La Japoneisa: Finding My Own Place in the Sun

For the first time in a very long time I am finding myself in a situation where I am not getting what I want. And in a situation where I can not do anything about it. No matter what I do in order to get it, I am still not getting it. It feels surprisingly strange to me, the feeling of helplessness is so frustrating it almost hurts, the feeling of not having any control over what is happening with your life makes me want to cry.
Maybe it indeed is a test. Maybe it is a test of humbleness and humility, some sort of external investigation into whether the self is in possession of these attributes, capable of self-effacing existence, whether it is truly competent within at following the journey it has been consciously attempting at.
And I am not going to fail this test. I am not sure yet who it is I am proving this to, perhaps only to myself, but I am content with what I have got, happy with what I have been offered as a stead of my perfect plan and am ready to enjoy it to the fullest and try my best at succeeding in the quests it might bring with it.

Every staff member at Chiiori has got their own role to play. Maybe, slowly getting used to the life here, I am finding my own path too.
Annie had bestowed me with a task this morning before she was off to the log house to contemplate her third day of fast. To repair the crappy little box with crappy little drawers and no walls, poor bugger forgotten in the corner of the book shelf, only now and then noticed at times when people would get annoyed with its state of utter uselessness. My first carpenting job, she said.
And so I made a trip or two to the freshly tidied shed, equipped myself with one hammer, a red box of fine nails, a saw with no handle, a piece of ugly brownish string, one piece of wooden board of approximately the right size and the little fallen apart box. It was a challenge (‘Some crap things are just meant to remain crap things’, said Bo) but the end result is rather gorgeous, I am inclined to believe. It has got a handful of golden and silvery nails in it, little bits of ugly brownish string and it holds together like never before, which must be true since two out of five drawers can't really be pulled out. Still it stands upright which means it’s better than it was and I am proud of a job well done and really want to be a carpenter now.

After reading Tolstoy and Dostojevskij I never thought reading another Russian author would be a pleasure again. However Doctor Zhivago captured my heart, I am falling in love with Jura and am worshiping Pastornak’s mind.

Also, I have leaned a lesson today. Whatever you do, never try to put nail polish on dirty nails of dirty feet. It had been a rather disturbing experience, haven’t seen anything that unpleasant in a long time. There, a mountain lesson for me.
Nevertheless the nails look quite cute now. (Probably because no one can see how much they ming anymore??)