You can’t rescue every stray cat you see on the street.
However, why are there so many stray cats to begin with?
I can’t sleep – once again. My inability to drift to rest means only one thing: I am scrolling the news again. My cheeks are wet. Here we go again. Nothing makes sense.
I don’t understand. Maybe I never understood how the world works, how such simple things can be so complicated, and how so many things that should be universal get lost in translation.
I will go for a walk again. I go for walks, sometimes to Shibuya. Tokyo is so still yet so vibrant. There is something unprecedently pure about watching people at night. The word around seems careless, perfectly imperfect, and strangely lively. Some people drown their loneliness in alcohol, some rush home, and some, like me, wander through the night without any purpose whatsoever.
I like watching cars moving in sync among neon lights, creating an unprecedented rhythm. It calms me. It makes me feel small. I like feeling small. The ordinariness of my being calms me. If I do not matter, perhaps I can feel less guilty. Less responsible. Perhaps. Or is another lie I tell myself a lie that, with every passing day, seems less and less convincing?
They killed a child again today. And another. They will kill a couple of others tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. Somebody somewhere will try to justify it. It won’t make sense. They will be telling what one life is worth more than others. They will preach it till it becomes dogma with their tilted smiles and hollow eyes. It is an unprecedented circumstance. After all, it is for protecting their people. All I see is a bunch of The smallest men who ever lived, confidently smiling and spitting lies they don’t believe through LED screens. I am not convinced. Yet, it seems to be enough for those who need an excuse to go on with life as nothing out of the ordinary is taking place.
I [had] some friends who sold their souls for a holiday in Ibiza, designer handbags. I could understand why it is easier to turn their backs. Yet, why should I? It’s funny for them that I am in pain over strangers. It shouldn’t concern me.
But it does. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t be human. But what is it like to be human? They may be human ones. Perhaps I am from Neptune, Saturn, or any other faraway planet, like other misplaced souls who cannot find peace or turn their backs on the pain of others.
I think we lost. Maybe we were never winning. Perhaps we never stood a chance. Yet, I am nothing without my convictions. I will never admit defeat, even if sometimes there seems to be no silver lining and no way of winning, as too much is already lost.
I am such a prideful fool.
It is cold today. It is past midnight, and here I am in a small bar crammed with strangers. It smells of smoke and sweat. I don’t even want to be here. What am I doing? He suddenly says
“Dazai is a brilliant writer. Yet, I pity those who can relate to his books.”
“Oh really?Why?” I unconsciously pause and blurt out,” Do you pity their sadness?!”
“It is a bit abnormal to overthink life and human nature as much as he does.”
“Oh, I see.” – I chuckle. And deep down, I know that chuckle comes as one of those careless, happy chuckles you let out when you agree with another party. Yet, all I can think of is that I relate to Dazai’s work. I am that abnormal human you seem to pity. I relate to him a lot, perhaps a little too much. Yet, I will never voice these thoughts, not tonight, not to careless stranger inforna of me. Here I am again, feeling alien from people around me, slowly building another glass wall, retreating one step backwards, hiding deeper, feeling more and more that I do not belong in this realm. Instead, I play along, making myself feel so small, allowing to be perceived as a carefree soul. After all, Sadness shouldn’t be shared. One should never corrupt others with it. Especially as it is as clear as day, it won’t be understood.
We drift to a story about how he found himself in Peru in one of those retreats and how profound the experience was. I wish I could find Enlightenment in the South American jungle, too. Yet, I know I never will.
“I want to grow carrots.”
“It’s 2 a.m. at yours. Why are you not sleeping?”
“I want to grow carrots.”
“What kind of carrots? ”
Honestly, I don’t know. I had never thought about it before; I only know that I want to grow carrots. When I looked it up on Google, I found conflicting information about how many species of carrots there are. Some sources say over 500, while others claim it’s only 125 or 45 varieties. However, the exact number doesn’t matter to me right now. I’ll figure out those details later. For now, I want to express this newfound epiphany as earnestly as possible.
“I am not sure. Different ones. Ah, and also some beetroots and maybe some ginger? Can you grow ginger in Lithuania?”
My mother laughs. What else can she do after receiving such a statement without hellos? How are you? And other pleasantries.
“So it’s what you want to do with your life? Grow carrots? ”
“Yes. And befriend ravens. Maybe learn more about bees. Also, I want to make plum wine. ”
“I see. I will plant some carrots for you before summer comes. ”
“Oh, mum, I also want a child. It’s silly, isn’t it? This world is too cruel, isn’t it? That would be irresponsible, wouldn’t it?”
It’s noon. I am in Tokyo station. I forgot today is a national holiday. It is busy- it is too busy here. My head is spinning, and everything around me seems to be moving too fast. It is a big blur of moving colours, and it is too loud. I have my headphones. I hurriedly put them on.
So here is a girl standing in the middle of the station, listening to whales singing through her big red headphones, wondering if she could disappear in that crowd, become the big cloud and settle somewhere in the corner of someone’s house.
How funny, though, nobody knows. Nobody would suspect a thing.
My breathing stabilizes. Here, let’s get out. It’s raining. It’s rare as it’s not drizzling but raining. I will stand here for a bit. And no, I don’t need an umbrella. The droplets of rain make me feel alive.
Sometimes, I wish I could be contained and happy in one place. Yet, I need to keep moving, as otherwise, I will Lock myself between the four walls of my apartment and never dare to peek outside. The world is less scary when I am on the move. Nobody ever understood, perhaps, and nobody ever will. What is wrong with me? I wish I knew. It may come to the fact that people are more real when you are a passerby and not a constant. I am tired.
Mother, I am not that strong. I am not strong at all. I have been pretending since I was four or five when I saw how my sensitivity to things made you worry. I decided to play the role of Dartanian from Three Musketeers and Sailor Moon, the role of those characters I saw on TV screens who face the world bravely and fearlessly, and it’s a role I never stopped playing. I believed the world would be in my corner if I were like them. Mother, I am tired. Of course, I will never tell you that. I don’t want you to worry.
My mind drifts to Dazai again. In” The Setting Sun,” the protagonist longs to be understood, and the love she gives is seen as a strange nuisance to the ones she chooses to give it to; she is painfully aware of this, so she decides to retreat. We all want to be loved with all our flaws and that our thoughts, imperfections, and anxieties would not burden people with our affection. Is it even possible to be loved in such a way? I often wonder.
I am on the train, on a ferry, on the plane, in another hostel bed, yet in another strange place. I chose this. I will never regret this choice, as it gave me the courage to go on, to believe.
Yet, Will I ever belong? This thought plagues my mind.
Life feels foreign, more often than not. And yet, it is somehow so melancholically beautiful.
Have you ever felt that all you wanted was to belong ,yet did not know how. I will grow carrots instead. I decided to stop trying to belong or searching where or with whom. I will grow carrots instead. I find so much peace in this choice.
“Everything will be okay, won’t it?”
lostandfoundstation.com 
Leave a comment