Day 236: Tuesday, November 1, 2011

On the train to Yokohama there was a crazy guy, who was rambling and yelling. Everyone around pretended like he didn’t exist including me. As I sat there with my heart freshly broken, I glanced at him a few times when he was not looking and wondered just how thick the line that separates us really is.

Day 237: Wednesday, November 2, 2011

I wake up from a dream where I was having sex with some random, faceless person, and then my sister walked in on us. When my eyes open, I feel off. I see my phone and realize that I got a message from the girl late last night and that it was already open, but I don’t remember anything. Anyways it was about some photo book that she wanted me to see. Immediately I begin to worry that I wrote something stupid or regrettable back, so I check my sent message’s folder and find out to my relief that I had just sent her the generic thumbs up icon.

Afterwards I get up. My body is heavy and sluggish. I don’t feel like exercising today, but I force myself to go. It’s like my self has been shattered and I am just walking the steps laid out for me. While I shove dry toast down my throat, the thought of suicide flashes briefly in my head, but I know that’s stupid because it wouldn’t prove or accomplish anything… so I then wonder how to continue on. I think about liking her still with the hope that she might change her mind in the future, which starts a flicker in my chest, but then I remember her face when she told me that she didn’t like me and realize that I would just be lying to myself because it’s really over.

I finish my toast – just one today. As I put on my shoes, I tell myself, “I’m fine. I’m fine,” over and over again. When I step outside, I remember the mantra Haruki Murakami used when he ran a sixty-two mile marathon, which was:

I'm not human. I'm a piece of machinery. I don't need to feel a thing. Just forge on ahead.

At the gym, the guy who is always there shows me how to do Blue 3, which I’ve been unable to do for the past few months. After struggling a few more times, I try stretching and putting my foot somewhere new and I’m able to reach the next hold and then it is smooth sailing from there. When I grab the last hold, I feel tremendously good… but that lasts only for a short while.

After he leaves and I'm alone practicing Blue 3 again, I repeat to myself:

I'm not human. I'm a piece of machinery. I don't need to feel a thing. Just forge on ahead.

3-Pronged Kancho Attack (Tokyo Tower, Hayato, And Christmas)

Mr. and Ms. Tsai (and Dan)

Day 243: Tuesday, November 8, 2011

I once wrote about my difficult relationship with my parents around when Barnacles first started. Afterwards I took a risk and shared the link with them. To my good fortune, my mom and dad have become very supportive this year. Actually my mom now is my biggest fan. She checks my blog everyday with her morning coffee and often sends me life advice by email (which I never heed).

Even with their recent blessing though, I still feel like I have something to prove, so I invited them to Japan to come stay with me this week to see my exhibition as well as to attend the grand prix award ceremony, which is finally happening in a few days.

To Be Continued...

Thank You

Day 246: Friday, November 11, 2011

I lost.

In the end, I didn’t get the prize or the girl.

Commiseration Party

Day 247: Saturday, November 12, 2011

I woke up and lied in bed for a while thinking. I didn’t realize it until after I got home last night from the ceremony and party- the reason why I felt so strange on stage when I was getting questioned by the judges was because they didn’t ask me any questions about my photography or my work at all. I was ready and prepared for anything they could have thrown at me, but the whole time they just attacked my title as well as nit-picked things I said in my speech (which I did in Japanese). Even so, according to almost everyone there, my presentation as well as project were the best. It was clear to me that the judges were just looking for an excuse since it wasn’t about my work at all- it was personal.

I went downstairs. My father was in the living room watching TV. While I had my toast in the kitchen, my mom and I talked. She said it was obvious that one judge didn’t like me at all to begin with because he gave me the sourest face the whole time he was grilling me about my title, which confirmed my suspicion as well. She told me that even before the event began, my dad confided in her that I wouldn’t win… not because my work was bad, but because this competition was not set-up for a foreigner to actually to win. Whether it was really about where I was from or what I represented or if it was just personal disdain, as soon as I sat back down after my strange Q+A session, even though originally I didn’t want to believe it, I felt the same way: at least three of the judges decided beforehand that they didn’t want me to win and no matter how good my work was or what I had said, it wouldn’t have mattered.

Back in the kitchen, as I shrugged the stupidity of it all off, my mom told me what my dad had said to her earlier while I was still asleep this morning, which was that for the first time he finally understood me and that he was proud. For my entire life, I’ve been waiting to hear that, but to my surprise at that moment it was not quite as satisfying as I imagined… I guess when you finally get to the point where you are truly doing things for yourself rather than to impress others, you realize that their opinions, including your old heroes whom one day might end up judging you in some rigged event like last night, don’t really matter… but still- my harshest critic who I always wanted to impress- I’m glad I finally won him over. Like him, I’m also too shy to say to his face:

Thanks, Dad.

To Be Continued... (Again)