There’s a full moon tonight as I write this. My plan was to sit by the river near my apartment and bask in its silvery glow, but an excess of low cloud cover means that my plans have been scuppered. Instead, I am holed up in my apartment drinking Kirin and listening to The Bronx. I’ve limited myself to one tin as I’m meant to be taking a sleeping pill later. This is something that frustrates me deeply. The lunar madness is nibbling at my soul and I feel the urge to drink my body weight in Japanese alcohol, play loud music and punch away feverishly at my keyboard like some turgid wannabe Bukowski. Instead I am moderating my intake in the name of temperance and, one hopes, a decent night’s sleep.
I only slept for four hours last night so I spent the first portion of my day bouncing violently between abject despair and severe irritation. The oppressive Kansai summer that tormented me a few weeks ago is back in full swing after a brief, tantalising dip in temperatures last week. For a short time it all felt like sanctuary, but now the heat is back and with it, hours spent lying in a puddle of my own sweat and sleeplessness. The heat is unpleasant and never-ending, I have a feeling I will remember the summer of 2015 for many things; cicadas, uncertainty, violent sobbing, resentfully ironing my shirts, screaming at the walls and obsessively checking my horoscope. Earlier this morning I texted a friend with the words “I’ve had enough”. She texted back and told me to hang in there.
I am experiencing a multitude of emotions right now. I feel everything. I am grateful beyond words that I am here in Japan. I am continually wondering what it would be like if I wasn’t. I feel uncomfortable for hours on end on a daily basis. I miss my parents so much I could puke. I still have no idea if I’m on the right track. I am conflicted daily. I try and stay present while planning the living shit out of any free time I have, and as always, there is never enough of it. The mild sense of zen that I accrued during my holiday time evaporates and in its place are work days which pound together a mixture of high pressure, huge expectations and occasional victories. All of it is bewildering and exhausting.
I’m under a lot of pressure at work, but I find that nine times out of ten, the person who gives me the hardest time is myself. I sweat the small stuff and pay little attention to my big wins. It doesn’t help that when they go into you-made-a-mistake mode, the Japanese staff at my school exude an icy, piercing energy that instantly gets my heckles up. I am currently in the process of constructing my own metaphysical forcefield so that I can shut out their nonsense.
I am meeting new people all the time; a pretty 23-year-old girl from the US who speaks decent Japanese, drinks beer a lot and lives in the same town as me; a high-flying PR woman from New York who has lived in Tokyo for 12 years and is on first name terms with one of The Chemical Brothers; a mild-mannered Englishman who has a Japanese girlfriend and loves Marilyn Manson; a stunning English teacher from Japan who takes ballet lessons at the weekends and spent a chunk of her time in LA pursuing an acting career. All these people appear to be having a better, lighter time of it than me. They are relaxed and at ease while I do mental gymnastics in an attempt to exude stability. They’re here for the same reasons I am. Some of them even work for the same company as me. They all seem so to be so much more at peace with themselves. What am I doing wrong?
Last night at my local, a friend-of-a-friend asked me if I was happy. I found myself unable to give an instant yes or no. I just stood there and pondered the question. My pregnant pause seemed to do all the talking for me. I haven’t felt lasting content in months. Is this what happens when you transplant your entire life to a country where you can’t speak the language? So many people in this business all have stories about the “amazing” time they had, or are still having. I appear to the most anguished English teacher I know.
I’m getting to know this country and the people who live in it, and I can’t help but feel that the entire nation is in immense psychological pain. Everyone out here is working brutal hours before going home every night to their tiny apartments and eating rice by themselves before falling asleep for six hours and then getting up the next morning just so they can start the whole sorry trudge again. Sometimes I worry that I am in danger of joining their ranks.
Why on earth am I here? Why does it all feel so heavy, all of the time? Why is bliss and light-heartenedness so hard to come by? I have no answers, I am just hoping that by putting one foot in front the other, I will eventually make my way to the other side. And maybe, just maybe, everything there will make a lot more sense.
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