I close my eyes and leave this empty gloomy room. Somewhere in that
place inside my head I go to when I want to shut the whole world out, I find a
quite spot and settle down. There, I'm sitting on a train platform in the
middle of nowhere at one of those old stations deep in the countryside in
Hokkaido that time has long forgotten. The gravel under the tracks is dotted
with thin grass, and huge thick weeds surround the station as far as the eye
can see. Above me, bright blue sky with no clouds in sight. Beneath me the
platform concrete is warm and dusty.
I have a guitar in my hands. My left hand hands slides lightly across its neck like it's traveling across a lovers arm. It settles near the edge and my fingers find their place on the strings. Then my right arm starts to pluck the strings. Before I know it, I'm singing "Supergirl," by Reamonn in a gentle sad but hoarse voice. The song drifts through the quite afternoon air through the weeds and onto the surrounding emptiness.
'That’s lame,' says myself, standing behind me and smirking, 'you know
you can't sing or play the guitar in real life. And couldn't you choose an even
whinier song? I mean, what are you? 17 years old? Dude!'
I don't answer myself. I just sit there, but I stop playing the guitar.
Myself sighs and then sits beside me. 'You promised me you wouldn't do this
anymore,' he says in a tired voice.
'Sing?' I ask, 'don't worry; out here no one can hear how much I suck.'
'Write' he says, ignoring my
stupid joke, 'write about yourself.'
I know he's right. I know, somewhere deep inside, that I will have to
pay a heavy price for typing these very words on the computer. Whenever I start
writing about myself like this, I always end up chasing the most amazing
stories, in my head, while the real world flies by. This is half the reason I'm
in this situation to begin with. 33 years old, alone in my cheap apartment, not
knowing what the hell I want to do with my life or even what I should do next,
not sure I have the energy to get out of bed tomorrow. I mean, I'm in fucking
Tokyo, I'm fulfilling a dream I had for more than a decade. I should enjoy it
all, savor every moment!
But all I want to do is to disappear into my own little world, inside my
head, and play an imaginary guitar on an imaginary platform inspired by some
old station I've seen in Hokkaido 12 years ago.
'I need this,' I tell myself, 'I need to get away from that emptiness
and loneliness.'
'So you escape your lonely apartment by imagining yourself at a lonely train
platform? Why? Is that some stupid metaphor about the hope that eventually a
train will come by?'
'There's a greater loneliness that that of just being somewhere by
yourself,' I say.
'Yeah? What's that?' Myself asks.
'The loneliness of being in the presence of a vacancy left by someone
who is not there,' I answer, 'the places I have saved just for her… The empty
spot on the bad, that corner of the dining table, the abandoned engagement
ring; places and things I filled with hope and expectation. They're like black
holes now, sucking all the light and happiness around them. I think only some
human warmth could help restore these. But right now, in this strange country, my
friends and family are so far away and I have no such warmth. All I can do is
let some of the pain out and lose myself in this beautiful peaceful nowhere.'
I stop talking. Myself doesn't say anything either. We just stare at the
horizon until the sun starts to set and everything around us turns bright red.
