Dazzlement

Last night, while I was paying at the combini (the ubiquitous Japanese convenience store - purveyors of all necessities from snack food to porn) counter, I was hypnotized by a promotional cigarette box. Not so much "box" as a miniature vending machine of girly cigarettes dressed up in 80s Disco, individually smaller than a pack of tampons. A glitter ball fantasy of Madonna pink, garish green, a-doesn't-suit-anyone purple, and a gold that can only be described as "cheap perfume" - like the Tinkerbell cat's piss that my mother used to buy me as a child so that I could pretend to be a grown-up. For, being a child, I did not know what a hellish slog nightmare awaits everyone when they reach Adult. Should you purchase one of these sparkling collections of death trinkets, you will not only be investing in nausea inducing fashion statements, but you will also be treated to a clutch bag in primary red, blue or yellow. With a bow on top.

They must have an astounding marketing team. As the rest of the developed world increasingly treat smokers as paedophiles and serial killers, Japan can still make smoking cute*. It was in this moment beneath the fluorescent lights that I realized how dazzled I had been by this island.

I believed that the shift, the excitement had merely been because it was Different. A change. The freedom that I feel here - to walk at night, to ride a bike, the subways, the secure job, meeting new people. All so different from my life in South Africa. But I really have been dazzled and knocked off my feet. As a daily routine settles in, I've been overlooking that. The bright lights. The bright colours. All the God damned glitter. Like a Disney version of Vegas. I've never actually been to Vegas, but I've watched CSI. That totally counts.

I felt a deep and disappointing sorrow that it had so quickly all become so dull and flat. Was that all it had to offer me? A few cheap, superficial tricks to dazzle the eye and overload the senses, then withdraw like a psychedelic trip. Was that all I was going to get?

I had moved halfway across the world, have only barely begun to find my feet after months of free-falling, and I my muscles ached with the urge to run to the subway, get to Tokyo and catch the next flight to another rush. (What I really wanted to do was teleport, but my latent psychic powers are yet to show themselves).

Find something new. Another dazzlement.

It's rather depressing to discover how shallow you are capable of being. It had nothing to do with Japan, but my own restless nature. The first two months here had offered a reprise from myself. I had to focus so much of my energy outward just to perform the basic survival activities. Now I am more capable. I have my routines. You begin to overlook.

Perhaps we are an attention deficit generation, easily bored, always searching for something to distract us from ourselves. You could be living in a Baz Lehrman musical universe, and still you drown in the whirlpool of your own self-involvement.

I wish I could write a poignant life-shattering Fight Club-esque manifesto, a solution to disenchantment. But there is only, "Get over yourself."


*(And just in case the reader may be sensing an anti-smoking bias, the reason I was at the combini was to buy a pack of cigarettes).

Holding out for Pierce Brosnan Part 2

Typhoons are supremely uneventful. Before you protest, "But what about the little children!" - yesterday's was. A whole hullabaloo about a little excess wind and rain. Thank you Southerners, the bitch was calmed. I'm glad you know your place.

Oooh kay...so there some people that wouldn't agree, but they're dead, so they probably don't really give a flying saucer what I say anymore.

Pierce Brosnan was a no-show. Apparently he was busy singing along to ABBA whilst perfecting the placement of his grey streaks. Suaveness takes work.

Holding out for Pierce Brosnan

I forgot that Japan had typhoons. That's a lie. I didn't realize that Japan had typhoons. Oh, in my background mind-static I think I knew that they happened in the general vicinity, but they affected poor Asian countries, right? That's why they're poor. There's no point in building anything if it's just going to be huffed away. All that these weather-challenged spots really need is a celebrity trained in the art of disaster movies. Pierce Brosnan would get the job done. He would get them to safety and kiss the leading lady as the theme song soared through the streets and all the smiling villagers cheered.

Maybe I was too distracted by the prospect of (essentially) free travel and an amazing salary to question a few overactive pressure systems. I prefer to think I wasn't warned about them because I'm in Sendai, a city north enough that typhoons aren't really an event for us. Oh, we get a few days of rain and riding the bus becomes a soggy affair. We might briefly mention the sudden Edgar Allen Poe-ness over our morning coffee, but otherwise we don't really care. It's the South's problem. They have warmer winters, they can deal with a few of Nature's farts.

But, in a country where children spend as much of their time at school as gambling addicts do pawning their teaspoons, you become a wee bit concerned when kids get the day off. Concern quickly turns to pissed off when teachers don't.

"What do you do when you're a teacher in Japan that is technically on the job, but have nothing to do?", I hear you ask. Well...originally, I had planned to catch up on my Japanese study, but I was feeling rebellious. I feel rebellious a lot. I got distracted by trying to discover the historical source of the infamous Japanese slurp. I didn't find it. I prayed that Nature would up her PMSing in the desperate hope that we might be allowed to go home early, so that we could do nothing there. But she said, "No, you've got your paycheck and free travel so suck it. Besides, how would the other teachers stay entertained? They are having waaay too much fun laughing at how God took a leak on you this morning. 'Cause they all drive to work, and that's so funny."

I'm still not exactly sure what is supposed to happen if this thing hits ( if it hits, which it might not, if the Southerns have done their job and calmed the bitch down) . My plan - grab onto the nearest telephone pole and pray to Hello Kitty.

So, I sit in my wet socks to see if this typhoon - which is supposed to be the second nastiest since WW2 - gets exciting. If it does, I'm sure Pierce Brosnan will save us.