I’m A Writer

[Originally published 11 November 2008. Updated 4 November 2010.]

Sometime during high school I realized how cool I think it sounds to be a ‘writer’. Someone asks another in some setting, whatever it may be, “So what do you do?” and the other replies, “I’m a writer.” It says so much and yet so little. It speaks of the courage to interact critically with the forces at work in the world, yet ambiguously refers only to the act of putting words on paper. And at some point quickly following my realization of my admiration for that label, I came to the conclusion that I wanted it for myself (No doubt a story I read in junior high called ‘The Book of the Banshee’ was an influence in this process, though I didn’t recognize it as such until much later).

In the general scope of things, ‘writer’ is a rather accessible aspiration, quite like being a runner. There are speedy and slow people, fit and fat people, tough and tame people, but all that is irrelevant. One is a runner simply by getting out and running, entering a league of elite set apart by willpower alone. And writing is the same way.

Many write to no one but themselves. They are the unheard artists, or perhaps merely the heartbroken. But unlike those who run alone and, though runners, keep their efforts and performance to themselves, I want to take this further than myself, both for my own improvement and for whatever may come of it. I’ve run a long ways alone.

So I will be a writer, regardless of any other labels I may accumulate, whether I can coherently present perspective or not even negotiate a single sentence succinctly. Getting published is certainly beside the point (in this age of blogging – ugh – no one needs an editor of any sort to get opinion out, and the world is the worse for it). You are my editor, should you choose to make your presence known by responding. And while Truman Capote emphatically states that the ability to write is an innate talent unaffected by formal instruction, iron does sharpen iron.

That’s one thing writing has over speaking (because, make no mistake, this is about communication as much as expression) – those who read are under no obligation to react visibly, or even stick around if they don’t care. But those that do will stay, read, and hopefully interact. I truly do hope that. Accepting the fact that communication is what you take in, not what I spit out, tell me what you don’t like (and what you like, of course, though I try not to take encouragement, however well-intentioned, too seriously) in the concepts, opinions, facts, vocabulary, anything.

And if it bugs you terribly, by all means, call me out on straying from my focus, whatever that may be. It’s a dreadful temptation for me which I succumb to far too often – as evidenced by the earliest entries on my blog. I mean to minimise such distractions as much as possible in these more lengthy compositions. Rambling is for Matsu entries, Facebook messages, and shorter blog entries (which in turn grow tiresomely long). Still, keep in mind that any material here is in draft form; nothing short of publication is final. Hack away, that’s what threads are for, but know that you may just get what you demand. Revisions should be expected; I’m finally realizing that I must stop trying to get it right the first time.

This is something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time, even as I swear that that will not become the refrain of the rest of my life. The greatest catalyst was coming to America [and more recently the UK] and seeing the sharp differences in certain aspects of life. I want to record my observations and I figure they could be entertaining to more than just my future self (hello there, by the way – are you where you should be by now?). No doubt I will look back on these and marvel at my erroneous mindsets and beliefs, but these are necessary stones in building a vantage point from which to look back. If I have even an inkling of what I’m doing here.

Welcome to the process.

-Brad

First Full Day

My first morning in Europe, 15 September, I was able to wake up well-rested and go get some breakfast at the uni’s cafeteria-like place. It’s pretty small; they definitely depend a lot more on cafés and students cooking for themselves than in Japan or the US.

Their breakfast options were fairly standard Western-style so I won’t dwell on it. I will say that so far, the food has been better than I was led to believe. You cynics. Afterwards we moved out of our ’emergency accommodation’, had some difficulty finding our way back there, and moved into our respective housing facilities. I’m on campus, between the library and the sports center, which is pretty much the ideal location, I think. My department of study is also just a few steps away, so I could probably live most of the year without even leaving campus. Wait – I need food. Scratch that. I wouldn’t want to be so cloistered, anyway.

I enrolled without much difficulty and was thankfully not asked to procure my high school diploma which is in a box somewhere between the East Coast and Tokyo, and was issued my student card, which is my magical key to all things good.

After enrolment we hit the town for the first time in search of power converters, the number one essential item on our lists. Each person we asked seemed to name a different store, but we did get a good tour of that area. The discovery of the day was probably a store called Poundland (there’s also Poundworld) which – can you guess? – sells everything for a pound. To other students I was tempted to explain it as being similar to a hundred yen shop or dollar store, but caught myself, realizing that wouldn’t mean any more to them.

Phew. (Anything from anywhere can be plugged into that – just watch the voltage.)

I have yet to meet another American here, by the way. I’ve met a few Japanese, though, which is a higher priority for me. English was guaranteed – it was Japanese I wasn’t sure about. There are significantly more Chinese than any other Asian race, but a few Japanese as well, and they all seem to be in Peace Studies like me. Haven’t seen any Koreans yet though, pity. I like Koreans, although you could argue that I haven’t met true, home-bred ones – are they quite different?

I suddenly realized this morning that the American flag is not on the wall of countries international students are coming from. When I first saw it I only checked for the Japanese one. I still didn’t say anything. Unpatriotic much?

The converters ended up being at a place called Argos, which is a truly impressive store. Rather than aisles, it has merely tables of catalogues and computers. You flip  through the catalogues or search by table of contents, look up the product on the computer to get a code, then take your codes to the counter and pay. You then wait with your receipt and order number at a different counter for them to bring out your merchandise. It’s like the fast food version of department stores, come to think of it. I guess they have it in some other countries but I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a brilliant idea, very easy to manage. Aisles are difficult to navigate, a point I’d have pounded home that evening.

The formidable Argos catalogue.

It’s not very often in life that one gets to be completely new to a place, so I’m trying to milk it for all it’s worth. Believe it or not, this is not something I’m accustomed to. I’ve traveled a lot but mainly between two countries I know, more or less. This is different.

Most notably I’m having the uniquely tourist experience of asking clerks what certain coins are. British coins are cool, but a little inefficient. The one pound coin is more than a millimetre thick, so with just a few of those your wallet starts feeling pretty full. The two pound coin has both gold and silver in it, something I’ve never had before. Seems like it should be worth a lot more.

British currency. Using it like a pro now.

It’s fun to play dumb (or be dumb, rather, there’s nothing fake about me not knowing a two-pence from a fifty), and good for starting conversations. So I have to enjoy it while I can, because after a few weeks of being here it would just be weird.

While we’re on this topic of new experiences and observations:

The weather here is quite cold, rainy, and windy, even in September. Very temperamental. It’s been more or less sprinkling this whole day, but continues to fluctuate between hard sheets and light drops. It depends on the wind, I guess. Not many people use umbrellas, which I’m into (not using an umbrella, I mean).

It rains a lot.

The people are nice (although, granted, I’ve mostly interacted with international students, who are looking for friends, or staff, who are paid to be friendly and helpful). They’re not quite as blatantly I-exist-to-serve-you as the Japanese, but their greater degree of directness is useful. And they’re very ready to joke around, as I’ve already found. I must say, it’s nice to be back in a country where talking to strangers is allowed.

After lunch I returned to my dorm room to finish unpacking and met the till-then sole occupant of my wing, or whatever it’s called, a German guy from Munich. We’re the only two here so far; I suppose the rest will be arriving around the weekend, either from the EU or from UK – they’re the last, and probably the wildest. It’ll be interesting. I’m trying to enjoy the peace and quiet while I can, and get used to everything. Not to make it sound like I’m not looking forward to having a full house.

He told me about an International Office-led trip to IKEA that evening, so I signed up for that.

If I’d ever gone to IKEA in Japan (or America) I didn’t remember it, because it was a totally new experience and budding relationship birthed out of rapidly shifting degrees of love and hate. I’ll explain.

Thar she be.

When we first went in I was impressed by the ‘Showroom’. You walk on a set path and observe bedroom after bedroom, kitchen after kitchen displaying their products. I thought, this is how a store should be, really artistically showing off their merchandise. Plus it was like a Disneyland ride; I felt like we should be riding in boats down an artificial canal listening to “It’s A Small World After All” playing over and over again.

But that love soon turned to growing exasperation as I realized that with the items spread out over numerous home arrangements it was very difficult to even locate the items I was looking for, much less compare them with others of similar type. I started to hate what I had initially found so charming. I suppose there’s almost always a conflict between artistry and economy.

But after a bit, during which time I got to witness some of my newly-made friends, two Germans, arguing over the proper way to make spaghetti and the necessary pan size, I realized that all the products were again displayed at the end of the route, and there they were simply stacked in aisles like conventional stores. Well, almost conventional. These signs brought my opinion meter back over to the love side:

These single-handedly brought me back to the “This is my kind of store” mentality.

That’s me. The problem is I sometimes like to lie on my back before heading for dreamland.

They work in theory…does the price indicate they work in reality as well? Too much to take a gamble on.

Decisions, decisions.

In the end I was able to get all the bedding I needed and learn once again that asking is always the best way to find what you’re looking for. I bought a ‘quilt’ and quilt cover. It seems to be much warmer than a blanket, at least it has been so far. We’ll see when the cold winter nights begin moving in. At first I was concerned about colors but soon realized there wasn’t enough selection left for me to get both the cheapest and the right color. I think the problem was that I came through after the bulk of our trip group. New student orientation activities amass a force to be reckoned with, as I’ll discover most poignantly when I try to get a job.

At checkout I thought everything went smoothly until I walked away and remarked to one of the Germans, “Oh, we get to keep the bags?” (big blue canvas IKEA bags). He laughed and said, “Well, you paid for it.”

“Uh, no I didn’t.”

I’d had too much to carry in my arms, but fortunately I saw these bags lying next to the things I’d just bought, so I grabbed one and filled it with my purchases. As I left the area I had heard the buyer behind me asking for another big blue bag. It was then that I put two and two together and realized the idea was that you transfer your items to the conveyor belt along with however many bags you’ll need, which are in a big bin before the register. I’d swiped the guy’s behind me after he paid for it. Exit the scene, exit the scene.

IKEA gettings, purchased and, er…yeah.

Later that night I decided to put my second socket adaptor to use recharging my camera battery. Unfortunately the adaptor only changes the shape, it doesn’t do anything about the voltage, which was alright for my laptop because it has a surge protector, but I wasn’t sure about the charger. It said it was workable up to 240 volts, and the source is 250V. Close enough?

Sure. I plugged it in and it didn’t explode, which of course was a good sign. I used my friend’s method of dealing with voltage incompatibilities: plug it in, unplug it when it starts to smoke a little, wait a bit, repeat process. Do I smell something burning?

[Ah, if you’re wondering about the cause of the fire alarm earlier, it was apparently because someone had sprayed deodorant near the sensor. Fortunately I don’t have any aerosol cans. If I burn the place down it’ll undoubtedly be from something more electronic and foreign.]

Haha. It was fine. Seems it’s only hair dryers that are so…combustible. And that was my first full day in Europe.

Metaphor Isn’t My Strong Suit Yet, Nor Is My Real One

Well guys, it’s been too long. That’s a standard greeting in conditions of long absences, but it makes absolutely no sense in this particular context seeing as I created the absence and nothing whatsoever forced me to do so. It is completely my fault that I’ve so totally neglected this corner of my galaxy and chased after petty things.

But tonight, I came home from work and didn’t turn on the TV (though it is on now at the hand of my father…thanks, dad). Not that I often turn on the TV. More to the point, I didn’t come home and start downloading another episode of Scrubs or The Big Bang Theory, or worse yet, start watching it instantly on Megavideo (yes, I can tell you where to get access to every show and movie ever created, for free, and no, I won’t be held accountable for the damage to your mind and soul. I’ve already suffered enough at the hands of myself).

That Hulu commercial was absolutely right when it said that TV turns your mind to mush, and Hulu will do an even quicker job of it. Well, I’ve got something far better than Hulu. Online TV archives are quite possibly the most insidious attack on the intellect yet.

But tonight I did not go straight to that. I may yet later, but most likely there won’t be time, because when I get started writing, I can go for hours. Maybe even days. It would be interesting to see how long I could continue writing without breaks of any significant length. A few nights ago I did a power-writing session, starting with five minutes (no rest allowed, you must continue typing for the duration – needless to say, content is secondary) and increasing. Actually at about the third time I just let loose and went for about thirty minutes. I’m not sure about other people, but for me, writing is as easy as secreting enzymes (yes, I admit the first bodily analogy to come to mind was a bit grosser than that).

That’s no boast, because like I said, quality is not the issue here. What is the issue is blatantly laying in front of your all-too-forgiving eyes the ridiculosity (should be a word) with which I’ve conducted myself these past few months.

Here I have the means to express myself in any way I please, with just as little censorship as I please, and not even proofread the entries, for crying out loud! What could be an easier set of requirements? All I had to do was write, and write I could not. The term writer’s block comes to mind, but that actually sounds legit so it does not apply here. What I had was a seriously illegitimate case of laziness and distraction.

I’ll cut to the chase. I lost sight of my goal. That’s why my quality of life in virtually every arena plummeted. I set out on this year determined to make enough money to go to university in England in September, get better acquainted with Japanese culture (yeah, I heard you in the back say otaku. That’s why you’re in the back), practically apply what I learned last year, and learn how to handle myself out of formal education. That’s a long list, but the first one is the one that counts. The one that matters. The one I lost sight of.

I was so excited about this year because I was excited about next year. When I step off that plane in Heathrow (maybe) [actually it turned out to be Leeds-Bradford. 3/11/10] in just a few months, my life course will shift. My life won’t change that instant, but the direction of things will; that’s where everything will start. So I need to bring my present self to a closure of sorts, and prepare. I was so excited.

But I got a wonderful job that was nevertheless fairly demanding, and I lost sight of the reason I got the job. Teaching English, despite being a chance to meet interesting people and have interesting, albeit stunted, conversations, is not something I could do for a living. Far from it. On its own, it would drive me crazy. It already is. How can a poet be expected to teach English communication? I don’t operate on that plane, and I say that not out of arrogance, but desperation. Any of you, even if this is the first article of mine you’ve ever read, can see that. Right or wrong, and most likely wrong, I make people come to me, I don’t go to them.

But going to them is exactly what I’ve been doing since November, because that’s what teaching takes. That’s a fact, a necessity, and not an evil – as long as I had an ulterior release. But I succumbed to things of temporal pleasure – visual entertainment, social activity (including solo excursions based on the premeditatedly-known-to-be-false premise that something good might actually come of them), what have you. I gave up the higher things, the things that take time and effort to reap the fruit of, such as reading, research, meditation, and expression. And these cheap trivialities that came at such a high cost for collateral damages failed to replenish the energy I needed to pour into a different me, a professional me.

Because if you’re going to fake it in any area of your life, you need the authentic areas to work double hard to supply the self-affirmation and determination necessary to pull the dead weight along. In other words, a double life is not an impossibility, but only if one can keep his balance hopping along on one foot.

My authentic areas were very energizing, particularly Hi-B.A., but they didn’t occupy enough of my time or I didn’t pour myself into them enough to keep the engine running. And I was lazy with my me-time. That’s where the consequences hit the hardest. What do I do when I have no external pressures placed on me? Not much, it has become clear.

So did I come crashing down, tripping over myself and my gimp leg? Actually, no. I switched hopping legs. It was a physical relief at first, but inevitably felt unnatural. I ignored the feeling, resolving to keep on, but it wasn’t meant to be.

I’ve lost track of what I’m talking about – the metaphor has worn out its welcome; outlived its usefulness. I got carried away from the meaning. Sorry about that. A proper writer would delete the refuse and rewrite, but it’s late and I’m determined to at least post something to turn the tide of block/silence. For your sake, I’ll wind down.

Make no mistake, I fully believe that the idea is to run with two legs. There’s meant to be a consistency, a fullness in all proper areas of life, and my job is a proper area, for I was blessed in a time when I needed precisely all that it had to offer – good pay and a flexible schedule, to name but a few. However my poor choices and shortsighted, narrow-mindedness set the two at odds.

That’s where I’ll end for tonight. Remember, the author is not responsible for any views or experiences expressed herein, nor any interpretations, conclusions, assumptions, bloodlust, or taking to the streets by alleged readers that may commence as a result of passing by or ingesting these contents.

-Brad, and it’s good to be back, empty room. This post totally didn’t go where I thought it would or meant it to, but…whatever.