Bedrooms.

I’m in one of those moods where a small piece of a conversation can trail you off into a deep pitfall of thought. So I’m thinking about bedrooms.

They are often our most intimate of spaces. Where we keep our most private and often treasured things. Hide our secrets. I was just saying to a person that I actually enjoy when I enter someone’s room and it is a mess. Why?

Because everything about them is laid out and you can observe and learn about them more easily.  Each time you look at a particular area over, you are bound to see something you hadn’t seen before amongst the mess. That in a messy room, there’s no feeling that the person has anything to hide.

So I started looking at my room. And I thought… it’s kind of eerie, isn’t it? A clean room. Everything stacked in a perfect order. Just the way you want others to see it. I note the small details. How a lot of my secrets and feelings are hidden amongst a sense of normalcy. How when people enter my room they think it’s calming. “You have a good atmosphere. It’s a good place to be alone and think.”

It’s kind of unsettling to wonder what people can learn about me just by being in my room.

I’m moving.

“You’re actually pretty sad, huh?” Guess the cat’s out of the bag.

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It’s almost been a year since I had to start truly thinking about returning to the states. It’s sakura season in Japan again, so I’ve been pretty nostalgic. Thinking about where I was at this time last year. Was I happy?

In a few short months I’m moving again. Since I made this decision, I’ve noticed my actions have become pretty… impulsive. Which I didn’t quit get a grip on until waking up this morning. Since I decided to move, I’ve realised that since returning to this drunken college town I haven’t made one single solid connection.

My feelings of this place are all just memories of what was before I left. The people that mean the most to me. The friends that drifted away. The people that have “grown up”. And the people that have passed away. It’s been a wild experience the years that I’ve spent here. And yet, it feels like I’m leaving absolutely nothing behind.

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So I’ve been scrambling… In hopes that I can meet friends that move me. Experience something that will make me remember this place fondly once I go. But the more I scramble and push, the harder I fail. And I realise that, I’m not the person I want to be.

I had an expectation for this year. That I would return as this new free spirited Holly that I felt I bloomed into when I was in Japan. That somehow I would find myself with a group of understanding friends and my last year in this place would be filled with great memories and stronger bonds than I had previously formed.

But I returned and was met with a different reality. And instead of trying to change that, I shut down as I so often do when things don’t turn out the way I had hoped. So I’ve been cold and distant and I had made up my mind that I wouldn’t become close to anyone. That these so called “friendships” where temporary and in turn were not worth the effort. “Drinking friends.” A term coined my freshman year of college for the group of people that don’t really care about you, but you can gain social interaction from.

I never gave people here a chance to know me at all. I reverted right back to the person that I had worked so hard to change. I’m not sure which Holly is more adapt at this life. Not a thing this year has been genuine.

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So as summer approaches I have a strong sense of loneliness. That feeling where you have no one to call, for anything. No one to laugh at a late night movie. No one to watch stars. Talk about life and what’s next. Why are we here? What’s your dream? So I wonder if my last months here will be stuck in this feeling.

I haven’t learned balance yet. It seems I’m either disconnected from the world around me, or I’m pushing too desperately to be a part of it… which in the end leaves no acceptance from the people around me. So I’m not too certain what to do at this time. I would like to watch a far off sunset.

Vanish.

Do you ever have a moment, where you do something simple to every day existence, like take a bite of a granola bar and realise… you feel nothing? Tears slip out, hot and salty compared to the cool that air that is longing to become spring. You realise that you don’t feel hunger, or thirst, or sad, or happy. You’re just, here.

I was reading a lot this morning while laying in a parking lot. Which by the way, others don’t like. They won’t talk to you, or make direct eye contact. They won’t ask if you need any help, and they will keep a pretty decent distance. We’re not very good at what’s abnormal. But I tend to believe, I’m pretty abnormal.

Quotes by Charles Bukowski. He’s not someone you should be reading when you don’t feel anything. But, in some ways, I guess it’s comforting that I can write about this feeling and know that there are others just this way. A quote I found:718fd333fdf5624645c5d1e2e5c093d9.jpg

And I thought; it’s not about dying at all. It’s about the simple fact of existence. Everyone dies. That’s just how it is. And as much of a shell of a person as I am, I guess, though I don’t care if I did, I’m not ready to be dead. However, to not exist. That’s something that moves me a little.

When you die you can’t be fully erased. There’s photographs, social media, news papers, legal records, a grave, a headstone, your ashes. And even if somehow all of those things could go away, there is still your memory.

And only the dead can know what really happens after we die. But let’s say we carry on one way or another. Heaven or Hell. Reincarnation. Ghosts. Whatever. I’m not keen on any of that.

I’m very existential. Who or what just decided one day that two people were going to come together and trigger a reaction of cells to form the being that is me. And why are we capable of even thinking about it? Something that there is obviously no point to.

It’s no way to live one’s life thinking this all of the time, but it’s not fair. That we never have a choice in the matter. We’re just put here and are told, “Do your best.” So we say that when times are hard. “It’ll get better.” And I’m wondering which part of the human mind is the illusion. The awful things. Or the good things. Is it as simple as tricking our mind into seeing the positive in everything?

But somehow people end up just the way the are. A selfish person can pretend to be selfless, maybe even wish they were that way, but always in the end, they are selfish. An optimist may sometimes wish to feel the pain that others feel to acquire understanding, but they will always be an optimist.  So people like me, it would be safe to assume we are the same and eventually always find our roots.

I would like very much for all things pertaining to me to vanish.

Secret Place.

It’s 2 a.m in Tokyo. March 20th, 2017. One year ago today I accomplished my life’s dream.

***

I think that everyone deserves at least one secret. Something that only they can hold on to. I forget that sometimes as more and more I let who I am reflect through my posts on various medias. What once was something very therapeutic, can occasionally now leave me very empty just as before. If I let go of everything, if I share everything, what do I have to hold on to anymore?

I thought getting older meant becoming wiser. But, I’m feeling anymore that that isn’t exactly true. I feel more lost and blurred than ever before with each passing year. I thought growing up would mean finding a place. Not feeling so different. I’ve found myself more complex than ever before. At first, I thought I was simple; accepting all for what it is. But recently I feel like what other people consider to be basic moral, I lack that now. Because everything this grey, and nothing is wrong or right. I guess that’s why I am a loner type of person.

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The past week I have had the urge to run in a specific direction. I kept putting it off. “I’m too tired.” “I’m sick.” Today I woke up with a stronger pull and decided that even though it hurts to breathe, I will go for this short run.

So I tried to run, and when my throat hurled with coughs I decided to stop and saw a path. Then off of this path I saw some concrete. And inside this concrete, I found a secret place.

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I’ve lived in this small city for some time and something I always hated was that I didn’t have a place for my own. Everyone assumes your business. People appear open minded, but talk rather badly. And when I want to hide from every one and everything, I never had a secret place.

I can tell this place is where others come to drink and do drugs. Which makes it all the more special. Because others are using it as an escape too. Somehow we people are led on the same paths. Places with peace and love etched into their walls.. I’m glad I found what my heart was pulling me towards. So I think it’s important to remember to listen to those weird pulls.

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The more I experience, somehow the more lonely I feel. But something that is extremely strange to me, is that the more lonely I am, the more I appreciate what is around me and in my life.

As the weather changes I’m happy to have this place as solitude. I want to enjoy my last months in this place and try to find appreciation in where I am before I leave.

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Sick days.

I don’t really get the physical “lay in bed all day” sick very often. So I guess when I do I become pretty miserable in my head. I always think, I should be working. Laying here is a waste of time. I haven’t done anything. And I become very anxious, even though becoming sick is supposed to be a sign that your body needs rest.

However I think I’ve just been stressed lately. I’m feeling the very big pressure of time and money the past two weeks. It seems that though I’ve been trying, I don’t get much room to save money. It all washes away in the waves of bills and time is ticking closer and closer to when I want to leave this place.

It’s like when you’re playing one of those games as the sand slips down marking how much time you have to answer the question or complete the task. I’m feeling really desperate to accomplish what I want to accomplish, so on days like this when I can’t work, I can’t make money, I feel worthless.

Then I become frustrated that money has this kind of control over our lives. A never ending circle.

I’m not happy or sad recently. But I keep trying to put this face of doing my best. But I just feel like I am going no where. I look around me at the people that lie and cheat to get what they want and somehow things always seem to work out for them. Are they happy? And I try to be honest, and kind, and treat everyone fairly and do things in a “justly” way. But am I happy? Am I going anywhere?

I feel stuck in this constant rut of dissatisfaction. I’m not learning anything new. I’m not meeting anyone inspiring. And I feel farther and farther away from my goal every day that goes by.

I guess even from home there are things I can do from this sad sick room. So I will do my best in being productive that way.

It’s not that I hate America.

One of the things we are warned about, but I’ve just recently fully processed, is that some people will get a sense of, “oh, now you think you’re better than me.” when you talk about your time abroad. I remember going home for Christmas when my dad said to me; “You need to watch what you say around the family. The way you talked about Americans during Thanksgiving made people feel like you were talking down about them.”

This beyond frustrated me. One, because most of my life I have avoided conversations with family because of judgements, but mostly because it offended me that they would ever think of me that way. I simply felt at that time that I couldn’t talk to people who hadn’t been abroad about going abroad if they couldn’t see past themselves. Friends that would say, “wow. You’re so lucky. I wish I could do that.” As if I didn’t work my ass off to do what I did. Or like I got to do the impossible, when anyone, with effort, can go anywhere in the world they choose.

I struggled for a long time how to convey my feeling to my friends and family in hopes that they could understand me more.

It’s not that I hate America. Of course a million things annoy me. And compared to the things I love about Japan, the things here are shit to me. But of course there are things that I adore about America that Japan lacks. However, all of the politics, accessories and people aside, it all comes down to how being abroad makes me feel.

Imagine doing something, going somewhere, whatever, and you were able to feel your own potential. No matter on the darkest days when you think…”I wish I was dead.”, something inside still tells you, “No, there is more.” You start to realise all of the negative things you ever felt or thought were simply just that. Thoughts and feelings, and that you can actually work hard and try to manipulate those things into bettering yourself. Most importantly, you establish a sense of self. Who you are and what you want and the feeling of loving yourself for the first time.

Now suddenly you are ripped away from that. You are thrust backwards into what you left behind. Some things happy of course, but you aren’t who you were when you left, and now you can’t be who you were while you were gone. You are trapped inside of this box of expectations from both yourself and the people around you. And most days you don’t know what’s next, what’s best, or who you are even supposed to be. You feel back at square one.

Only recently has the war inside my head calmed down from this feeling.

I could finally say, it’s not that I hate this place, but I know the person that I can be. These surroundings I know in my heart do not allow the Holly I know I can be to flourish.

And some people think that is selfish. They only see it one sided that way. But I’m seeing that for me, in my way, it is the least selfish way I can be. To be the best person, so I can support those in my life with good advice and love. Even if I can’t be 100% what people want, I think that being the best for myself I can express what they need.

As I’ve said before, I love best from a distance. And though it’s lonely, and I’m always parting ways, I think I have been able to smile the most I have in my whole life after living this way.

I haven’t been doing my best since coming back here. I honestly haven’t even put in the effort to try. But I would like to have dreams again. And I want to be the best possible me that I can. Even if I fail a lot. And I hope that everyone else can do the same.

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In the time it takes to bloom.

I met you as a seedling. Roots as delicate as snow. Released from a pistil into this fragile world of big feet, stomping around relentlessly around me. Stomp, stomp, STOMP. They crash around me, unaware that I am here. No one stops to look down… No one had a care.

In Summer’s heat I was meant to thrive. His healing hands created to keep me alive, but I was tossed aside… Alone and afraid. My roots struggled to find steady ground. Too cold, too hot, too hard, too soft. And suddenly, there was you.

17160206_10154408445623404_783624572_nMy roots tucked in, however thin, to the upward curve between your lips, the way your belt wraps around your hips, and how your hair falls to one side. How your skin was smooth like Summer’s sun. And warmth inside me, had begun.

My body stayed wrapped tightly in a twirl. But every laugh that spilled like liquid gold from a special place, softened my overbearing embrace. A seed should not grow in night, but you projected the warmest of light. As you held me close, and closer still, until I wasn’t feeling alone anymore.

You told me your fears and insecurities and instantly knew mine. The difference between how some stars align. And my design was fascinating to you. I know in the end, you were just alone too. You told me how being a flower was hard. How beauty is perception, one not all see the same. And how eventually I would learn how to play this game.

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You protected me when I was small and weak. Watered me down when I couldn’t face the heat. Sang me songs that I had never knew. How much I wished I could open up for you.

Winter came, and you left me too. But my roots had become too strong in you. And I waited as the days turned to months, as your smiles faded in pace with the snow, and the sun began to shine, but not with the glow of your smile.

Still a measly young sprout, the wind carried me over mountains, oceans and plains, to a land I thought we could remain. I bloomed alone, on the darkest of nights, after death, I came to be. Nothing can care for this flower except for me.

A flower born in darkness, thrives in darkness, they say. And I hope I can see you again one day. Because now that I’ve bloomed, there’s nothing much left. Except to droop back to where my roots are kept.

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