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.