Takeru V.'s Journal
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March 20, 2009
Conscience on His Shoulders
It was a cold and rainy Friday morning and I had just gotten off the bus where it had been cramped with disgruntled passengers, spitting out swear words in their whispers to unsuspecting patrons. With all the rain, snow and dark clouds over our heads, New Yorkers were feeling that very "lovely" tension in the midst of each other's presence. You could feel the steam rise from the heads of those you squeezed through before shooting back a menacing glare at you for carrying a full duffel bag.. and i was.. and for having the nerve to brush your arms against theirs as you slid through the long and humid bus. That's the worse by the way--when there's no AC. People become agitated; they become feral; anything that comes near their path, they'll acknowledge you just like any other piece of garbage left abandoned on the road and if you give them a reason, they will pick a fight.
Doesn't help that it's also Friday and it's shit weather out.
I sat my duffel bag down on the sidewalk, trying to put on my backpack, beside the rushing of pedestrians. Practically standing inches before the road, I was afraid of some looney cab to hit-n-run me but I quickly paid no attention to my surroundings when I reminded myself I had to call my cousin.
Sometimes this city makes me crazy. The people in this town has full affect on you; how you eat, how you think, how you react to things around you. It's probably one of the only cities in this country where being an asshole is practically a god-given right. Immorality, apathy and fear linger not just in the darkest of corners but also in dead sight on the streets.
They don't give change to the homeless, they gawk at schoolgirls' skirts, they give you a look and think to themselves whether or not it's worth it to take your innocence; this city, like almost any other, is dirty beyond dirty and to find someone who can walk through this mess with the cleanest of clean conscience is a rare find.
But after getting annoyed with the way a mother was talking down to her cranky toddler son, I couldn't help but think for moment, "what the fuck is this world turning into?" In my mind, in those few seconds, I rush past memories of my hatred toward the world and its inhabitants; I rushed past the thoughts of changing the world in the flick of a switch, the yearn to see no more immorality in this world and for the world to finally get the answer its been looking for. I was ready to burst out in anger, wanting to rid the streets whatever it was that was bothering me. If we're not getting an answer soon, then I'll have to take matters into my own hands. But in the instant of me reaching for the mantle, I noticed a person who may have been a sign.
He wore a dull green military-style jacket, buttoned and zipped to the very end; wore dark denims, a brown beret and aviator sunglasses and he emerged gracefully and with patience from the frantic souls around us. His posture was upright and at ease; his movement, without haste and his hands, behind his back holding at the wrist. He walked through the people without being touched and avoided eye contact, yet his mannerism seemed observant, surveying the world that he also has a connection to just as I.
But the most interesting little detail on him wasn't the jacket or the odd use of shades on a very cloudy morning or his calm expression, it was the brown leather gloves rested on his shoulders tucked neatly under the jacket's shoulder loops with the fingers pointing forward. It seemed as if some bigger-than-life entity was behind him, physically guiding the mute man through our world unseen, yet the only evidence of any such being would have been the hands rested on the man's shoulders. It was then that I thought the man was some sort of... angel. Some sort of clue to a possible answer to my soul's endeavoring questions.
Where could this man have come from? What has he seen? Who do those hands on his shoulders belong to?
I tried to avoid his presence by paying attention to a continuous ringing on my cell phone. The voicemail started but I stayed on and peeked around the bend of my frames at the man being guided by an entity. It was weird. He left not a trace, not one sound from his heavy brown boots, nor a scent of cologne. Nothing. He was merely a man guided by his conscience surveying the world just as I.
On the corner I looked behind me to catch a last glimpse of this mysterious fellow from the abyss and he was gone.
weird, huh?
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January 18, 2009
Fate's a Funny Thing...
I sat quietly on the lonely seat on the bus on my return home from a long and tiresome day with people; people who ran around in spirited acting exercises, ad-libbing funny lines and improving stomach churning awkward moments with each other. Being a member of the technical crew, I sat without utter and simply observed. However, the hours that went by of just spectating truly left me feeling faded with exhaust.
Which left me to how I came to be on the bus with a dash of melancholy in the air. Since it wasn't really a time for me to speak or to acknowledge the group session earlier, I couldn't help but feel like I wasn't being noticed. But it's alright. They were grooving to their work in preparation for the next day's shoot, so I didn't feel to bother. Yet still, no one had spoken to me or had looked me in the eye for most of the time and I felt alone by it.
My mind was constantly rewinding to certain parts of my day spent with the actors, my cousin, y uncle, and then would fast forward to my cerebral 'to do' list in the hopes of reminding myself of the unfinished tasks still at hand for the night. I kept doing this all throughout the long bus ride. At times, however, my thoughts would be overwhelmed by the childish banter between a young boy and his older sister about which of their favorite popcorn flavors were the best in the world. Sometimes my eye would catch the older asian woman white man couple sitting somewhat across from me--the woman always catching my short glimpses. Not that she was a 'dish' or anything but something about her timeless face that got my attention. What do I mean with, 'timeless?' Well maybe it had to do something with her glowing spirit that would emerge through her eyes. I dunno. I would continuously look away and then back at her in the hopes of getting a good glance without her noticing. I would do this for about seven stops.
When the bus came to a stop, I noticed a very familiar hat on the head of a girl whom I'd always see around my building. While her looks don't scream in high decibels, her beauty is of a quiet, hidden kind of gem. The dark curls would obscure her slender neck from any man's view. Her amber eyes were always hard to see because of the level of shyness in them. They would always find a spot on the floor on the bus or on the ground ahead of her as she walked. Her voice, however, is of a mystery still. Not once have I heard her utter a word--not the time she held the elevator door for me years ago, nor the time when I let her skip ahead of me in the grocery store, nor the time when I'd say hello to her and her mother when I'd see them exiting the building on my way in. And that's another thing... she's always with her mother.
I don't necessarily feel that we may share some unspoken connection between one another because of our relation in proximity or the coincidences of when she'd always appear when my heart would sigh, but I can never shake off the attraction toward mystery. The wonder that comes to my mind just aches me in the gut, wanting to know the soul behind those honeyed irises or the warmth that courses through the touch of her gentle hand. I always wonder but can never find out. I love the mystery in this woman but I feel the urge to just break the wall down. The struggle is just the very philosophy of the ideal woman personified through my own desires, I suppose. I wouldn't want to attain the glory if the journey is what I'm after.
I was the last off the bus, as always.
"Thank you. Have a good night." I always so-kindly say to the driver as I make my first descent off the step.
Even though I say this, I'm usually thoughtful enough to listen for a reply from the driver but tonight, with my eyes dead set on this girl, I cared not to listen. There might have been a low grumble of some sort from the elder man but I paid no attention.
She was with her mother, as usual and walking just within arms reach ahead of me. She was talking to her mother but god damn it, the FDR was just way too noisy to make out the sound of her voice. I tried quickening my pace around them but I noticed my shadow thrown on the wall ahead of me by the bright headlights of a speedy taxi cab. I jumped back behind the girl and her mother from avoiding a dangerously close taxi but I quickly recomposed myself and went back to walking passed them--but they were silent.
In the struck of Zeus's thunderbolt, as I was fast approaching the escalator, I thought to take the escalator up to the plaza deck to enter my building through the main lobby instead of through the street level. In doing so, I would perhaps catch an elevator from the lobby if the girl would happen to catch the same elevator first from the street level. I know what you're thinking--why not just go straight toward the street level entrance instead of taking the chance of being separated? The truth is, well, I wanted to test fate. I wanted to see if fate would bring us back together inside that elevator car. I wanted to feel, in this odd and sometimes lonesome world, that perhaps me and this mystery woman had more in connection than just the building we live in. I wanted to believe, for the first time in my life, that fate would be on my side and that my heart's aching would be answered in the form of just a simple and innocent presence beside me in the elevator.
I quickly turned and sprung onto the escalator step, watching the mystery girl and her mother pass me as they walk toward the street level entrance to my building. As I hopped off the escalator and hastened toward my building, I couldn't help but remind myself of a scene from A Very Long Engagement where Mathilde ran after a cab, hoping to catch a last glimpse of her beloved Manech as he rode off to fight in the war, never knowing if they'd see each other again. If you recall, Mathilde ran from her house, despite a limp, and through a wild field of wheat repeating the mantra under her rapid breath, "If I get to the curve before the cab, Manech will come back alive..." All this while Angelo Badalamenti's moving score roars through Mathilde's physical endeavor in this game of fate. Her breath quickens and the field grows wilder, seemingly with the only purpose in life to stop Mathilde from running ahead of fate, as she steadily approached the dirt curb around the mountain side. She finally passes a large rock and stops by the road, out of breath, sweating, and awaiting....
I wait by the elevators in the building lobby. The bag over my shoulder grows heavier and my cheeks burn from the blistering cold. I look around at the elevators, which were all in motion. A door opens behind me--Ah! Wrong car, I think to myself, knowing full well that this car doesn't go to the street level so there'd be no chance of seeing her. A delivery boy exits and looks at me for a quick moment then searches the hallway, seemingly in loss of the exit sign which shined in bright red above the corner. I hop in, half-accepting the loss and feeling that fate had won against me. But then my inhibitions disappear from the overzealous feeling of hope. I quickly hit a random button and step back into the hallway. The elevator door shuts and zooms upward. I hit the pad once again in the hopes of catching an elevator from the street level. I look to my right, Yes!, I exclaimed to myself. The meter read "A" followed by an arrow pointing upward, which meant it was coming from the street level and there are only two elevators in my building that are able to. But then the second elevator read the same thing. I now had to choose between two elevators if they were to stop on the lobby floor, but which ever she'd be in, I'd definitely choose to enter hers. I felt that fate had given me a rare opportunity to finally win on my side. I had felt that having this choice was going to promise me a slightly different edge over fate. I truly felt that I had won, then and there.
The first elevator ran passed the lobby. My heart's grip missed a crevice in the mountain and slipped but still hung on ever so tightly, not willing to die. I turn to look at the approaching second elevator coming from the street level. It stops on the lobby. I peer through the door's plexiglass and into the elevator to sneak a peek of the girl inside, standing where I had hoped to see her; to feel the air of mysticism that clouds the true nature of her being. I saw myself beside her, already, feeling our connection thicken and our unspoken love finally acknowledged. I crept back a bit, in case someone would come running out. The door opened.
... As Mathilde awaited, the sounds of the seagulls echoed from beyond the shores below the mountainside. The winds blew softly, causing the empty air to sound like the hollowness that grew inside Mathilde's heart. As her hope began to dwindle like the sun behind the cloud, an engine was heard. Mathilde turned to peer around the bend as the engine came closer. A car! A seemingly same make and model of the car Manech took to ride off to war. Mathilde's heart grew happily, not even able to see Manech--just the car itself had re-patched the torn seams that held together the pieces to her sighing heart. But just as the car came rolling passed her, another man sat in the seat of the driver's chair and no one else was present in the car with him. Different driver, different cab... no Manech. Mathilde grew silent, too still to move from the eerie sounds of loss and sadness amongst the chirping of seagulls and peaceful winds.
There I stood, before an empty elevator--one that has dirt stains around the punctured holes in the cold metallic elevator walls where a rail was once attached. The light from the ceiling flickered slightly when the door closed behind me. I pressed the button to my floor with much force behind it. Another loss, I think to myself. Another day for my heart to sigh even deeper. I lean on the wall where the railing once was and counted the floors that passed, like counting the days and number of times I missed the opportunities in my life and the ones that got away.
Hey... at least I'm an optimist. There's always another day to find a bigger fish, no?
Go watch A Very Long Engagement. I order you.
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January 12, 2009
It's a Mad, Mad, Mad World in Here
I’m getting mad, frustrated.
Seems like nothing’s going my way.
But i pray that sooner or later i’ll see that sun rise again.
No one answers,
No one checks.
No one asks.
this all makes me feel like a ghost in this world of lost minds
i touch but it doesn’t feel me.
I talk but it doesn’t hear me.
I look but it doesn’t see me.
What’s going on?
Am I not talking loud enough?
Is my voice drowned out by the clouds around our heads?
I’m getting mad, frustrated.
I feel i can’t reach out--
reach out in the way that gets me a return kiss.
I don’t know.
I guess my mask keeps turning peeps around.
It’s not up to me anymore.
My belief in life lies with fate from above AND below.
What frustrates me is believing that i’m not in control of my own life.
So I'm torn--
that it’s written somewhere,
told to someone,
but who? I'll never know.
Can't help but feel lost.
I don’t know my ending but someone
somewhere
in someplace
knows more about me than i know myself.
It’s getting me mad that i can’t find that peace.
Taking all these years for that someone to come
but in my head, i remind myself
‘it ain’t up to me.
You’ve got to let IT come to you.’
What next, then, huh?
If i am responsible for my life,
then it is ME who is fate,
not the unseen,
ever-knowing,
all powerful.
He’s too busy worrying about the world.
I’m getting mad, frustrated.
Life’s all about finding answers
but i sit here feeling like i’ll never come around to it.
Clock’s ticking away,
yet i’m still on the second hour from the start.
Time to make use of it all.
Time to open up my eyes.
Time to make this change from within.
If i’m getting mad at anything
it’s because i’m mad at myself.
Lose the anger,
make your stride,
find the peace.
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December 18, 2008
My Connection with A Nation -- Through Baseball
by Takeru V. Maeda
The sites and sounds were awfully familiar; kids, grown ups, old people -- all fans of the game, seen flocking to their seats with eagerness and excitement. I was only in Tokyo for a few days before we all went out for the ball game. In those few days spent touring the city, I started feeling somewhat in tune with my fatherʼs heritage but hadnʼt quite made a connection. I wasnʼt raised Japanese so I hadnʼt a clue about the culture except through some of its entertainment programs, movies, food, and some language which are some things that help you know the culture but donʼt quite help you with understanding it. After the first couple of exciting innings after hearing the sound of the wooden bat connecting with the ball, I felt at ease and because of that, for the first time on the trip, I made a deep connection with my own culture.
Understandably, I felt like an outsider throughout most of the trip whether I was dining at a restaurant, eating the same food as everyone else or whether I was just checking out cdʼs at the music shop. Either way, I was within a world where I didnʼt have a stable stance; where I didn't have a full grasp of customs and mentality. I was without confidence even amongst the people whom I felt were similar to me, in a way; yet, my lonesome wanderings around the city reminded me of how much I wasnʼt connected with these people -- that is, until baseball came along.
Since we arrived early I had a while to reflect on a few things about myself and my surroundings. I remember feeling the uncontrollable enthusiasm for the game -- wanting to experience Japanese baseball since I had never watched a game in my life prior to this event. I thought about the fellow fan next to me, who mustʼve seen the gaijin (foreigner) look all over my face and clothes. His eyes would wander back and forth at times whenever heʼd hear my English when speaking with my brother. With all these clouding thoughts and insecurities, I thought I was just going to sit silent and endure a three-hour long game with reserved fans and receive constant staring from those around me. I soon felt the feeling of making a mistake by coming to the game. Boy was I wrong.
From the moment the Giants took the field, the crowd took to their feet and cheered wildly, waving their flags, beating their plastic tubes -- total hysteria. From that moment on my inhibitions and self-doubts subsided and was overwhelmed by the swelling feeling of excitement for the game. I roared and cheered loud and proud for the Giants amongst the fans, and for the first time, I felt like I wasnʼt an outsider.
There was even a moment down by the concession stands where I felt like I was at home. The menu was obviously different from the pretzels and peanuts Iʼm so used to seeing back at Shea Stadium but nonetheless, I was very familiar with most of the food that they served and so, ordering wasnʼt exactly a concern nor was it a concern for enjoying it in my seat next to that nosey boy.
Since then, Japan and its people felt closer to my heart. This connection that I made, through baseball, showed me that almost anyone can connect with a culture through the context of sports. Sure, there are alternatives in engaging a nationʼs heritage and its customs but this is a much easier way, I feel, especially for someone who carries the blood but feels withdrawn. Sports, in general, brings people together in the masses -- so why not apply this to a way of learning?
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November 08, 2008
Please Let Me Get What I Want
[edit] I just finished watching This Is England and came to a surprise when the film had a cover of this songs at the very end of the film. This just after I wrote this entry! I love things like that.
Just watched the last of the Extras - Christmas Special and I was truly touched by so many scenes. One scene that i really enjoyed was when Maggie left Andy at the Ivy and sat in her car in the lot. The Smiths' Please, PLease, Please Let Me Get What I Want cues brilliantly with this scene and i just had to listen to it. So here it is...
The Smiths - Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want
Good times for a change
See, the luck Ive had
Can make a good man
Turn bad
So please please please
Let me, let me, let me
Let me get what I want
This time
Havent had a dream in a long time
See, the life Ive had
Can make a good man bad
So for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time
Lord knows, it would be the first time