The Pain of Lost Trust

I wish I could say it was only a broken heart – I’m used to those, honestly. Boys are stupid, and will remain so for as long as I can remember. Besides, I’ve gotten over a wonderful, loving, brilliant man before – what’s the most recent boyfriend to that? Still, that isn’t what hurts me the most. I trusted him to tell me first. He didn’t. And that’s what hurts.

And honestly…I feel like I mean nothing, and will never mean anything, to anyone again. I thought I meant so much to him, but now, replaced, I begin to wonder. What am I, to anyone? If he, who claimed to love me so much, could replace me within two months, who will do so next?

My heart aches…my heart…aches…and crying eases it only a little – and cry I have…

But it does little more than remind me that this too, shall pass.

I’ve been used to being alone for a while now, but…

I still had someone I loved, that I thought still loved me.

I don’t anymore. Oh, I love him still – more fool am I – but…

My heart beats alone…

Home

In former years, I spent my time lost to the beauty of the world around me – the spring would come, dressing the woods so beautifully, opening its arms for the fae folk to make their banquets and parties (and in general terrify those who could hear their merrymaking), and blossom to summer, languid and lustrous, full of life and haunting nights of things that giggled as they rushed through the corn fields, which would gradually age into fall, the leaves fiery and somber, the rains washing away the merrymaking of the former seasons to prepare for slumber, and as winter finally arrived, in all her haughty glory, with the wind howling as wolves on the hunt, I paid these wonders no mind.
No, instead I dreamed of far away lands, of the music of the koto and shamisen, of mountains and ocean so close that surely they were nearly one, of kitsune and onii and the mysterious kimono-wearing shades of history. It was home, I told myself. I would go there – I would – and I would be home at last! Home! How foolish is the heart of a teenage girl, seeking romance and adventure, when none of these things can ever truly be home. Adventure, romance, they are ever rushing, never settling long enough for there to be anything even remotely resembling a home – not even a heart of one.
Now, years later, I look back and smile fondly at that frustrated young woman I once was, and begin to understand that what I took to be encouragement from my dearest advisor, was truly an attempt to dissuade me – knowing that what I sought, I would not find there. Oh, how right he was! As I look from the mountains, which bring my heart to pause, and my eyes well up in the great love for their beauty and wonder, over the bright lights of the city, beyond which I know the sea roars with enthusiasm – for I can, sometimes, hear the foghorns of the great ships in the bay – I know this place could be home to me. But I no longer want it. I cannot want what I know I cannot have.
My heart does not yearn for the slow pace of the lands I grew up in, for the hearty meals, for the inevitably nosy townspeople, who probably knew I was pregnant long before I did. This land has a place in my heart it will never lose, and I will love it eternally, but I cannot live here, more’s the pity. The language is difficult – I know some, but I so fear speaking it as I hate to butcher something so beautiful – and the people are distant to me. I am a foreigner – an outsider – and no matter how many years I live among them, no matter my brilliance with their language or customs, I will never be more than this. My skin will forever mark me as one who does not belong, and though I am shown every courtesy, every kindness, there is a gulf between myself and those of the land, and they know I know this. This was a blessing beyond any other I could have; for I was accepted regardless by those who got to know me.
Niisan, you tried your best to teach me, but when that failed you never despaired. And I understand why you have been so distant. You knew I had to experience it for myself, or I would never learn. This is why I have always trusted your advice above all others. After all, you’re generally always right – I just have to figure out what you’re saying.

Losing Ground

I’ve spent the past few months avoiding thinking about it. About it, to be precise. What is this it I speak of? Financial problems. I made the mistake of letting my guard down, and just checking to see how much the uni is screwing me over this year. …let’s go with the lovely tune of almost ten thousand dollars!

I could actually feel myself dropping into the muck the university places below me. Why say you’ve gotten a certain form of aid, when it’s been denied? This is the second time this has happened, and I’m getting frustrated. Is it the poor kids they’re going for? What, do we not live up to their expectations of what the university should be? This is bullshit.

I’m scared. I’m upset. I think I made a mistake. I should have waited to go to college. I didn’t understand what I was getting myself into. And…and there’s nothing I can do now. Except keep hoping for it to all be a dream. To wake up before I set foot on this sick, twisted, deceitful road of college life. It won’t happen, but it’s all I have left.

Unless I can write a damn bestseller – which with my writer’s block, will not be happening any time soon.

Maybe I can manage an essay to blow some scholarship out of the water. That’d be nice. But my writing has been miserable and disjointed lately – and my health hasn’t helped matters along.

Help me. Please, gods, let me find my way out of this mess…I can’t keep going like this. I really, really can’t. The despair is just too much to handle.

Distraction

The pain draws out the worst in me, pulling myself in all directions at once. One moment I’m focused on the amusement of a conversation between my friends, and the next my mind is drawn by the reflection of light off the whiteboard. At one moment, my mind is deep within the fairylands it adores so much, and the next it’s ripped brutally away into focus upon an annoying voice and an incomprehensible statement. The more words you use, the more difficult it becomes for the listeners to understand your meaning, in many cases. If it is a story you wish to tell, if it is a world you wish to create, use only those words which are necessary, and you will draw them in. – Oh, that person has delicate hands. Very nice gestures, very calm and emphatic, without being over the top. The distraction! I want to sleep, to rest, but I have no time – so many things to be done, so much to study, not enough time in the day. I have no wish to be a teacher, because I am fond of the kind of teachers that no others truly enjoy… A teacher is not a teacher when from the first, they are busy trying to be a friend to their students. They should at first be aloof, in their own way – this is my place, that is yours, please keep to it during classtime – and over time, if they make themselves approachable outside of the classroom, slowly lower their guard, and open it. In time, it is acceptable for these individuals to be relaxed within the classroom setting, but not at the moment.

On the Wings of Delusion

Sometimes I get the feeling that if I just lay still enough, and banish all thoughts of where I am now, I could slip back into the past, into certain specific moments of it. I’m in one of those moods right now – this could be my fever coming back, but I don’t see the elephant of doom, so I’m guessing it’s just the fact that I’ve been stuck in my room (barring a visit to the doctor) for the past three days.
Some might wonder why in the name of all things holy I would ever want to drift back to a previous time, having already suffered through it. Some would probably feel the need to introduce me to the men in white coats upon discovery that the time I always feel so close to slipping back to is, in fact, the beginning of my freshman year of high school. Because why would anyone want to go through high school twice? Better still, why go back to a time before Harry Potter was finished?
For one thing, my Freshman year was rough, yeah – but it was before things really went to hell. I didn’t smoke. Didn’t drink. Spent my time reading and writing and pretending to study (or actually studying, which is why I did poorly so often) and was terrified to speak to anyone. Before I had a thing for that prick, before I had my son – I love him, yeah, but life will be hard on him because of my mistakes – before I ever learned to fear a man’s strength.
So, part of my dream has come true. I’m in Japan. It’s great, I love it, but I didn’t prepare for it the way I should have. Fact aside, right now, I’m sick and miserable, and all I can remember is the chili I had for breakfast my first day of high school. I miss chili.
I miss the chances I had to actually get along with my sister – annoying though she is. Hell, if I’d known she would end up borderline ocd over where things went in her room, I would have had no problems sharing a room with her. As long as she let me use the internet to all hours of the night. Because her borderline ocd would have massively triggered my borderline ocd, and oh the things we could have gotten done when we weren’t being lazy. …also, she has very good taste in clothes.
I miss all of the times I could have been a better daughter to my mother, and a better stepdaughter to Lowell – yes, I still would have gone goth. I’m sorry, love the black. But I would have had a little more respect for my step-dad’s opinion of people, and for my step dad himself. …I would still snap back at him, because no one else does it enough, but I would have been more respectful about it. And that would have made my mom’s life so much easier.
I miss all of the times I could have cooked dinner with my mother and didn’t. Because seriously, only knowing how to make three of the million things I loved for her to make is not sufficient.
I miss my teachers – all of them – and I miss the fact that I could have done so much better if I had taken high school with a grain of salt. You know, the homework is there for a reason (but I would still hate doing that stupid bug collection, but I might have explained that I am absolutely terrified of bugs of all kinds, and would be willing to do anything but have to touch bugs, alive or dead) and so doing the best I can would be wise. Especially in Physics.
I miss knowing that regardless of all else, most of my classmates had good heads on their shoulders, and kind hearts in their chests. They may not have been my kind of people, but they were good people (for the most part) and worthy of respect.
I miss working shows in Salem, no matter how borderline useless I was for carrying heavy things or functioning as a bouncer. I had the most fun doing that, even though sometimes I was stupid and didn’t think to eat breakfast before setting into the manual labor.
I miss all the chances I could have had to have a part time job in high school, because I think that would have helped me settle into my decision of what I wanted out of life (other than: Dear god not McDonalds). And who knows, maybe I would have met a certain person early enough to have been able to be enough for him. Maybe.
I miss holidays (yeah, what the hell, I am the self-proclaimed holiday assassin, and I hated them with a passion) with my family. Seriously, Christmas is going to break my heart, if Thanksgiving doesn’t do it first. …Oh god. No turkey. No mashed potatoes. NO OYSTER DRESSING. …yeah, Thanksgiving is going to send me into tears at some point. I miss being jealous of my siblings for being such twits – that’s right, that’s why I gave you both so much crap, because you were so damn happy it drove me insane. I wish I’d taken a moment to run rampant with the bastards in the snow now.
I miss my bed, and my lunatic cat. I miss watching the sun rise every morning as I got ready for school. I miss my locker, even though that idiot next to me sprayed Axe in my lungs every day without fail. I miss school food, if only because of the company I had there.
I miss math – especially Trig, because Mrs. Zawaski was awesome. I miss English, because any teacher that can remember exactly the pitch of witch cackle will set a student off deserves a medal (Hey. I should make one for Mr. Shirley.) I miss history, because Mr. Powless had some of the best random info not found in a book, including random torture/death penalties used all over the world in ancient times (slide of death for the win!). I miss biology, because I know Mr. Guy had to realize he was speaking in that kind of monotone, and he did it just to torture us (therefore he is awesome). I miss physical science, because Mr. Guy made sure to tell people I had an awesome way to keep the egg from breaking when we dropped it out of the second story window (probably because I knew even then he did the monotone on purpose) and thereby got me tortured for info the next year (I never toooold). I miss chemistry, because Mr. Guy knew putting Catrina and I together with a bunsen burner and/or dangerous chemicals was a bad idea, and always kept an eye out for madness. I miss physics, because Mr. E had no problems with us bickering with him as long as the tone implied we weren’t serious in any way, shape, or form (he also usually won). I miss German, because it was a beautiful language and Mr. White loved it too. I miss home economics, because Miss Kuhring knew me well enough to give me a Look when I wanted to strangle the stupid people. I miss gym (gasp), even though Mrs. Nielson was evil and never let me play soccer – but she did let me whinge about it every time it was good weather for it. And I really miss English, because by senior year Mr. Shirley was devious enough to witch cackle at random around me, thereby sending me up the wall (Macbeth; and I dearly love Shakespeare) and then he would scamper away as only he could manage. Laughing for real. It was also the one class where people noticed me (I was a bookworm, what can I say?) and other students would think I was absent if I didn’t say something to refute Mr. Shirley at least once (“HEY! Amy’s back!”) and I kinda liked it that way. …and of course, randomly giving a speech on insanity was so worth the weird looks.
I miss all of it. For those of you who know what I’m talking about: I miss you bastards. And I wish I’d taken the time to get to know most of you, and to open up in return. It would have made for awesome memories. I have to say, I actually look forward to our reunion.
Unless somehow, I can jump back into the past. …and failure won’t be for lack of trying!

Absolute Rambling

So, I was reminded by a good friend today that it’s been too long since I last wrote – far be it from him to acknowledge the posts  I’ve put up elsewhere – no, wait, he doesn’t know about those writings – and I refuse to allow you lunatics access to my fanfiction (except for a specific few) because most of you would be too busy harassing me afterward to even notice this exists.

Refocus.

I suppose I should feel a little guilty, I’m writing this in the middle of class, and completely ignoring the terrible movie that’s playing as an example of something – Orientalism? No, wait. We’ve moved on to an example of wakonyosai. Regardless, I can’t handle the awful movie – and the one who earlier refused to read MLIA with me back here is now drawing.

Trip, you’re a really good artist. Damn. If that’s a dude, can we find one like that for me? ^-^

Can anyone tell how bored I am? Seriously. I can hear people just out the window, in the courtyard between this building and the next. The window is open, there is no screen – I’m glad I’m far away from it, or I’d be even more tempted to try and sneak out that window than I am now. Because more often than not, the boys that go out in that courtyard to smoke are incredibly cute.

…if this classroom were in the states, I would SO do it. Because there, at least half of the people out there would be more likely to encourage my having done so.  One moment, discussion.

Which I am making little effort in – sadly, lecturing for five minutes and then going “Okay, now discuss.” is not nice. Because it’s never made obvious just what exactly we’re supposed to be discussing. Graaar. I feel so bad for not knowing what I’m supposed to be talking about.

Yes, Trip. This was what I was typing while sort of trying to hold the discussion with you. No. I wasn’t all that interested today. How in the name of the gods do I study for a test in a class like this? I don’t know how to take notes, because he never really gets around to making any kind of definite point, and for the love of the gods, he uses ‘probably’ the same way a valley girl uses ‘like’. (Though I think that’s because you can’t really say “This is so.” and leave it at that in this kind of subject.)

…somebody help me please.

Natural Beauty

In Japan, it’s never hard to find nature – and in Ashiya, it only takes a bit of a walk to find yourself in the mountains. Today, my host mother and I took a walk into the mountains behind Ashiya – and I really understand why, in Japan, the kami are still worshipped.

How could you ever think they are not real, standing before the sheer beauty of nature in Japan? Where else could this have come from? Taking a rest at a higher point – not quite on the peak, but fairly close to it – and looking out over the valley below and over Ashiya, I felt like I was not alone. Chieko was down below, not wanting to risk getting hurt climbing higher, and I was well and truly alone up there…

But somehow, I think this is not true. While I sat there, amazed by the view before me, it felt as though there was another standing behind me, a hand on my shoulder. And in that moment, I felt peace. No more fears, no more stress, no more worries or upset.

And I still feel it. Maybe it was the god that I follow, taking that moment to remind me that I will always have his support if I give myself the chance to lean upon it. Maybe it was just a spirit. Regardless, I am thankful.

On the way up, there was a random cat on one of the flat areas, resting on a rock – very kind and loving – but it was only on the way back down that I took the time to pause there. This cat loved me. It started purring the moment I sat down, and Chieko was rather shocked – wild cats do not do this. It was not until after she explained the purpose of the small shrine by a waterfall in a more visited area that she started to worry me.

“…that might not have been a cat.” She told me, leaving me wide eyed as we walked down the road to Ashiya. “…kitsune are very smart – and can change forms easily.”

“But…don’t they just turn into men, or women?”

“…they are most spoken of doing this. But who knows how many forms they may take on?” At this point I fell quiet, and we kept walking. About halfway home, Chieko looked over at me, a small smile on her face. “…and who is to say that only kitsune may appear as something they are not?”

“…so what was it?!”

“…maybe just a cat.” She told me, looking worried. “…but I think you are very strange…you prefer the mountain to shopping, Honnouji to all of Kyoto, and a most strange cat found you irresistable.”

“…Chieko…you’re scaring me.”

“…there’s nothing to be afraid of. For you, there is no harm in the world beyond what you know.”

And she has said nothing more since.

…was it a cat?

…or should I be worried?