I don’t mind moving – I’ve done it regularly ever since I can first remember. After a while though, it can get tiring – the constant making and breaking of friendships, the tenous web of human interconnection… stretching, lingering, wavering, breaking. The sadness of going different ways.
I made some good friends back in the old hood, and I’ll miss them. Of course I can make more – that’s the way it always goes, doesn’t it? Move somewhere, meet new people, new friends, new things to do… But at some point you know that once again you’re going to pick up and move once more. And the cycle begins anew.
It’s exciting but sometime in the last 27 years it stopped being so much so, and now I have to admit that the sad tinge creeps in there more and more. Getting tired? Perhaps. I don’t know what it is that keeps driving me, inexorably, onward, or at least laterally. Looking for something? That answer is too cliched. Perhaps just a fundamental disatisfaction with my life as it stands, or at least where it used to stand. I guess that might be akin to running away.
Chr once said, sitting outside a gaijin bar at 3am on a Saturday night back in the old hood – the best time for conversations, when you’re drunk and exhausted – that I never seemed happy. I think I babbled on about this before. But I think it’s that unhappiness deep in my core that keeps me moving, across states, across oceans, across continents, across this little bizarre island of bean paste and salarymen.
The unhappiness might drive me, but I wonder if the temporary respite I derive from moving is only a false salve? And as I said, it seems like the moving is no longer keeping that unhappiness at bay – if anything, it’s starting to contribute sadness to the equation. For now, the sadness helps breed introspection, but really, somedays I begin to feel the creep of exhaustion in my bones when I roll out of the futon, the press of years and mortality on my shoulders, the stirrings of desire for “roots” and “stability” somewhere deep in the murmurings of my back mind.
It’ll be a while before those things actually come to the fore, but it’s a little unnerving to pick up on the first hints of middle age shuffling around in the far off horizon.
But for now, here’s to my friends, in all their wonderful, wacky, weird ways, and all the bizarre, eye fluttering stories I wished I could have told you about them on this blog, but for my job never could. I’ll miss them, and the three years in the old hood never would have been the same without them.
Now listening to: The Egg – Walking away (Tocadisco Remix)
The Egg – Walking Away
There’s on hell of a buzz building up over the TocaDisco Remix of this track at the moment (or maybe that’s because of the fetish influenced video, prehaps?). Judge for yourself and watch the video online.
Released 10th April