Kynapple

For those of you who know what the title refers to, go forth and listen to it. For those who don’t this is just a little update to let you all know I’m still alive. I’ve been in hospital far too much recently, but I got out yesterday and I’ll be updating everything super super soon. I might even make a video for you lovely people.
I also might not, so don’t get your fragile hopes up.
In other news, terrifying a concept as this will be for the hard core of you who remember back in 2008 and my uber-bihaku look, I have got a tan. I thought I’d share.
Anyway, catch you all soon.

Well, the winter months have been a trial. Details are unnecessary, as I think my inactivity and palpable melancholy that oozes from my internet presence speaks volumes, and saves me carpel tunnel syndrome from typing it all up.  In a short summation, I wish that everything from Halloween last year, to yesterday morning could just be erased from my memory, and replaced by today, repeated over and over and over and over.

Today, the sun shines.

Today, everything is bathed in this wonderful warmth and hope, and I will get my bikini on and go and bask in it (possibly metaphorically, as it is still a bit chilly out).

Today, everything seems kind of orange.

I know that my website is forever a work in progress, and I can never really settle on a design, but what I have at the moment is lovely, and feels like a shot of sunshine every time I refresh Twitter.  I don’t know if anyone even still reads this site, but if you do, I hope you find the new colour inoffensive enough.

In keeping with this new found surge of happiness and warmth, I have a super-special-awesome announcement to make, but you’ll have to wait for that.

Enjoy the sunshine, and if you have no sunshine to enjoy, keep F5ing my page, it looks like a strobe sunrise now.

I never blogged about this earlier and I feel as though I should.  I am, marginally, a Tarantino fan.  I realise that a lot of people are Tarantino fans, especially Tarantino himself, and in fact nearly every indie kid, rebellious teenager and media studies student holds a cavernously large hole in their head where they store quotes and generic critiques of plot devices, ready to be spat out upon meeting new people, or to fill awkward silences at future dinner parties.  Maybe I should rephrase.  I like some Tarantino films.  True Romance and Pulp Fiction are my favourites, though of course grindhouse was really bloody good.

We don’t speak of Kill Bill.

But back to Pulp Fiction.  When I came back to the UK last year, it had been 6 months since I’d been home.  That’s not a colossally long time in the grand scheme of things, but it’s the longest I’ve been away.  Coming back to (vomit in disgust) Heathrow was hungry work.  I flew with Aeroflop, I mean flot, and after being stuck, cashless, in Moscow for three hours, flying on a plane that was less structurally sound than my left kidney currently is, I was tired, I was emotional, and I was hungry.  On the long journey home I finally cracked and decided to spend the fiver I had been saving for a taxi from the station home.  At Fenchurch street, I saw it.

It was there in front of me in huge glorious letters.

There I stood, exhausted from 40 sleepless hours of preparations and travelling, feeling so ill and in so much pain, and I was overcome.

I smiled and I laughed.  A tear even rolled down my eye.  I knew that my decision to spend my taxi money was the best decision I had ever made.

But why?  Why when I was so ill, so tired, so sad was I standing in the station laughing like an idiot? Because there, on the Burger King menu board, in gorgeous letter was their latest chicken sandwich.  There were the three most magical words I have ever seen., he words that lifted my mood enough to get me home.

There it was, my most awe-filled impulse purchase.

There it was;

“Royale with cheese”

Alright, what the hell?

I am still not entirely sure how this has happened, but my website is back online, despite the fact I wiped the server (but not the database).  There were good reasons for this, and there still are, but I realise now that I’ve kept a few other places going, so it’s only fair that I ressurect this site too.

So, hopefully I’ll be getting my arse in gear and sorting everything out as soon as.

- Kyna -

*Yomigaeru was incidentally the first Japanese verb other than desu that I learnt.  It means to rise from the dead.  And no, I have no idea how I keep passing JLPT either.

Well, I finally did it.  Have a crappy video.

“The term ignorance means the absence of enlightenment, which is to say, delusion.
Abiding place means the place where the mind stops. In the practice of Buddhism, there are said to be 52 stages, and within these 52, the place where the mind stops at one thing is called the abiding place. Abiding signifies stopping, and stopping means the mind is being detained by some matter, which may be any matter at all.

To speak in terms of your own martial art, when you first notice the sword that is moving to strike you, if you think of meeting that sword just as it is, your mind will stop at the sword just in that position, your own movements will be undone, and you will be cut down by your opponent. This is what stopping means.

Although you see the sword that moves to strike you, if your mind is not detained by it and you meet the rhythm of the advancing sword; if you do not think of striking your opponent and no thoughts or judgements remain; if the instant you see the swinging sword your mind is not the least bit detained and you move straight in and wrench the sword away from him; the sword that was going to cut you down will become your own, and, contrarily, will be the sword that cuts down your opponent.”
Takuan Soho

Well, after finally having one shift at work, this morning I was really rather ill. After phoning NHS direct to see if I had food poisoning, despite only eating one chicken nugget in the last two days, thank you Mr Recession, they pointed out it sounded like I had Swine Flu. A fever, and some dizzy spells later, and I’ve been given a box of Tamiflu, and told to stay in bed. This isn’t hard, I mean, I feel like crap, except for one thing…My (mother’s) house is full of rats.

One of the joys of cheap terraced housing is the ease with which pests can move from one house to the other. So when next door started some DIY it was inevitable that whatever had been sojourning there would pay us a visit. We started out with mice, and we’ve had them for years. I guess you get used to them after a while. But now we have rats. ”Ew.”

Whilst I realise that the disease carrying possibilities of both mice and rats are somewhere equal, mice still register in the tiny and cute category that makes them less of a threat, more of an adorable nuisance. I rank them up there with Kitten weeing on my bed. Rats, of course, stray into that ‘large enough to feel real’ bracket. At the point that something that should be unpleasant becomes tangible, I balk. My house has always suffered from abnormally large spiders, and whenever one decided to take up residence in my room I would have to go and sleep on the sofa until my brother had trapped and freed it in the garden. Small and normal sized spiders are no problem, but these monstrous things made noise when they moved, and that was a bit much. Tarantulas, bizarrely, I adore.

Anyway, hearing little footsteps round the house makes bed-rest a bit tricky. I need to get well as soon as possible as I am still entirely penniless (it’s four weeks until payday) and in need on finding instantly paying work. Spreading germs probably isn’t well paid, unless you work for Umbrella, so for possibly the first time in my life, I am taking this bed-rest lark quite seriously. But, due to my fear of the little furry flat mates I’ve acquired, I am not going to take this possible Swine Flu lying down.

I am in fact going to face it standing up.

On a chair.

Probably squealing every time I hear little furry footsteps.

And getting very dizzy. (Fever and that)

So, I finally spent all my Christmas gift vouchers on a new bass guitar.  Here it is…

Whenever I find myself getting supremely bored of learning Japanese, something always changes my mind. this week it was Daito’s twitter update that said “なんか良くわからない感じが面白そうな気配”.

Ah, elegance of expression, how we English-speakers are sorely lacking your grace…

So, last night was Danny Choo’s weaboorgy, sorry, netowrking event.

It wasn’t horrible. I’m sure a lot of people are going to remember me for looking absolutely terrified the whole time I was there, mainly because I was, and I’m super proud for only stammering like twice, and even then I don’t think anyone noticed. I gave out my silly business cards, which were kind of well received, but I guess not too many people knew what 芸術家肌 is because no one commented on it. But that’s okay.

My highlights of the evening were Danny Choo showing a slide of my youtube channel and a surprising number of people cheered, and I jumped up and down and said “I’m awesome!”, because, well, I’m modest like that. I enjoyed meeting so many people, nearly being hit in the face with a Google pen, and going clubbing with Clay and Michael later. It were ace.

But sorry to everyone I just stared at. I was a bit scared most of the time….

I was being driven home after a long day filming (and overeating) in Avely, and I heard Scapegoat Wax’s Aisle 10 (Hello Alison) for the first time.  It’s such a lovely track.  Apparently it was on the soundtrack for Jet Set Radio Future, which I’ve yet to play, but I’ve been told it’s a very ‘me’ game, but let’s face it, I’ll play anything, I mean, I still play Tachyon: The Fringe…

Anyway, I got to thinking about all the love songs I’ve heard and started wondering who they were written for/about and what those people were like.  Take Beg Your Pardon by Josh Pyke. It’s such a sweet little song, but I can only imagine the person it’s written abut being a little cold and demanding.  I guess I’m overthinking things, but once my mind goes off on a tangent there’s no stopping it.  I’d like to be the kind of girl that gets love songs written about her all the time, mainly because I am hideously lonely, but also because I think to have the kind of charisma that elicits creativity in others, to have that muse-like quality, is something amazing.  I’m not even cutting out the “I want to sleep with you” songs, although, that’s probably more physical charisma than out and out charm, but it follows the same train of thought.  Matthew wrote a poem for me when we first started going out, but all things considered, I obviously didn’t keep his artistic interest all that long…

I realise that most of the people who read my blog are also artistically minded, so this post is mainly for you.  Have you ever had a muse?  Or just seen someone walking along that you thought ‘wow’ to?  And what quality is it that makes you think this?

Here are mine:-

1. Drink more cocktails.
2. Party more
3. Do what I want, when I want, how I want

How about you guys?

So, it’s New Year’s Eve, and I haven’t managed to keep any of the New Year’s Resolutions I made 365ish days ago. I still have them written down on a piece of paper I keep in my purse. They were:

1. Lose weight
2. Lose weight
3. Lose weight fatty
4. No really, lose some weight
PS. If you were thin, you’d look like Keira Knightley, and everyone loves her.
PPS. 2008 can be your year.

I don’t know if this is more a testament to the chronicity of my talking to myself, or to my crippling self image. I vote the former…

Anyway, this year has been a trial, and it seems that even on the last day of it, I have more worries and pathos to wade through. My mother is back in hospital.

So, unlike my brother, who’s working tonight, unlike my dad who will be out somewhere getting drunk, unlike most people out with their friends, I will be spending my New Year’s Eve in hospital trying to sneak into my mum’s ward past Evil Troll Nurse, so I can at least be with her for the end of this god-awful year.

Of course, I can’t complain too much. This year saw some good as well as bad. On the upside, not only did I finally move to Japan, I had a wonderful (and nicely-dated; 8.8.8) 20th birthday with the gorgeous and generally awesome Sammi. I started modeling which, as someone who had always been the chubby weird looking girl at school, was a really odd change. I rescued my beautiful pet cat and gave her the inventive name of Kitten, I made a lot of new friends in Japan and have been living it up in Daikanyama.

On the (medical) down side, I have had 3 emergency admissions to hospital, two lots of surgery, my eye sight has once again worsened drastically over the past 12 months and has started to cause me real trouble in low light and with reading now too, and I found out this week I need my wisdom teeth out.  Wonderful.  In other news, my MacBok is barely operational and I’m dropping out of my course to get some hardcore studying done and try and get into another university in April, leaving my visa situation a little wobbly.  My mother is pretty gravely ill.  My 88 year old grandmother broke her foot twice this year, and whilst she is back on her feet now, I’m starting to realise that she’s not immortal.  The recession has left my savings (oh-so-wisely kept in pounds in my building society) a lot smaller than I needed to get me through another year in uni, and so I’m looking at various slightly questionable jobs as I consider getting a loan to be the last resort.  Oh yeah, and then there was JLPT…

But let’s ignore the bad stuff.  No matter how awful this year has been, it could have been so much worse, and I am actually very content  with things.  Okay, the year turned out nothing like how I wanted it to, and whilst my prospects for next year are even worse, who cares.  I am not starving (although actually, that might improve my employment opportunities…), I’m not dying, and okay, now I have to survive on 80,000 yen a month, but it could be a lot worse, I could have nothing.

And so, as I hop in a hideously expensive taxi and head off to try and wish my mother happy new year, I’m going to ignore all the bad things and accentuate the positive.

I mean…It’s not the end of the world, is it.

So, I’ve just got back from a very long walk home (2 hours in heels) from Matthew’s. We went out for dinner with his parents last night, which is always pleasant, and after that we hung around for a while, watching TV and talking about things. The conversation turned to our relationship (or current lack of one). I had always maintained that the relationship ended when he phoned me to tell me he had slept with ‘a few’ other people, and despite all the tears and histrionics on his part, I stand by that. We are friends. Matthew on the other hand kept going on about how he wanted more, how he still loved me…Well, I still love him too, I’ve spent 3 years of my life (which at this age is a significant percentage) with him, but now it’s more like brotherly love now. I stopped loving him like I did when we first met shortly after his indiscretion with one of our mutual friends. The year since then has been maintained apathy on my part, and good acting on his.

Anyway, I was tired and went up to bed, and had been laying there only 15 minutes when there was a ring on the doorbell. This would be fairly normal, but it was 2 in the morning. A girl came in. I went downstairs to get my glass of water, not thinking anything sinister was going on, and said “Hello” to her, smiled…And when I left the room she and Matthew started making out on the sofa for a while. Fair enough. I mean, we’re not together any more, it was just a little bit weird. A while later I went downstairs to get some more water then came back up. Just before I reached my door, however, a naked Matthew and Girl wearing only her knickers, came up the stairs and went into Matthew’s bedroom. Again, this is okay, but I wasn’t best pleased given Matthew’s frequent “I love you”s no more than half an hour ago. So I knocked on the door. I left them get some clothes on and when Matthew answered I simply said “It’s okay, you two can use the double bed if you want, I’m okay to sleep in here.”. Matt stepped out and said “Can I have a word?”.

We stood in the spare bedroom. I smiled and felt like I had a script almost, I was so calm and collected for this speech. 

“This is how it’s going to work Matthew. I am going to pick up my clothes and go to the room next to yours. You and Natasha can come in here. I’m going to get dressed, I’m going to go downstairs, have some breakfast and a cup of tea and get the first train home. And that’s it. We will never see each other ever again, you will not try to contact me every again. Good bye Matthew.”

He tried to hug me, but I shrugged him off. Like I said I would, I got dressed. I popped my head into his/girl’s room and said to girl (again, happy and smiley me) “The double bed’s free now.”.  For some reason she looked really rather flustered…

I went downstairs, to find Matthew, beer can in hand, stumbling about the kitchen, crying and being generally really drunk. He looked at me and started to say something but I cut him off.

“Goodbye Matthew. Good luck.”

I walked out the house and walked home.

The thing is, this is an absolutely honest account of how things happened. I was so scarily calm and cheerful. But this wasn’t because I’m all grown up and mature, it’s because I felt absolutely nothing. It’s because standing there, hearing the boy you loved for three years whisper the same sweet nothings to another girl as they stripped off in the bedroom that we’d spent so much time talking and cuddling in, I realised that I don’t love him any more. And that he is such a different person to when I first met him that even if this hadn’t have happened, I could never keep loving him.

It was standing there that I remembered every time one of his/my friends told me about one of Matt’s latest indiscretions before Matthew had the decency to.

It was standing there that I could, after a week of wondering, put a face (and arse…black knickers, always a good choice) to the name Natasha Winter.

And it was standing there that I smiled, and felt so happy and warm because I can finally immerse myself fully in my new relationship in Japan, and that finally I have closure on a three year chapter or my life.

As I walked out of his house I couldn’t help but giggle.  It’s strange, because I should be angry and hurt and jealous or whatever, but actually, this is the best Christmas present there could be.  I still like Matthew an incredible amount as a friend, and I am very happy that finally he has someone in this country that he can hopefully love as much as he once loved me, and I hope that she can love him too.  And whilst I have had someone in Japan for a while now, I finally feel like any emotional baggage that might have impeded us has now been lifted and shipped elsewhere.

So, Matthew, Merry Christmas, and I wish you every success with the New Year and your new girlfriend.  And for me, in the New Year, I can return to Japan not only chubbier and merrier thanks to Christmas, but I can go back fresh and new and really make a go of things out there.

I went for a long twilight walk today, listening to Boards of Canada on my iPod, and not really noticing where exactly I was going, and I soon found myself in what felt like the middle of a Takashi Miike movie.

So, first I realised that there was no main street in sight. Everywhere was only barely one-car-width streets, and the street lights were….well….a little lacking. On top of this, all the houses were pretty much rotting old style buildings, and most had strange and sinister looking nomiya underneath them. One vegetable shop had this truly scary looking old woman sitting on this little stool, peeling potatoes. But she wasn’t just peeling them, she kept going and going until there was nothing left. This, and her unwaivering stare, freaked me out quite a lot, so I turned down another random street. Just as some utility work in hakama and the flannel headscarf thing cut in front of me to disappear through a door I’m sure wasn’t really there, some man in geta ran down the road, and the click-click-click noise was kind of a surprise…I admit to having jumped about a metre back, and promptly tripped up over this giant ginger and black cat thing. I’m secretly glad that it hurt so much, as it reassured me I wasn’t in fact dreaming. My iPod earphone fell out too, and I was pretty shocked to hear a bell chiming in the distance. It was only like one ring every ten seconds, but enough to get me curious so I started walking towards it.

Ten minutes more of dark empty streets and in some weird lightning flash moment I’m standing next to a conbini. And I turn round, and everything looks fairly normal. And then I turn back and see two 22ish year old boys with shaved heads wearing identical black pufferjackets and headbands…They were almost identical facially as well. Well, they were actually totally identical…I’m fairly certain they were twins.

It was at this point I turned on Nabi Walk on my phone and got out of there.

This, kids, is your brain on drugs.

I kid. But the whole thing actually happened today. I was pretty freaked out to be honest, but then I was just pissed off I didn’t have my camcorder. I might restage it as an art film.

PS. The title of this post is Gakugeidaigozu. The place I was in was Gakugeidaigaku, but it felt like being in the film Gozu. I was being clever ish. Not that it is at all clever….

So, it’s been about four months since I moved to Daikanyama and I guess I should finally do a decently written post about it at some point, and today, the day where I made a conscious effort to look rich and artsy on my walk to American Apparel to buy some awful gym shorts and (get this) yoga pants, I can’t think of a better time to do it.

So first, let’s talk about Daikanyama. Basically, think of any song with the word “California” in it and switch it for Daikanyama. It’s about as accurate a description as you will ever get. Everything from “We’ve got more bounce in Daikanyama” through “Daikanyama dreaming” to “Daikanyama uber alles” you won’t find an easier way to describe this place to a non-resident. Although, let’s hope that Mama Cass’s “California Earthquake” never becomes applicable.

Basically, if you say you live in Daikanyama to any Tokyoite, you’ll get a moment of silence, possibly preceded by a little gasp, and nearly always followed by a grudging “Oh, that’s nice for you”. If you’re lucky, you’ll even get questions about the size of your apartment, and your rent. It’s a bit of a cool place to be. I wish I could think of an equivalent location in London, but I really can’t. Nor can I, in fact, think of any equivalent in any country/city/place that I’ve been to previous to living here. It sounds like a pretentious ramble, but actually, I am only barely living in the Daikanyama area. It is also a miracle and a mystery how I got here. But back to the town…

Daikanyama is sandwiched between Ebisu and Shibuya, and has it’s own lovely little stop (for local trains only) on that most glorious of train lines, the Toyoko-sen. The area around the station is covered in hair salons, independent clothing boutiques, and petite cafes and restaurants (this is where I live). If you go towards Shibuya along the tracks, you will find more boutiques and cafe/bars, and if you head the other way, you’ll hit designerworld. The opposite side of Daikanyama Address, one of the worst placed and hideous-yet-probably-obscenely-expensive-and-amazing-to-live-in tower blocks in the area, is a cornucopia of “Only if I sold my kidney could I buy those shoes” kind of shops. There are so many dog accessory shops it makes me want to vommit, and even a cheap T-shirt is somewhere around the 20,000yen mark. It’s a great area, don’t get me wrong, but the further towards Shibuya you walk along the 317 road, the more you feel the pretension. It’s somewhere between cafe “Aso” where the waiters are too up themselves to serve you even when you sumimasen and wave to the point you get repetitive throat/arm strain, and Hill Side Terrace (or mini rich part of Los Angeles) that I start to get uncomfortable. Actually, that whole road is covered in self-indulgently artsy shops selling the most ridiculous clothes and furniture and art and…well…self-indulgent artsy stuff.

I guess as someone who has always lived in fairly average areas, be it my home town in London, where the closest we got to designer was having a Debenhams in the town centre, or Hasunuma-cho in Itabashi, where the Muji aisle in Family Mart felt like a treat, I am having a kind of rags to riches experience in this area. The people I hang out with here are artists, models and fashion designers, and all painfully rich, and then there’s me, the part-time barely-model who has to think twice about how many items she can buy at Cou Cou (300 yen store). It’s bizarre. Everyone here looks like they belong here. Just as there are Ginza and Shibuya girls, there are Daikanyama strains too. And I know that since moving here I’ve been making a more than sub-conscious effort to fit in a little more too. I might not be able to afford all-designer outfits, but I have a sewing machine and a points card for a super cheap thrift store in Harajuku.  I can cut-sew and fake my way into looking like I belong,  and that’s a very weird thing for me to want.

Another thing I have noticed change about myself since being here is that my self-image has altered a painful amount, and I know that my current rather drastic diet and exercise regime is more than a little based in this sudden shift from being comfortable and wobbly, to feeling fat and gross when most shops don’t stock jeans in my size. I’ve become accutely aware of the slightest out of place hair, the tiniest mismatch of clothing and the most trivial bag to shoes disagreement. It’s ridiculous and unbecoming, but I know how critical the people around me are, and this has really been affecting my self-esteem. Whine whine whine….

Despite my awareness of the superificial nature of so many people in this area, ultimately I realise that I am no better than anyone else here; the only difference being that instead of carrying my £1000 dog in a £1000 dog carrier to flaunt my wealth, I find other (and cheaper) ways to share that feeling of superiority. I mean, I still get a little thrill out of saying “代官山に住んでいます” whenever I get asked, and I bask in the jealous silence that follows. I genuinely love living here. Everything I need is in walking distance, which is doing wonders for my health, I am meeting so many interesting people who have similar inclinations (be it art or film or generally being cynical to a fault), and ultimately, I am finally really making it on my own.

And yes, my rent is a rip off, and yes, it costs nearly three times as much to buy an onion here than a few stops down the Toyoko line, and yes, if I stay here any longer I will need a nose job, lipo and teeth veneers to keep from topping myself over feelings of physical inadequacy, but all things considered, I doubt I’ll ever want to leave…

(Fade out to “Beverly Hills” by Weezer, and you’ll get the idea)

So, on the way back from Ebisu Station, Friend and I walked up a road, and I saw a woman and a drunken guy.  Drunken guy kept walking in front of her, stopping her, grabbing her hand, she’d pull it back and be angry and then he’d do it again.  This happened three times as they walked towards us, and when they got close, he grabbed her wrist again, and she stopped and they started arguing.  So I stepped in.  I tapped him on the back and asked him for the time.  He’d have to move his hand off of her to check it, which he did, and she looked relieved, and they were both caught in the bizarreness of the moment.  Cue her escape and his drunken stumble back up the road.

Friend noticed nothing.  He had no idea what I was doing, and even when I explained it, I guess it didn’t make sense to him.  It’s kind of a cultural thing.  He grew up in New York, or at least, spent his teens and early twenties there, and I have lived in the same town until I moved to Japan.  New York is a city, it’s big, it’s scary and it’s not so friendly.  My little area in England (at least when I was a child) was lovely and friendly, and helping people was just something I got brought up doing.

So, whilst I realised it was kind of high risk, drunken angry man and unknown woman could have reacted really badly, it probably made me look a bit silly, Friend was probably pretty embarrassed, and if I see any of those people again and they’re sober and remember me it might be a bit weird, but I don’t care.

She needed help, I helped.

I am ginger.  After approximately ¥61,950ish of work on my hair today for a photoshoot for something or other, having my hair bleached 3 times, coloured and highlighted….I am ginger.

URGH

So today on my way home from work I ended up standing on a Toyoko line Express train next to a guy who was, in someone else’s words “bringing the hotness” like some kind of…well, courier of hotness.  I find it hard to articulate just how attractive he was so I’ll settle for saying that he was stunning. Anyway, we kept making awkward and lingering eye contact until we got to Shibuya, at which point I remembered that I had a train to catch.  We parted ways momentarily as we disembarked, both of us doing our hardest to weave through the crowd to gain that extra ten seconds that could well be vital to getting a seat on our onward journey. A few steps later we bumped into each other, very literally, due to my clumsiness and lack of peripheral vision. Our eyes met in some Hollywood like birdsong and cherubs moment and I pulled out the worst possible line. I looked into his dark, almond eyes and said “Race you!”.

The fact that I even remember this phrase is a testament to my bizarre brain, but even weirder than that was that he, a shirt and cufflink sporting, manperfume wearing, LV document folder carrying 20-something man would rise to this. And did he rise to it. He beat me to the ticket barrier by a good ten seconds. He waited though, and when I finally got there we put our phones back to back in the sort of lingering embrace that he and I would never share, and the Touch Message I had written him on the train was delivered.

In true Tarantino style, it said just this: “You’re so cool.”

We parted ways after that. I made a swift exit before I was too tempted to commit an act of infidelity, and he was too busy looking at the message to notice me fleeing to the JR Line. I doubt I’ll ever see him again, and I doubt that I will ever have such a profoundly perfect reaction to such an awful line, but that wont stop me. And if there is a next time, if I do ever hear from him again, I might just play to win.

There are a few books I own that I have read and reread until I know them word for word.  Included in this list are two Japanese books; ‘The Unfettered Mind’ by Takuan Soho, and ‘Hagakure’ by Yamamoto Tsunetomo.  I’m going to talk a little bit about the latter of these, and the sage advice it gives that I find to be useful even today.

First of all, the Hagakure was written in the 1700s, i.e. ages ago, back when we in England were still burning heretics and maybe witches too.  Without getting into the “Japan has always been better” rant I could slip into, we’ll focus on just one thing; homosexuality.

Japan’s culture has historically been accepting of homosexuality, just as Ancient Greek/Egyptian culture was before everything descended into the dark ages post-Roman Empire.  The Hagakure gives the soundest advice not only for homosexuals, but for all relationships.

One should understand that a woman is faithful to only one husband.  Our feelings go to one person for one lifetime.  If this is not so, it is the same as sodomy or prostitution.  This is shame for a warrior.  Ihara Saikaku has written a famous line that goes, ‘An adolescent without an older lover is the same as a woman without a husband.’ But this sort of person is ridiculous.

A young man should test an older man for at least five years, and if he is assured of that person’s intentions, then he too should request a relationship.  A fickle person will not enter deeply into a relationship and will later abandon his lover.

If they can assist and devote their lives to each other, then their nature can be ascertained.  But if one partner is crooked, the other should say that there are hindrances to the relationship and sever it with firmness.  If the first should ask what those hindrances are, then one should respond that he will never in is life say.”

Sometimes I wish that I had read this book before I fell in love the first time, and that I would have realised that some problems can never be solved by talking things through and giving people chance after chance after chance.  The end is the end.

And on a more positive note, I think that now that I am in love, and have been consistently for nearly 3 years, I’m over the halfway mark to determining the intentions of the subject of my affections.  I sincerely hope neither of us are crooked…

So, heed the advice of the Hagakure.  I know I will.

So, yesterday Aunt Kanako and I went to Shito Hisayo(among other places) and the people there dressed me in a gorgeous designer kimono, which I have decided I am going to buy.  It’s only 10,000 for the kimono on its own, but it comes with a hanhaba obi (belt) and eri (collar).  With all other gear they dressed me in it’ll be about 64,000 but I have a lot of bits and pieces already, so apart from maybe getting a new obi-jime (the cord that goes round the belt as decoration) and some cute shoes, it doesn’t work out so expensive.  They are having a sale as well; the kimono would normally be 38,000….

Isn’t it lovely?

The shop workers absolutely doted on me, and the designer even showed up.  We had tea and cake together and talked at length about why we both adore kimono so.  I think I’ve found a new friend in her, and she mentioned doing an autumn/winter kimono show.  I am rather intrigued.

Update: Bought it, and received kanzashi hair accessories, a bag, a handkerchief, some tabi socks and a fan as gifts from the designer.  I’ll be wearing it throughout the festival season, as I am opposed to yukata on principal.  Heat stoke may ensue…

1.Get lost. So, after my failed trip to Ikea the other day, I thought this time I’d remember to bring my purse, and head back. But I went to Funabashi Station instead (out of choice, I couldn’t be arsed with carrying loads of stuff home, it was hot), and ended up wandering around Funabashi for a good 3 hours.

2.Wander randomly. I am a huge fan of industrial wastelands, abandoned buildings, and I love finding little temples and shrines in the urban jungle. Funabashi satisfies these urges. I found the most amazing scary derilict house, and the next time I go to Ikea, I am very tempted to go back and film it.

3.Talk to random old people. More accurately, be talked to by random old people. I was walking along beside a river, and this old guy on a bike was cycling towards me. He clocked me, and stop beside me (and the river) and started talking to me. At first I was like “great, scary old person is going to give me evils” then “great, scary old person is stopping to shout at me” and then “great, scary old person is crazy and rambling”. He started saying something about turtles. Inwardly, I was a little unsettled. There was no one else around, I’m this wimpy little girl all on her own in a town I have no clue about, and now to top it off, some crazy old guy is talking to me about….Oh! Cute! Turtles! He was kind of rambling, but I find that if you just repeat whatever syllables they ended their sentence on, and prefix it with ‘Sou’ they think you’re listening.

Actually, I was listening. He said how the water was so thick and disgusting he wouldn’t be surprised if the turtles were floating on sewage. There was one turtle with a bright white shell, and he said that was weird too. I agreed, but interjected that it was kind of cute too, but turtles as a rule are cute. There was another turtle, with a normal darkish shell, and it must’ve been getting some food, because it dived under the water for a while, then popped back up. I imagine it would’ve looked pleased with itself, had I been able to see its tiny turtleface from where we were standing. Then a cat turned up, and it was pretty and white, so I asked him ‘how comes most cats in Japan only have half a tail?’ Apparently, they’re born like that… Anyway, he went on his rambly way, as did I, only to see another cute looking feline, reach to pet it, and then get scared by it’s empty gross left eye socket. One eye kitty attack go!

4.Randomly wander (different to wandering randomly, I assure you). I was hot, sweaty, bored and fed up, and I walked past this sign saying ‘No tattoos’. I double took about 5 steps away. Where has signs saying no tattoos? Onsen and sento, that’s where. So, I thought  ”Why not? I’m going in.”  Two things I forgot when I went in. Water washes off deodorant. Water also washed off sunscreen and bihaku skin products. I am now a little tanned, and a little smelly (combatted with cleaning wipes and water in Funabashi Station Toilets though, so it’s all good). I’m just going to try not to exert myself again till I get home.

5.Be confident. I find that being comparatively foreign-looking and female is a little scary sometimes. I very rarely end sentences in my head with ‘because I’m foreign’ but when I do, it’s for good reason. Well, seemingly good reason. Anyway, I think I’ve now ascended from random foreigner in the corner to someone for random people on their own to talk to. I went to an izakaya near me the other night for some quiet, and people started talking to me, which is a first. Normally, with the exception of quirky 50-60 year old women who like how I dress, no one talks to me unless I start stuff myself. Today, old man, teenage boy on train, cute guy in suit on the Sobu line and random ladies in the sento all conversed with me. Made me feel pretty cool. My spoken Japanese is still a bit tentative, but it’s getting there. I can have a conversation, just slowly. I guess my new found confidence is growing, and showing to everyone else.

I think that’s it.  I’m just about to get into Tokyo Station, so I need to sign off of my laptop.  But today was a really wonderful day, and I hope that by following my 5 little suggestions, you can have an equally wonderful day wherever you are.

Very occasionally, and it really is, I wonder to myself; “What am I to you?”

I don’t mean it vindictively, it’s more of an afterthought.  I know you are my friend, and frequently you feel like my bodyguard/teddy/points man/sister etc, but where am I in your life?  I’m wondering this right now in particular as I am in a friend’s apartment, and said Friend is passed out in bed.  Right now, I am nurse Kyna.  Friend no doubt will have no recollection of this, but I don’t mind, I’m just happy to have some small purpose.

I don’t know how big a question it actually is to me, I am entirely unsure of where I base my self-worth, but I guess that ultimately what I am to anybody will only be truly important when it matches what they need me to be.

Lower or higher than my expectations as that role may be, as long as I can fill it, I’m happy.

Today I am sad.

I don’t know why, I got loads done today, and went on a super random adventure stopping at Harajuku, Yoyogi, Shinsei-whatever-stop-before-Haneda-terminal-1-is-called…Hmm….I even came home to find our guesthouse now has a washing machine, which will be such a wonderful relief both financially and logistically.  I no longer have to guard my laundry like an alsatian on the off-chance more of my underwear goes walkies.

I’m still feeling a bit blue. Even sea-chicken onigiri, matsuya cider and a giant bowl of ramen can’t cheer me up.  In fact, they just gave me tummy ache.  Even cute convenience store worker complimenting me on my dress hasn’t cheered me up.

Oh no! I’m emo!  I knew I could only wear thick rimmed glasses for so long…

But, this has given me an entire day of being able to use my favourite word nantonaku. I guess the best way to translate it would be “I’m not sure why, but it just is”.  So, nanntonaku suki would be “I don’t know why, but I like it” and nantonku yachatta would be “I don’t know why, I just did it”.

So today while I’m nantonaku kanashii at least I can take a little joy out of using my favourite word, and having to explain it twice to people who’s Japanese is a lot better than mine.  Hmm…Taking comfort in 1upping people makes me a bad person, doesn’t it.

(PS. I’m not really feeling so bad, just a tad blue.)

When I was working for a Japanese company in London, I was initially so surprised at my coworkers’ ability to sleep.  It seemed that as soon as their eyelids closed, they were out for the count.  On desks, on sofas, in meetings, nowhere seemed too difficult a situation for a nap.  One of my coworkers was an absolute champion at the 5-minute-sleep-wake-up-seconds-before-the-boss-walks-in manoeuvre.  This art form eluded me for such a time that finally I worked up the courage to ask him about it.  Apparently, it’s a skill he’s somehow developed because his father was so abysmal at waking up on time.  As a child he lived far enough outside of Tokyo that his father commuted to work by Shinkansen.  On the way home, his stop was the last one before the train sped off to Osaka.  It became such a routine for him to miss his stop and end up in Osaka that his wife sold their house and moved their without telling her husband until the last moment.

Whilst I received no sage advice from that coworker, slowly after working there for a while, and commuting to London day in day out (a two hour journey each way) I finally perfected the art of sleeping on trains.  Or so I thought…

Somehow, my ability to wake up before my station has evaporated.  All the time I have been living in Japan, albeit it a very short period of time, I had yet to fall asleep on a train.  In lectures, on the kitchen table, once whilst sitting on a bench at my local temple…there I had managed to sleep.  And when it finally happens, when I am feeling safe and secure and relaxed enough to finally recharge a little on my ridiculous journey from a one-time job in Tamagawa, when I was only going a few stops up to Meguro…

I fell asleep and woke up at Nishitakashimadaira, which I think is something like 30 stations away.  Oopsy.

So, after my return to Tokyo, I know I’ve made a few people a little miffed by not telling them I was back.  One person in particular and I were on Skype the other day and he was a bit confused as to why I wasn’t excited to be back here. The phrase he used was “It’s not like going to the store to buy carrots”

But that’s exactly what it’s like. It is going to the store to buy carrots, it is cooking loads on a Sunday, so you can shove stuff in Tupperware for your food over the week, it is cleaning the toilet, putting out rubbish, paying bills, ironing, owning a first aid kit, doing homework instead of going out drinking, going out drinking instead of doing homework…It is mundane.

It might be different for other people, they might be head over heels in love with every moment, or they could be dying from culture shock. For me, this is the first time I’ve lived alone, and now I have to look after myself. Just because I’m doing it in another country makes no difference to me. Sorry everyone, but my life here is boring, and mostly drama-free.

Silly things I have done this week:-

• Dropped my purse when fumbling for some coins to donate at my shrine, resulting in my onigiri fund being given to the gods.  I sincerely hope I get what I asked for, I’ve certainly adequately remunerated the kami for at least a sports car
• Not realising my phone had been disconnected until I got so paranoid that Nao and Kana hadn’t mailed me I went to stalk them at their part-time jobs…
• Mixed up my pot of sugar and my pot of salt when making a saline solution to clean a cut on my back, and then again when making a sugar solution to stiffen my new crinoline.
• Tripped over nothing twice in a row.  As in trip, regain balance, trip up again.
• For the first time ever, said sawaru instead of suwaru.  Damn you, stammer!
• Fell asleep on a box of stuff I was packing

So, I’m still in the process of moving out, and until new place is just-so, I’m hanging out at the guesthouse in Motohasunuma for the remainder of this month.  I mean, I’ve paid rent for another month, so why not…

Anyway, today, and this is a rarity, Yoo Jin was actually home and not busy.  So, we had a conversation (shock and horror).  She was eating ice cream at the kitchen table and offered me some.  In return, the best social gesture I could manage was showing her pictures of my old pets, my neighbours’ cat Babs, the hamster I bought Matthew for his birthday and so on.  She’s studying to be a vet, and loves animals, so this isn’t as useless an action as it seems.  We got talking about boys we like, and movies and music (she’s an m-flo fan too).  It was pretty mundane I guess, and with her JLPT1 Japanese and my total lack of any language ability it was a little laboured.  But these two little gems came out of it.

YooJin: カイナちゃんはちょっと太った. 「太る」分かるの？ (Kyna, you’ve gotten a little fatter.  Do you know the word ‘to get fat’?)
My expression: -_-
Me: (in my best Samurai drama voice) はい。分かるんだ。(Yes. I do know it.)

(later)

Me: ・・・あたしとあたしの boyfriend  ”Boyfriend”分かる？ (Do you know the word boyfriend?)
YooJin’s Expression: -_-
YooJin: わかるわかるわかるんだよ！ (I know, I know, I KNOW!)

When I was little, I spent most of my non-school time in my grandma’s house. She has a bungalow, but with a loft conversion, and it is full of stuff from Asia.  She spent 3 years travelling around Asia with her husband just before I was born, and seems to have brought most of it back with her.  I grew up around oriental culture, and that probably explains why I am how I am.  My grandma had a stereoscope, the one in the picture below, and still does, box and all.  We have so many reels, fairy tales, the coronation, scenes from Scotland…But most important to me are the 3 reels I have of pictures of Japan.  One is festivals, one is of Tokyo, and the last is of Fuji and rural Japan.  I have no idea how the reels have stayed so crisp after 10 years of being viewed weekly.

I saw my grandma today.  She’s broken her foot and is stuck in the house, which is driving her mad.  We got talking for hours, and halfway through she got a phonecall from a friend.  I got her a char from the dining room to sit on whilst she was on the phone and decided to have a peek in the cupboard where all our books and toys were kept when my brother and I were little.  And there it was.  One boxed stereoscope and all the reels.

I looked at the Alice in Wonderland Tea Party Reel first, then had a rummage through and found the Japan series.

I’m man enough to admit I almost cried.

I remember why I came to Japan now.

Every time I write something down in Japanese, whoever sees it says “Oh, it’s so pretty!”.  Newsflash: Japanese, like all non-Latin writing systems, is inherently pretty.  This may not yet be a universally accepted fact, but I certainly adhere to this belief.  However, I would much rather someone just said, “That stroke looks better smaller” or “You should flick that bit up and back, not just back”.  For me, writing in Japanese is becoming less and less of a big thing.  I can write almost as fast as I do in English, and almost as illegibly.  The thing is, I have no idea if my handwriting’s good or not.  Unlike English, where I’ve spent my life seeing what’s good and bad, and developing my own special style (if you can call it that), in Japanese, I don’t know what the benchmark of nice writing is.  Should I write like newspaper print, or like a comic, or should I try and copy older calligraphy?

Of course, my hands are now used to writing in Latin script.  They feel uncomfortable following Japanese stroke orders sometimes, and are clumsy with finishing certain strokes.  I have a sizeable range of fudepens, and it’s a nightmare trying to control myself, and to keep myself from swishing the pen around and creating some pseudo-Heian poetry looking mess.  I guess that I’m at the age now that my handwrting is just as it is, and it can’t be helped.

I’d still like to try, though.

It seems a trend in Japan that getting actual feedback on anything, other than a jouzu here and an ii ne there, is practically impossible.  You can of course badger people until they finally give in and comment, but when the person is a stranger it is almost guaranteed that you could confuse the words for ‘rabbit’ and ‘catastrophe’ (not that that would happen) and still get praise for your mastery of the language.  But, lo, I have found something that I’m sure everyone else already knew about, that will be an incredible aid to my future writing.  From any stationery store you can pick up what is basically a set of preprinted poems, alphabets and some kanji, and a few sheets of nice calligraphy paper.  The idea is to trace over the gorgeous example characters and by doing so learn how to make your calligraphy more aesthetically pleasing.

Needless to say I have now invested in as many different sets as I could find.  Whilst I realise there is a noticeable difference between calligraphy and day to day writing, I can at least get a good grasp of proportion and flow, and maybe the next time someone turn to me and says “My, your handwriting is pretty” they will sincerely mean it.

To Kanji or not to kanji, that is the question. It’s finally that time, and as I’m going off to get my hanko and bank account sorted this week, I wonder, should I officially change my name into kanji.  You see, my name isn’t English, and has a tonally equivalent single kanji, but it’s a fairly obscure one.  Not that that would ordinarily stop me using it, and as Sam (TkyoSam on Youtube) has the most awkward kanji-name I, and many Japanese people have ever encountered, I don’t feel excessively bad about using it.  The thing is, I’m pretty neurotic about appearances, and when I write my name in katakana, I can make it all into one long pretty vertical stroke, and I like it that way.  But then again, I would like to be kanji-fied, so I could have my whole name on a hanko.

Oh how complex this is all becoming.

The other thing is, were I to have a kanji first name, I would have to use kanji for my family name.  Now, my last name does have official kanji, but it’s dull as dishwater.  But this is not the issue.  The issue is more that I only ever use my first name, and would be surprised if even a quarter of my friends have any clue what my last name is.  In fact, I feel very uncomfortable hearing anyone call me by surname.  It feels all far too official.

But of course, hanko and bank accounts are official things, and whilst part of me will forever want to write my name down as I have always written it, in semi-scrawled Latin characters, I am in another country now, and I should adhere to the practical, the traditional and the sensible, and use my kanji.  It will be legible, understandable and when I register it with the city hall and bank, there will be few raised eyebrows.

That said I just filled the hanko order form in.

Naturally, I asked that it say “カイナ”