Irritations

1.

We are out of time!

Are these words even spoken? Are they real? These questions have bugged him for the whole journey. The only traces of her presence would be the faint smell of perfume, or perhaps the light bouncing off her slightly reflective complexion. He has lost sense of time since the beginning of the night, when he, decidedly, was not alone. As to why, he completely lost track of the reason, I am afraid.

Blending into the darkness was nothing but a long road of tarmac. Bleak, lifeless, but clear and distinct; distinctly repeating into infinity. They marched onward, blissfully unaware of any sense of future. After all, the night is long enough that anything in the future is not of worry.

We ran out of time!

Strange. He heard those words again. Under the sickly yellow streetlights he saw nothing but darkness in front of him. Or rather, under him I suppose. Not one car or even people was seen. A very peaceful night, save the distinctly repeating, perhaps immaterial voices.

Where was he? What was he doing? He would be glad if these questions were asked, instead of the frequent reminder of lateness. What was there to be late for anyway?

Immaterial as they were, the words stuck in his mind, which he wished he could discard for just this hour, this fine hour. He knew that after this hour there would be no walk, no light, no road, no bleakness... no perfume.

This was why he was here. This was. This was! This...

He ran out of time.

As the luminous fairy dust wore off from her, he, the shadow, gradually faded from her. Into nothingness, not even darkness.

2.

I have not finished this anime yet, but Welcome to the NHK is definitely an interesting one to say the least. I would not say it is excellent in terms of anything, and in some sense it is kind of lackluster compared to the legendary ones such as Steins;gate etc. It doesn't build up enough tension for me to care too much about it. Yet, I am writing about this here, mainly because of how much it manages to resonate with reality.

The lack of tension quite perfectly depicts how dull and dry a hikkikomori's life is. The use of wild and fantastical elements accurately portrays what illusions a hikky would have to this real world. It touches on a wide variety of issues, such as the problems of lack of social/vocational skills, how the society views and treats hikkies, depression, suicide etc. Yet, all these scenes end quite anti-climatically. In my humble opinion, this is what makes this show so interesting. The life of hikkies, almost by definition, is anti-climatic, boring, meaningless, and full of hatred and disdain.

Makes me think that were I to be in this parallel universe where I am less competent with math and science, I would be in a strikingly similar situation as Satou. However, of course, there is no such person as Misaki in the real world.

3.

Pretty obviously, I have added some music on the blog.

Yea, that happened. The title and origin of the music is labelled on the top left corner. Might add more to the playlist if I want to in the future.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the shadow

We all bow

"Let us all bow"
To the grey pavement below us
Into the blackness of the shadow we plunge
Until there is light, no more.

I see a red tiger, with all his teeth removed
A bear, being crippled nonetheless
A tree with no leaves, a flower with no petals
Drooping, drowsing
"Let us all bow"
To the undying world of
death below us.

I can see the flow of sludge
An unending stream of twigs and stones
So slow, yet so viscous and inescapable
Purple bubbles of toxin threatening to swallow your mind
"Let us all bow"
To the boundless swamp of
torturing comfort.

I can see the thick silver clouds
Sweeping by, undeterred.
This is the world outside
This is when we stop reaching
"Let us all bow"
To the reality of void
and unfulfilled dreams.

I see a world above
Way above
Unreachable
Even more
"Let us all bow"
To god

To god be
be the

"Let us all bow"
Because it is too difficult to look up
Because we are already ten years behind.

At five o'clock in the morning.

Reminiscence

Picking this instrument up again is strange, as if my previous life has suddenly granted me a new talent to create music with this utterly unfamiliar tool I hold dearly close to me. For some even more strange reason, it occurs not anywhere familiar, but in a place where a foreign culture resides, thousands of miles away from where I would call home.

These pieces should not have stricken me with so much emotion. Honestly, it did not, until the day of the concert. When the entirety of the music is put together, everything suddenly became literal, and almost palpable to me. Memories of my time in various orchestras suddenly sprang back to me. The days of blind optimism, of one day becoming whom I witness in front of me, commanding an army to fight against the evil (was there even an evil?). Of course, all these foolish dreams disappeared into thin air as I grew up, as I learnt of the harsh truths of life (not that I am much more knowledgeable/wise now). Despite the tone, lingering whiffs of sadness and nostalgia still emerge from the seemingly blissful melody. To me, I cannot but look at this piece and sympathize with the lament for the time when I could dream endlessly, of infinite grandiose and power, to be the best of the best.


(Interesting how I played this about 8 years ago. Such a different feeling and interpretation of the exact same melody)

It was not this piece that hit me the hardest though. I have never heard of the following (group of) pieces before, nor have I ever read the novel itself. All I knew was that this was kind of a drawn out melody that kept repeating itself. Seemingly pointless, but when it gradually stuck in my head I realized how much significance it had gained inside my mind. It probably was the first moment since I came here that I felt genuinely homesick. Ah, perhaps homesick is not the right word, since I barely recognize it as a malady. It is not something to be cured of. It is all but natural: A sense of identity. Drawing out these notes with the bow, I almost felt the feeling akin to a foreigner looking at Chinese culture for the first time. This is extremely strange, considering my own nationality. Perhaps if I point towards something resembling the feeling of Fan Liuyuan in Love in a Fallen City my point could be clearer: A kind of dreary optimism about... almost nothing. Over these few days I repeatedly questioned myself of my identity, and, more importantly, what have I become, and where will I end up. Am I still able to maintain my own standpoint, my own identity, or am I doomed to reminisce my past identities, and lose myself in the flowing river like a drifting log?


(My favourite movement, for some unknown reason)

Perhaps participating in this concert strongly reminded me that I exist as a Chinese, a foreigner in this unfamiliar city, that I have a real home, and that my past does exist: My foolish self, impulsive, emotional and uncontrollable. These sentiments were one of the strongest I have ever felt in my life, almost an awakening, a refreshment from the endless responsibilities I am partaking and will partake in the near future. I am infinitely glad that I decided to crawl out my room and pick up this instrument again. Finally, perhaps this is a major part of the answer I am looking for, why Sisyphus continues to lift his rock day after day.