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After living here for nigh on six months, I have a lot more respect for kindergarten teachers and all teachers; for farmers and salarymen, for the hard work that glues society together, this invisible interreliance and specialisation that lets me eat without growing it; travel without walking. Oh, and a corresponding decline in respect for managers and bosses of all hues. How did they fall into such a life? How quickly does the lure of power and responsibility dissipate into a small office, a small domain and jurisdiction in which their decisions take on the air of a parody of power, a large cosmic joke, pettiness, a scalable architecture of power in which they sit below looking up.
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The plan was that I would come back to try for a job in journalism, refreshed by Japan and with a lot more wary respect for the Real World of hand-to-mouth work (and a strong desire to avoid meaningless labour at all costs). But there's new management; the entry-level positions seem to have vanished and I am kinda in the lurch. Meanwhile, all my young writer friends are making leaps and bounds, while my degree cools quietly under my bed. Fuck. Yet another part of my vague plan going awry. I didn't want to fall in love/get attached here. That wasn't possible. Then the triumphal return to vie for a job I lusted after, getting paid to make pretty and functional pictures with words. Nup, scratch that one too.
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I've been Taking Stock of late, since I have no job to occupy my time (more on that shortly), and have found that there appear to be a couple of differences between pre and post-Japan Doug. First, I'm a horrible snob now. This is not entirely my fault; after meeting enough idiots, I tend to assume that every new white person I meet here is guilty until proven innocent; guilty of being stupid/sex obsessed/unpleasant. So I simply don't make any effort, even to the point of being downright rude. Second, I'm a borderline alcoholic, for which I blame my environment. I'm taking baby steps towards full alcoholism - two nights ago, I found myself itching for a drink, vaguely needing one. At first disbelief - is that really the tuggings of need? - but then it firmed and I found some wine and drank it. Partly this is because I can only communicate in broad strokes, nuance free, and when the world is lightly patterned and smoothed out with a beer or two, when I am tipsily effervescent, I find I can relax here. I'm going to have to dry out in Australia. One of my not so distant relatives was an alcoholic; the gene seems to have skipped a generation. Pesky genes. Never can tell where they will pop up
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And last but not least, Kiyono. At present, I am doing nothing with my time bar freeloading at her apartment; I have no money. I'm in this tiny bubble of sleep, eating, drinking and making love. I'm still torn. I don't know what to do. She dampens the discomfort in my head and stills me; my mind doesn't go questing at night lying next to her. She cooks for me, despite my protestations. I have decided I can't stay, it is impossible on paper and impossible in reality; we are impossible long term, it makes no sense. We are from different worlds and all there is is a little time to make a nest before it is time to leave; we will live together until I can muster the strength to hurt her. Last week, I was wavering, thinking perhaps I should say yes come to Australia let's make it work but then I spent the day with an American girl who I had a huge crush on, the day before she left, and we talked sparks and fire and I kissed her because I hate might-have-beens; I kissed her so I can leave Kiyono. I know that's fucked up emotional accounting, but it worked, my head is clearer. So many people I know stay in stale relationships until they get the strength/opportunity to cheat; until they can make their outside actions match the desire inside, until they can make a stand to leave. I feel obliged to Kiyono; I love her; it would never work, it is impossible; I want her more than ever; I don't want her at all.
In the end, it's culture that will divide us. I don't understand her life, not really. And she would not understand mine. I've spent time and money on a university degree; this permits/requires me to talk politics/culture/big things; she started working as a hostess while her contemporaries were in high school; she has more money than I've ever seen in my life; I need to talk furiously and all the time. She is depressed and I want to give to her some human warmth, but I am an impossible dream for her, she must know this soon, she must.
After living here for nigh on six months, I have a lot more respect for kindergarten teachers and all teachers; for farmers and salarymen, for the hard work that glues society together, this invisible interreliance and specialisation that lets me eat without growing it; travel without walking. Oh, and a corresponding decline in respect for managers and bosses of all hues. How did they fall into such a life? How quickly does the lure of power and responsibility dissipate into a small office, a small domain and jurisdiction in which their decisions take on the air of a parody of power, a large cosmic joke, pettiness, a scalable architecture of power in which they sit below looking up.
---
The plan was that I would come back to try for a job in journalism, refreshed by Japan and with a lot more wary respect for the Real World of hand-to-mouth work (and a strong desire to avoid meaningless labour at all costs). But there's new management; the entry-level positions seem to have vanished and I am kinda in the lurch. Meanwhile, all my young writer friends are making leaps and bounds, while my degree cools quietly under my bed. Fuck. Yet another part of my vague plan going awry. I didn't want to fall in love/get attached here. That wasn't possible. Then the triumphal return to vie for a job I lusted after, getting paid to make pretty and functional pictures with words. Nup, scratch that one too.
---
I've been Taking Stock of late, since I have no job to occupy my time (more on that shortly), and have found that there appear to be a couple of differences between pre and post-Japan Doug. First, I'm a horrible snob now. This is not entirely my fault; after meeting enough idiots, I tend to assume that every new white person I meet here is guilty until proven innocent; guilty of being stupid/sex obsessed/unpleasant. So I simply don't make any effort, even to the point of being downright rude. Second, I'm a borderline alcoholic, for which I blame my environment. I'm taking baby steps towards full alcoholism - two nights ago, I found myself itching for a drink, vaguely needing one. At first disbelief - is that really the tuggings of need? - but then it firmed and I found some wine and drank it. Partly this is because I can only communicate in broad strokes, nuance free, and when the world is lightly patterned and smoothed out with a beer or two, when I am tipsily effervescent, I find I can relax here. I'm going to have to dry out in Australia. One of my not so distant relatives was an alcoholic; the gene seems to have skipped a generation. Pesky genes. Never can tell where they will pop up
---
And last but not least, Kiyono. At present, I am doing nothing with my time bar freeloading at her apartment; I have no money. I'm in this tiny bubble of sleep, eating, drinking and making love. I'm still torn. I don't know what to do. She dampens the discomfort in my head and stills me; my mind doesn't go questing at night lying next to her. She cooks for me, despite my protestations. I have decided I can't stay, it is impossible on paper and impossible in reality; we are impossible long term, it makes no sense. We are from different worlds and all there is is a little time to make a nest before it is time to leave; we will live together until I can muster the strength to hurt her. Last week, I was wavering, thinking perhaps I should say yes come to Australia let's make it work but then I spent the day with an American girl who I had a huge crush on, the day before she left, and we talked sparks and fire and I kissed her because I hate might-have-beens; I kissed her so I can leave Kiyono. I know that's fucked up emotional accounting, but it worked, my head is clearer. So many people I know stay in stale relationships until they get the strength/opportunity to cheat; until they can make their outside actions match the desire inside, until they can make a stand to leave. I feel obliged to Kiyono; I love her; it would never work, it is impossible; I want her more than ever; I don't want her at all.
In the end, it's culture that will divide us. I don't understand her life, not really. And she would not understand mine. I've spent time and money on a university degree; this permits/requires me to talk politics/culture/big things; she started working as a hostess while her contemporaries were in high school; she has more money than I've ever seen in my life; I need to talk furiously and all the time. She is depressed and I want to give to her some human warmth, but I am an impossible dream for her, she must know this soon, she must.
posted by Doug @ 8/06/2005 08:08:00 pm
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