Serepax

Because the world needs more overwrought candour.

Sunday, May 15, 2005

Atama ga ittai/my head hurts

Gah. Dry mouth. Churning insides. What happened last night? Fuck. A gaijin bar? What did it look like? Was it really called The Playpen? Why was I there? Oh, a friend's birthday. I bought him what I thought was an excellent present; a cute lunchbox from the 100 yen shop filled with everything one of the kindie kids brings to school - toothbrush, towel, etc. Maybe he liked it? At some stage he disappeared to the toilet and fortified it against intruders. An Ethiopian bar? Did I miss the last train home? Where's my wallet? Why is there so little money in it? Why, o why is there a picture in my phone of a forlorn piece of nightlife detritus slumped over against a wall? Is he dead? Oh. The gaijin bar was like the famous bar scene from Star Wars. All sizes, shapes and colours. Jamicans brushing up against fat Americans rubbing up against the machismo cultures; South America, Italy, Spain. Someone felt my ass. Twice. Lingering hands. A man. Oh. Then he attempted to fondle one of the girls I came with too. Equal opportunity sleaze. Nice. Ramen noodles at dawn? A Japanese guy leaning over and talking to me in broken English; responding in garbled Nihongo. Feeling proud of communicative abilities. He asked me to a bar for drinks. Why was I suddenly so attractive to men? Kiyono didn't come like she said she would. That's bad. Why did I think a relationship here would be easy? We can't even fucking talk to each other properly. Charades can't convey nuances. I will never be an insider here. Floating lives. I have to piss for the eighth time? How did I get home? Did I really go to my Japanese lesson this morning? Nightlife here is so much more vibrant than Melbourne's. This is a big, big city. I didn't enjoy last night, did I? No, I got drunk to stay awake to make the first train home. Why didn't I go to a karaoke booth and sleep on the cheap? Everyone does it. Maybe I'm drinking too much here. Fuck, I feel like shit. What did I drink? Nepalese rice wine. It tasted similar to how I imagine fermented yak milk would taste. Beer? Free tequila shots from a too-kind Ethiopian barman. Fluent Japanese, I remember that. Nihongo sounds strange coming out of foreign mouths.