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.