I woke up around 6 in the morning, my heart pounding as I lay awake in the darkness. Outside it's still dark with no sign of the sun yet. I sat upright on my bed and reflected back on what I had just dreamed. It wasn't a pleasant one, and it was vivid to my own eyes, as if I was actually there. It's the third time in a row I've been having nightmares, and sooner or later I needed to find a way to stop it.

I was in the hospital, exactly why I don't recall. Suddenly, I start escaping from something or someone, and two cops dressed in black grab me and taser me twice. They drag me along somewhere outside and then I woke up panicking.

What led me to have such a dream? Was there an evil spirit seeped inside me, and I needed to undergo some mindful purification process to get it out? But then again, I had a habit of eating late due to my work, and that's known to cause my brain and metabolism to become more active, leading to obscure dreams.


Later in the day, I got ready for a meeting with a recruiter. Dusting off the unpleasant remnants from my dreams, I washed my face and shaved. I ate a simple breakfast, bagel with cream cheese. I threw on my black coat and headed out the door. While riding the train, which was delayed, I thought about the dreaded Japanese job hunting system.

In Japan, finding jobs is a nuisance, especially for new graduates who have no prior experience in the real world. Especially in countries like Japan, the only country that has age restrictions when it comes to job hunting. Usually you'd need to find a job a good number of months before you graduate or else you'd end up with little to no job opportunities after. During this so-called "job-hunting season" college seniors crawl around job fairs, downing in the same, dull, creativity-killing black suits, like cars running on the highway with their headlights in the night. You don't know who's driving, you can't see the car, and they all look the same, one after the other. That's what it's like. It's frightening when you're at a career fair. Everyone copiously jots down notes, nodding at everything the company presenters say, as if we're looking at a dystopian world. Think about it.

Everyone dressing the same. Same hair, same style. There's no openness. Trapped in a society where you can't choose what to do. Unlike companies in the States, you can apply for anything, even if your major doesn't match the job you're applying for. As long as you show passion, a likable personality, pass their endless rounds of interviews, and pass their dreaded web test (sort of like the SATs), you're in. A journalist could be an engineer, or vice versa. So where does all that four years of hard journalistic studies go?

In the dumps.

The system is structured so that anyone can fill in for anyone. Everyone starts from the bottom, and everyone is trained the same way.


"They're like robots just agreeing to their bosses," my friend said.

But in the States, creativity and individuality is enforced, which is a reason some Japanese decide to escape here. For good. But of course there are some down sides, even here in the U.S. Jobs are never easy to find.


The employment agency was narrow and small, with paper boxes stacked up nearly to the ceiling. Paperwork and files, I'm assuming were for the receptionist were stacked on the front desk, but nobody was there. Right then a woman wearing an ordinary grey suit came down from the back of the office to greet me. Shortly, I was asked to complete a Microsoft Office Suite knowledge test, a Japanese test, and then met with two other recruiters. Both scratching their heads and crossing their arms in thought, they seemed to have no idea how to help me. Right then I questioned if the tests I took were of any use at all. It took three hours to complete everything, and I left the office feeling a tad bitter.

Weeks pass and I got nothing from them. Well that's that.

Other days I continued to work at a retail store, which drained my existence in piecemeal steps. Nothing fun ever happened there, not that I was expecting anything. I'd clock in, restock merchandise, clean, vacuum the floor, and stand around to help customers who sometimes gave the worst attitudes, slamming their fists on the counter claiming they were overcharged. On top of that was the manager, the manager who'd only complain and give orders. But what else were managers for? It was a dreadful place to be, especially when you had to work weekends and holidays. In retail, you left from the normal cycle of living. TGIF was almost never spoken. It's a realm of eternal boredom and alienation from society, a place where you were stuck in the airless basements of the storage room while everyone else was out and about celebrating the holidays. Where smiles were forced, and deep inside you felt annoyed as ever.

Back home I read a paperback and read.

Work life

These past few weeks, I've been working part-time at a fairly known Japanese retailer. The place sells every household item and daily essentials you could think of, from acacia plates to travel luggages. Think Bed Bath and Beyond blended with UNIQLO, but a tad more fancy. With that in mind, it's tough for me to remember every single product we have in stock, and explain them to customers.

My daily tasks involve stock replenishment, restocking items, folding clothes when I'm in the garment section, cashier protocol, carrying heavy boxes on delivery day, and just being on the sales floor to interact with customers. As a rule, we treat them with respect and the best kindness we could produce. When it's raining we provide customers a shopping bag cover to protect their items from getting wet, and usually we tape the handles of the bag together to keep the grip secure. For pens among little items we shove inside a small envelope. Everything we do, we ensure they get what they want in the most sincere way possible.

Ironically the staff is mostly Chinese, which took me aback a bit. Not that I have anything against it. I'm just wondering why it's staffed by only one race. Either way, all I'm there for is to do my work and at the end of the day I go straight home without any other words. I talk to my coworkers, but only at a minimum. We share a few laughs and get the job done. No other wasteful movements.

The company is minimalistic, they avoid standing out in any way, and their products are utilitarian. Nothing is there to stand out; they're just made to fulfill their purpose. That's the point of the company, and could be one of the reasons of their success.

My days here are extremely dull and monotonous. Easygoing lullabies flow from the ceiling speakers on repeat the whole day, drifting me to sleep. Coworkers blurt at me to do certain tasks, tell me how I'm doing things wrong, and never give me any acclaim or appreciation. They're exceptionally nice to customers, but are pretty demanding to inexperienced workers. Oftentimes I'd say to myself I'm only doing what you told me to do.

I think that's what society isn't doing enough of: appreciation.

Appreciation. That's it.

We demand so much, that sometimes when they're fulfilled, we take it for granted. Nobody ever came up to me and said, "Hey, you're doing a real great job so far. Keep it up." People sometimes overlook the fact that these simple words can give others an incentive to do better.

Face it. That's reality.

The Waning College Feeling in Adagio

I'm stuck.

I've come to the point in the semester where I can only countdown the days till graduation. Even if I start to develop feelings for a person, I'd only a have about a month to be with her. Even if I make new friends, I wouldn't be able to spend another three or four years with them. There's nothing much I can do at this point. I can only appreciate the friends I currently have. I can't start a new club, a can't join a new club, nor can I explore more around campus. College for me is slowly coming to a close. It's a lonely feeling, don't you think?

And then soon you're off to the real world.


"I really like you, honey," she said.

Right then and there I was confused.

"I think you like me too much," I said.

"Me?" she smiled down. "That's true."



How can you tell whether you two are meant for each other?




Off in the distance, birds chirp as the rainclouds slowly drift above, covering the sun.

A breeze hits, followed by tiny droplets of water. It hits my blue raincoat.

She dreams about me, and so do I.

Let's close our eyes, and think for a second. Let's live in the tempo of Adagio. When will our time come?

Tell me.

The Rebirth of Snow

One of my friends was sleeping in my old home in New York City. Call her Aphrodite. She was sleeping with my other friend, Aidan. She was hugging him while sleeping at first, but then she let go of him and she was sleeping on her own. Aphrodite was wearing black shorts that went up to her thighs. Based on how she lay down, she seemed vulnerable. I, unconsciously, peeked at her legs, long and slim, until I saw that her eyes were narrowly open, staring directly at me. I don't think she caught me, however.

"I'm getting up," I said.

"What time is it?" she said.

"It's 11," I told her.

Those suspicious eyes, mysterious and dark, pierced directly through mine. Any minute, I knew she would get out from the bed. But that's when I woke up. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. My roommate was gone. I looked outside and it's snowing. Sheets of white snow were blanketed across the field. I had written a birthday letter to a friend stating how there wasn't going to be anymore snow and it's over and done with. But now what is this? Rewind toward winter again. It's the rebirth of snow.

Just where could she have gone?

In the sky, crows caw.

Cigarettes are like women, illustrative

"If I'm not tall enough, how tall do you want me to be? Do you want me to tower over you or something? How in the world are you going to be able to walk with me? How are we going to kiss? That's a bunch of bullshit."

All this time Melon was staring at me rant while stirring her coffee with a spoon. She was wearing an oversized asphalt, grey sweatshirt with the word "Illustrative" running across her chest. Not sure what it meant, but it was pretty stylish. Her sweatshirt was tucked under her denim jeans.

"I think so too," she said. "But it's all a matter of tastes. Girls generally like tall guys. No doubt about it. Not like you could do anything about it."

I took a sip of my orange juice and let the taste roll around my tongue.


"To me, cigarettes are like women," my other friend said while smoking. I met him in front of the library after seeing Melon. He cut smoking by a huge number, starting from about a pack a day to two or three times a month. "You get pleasure for a limited time, and then they leave you, or you leave them. But you can never get enough of that pleasure."

"That seems more like a prostitute," I said.

He nodded. "But I think cigarettes are stupid," he said, as if he finally came to realize that it damaged your health. "Why should I be smoking this thing? Why can't I stop."

"Why can't you," I said.

"Because I'm stressed. Whenever I'm stressed I need it still. But I'm slowly getting there. Slowly. It's like diminishing marginal utility. Smoking a second time isn't always the best as the first."

To Home: Continued

The only place he could find was a gas station about a block away from where they got off. It was the only brightly lit area around them. The air was chilly, sending tree branches to swing to and fro. The rain began to abate, but the roads were still wet. Tadao reached for her hand, and they walked toward the gas station.

"Let's get something to eat," he said.

Asami let his words slip by and didn't say a word. The dim, orange street lamps spotlighted them, as the cars drove by the road, dutifully. Even though it wasn't raining, Tadao held his clear umbrella over them.

"Are you cold?" he said.

Asami shook her head, eyeing the ground the whole time. Tadao tried to walk a bit faster, but she didn't seem to follow his. Above, the thick rain clouds covered the glittering stars. A haul of wind suddenly blew right toward them. Tadao released her hand, and zipped up his jacket. But when he was about to hold her hand again, Asami refused. She pushed him when he tried to put his arm around her waist.

"What's the matter?" Tadao said.

Asami looked at him, "I don't know. I just don't want to hold your hand right now," she put on her red gloves and shoved her hands in her jacket pocket. "Let's just go to the gas station."

Whereupon Tadao could do nothing but agree. Yet he wondered why Asami didn't want to hold his hand. He thought about it. He thought about it hard, but the only thing he could think about more was the reason she wanted to get off here. Getting off at the last stop was already the first mistake to Tadao.

The wind swept, the clouds drifted, the air damp. Once they arrived at the gas station, they headed toward the store. Without a word, they looked around the place. The cashier was thumbing through the paper, seeming half-aware of the content. Tadao bought a can of beer and a pack of Mild Seven cigarettes. Asami didn't buy anything.

"You don't want anything?" he said. "How about a beer?"

She shook her head.

"We ought to have one since we came all the way here."

"I don't want to," she said.

Tadao paid, and glanced at the clock behind the cashier. It had just struck eleven in the evening. Outside, he pursed the cigarette between his lips and lit it with his lighter. He puffed a few times, and drew out a stream of smoke as it billowed in the air and disappeared. He cracked open the beer and sipped it.

"Sure you don't want some?" he asked.

"I don't," she said.

A long lull fell between them, as they listened to the trees in the distance moving from the wind. No cars were at the gas station at this hour. Asami's face was blank, as she seemed to be staring at nothing, thinking about nothing. Her eyes were just there, two pair of brown eyes attached to her pale, white complexion.

Photo by Min Wu, Flickr

"Let's go home then," he said.

But seconds after he said so, he caught his eye on a small little restaurant by the corner of the road. Indeed it was a restaurant, as the three orange lanterns hung by the roof were dimly lit. Tadao walked toward the door, and looked at Asami.

"I will go in first," he said. "Wait here and I'll see if they're still open."

He gave the umbrella to Asami, as she patiently waited there without a word.

"We ought to take a rest here," he said. "I'm beat."

There was a long lull. "Then let's go here."

Tadao crushed his cigarette with the sole of his foot, slid the door open, and went inside. All this time, Asami stood outside with two hands on the umbrella, looking through the door. The glow of the white restaurant sign, mingled with the orange lantern reflected her pale face. Her hair, graceful even on this rainy, damp day, fell straight down. A slight breeze hit her, and then it slowly waned. A leaf fluttered in the sky and flew away somewhere far away in the distance. The door slid open and it was Tadao.

"We can come in," he said. "They close in thirty minutes."

Whereupon Asami closed the umbrella and head inside. Immediately there was a waft of ramen noodles and shoyu. Two or three salarymen were sitting at the bar, both seeming to be regulars, talking leisurely to the head chef. Tadao and Asami took off their jackets and sat by the counter. He glanced at the menu and decided on a beer with nuts. Asami didn't get anything, as the mood didn't seem to strike for her. They didn't talk for a long while. Her hair covered the side of her face, but she seemed to be looking down. All the while Tadao took his time to glance around his surroundings. Fresh sashimi and fish were lined up by the counter, and behind the chef was a collection of Japanese sake. Tadao wanted a bottle, but for some reason, he skipped it for the night.

Asami didn't move an inch. Tadao placed his hand on her back.

"Asami," he said. "Asami, are you okay?"

Before he knew it, a teardrop fell on her napkin. Tadao pulled her hair aside so he could see her face. Never did he know that she was crying.

"Tadao," she rasped.

"What is it?"

She sighed, looking at Tadao's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I'm a fool.. a fool for bringing us all the way here."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Most people make mistakes."

"No, but I forced you. We didn't need to be here. We could've been home. We could've had dinner together at home. You know what I mean, Tadao? I wasted our time."

Tadao put his arm around her. "I'm never wasting any time when I'm with you. We just somehow winded up here, but who cares? We're in no rush. Now let's relax, shall we?"

"Tadao."

"What."

"Can you forgive me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I? You just wanted to not get off and go home so early, no? I know how you feel."

"I didn't want to get off," she said. "I don't know why. Something told me that I couldn't get off where we usually got off. Don't you ever get that feeling? When you sometimes want to go beyond where you're used to? Explore places?"

"I do," he said. "You want to go on an adventure?"

She nodded. "But that was enough for me. Let's go home."

"Okay," he said. "But let me relax first. Will you let me do so?"

"Yes."

His beer didn't come yet, nor did his nuts. One customer left the bar, leaving only one other customer remaining. Tadao sipped his water, and all he could do at the time was stare at the head chef cleaning the dishes. He thought about finishing the letter, but he could not bring himself to write. With his arm around her, Asami seemed to be sleeping. But he could not tell. He could not tell at all.

Sometimes I want to live alone in privacy. In this place, everyone knows everyone. If I go out with a girl, for instance, everyone would know, and spread word. I'm the type who doesn't want to admit that I am, If I was. Sometimes I want to make new friends, and go somewhere else and start fresh. It's a huge college, but at the same time it isn't. I guess that's what happens when you become a senior.

Anywhere but China, Second Layer, Dark Shadow Child

She fixed me yakisoba—fried noodles topped with onions and sliced sausages which took about only twenty minutes. Along with that, we had ourselves umeshu from glasses that she had bought from Japan. Easy-listening music was flowing from her speakers. The rocking chairs outside her terrace occasionally swung to and fro from the wind, silently. The air was cloudy, the sun covered from the grey clouds. Her full-size bed was made perfectly, folded neatly. Staked neatly above her bed were a collection of books in Chinese, English, and Japanese, ranging from paragliding to a book about honorific Japanese. Her clothes were all neatly hung on her clothing rack. Throughout the entire time, we spoke in Japanese. She sat on the heater with her legs tucked by her chest, hugging with her the paragliding book. She was wearing loose-fitting shorts, and socks that went up to her knees, and a light grey jacket. Her graceful black hair was let loose.

I had some of her tea, and listened to the soothing music. Nobody else was home. 

"It's a nice place you got here," I said. "Quiet and peaceful. Spacious room, bed, and free."

She nodded, "But I sometimes get lonely by myself. Sometimes I wish I could go back to the dorms."

"Your cooking is a hundred times better than dining hall food."

She smiled into the window as her skin glowed from the outside light. "But there's nothing much to do in this neighborhood. When you're at the dorms, you live right next to a lot of people. You can meet a lot of new friends. You don't get that here."

I nodded, and took another sip of the tea. I munched on a shortbread cookie she had prepared on the table. 

"I really want to go paragliding," she said, flipping through the book. "Seems so fun. I practiced a few times when I was abroad." 

"But it seems scary, no?"

"Not at all. It's so fun," she walked toward her pictures that were pinned on the wall. The wood flooring creaked from her footsteps. They were pictures of her abroad in Japan and Yellowstone National Park with her friends. 

"I got to have so much fun there," she said. "Over here there's really not much to do. Not enough clubs. I want to go back. Anywhere but China."

"Anywhere but China," I repeated her words.

"Have you been there?"

"I haven't," I began to peel a clementine. 

"You shouldn't go there," she said, staring outside the window as if she was gazing at her reflection in a pond. "The air isn't splendid. Not the best place to be."

"I'd take your word for it," I said. "But say, your Japanese is really good so I think you'd be better off in Japan."

"I think I'll go back there," she nodded. "That's where I'd like to go. There's nothing to do here. I'd prefer Japan over America."

Popping a clementine slice one after the other in my mouth, I continued to listen to her soothing playlist. A jazz mix, akin to Norah Jones. The type of music you could easily sleep in. Our two coats were on the bed, and I thought about sleeping. 

"Sean," she said. "Tell me, what time do you usually get up?" she asked me, as if she had read my mind. 

I thought about it for a while. "It varies from time to time, but I'd say around 10:30."

"10:30," she said, nodding while flipping through the paragliding book. She seemed to be engrossed by the pictures. Most of them were sweeping views of Japan from a paraglider's point of view. "Then you don't need to nap."

"I nap a lot."

"You know, they say it's ideal to nap everyday for about thirty minutes. If you sleep more than that, you'd start to get headaches. It's like the stages of eating food. Do you know it? How it's better for your body to eat desserts last and everything?"

"I don't," I said. 

"I have a lot of time so I read about it," she laughed.

A brief lull fell upon us. I began to peel the rind of another clementine. I couldn't peel it smoothly because of my recently cut nails. On the table by the side was her clementine rind, which was adroitly opened all in one peel. The song switched to a jazzy vocal version of "It Had to Be You." She walked toward her tier shelf by her bed, and brought something to me. It was an unsolved Rubik's cube. 

"Can you do it?"

I was able to solve this thing in a minute, and even remembered how to solve a four-by-four back in high school, but I couldn't for the life of me remember right now. 

"Not anymore," I laughed. I eventually solved the first layer, but everything after that I couldn't solve. 

"I only could solve up to the second layer," she said. "But wow, you still remember!"

"Of course."

She glanced at the cube, looking at all six sides, then, as if content with solving the first two layers, placed it back on her shelf and sat back down on the radiator. 

"You should come here," she said. "A cold draft comes from the window but the radiator is warm."

Whereupon I sat by her, and indeed, there was a slight breeze seeping in from the window. 

"Sean," she said. "Do you like ghost stories?"

"Ghost stories?"

"Yeah," she said. "Do you have any experiences? I like talking about them. I mean, I get scared when I talk about it during the night but it's still light out so it's okay," she laughed. "Plus, I'm not alone so it's alright."

I didn't have any. I crossed my legs, in wonder. 

"Not really," I said.

"Well you're boring."

"I sometimes felt some spirit looming over me," I said. "But I never could tell. It's usually the wind, or just in my dreams." 

She nodded. "For me, I know the father of my host family when I was in Japan had an experience. He ran some business, and he wasn't really making decent money. But one night, he saw in his tatami room some dark shadow child, or, what seemed like a child. Since that occurrence, he began to earn more and more, for some strange reason. Weird, isn't it?"

"Weird. Scary, but a good kind of ghost."

She nodded, grabbing another one of her books from a pile stacked along her radiator. "My other Chinese friend could predict whether someone is gonna call someone. She's oftentimes right." 

"Wow," I said, finishing up the clementine. "She's psychic then."

"Could be," she stared out the window, seeming this time to follow the movement of a branch on a tree.

I sat back down on the chair by the table, and thought about her for a second. I took a moment to glance at her from the full-size mirror in front of me. There she was on the radiator, looking out the window with her book flapped open by her lap. What an easy, peaceful, life, I thought. Everyday she'd sit on the radiator and read through countless books while listening to jazz, alone. Out of her entire suitemates, it seemed like she had the best room. Everything here was neatly organized. Her desk consisted of a miniature humidifier and pencils that were all sharpened. The longer I stayed in her room, the more I began to feel how disorganized my life was. Everything was properly placed where it should be, and nothing was out of order. 

"Sean," she said, pointing behind me."Where have you gone in the US?"

I looked behind me and it was an atlas map of the United States. 

"I've traveled to LA, San Francisco, Boston, Orlando, and Honolulu. Canada for a few hours, and Dallas for a few minutes."

She laughed. "I've only gone to Boston, Seattle, and Yellowstone National Park."

"Seattle seems nice," I said.

"It is," she said. "Everyone seems to sleep early and get up early there." 

I imagined myself going there, taking a gander at the official Starbuck's and having myself a nice cup of coffee while gazing at the sea. Maybe even catch a Mariners game at Safeco. 

She was flipping through something on her phone. The music continued. Her suitemates didn't seem to come back any soon. If I stayed here, nothing would probably change. She'd probably stay there on the radiator, until dusk, until nightfall, until the stars glittered and the moon shined, until the branches from the trees camouflaged into the demure and plain darkness. Then she'd probably cook dinner, wash the dishes, read again over calming music, and sleep. Rinse and repeat. There was no television so she didn't watch anything. It was a calm afternoon, the calmest I've felt in months. I munched on another cracker, glanced at our two coats again, closed my eyes, and dreamed. 

What got me the most was when he took down the polaroid.


I don't know if it's just me, but I don't like reading memoirs or nonfiction work so much. At the risk of sounding selfish, I don't really care about other people's lives so much. Sure, everyone has intriguing and unique stories, but honestly I'd rather read fiction. I guess I enjoy the thrill of the story in fiction, and the illusion that the story is not true; I enjoy the feeling of wanting the story to be true. That's the whole reason I read books: to escape from the banal reality.

Recently, I've taken up bowling. It's one of my past times, and it's a way to reduce stress for me. Last time, I reached 140, sweeping all of my friends. I want to go now, but the weather is extremely freezing. We reached the single digits, and subzero temperatures in the night. So here I am stuck at the dorm studying.

What an uneventful Valentine's Day.

Dreams and Memory

That moment when someone recognizes you, but you have no idea where you met them. The person's face is familiar—really, really familiar, but you cannot remember their name.

"Hi, Sean!"

"Hey, uhh."


In fact I had a dream one night.

There was a woman, and I met her somewhere at a party. She had long, brown hair, and had on light makeup. She wore jeans and a light olive green blazer and a necklace. We subsequently went out to the movies and we shared a couple kisses. She was magical. But then she left, out of nowhere, and I forgot everything. I even didn't catch her name. I never saw her again. Just like that, she was lost in the crowd.

But people who appear in your dreams loosely resembles someone in real life, whether it be a stranger or a friend.

My work is accumulating, my roommate is broke (literally with only 5$ in his pocket), the campus center doesn't even exist at this point, and I'm sleepy. Fortunately, the weather is springlike. 

To Home: A Story

The light chill sweeps the air as the days get colder. Though recently the weather is not so terrible over here. I heard the city was hit with a massive blizzard a few days ago. I trust you are well.


Under the dim light, Tadao wrote these words in his notebook, addressed to his father. Together with his friend, Asami, they were the only ones riding the bus. Tadao looked out the window but could only see his reflection and raindrops here and there. In the countryside there was nothing much to see but plain trees and bushes. Asami sat next to him, her head leaning against his shoulder. Surrounding them were empty, plain seats. The air was moist, even inside the bus, and there was the scent of leather. The engine monotonously roared. The two of them listened to the tires roll across the wet tarmac below, and the rain lightly hitting against the window.

"The rain's coming down hard," Asami said.

"It is," Tadao said, staring at his reflection.

"Did you finish writing?"

"Not yet," he said. He wrapped his arm around her. "Go back to sleep."

"I wasn't sleeping," she said. "I can't sleep here."

The bus stopped at the traffic light, and there was a brief silence. The blur from the rain hindered Tadao from looking at the passing scenery, but something bright pulled up near the window. Tadao knew that it must be another car's headlights.

"Will you be able to sleep when we get back?" he asked.

She leaned back against his shoulder. "Just finish writing."

"But I cannot write here, either," he said. "There's something about writing in the rain. I cannot do it."

"Why not?"

Right there, Tadao shut his notebook and shoved it in his coat pocket. Asami sat up. The dim light sparkled her dark, wondrous pupils, and spotlighted her wine-red lips and pale skin. Her hair was tied into a ponytail, each strand as graceful as a stream in a waterfall.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'll finish it eventually."

"You told me that yesterday. Don't slack off. I don't like it when you slack off."

Tadao reached for her hand and held it. "I'll finish it. I'll finish it, okay? Can you trust me?"

"I don't know," she said. "I think so."

The bus began to move and soon it was reaching an incline, as they were heading up a hill. Bumps here and there.

"What time is it?" Asami said.

Tadao checked his wrist but realized he wasn't wearing a watch.

"Don't you have a phone, Tadao?"

"I'm afraid I don't. Don't you?"

"I didn't bring it with me," she said. "Why don't you have one?"

"It's at home. I figured I didn't need to talk to anyone."

The bus was back in flat terrain. The driver continued to drive away. Outside, blurred neon-lights from diners and stores swished by.

"Tadao," she linked her arm around his. "Do you enjoy the rain?"

"I can't say I do," he said. "But I do love watching rain indoors. Don't you?"

"I do too. It's calming."

"I guess so," he looked back out the window.

"What are we going to have for dinner?"

"I will figure it out, don't worry."

She rested her head back on his shoulder, but Tadao could not tell if she was closing her eyes. The rain failed to abate, but the dim light continued to shine both of them. At the time Tadao felt as if she and him could be here forever. But nothing ever was. A waft of Asami's woody fragrance lingered around him. For a while they rode the bus in silence. Tadao wrapped his arm around her.


"Asami," he said, rubbing her arm. "We're almost here. Wake up."

She rubbed her eyes, moaned silently, and looked at Tadao. No matter what situation, Asami always seemed pretty to him.

"I don't want to get off," she said.

"What?"

"Let's continue to ride the bus, Tadao," she said. "Until the last stop."

Tadao had his hands on the bell to request for stop. "Then we won't be able to go home."

"It's okay," she said. "We can go to the end of the stop."

"What are we going to do when we get off there?" Tadao said. "There's nothing. Stop being silly and let's go."

But the bus was already making its way past the bus station. Tadao sighed, but he couldn't get angry at her. He could only love her, and love her dearly. Tadao stared at her, gripping her hand tightly. Asami frowned. Tadao sat back down with her.

"Why don't you want to get off? Because it's raining?"

Asami shook her head. "I just don't want to leave. Isn't there a time when you don't want to leave a place? How there's something about a place where you can't just come and go?"

Tadao thought about it hard, but couldn't quite grasp what she meant.

"Let's ride the bus till the end then," he said. "There's nothing we can do anymore. And it's meaningless to get off in between."

"We can if you want."

"We're going to stay here." 

"So we're gonna ride until the last stop?"

"Yes, we are."

Asami nodded, and leaned her head back against his shoulder. The bus continued its journey to the end of the road. Tadao closed his eyes, but couldn't sleep. He took off his jacket, wrapped it around her, and looked out the window again. He was craving a cigarette. From his pocket, he took out his rusty keys and fiddled with it. He looked down and saw Asami's faded black converse, both pairs together pointing straight. Next to Tadao's tennis shoes, they looked miniature. The bus continued to run, and the night continued to progress. While following the raindrops twiddle down along the window, he thought of a dream he had. 

What is it?

I came back from Japan with 12 Tokyo Bananas and now I'm down to one. I've given one each to close friends of mine, and it's funny how 90% of them didn't know what they were. 

"Hey thanks so much," they would say. Slight pause, observing the snack. "What is it?"

"Banana filling in the inside, cake on the outside," I've gotten this question so many times I already had a ready-made answer. 

Either way, all seemed to enjoy them, and I'm happy. 

The Final Semester Prelude

An idea flew into my mind while I was in class brainstorming for a possible honors project:

The movie title would be something along the lines of, "Love and Language" or "Language of Love" or some other quasi-cheesy title for now. 

It's about a man who falls in love with a woman who speaks a different language and the man subsequently develops a tremendous urge to learn the language and becomes embedded in her culture, but at the same time he is also abandoning his own background without even knowing. 

Could end up being some cheesy shojo anime or manga.

The days were getting colder and colder, but everything else stayed the same. New challenges and opportunities await. Immediately when I arrived on campus a few days ago, I went to the school's basketball game with two friends. Fortunately, they won. Off to a good start. Good friends, good conversations. It was the prelude to a bright, new, and final, semester. Then, it was graduation. Can you believe it?

"Can you believe it?" I said to the Monster energy drink on my desk.

It didn't say anything.

The Abroad Mood

As soon as the plane touched down at Narita and the flight attendant gingerly made her announcement, an intense force struck my mind, a sudden thought:

I want to live in Japan. I want to leave the US for a while.

Not just for visiting my family, but also for some obligation, such as work or study. I feel that it's about time for me to go abroad, while I'm young. I've never "lived" in Japan before, and I want to experience that. Chance flies, and it flies hard. And Japan is the destination. I think it's even safe to say that it is my dream.

My parents fled from Japan when they were young to live the American dream; what if I did the opposite and went back to Japan and got married there?

Just a thought.

Also, I eventually want to travel to Korea. I have a number of Korean friends, been doing taekwondo for a decade and counting, and not to mention, kpop and food. I also have an interest in the language, which I have yet to learn. In other words, I feel that I am surrounded by Korean things.

I'm in that abroad mood; East Asia version.

Someday, I'll be over there. That's definite.

Post-Holiday Season

And just like that, I am back to reality. Well, not really reality but back in the states. The holiday season was over in a flash. This year, I left for Japan on Christmas day so I couldn't really celebrate it. Christmas trees once decorated with ornaments and lights in homes were now disposed on the sidewalk edges outside in the cold. Listening to holiday music or seeing holiday accessories at this time seems utterly off, like dipping ketchup in Oreos. When this happens, you know the holidays are over. Back to reality indeed.

The weather's been getting chillier lately. Jet lag is killing me for the past few days, and I've been struggling to stay up during the day. Thus my mind during the day becomes blank. I try to read a book but I can't get myself to grasp the sentences. All I want to do is sleep but if I do, this jet lag won't perish. I started to miss the food in Japan, and the lifestyle I had over there.

新年あけまして、おめでとうございます。今年もよろしくお願いします！！

Some more facts regarding Tokyo:

- We take food seriously. And add and mix flavors. From green-tea oreos to mikan (clementine) flavored chips, we go pretty out there when it comes to food. Ramen among other Japanese food are extremely cheap and delicious.

- We take television seriously. Programs and variety shows are interesting and you can often find ones that are up to five hours long, especially during major holidays. You can easily spend the entire day sitting in the sofa watching tv, and it can get pretty risky.