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).