Ronin Test Warrior

He stared at the scoreboard; it was really all he could do at that point. A mild panic seized him, his blood turning cold. He looks again at his number and again at the board. Maybe there is a mistake. Maybe he just misread his number. He’s sure his name has to be up there, it just has to be. He searches again, feeling more defeated than anything else. It’s his third time looking and he’s now certain that he will not find his name.

He doesn’t really have the words for what he feels, in Japanese or in English because at that moment he doesn’t feel like any word is the right word. He sighs and walks away, trying to keep his head high, to hide his shame. No one in the crowd has to know that he didn’t get in, if he just keeps up the front for a little longer people will think he’s just passed the test. He forces his smile which seemed to come easy before now. Around him are the joyful noises of people whose prayers were to pass this test were answered. Each sound only strengthens his resolve to smile, to look happy so that they will think that he is like them and not like the other half of the crowd, some crying, and some staring blankly into space.

What is he going to tell his family? What is he going to do next? Get a job at a company? No, those tests have already passed. Get a job at a store? No, he’d be bored. He always had a sense that he wanted college, that it’s something he would be good at. A part of it is his desire; a part of it is being pushed by his family. No matter what they call it, temporary employee, non-contracted employee, student devoting his time to study, he would still be the same meaning “ronin”. The word sticks in his throat, the bus he’s on suddenly becomes too small. His face burns a little with shame but his tan makes it difficult for others to see; easier for him to hide his shame.

No one is home when he returns; his mother is probably at the store. He goes to his room and throws his bag against the wall. He kicks his tennis racket and clinches his fists but nothing seems to get rid of that looming mixed feeling. He can’t stand it, the combination of self-pity, of self-loathing, of himself. The voices of his teachers, who had begrudgingly put their faith in him to pass the test, bounced off the walls in a scolding symphony.

Defeated, exhausted, seppuku ready, he flops down on his bed and picks up a comic, attempting to distract himself. It’s a boy’s adventure manga, a samurai story. Ronin, a retainer without a lord. He feels his world shrinking. He feels alone, as if he is the only one who failed the test. He knows he isn’t that there were many students crying or simply lowering their heads in disgrace. At one point, before the Edo period, being a ronin was not such a disgrace, you could move freely from lord to lord. But in the Edo period, like today, you want to be a part of the kumi*, the group. You don’t want to be masterless. He stops for a moment and thinks about the hero of his comic. An honorable ronin who wears the term proudly because in a way, it is also freedom. He can now fully devote himself to the tests, a juku* junky. He is not a ronin whose lord has been killed and therefore must end his life. Rather, he is a ronin who is searching for his lord. Now that he has no other battles to fight he can fully devote him to finding his lord.

And this time, he will not fail to find him.

I was discussing tests with a coworker who told me about how he spent a year as a rounin, a person who fails an entrance exam but then takes the year off to study and saw a very sad but determined boy on the bus. They kind of combined into this story.

Ronin-as stated, a samurai without a lord. In modern Japan it also means a student who has failed entrance exams and will spend the next year studying.

Kumi- a group retainers, also used for classes in Japanese high schools (though when attached to a name like 1-A it is pronounced gumi)

Juku- cram school.

The Killing Time Shuffle

Turn the music on, turn it up loud. If it’s not up loud enough to damage your hearing you can’t hear it over the noise of the train. The familiar clicking and clacking of the Kabe line. There’s never a seat on this stupid train at this time of day. Bored, bored out of your mind. Or at least that’s the affect. If you look like a bored, dangerous youth no one will bother you. It’s loud outside, and inside your head so you turn the music up. The train comes and again, the familiar anti-sexual press of bodies into the train car. Like always, there’s no seat for you. Grab a handle and just hold on. It’s funny to see the women in high heels that toddle and fall as if they aren’t used to their legs. The next song clicks on and it’s not one you want to hear. Shuffle through your Shuffle to find the right song but even when you find it, it’s still not what you want to hear. It’s still not the right song. Suddenly your music collection seems very small. Next to you are a few other denizens of the Kabe line, most wearing headphones or pouring themselves into manga. It’s just another way to kill time in that way that most of your day is killing time. You’re killing 4 years worth of time at Daigaku* that you’ve killed countless hours from birth trying to get into. And here you are, riding the Kabe line, pissed as hell that you can’t sleep on public transit because some parasite single* in a bank uniform just HAS to sit down.

Again the music switches, shuffling the randomness but again it’s not a song you want to hear. What’s the point of a shuffle setting if it never chooses anything worth listening to? The train lurches and keeps going, the only people getting off at the first stop are the people who were standing, still no place to sit. There’s an itch to move, to tap your feet, drum your fingers, anything really. The music has a steady beat that moves into you, twisting your muscles making you want to dance.

Dancing on a train, ridiculous. The most you do is turn towards the woman next to you who hangs, like you do, from the ring. She’s wearing tennis shoes, practical, your age. Maybe even your school. She’s listening to music too, probably tuning out the world just like you. Slowly you twist a little, ever so slightly. She isn’t looking at you but at her MP3 player. You go back to looking at yours, you don’t care, it’s a train. Trains, the ultimate cock-block. And you don’t speak; you just sneak glances at her from the corner of your eye.

But she notices and turns to you. It’s like there is no one else in the train. Her body cheated out to you and you see the punky clothes she wears, who knew hanging could be sexier than clinging?

It happens in a moment, she’s pushed you down on an empty seat and climbed on top of you kissing you and it feels so good and your head phones are turned up so loud you can’t hear her breathing or the gasps of the other passengers and you really don’t care that you’re on a train the place you hate the most and really this won’t lead to anything just killing time between stops but and she kind of looks like you so it’s a bit like making out with yourself that would make a good song oh what a way to kill time and you hope she doesn’t stop.

The train stops, second stop, Mitake. The girl and a few others get off. Still no seat for you. You really did just fantasize about making out with a random chick on the train. You see her leave, she doesn’t look back and you go back to not caring. At least it passed another 10 minutes.

Why is the music never right?

I was on a train to Mitake and happened to grab one of the last seats. In front of me I saw a punkish looking boy who was constantly flipping through his i-pod shuffle (at least I think it was a shuffle). The only time he looked up was when a girl dressed in a similar fashion with similar mannerisms. As soon as she got off the train he curled himself back in and went back to ignoring the world. But for a moment he turned to her and seemed to vaguely interact with h is surroundings.

Daigaku- university, the kanji literally mean Big School.

Parasite Single- women in Japan who are older who don't marry and live with their parents while working.

Cuddle umbrella

He's so forgetful! It's a good thing I remembered my umbrella because he didn't remember his. But it's okay because at least we have one and it's not plastic like all those other people walking past. They have no style, or they're forgetful.

We walk down the Hondori out of the rain again. They sky is dark, but it's always dark during the rainy season. It's not hot, like it should be in July. I'm glad I have this day off with him. We look very smart together. He's only a little bit taller than me. I worry that I'm too tall for a girl and that no one else will want me. I slouch a little, something I'm used to.

But I'm not on the Hondori next to my forgetful boyfriend. I'm standing with my classmates at the closing ceremony before winter vacation. It's freezing in the gym and my uniform doesn't have pockets to keep a heating pack in. My mother wanted me to wear one under my coat but if Risa were to see me wearing a heating pack like an old woman she'd never let me hear the end of it. I'm looking over my classmates, a head taller than some. My legs feel weak, awkward under me. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to will myself to be shorter. I picture myself shrinking down, slowly getting lower to the ground. Everyone turns to look at me, smiles on their faces. They are so proud, so happy for me to be on their level at last. The girls in my class who sometimes crack jokes about my height all smile and the boys in my class all get nervous around me, but it's a good kind of nervous. I've become kawaii* at last, a daisy instead of a sunflower. There's a tap on my shoulder and the only real thought in my head is how sad I am that I'm still a sunflower. That the girls will still crack jokes about my height and that the boys are only nervous around me because I'm freakishly the same height as them.

"Let's go to Parco." He says pulling my hand a little. Has he been talking this whole time and I've zoned out? Great, then I'll be the un-kawaii tall girl who ignores her boyfriend. At least I have one good feature; I always remember my umbrella. To get to Parco we must walk through the downpour, past the Starbucks where all the people looking in the window will no doubt think me an oddity, though many of them will never say it out loud.

But in a moment of fierce pride in my one shining positive quality, I wrap my arm around him and darw him in close to me under my umbrella. To those who will stare, this looks odd. I should at least give them the illusion that he is the one who remembers the umbrella. But if I am also without an umbrella, what am I? I'm just an un-kawaii sunflower who forces her long suffering boyfriend to shelter her. But he is nervous around me in a good way so I will wrap my arms around him and make sure he stays dry.


This was inspired by a couple I saw on the hondori. Usually when a couple is huddled under an umbrella the man is pulling the woman under the umbrella. This was the first time in Japan I'd seen a woman holding the man under the umbrella. They were about the same height, the woman looking a bit taller in her heels. This first attempt's a bit clunky, still trying to find the tone.

Welcome

The lives of other people fascinate me. What fascinates me even more is the possible lives of complete strangers. A person on a bus, a new coworker, even the person behind me in traffic. I can't help but wonder what a person's life has been like up to the point they see me or even more interestingly what their life is like after I've seen them. While I doubt my presence actually makes a difference in the lives of people who I have no to minimal interaction with, it's nice to wonder. Sometimes their lives turn into fantasy, a salary man superhero a la Hiro Nakamura. Sometimes they're mundane lives and I put imaginary thoughts in thier heads as they go about daily activities. Anyway, this blog is intended to be a collection of what the created lives of people I see. I'm not a writer, I have no special training so please, take it all with a large shaker of salt.