A Lust for Life

Winter is gone. So long and thanks for all the fish.
I have been suffering with this strange type of depression that makes one complain a lot. The problem would not be the complaining itself but the state of self-disgust you thus manage to drive yourself into. It showed mainly in the absolute lack of want to train, which under usual circumstances is `the little engine that could`. The inability to understand this was also somewhat confusing, even though eventually, I gave in and accepted it as the path of the present, rather than accepting the growing debilitating feeling of a questioning mind.
The spring is slowly coming to the Land of The Rising Sun and with it comes the sun and the warmth and wakes not only all the life around, but so it seems, also feeds the life inside of one`s soul and one`s heart grows softer in the sound of the warm spring breeze strolling within your psycho-somatic existence.
I feel like poor old Sarlota, my father`s turtle, who after a long winter sleep pulls her head out and after the four months of darkness is blinded by the happiness of yellow rays of sun.
I bought a pink noren, hanged it in the doorway which now is a little bit pink instead of dark greyish black and so is the living room. Hurray for pink if it signifies life!
There is a sewing machine on the floor of my room, there are pieces of materials and innumerable used tissues and books about knitting lieing around, and also sad slightly unidentifiable victims as the outcomes of my creativity, such as little bunny with yellow eyes and a crooked smile and a fluffy invalid frog.
It is warm because of the constant hot attention of my electric heater and it is warm because it is yellow. Yellow curtains, yellow tatami, yellow cloth hanging in front of the door and even my thoughts are yellow with the colour of the sun and energy whizzing through and around even if it rains.
As of April I shall become a member of the local Shotokan club and as of May 12th I shall indulge in a piggy style fun. I am joining the company of bored Fukuchiyama housewifes in the City Hall to learn pottery.
After those lingering winter months of lonesome darkness I irrevocably feel alive instead of alone.

*thank you Tonysan

My name is Kondo. You know my father.

Saturday marked the end of the desperate urges of unfulfilled desire to create and with the new house goddess Mishin we threw ourselves in the whirl of uncontrollable madness of potention. I sewed for two days straight and by the end of the weekend my fingers were blue with indigo, nerves wrecked, body exhausted and my heart warm with satisfaction of achievement. And the room together with me smelled a bit bad.
On saturday early in the afternoon Miki先生 stopped by to pick me up to go and book a car for mum`s and mine trip to Chiiori three weeks from now. Miki`s dad owns a car company so he dealt a deal for us. In my imagination Miki was going to head proud and unthreatened straight for the office and bark at the slouching sales assistants, nervously now and then peeking from behind their ashtray glasses, `My name is Kondo. You know my father`. And in that instance all would be clear and done. To this idea Miki just laughed in her slightly modest and amused voice, she got out of the car, headed for the office, smiled...and all was clear and done.
(Of course the yakuza action involved few moments of ununderstandable rants, unconfortable silences and questioning looks-mostly on my side-but eventually indeed, we left with a booking of the dealt deal, an unused proof of identification and unused few money that i brought as proof of my possessions and a granduer feeling of importance).

And I should not forget to mention a little anekdote about how I forgot, in that whirl of maddening passion for creation, to bring in the futons and sheets that I hang in the balcony, before it started pissing it down with rain. Miki rang the door bell and with that already mentioned slightly modest and amused voice, this time also with a grin on her face, she reported to me the happenings of the outside world of which, in my own little lost existence, I had absolutely no idea.