Monthly Archives: July 2007

How Expedia.com made me hate Yoghurt

So as I had posted about a month and a half ago, I was supposed – supposed being the operative phrase here – to be leaving for Mongolia with my erstwhile travel companion this Friday. In a clear example of what my writing professors used to refer to as “foreshadowing” (or perhaps just “spoiling the…
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Are you getting fatter…?

So last Friday I found myself stuck in a meeting all day from 8 to 5. Now this would be bad enough, but combine it with the fact that it is the rainy season – and hence hot, sticky and miserable – and that a typhoon happened to make landfall that day, and you pretty…
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Public Drunkenness at 50mm f1.8

Whatever I thought it would be like, I’m pretty sure I didn’t think it would turn out like it did – my mind going over the laundry list of things I had to do to get ready for work tomorrow, my heart heavy with the thought of having to walk to work in a wool suit in the hot sweaty mugginess of the Japanese rainy season, my eyes just moments prior flicking over train schedules to find the fastest route home after getting off at Tokyo so as to avoid time consuming transfers and giving myself a chance to catch a few precious hours of sleep before having to get up the next day. Here it was, my little moment which I had dreamed of long ago, and rather than feeling euphoric, or overjoyed with hope or optimism as I had expected, it instead felt oh so very… real…! But not real in that way that excitement tinges your tongue with feathery touches of alkali, or real in the way that hope swells your heart such that you think it will burst from your chest, but rather real as in the damp, sweaty, somewhat downtrodden leaden-ness of the everyday grind. Maybe not as real as waking up one day to find yourself a lonely bald fat low-level manager of a box plant and suddenly realising your youth is gone, but definitely real in the way that you realise you are now, at this very second and this very age of 27, engaged in a day to day struggle not to end up that way.
It wasn’t a sad feeling, the lack of euphoria, but just surprising that achieving one’s dream – no matter how small – would feel so completely run of the mill. After all, what I was doing at that moment wasn’t particularly unusual, and now that I thought of it, I had done this very same thing – eat an eki bento on a bullet train late at night – quite often in the past few years. I began to wonder: was this all there was to life? (silly I know, but I thought that). Were we lied to when told that achieving our goals was to rewarded with feelings of accomplishment, when in fact all it felt like was more of the same? Or perhaps, more disturbingly, had I set my dreams and sights too low?