomit onto them. Seriously. Mercifully, we reached her house an hour later without incident.

My stay there was an unforgettable one. Even though the floor continued to move throughout, we made the most of it. We played card games all night and, since the two of them were drinking shouchuu, we were all spinning a bit so it was fair. I remember eating very little and laughing non stop. I loved her sense of humour. And after she went to bed, my friend and I caught up proper, talking about anything and everything. There’s really nothing like a good girl chat. Obviously, the research was shelved till next time…

I’ve been back for a week now and I finally made it outside to buy a thank you card for mum. I thought she was wonderful, and I can’t wait to see her again.