On the Train Platform

A short little tidbit of writing I did this evening. Enjoy.

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Tokyo.

On The Train Platform. Friday night 9:55pm.

Indistinguishable palates of black to dark grey fill, flood, and cleanse the valley. Only a rare spark of youthful, stunning pair of high heels seemed to break the curse of the middle-aged salaryman. For a moment, his mind, slightly dazed from beer and sake, remembers the green fields on a Saturday afternoon, the lone tree for miles, and a former love. If only this stupor, though faint and tainted from the wistful after-effects of another evening of ritualistic drinking, could last just a second longer.

Once again, the salaryman blinks to see only a world colored in greys and blacks, hearkening back the obligatory blank state of mind that accompanies the veteran commuting masses. It’s too late, it’s Friday night, and the salaryman is one hour from home.

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On The Train Platform. Friday night 9:56pm.

She deliberately chose “the pair” today. Would people notice? Of course, she reminded herself that morning; Of course, she reminded her self that morning, "the pair" of high heels would bring about “the pain.” No matter, the day was over. But she had to wonder, why was it o.k. for New York women to walk around with running shoes, while she, like all other Tokyo women, had to suffer in heels?

Instinct, if not boredom, called for her phone’s awakening from 2 minute hibernation. Her boss, again, with the only message since two minutes ago. “Good presentation today. Friend from Sony said you will make a great assistant if you work there.” An unwarranted, disappointed sigh escaped from her.

“Assistant,” what an insolent, degrading word, she thought.

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On The Train Platform. Friday night 9:57pm.

Somber spirits are replaced with the sounds of joviality and youth. The muted, business oriented masses herd into a train on one side of the platform; the slightly drunk, chattery twentysomethingyearold masses alight on the other side of the platform. A girl, most probably belonging to the twentysomethingyearolds crowd, walks past a woman with a stunning pair of heels.

But then again, she thought, every girl in Tokyo has a stunning pair of high heels...

that post about Autumn

above: backyard tree color about two weeks ago

(Taken from my notebook)

On my desk, I'm looking at two leaves right now. The first one, from my backyard tree, was, at one point, a deep sunburst yellow. About two weeks ago, late afternoon reflections from the kitchen had this nostalgic sort of amber glow to it, and just outside would be our tree, in full regalia, shining yellow into the kitchen. The second leaf is from one of our hedges near the front steps. The hedges haven't fully changed their color just yet, but some of the leaves are finally revealing their deep crimson fall wardrobe. A little eccentric for some hedge? Possibly.

Also on my desk at the moment: a moleskine notebook and a recycled glass mug (filled with Jasmine Oolong green tea mixed with Rooibos, courtesy of mom's Teavana stash) sitting on a red, kimono-shaped coaster. My iPod is playing the new Belle and Sebastian album, and my macbook power cord is invading the corner of the desk. My description sounds so typical hipster faux philosophical writer. If I was in a coffee shop somewhere in Brooklyn writing this...haha.

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Onto more important things. If Summer is the season for epic adventures, carefree days, and the glory of sun, then Fall is the season of the little things. You know what I'm talking about. Pumpkin Spice lattes, watching leaves fall and gently glide towards the ground, crunching old leaves as you walk down the sidewalk, the 10 second lament about the shortening days, an afternoon sun with a cool breeze warranting a new fall jacket and scarf. All the warmth of summer nights turns into fleeting moments of afternoon light, followed by a fresh round of hot drinks in those mugs you haven't touched since February. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, you're missing out :)

I feel like Fall is the time where we can finally reflect on what happened to all of the time we wasted in spring dalliances and lazy summer heat. Don't ask what winter's for, I haven't figured that out yet. Sometimes, we pace our lives to the point where we learn, erroneously, to dull our senses, power-hour the drinks, consume our caffeine and work towards our personal goals. At some point, we'll all get to where we're headed, but for now, take a moment and enjoy autumn while it lasts. It's beautiful out there.

at the moment

At the moment, impossible is not a word in my vocabulary.

Caribou Coffee musings

studying at Caribou Coffee, wrote down some thoughts on two napkins. Don't mean to be so emo, I just like jotting down what's on my mind.

Translation:

My resolve is shot, confidence weak. I am alone and isolated with only my future ambitions and current dilemmas in front of me.

Yet, I feel like something good will happen soon. I have my future planned out, but I need to endure this test to go any further. Anything less than success equates with utter failure.

I have only one option. So I must choose it and move on.

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Things I like

- Caribou Coffee

- seeing steam rise from a hot cup of tea

- Fall weather in the mid 50s to 60s

- late afternoon sunlight

- the quietness of a grey, drizzly saturday afternoon

thoughts 09/02/10

(taken from my ipod touch notes)

LSAT class was dreadful tonight. Compound failure with the drenching rain and an undersized folding umbrella. As I waited for the bus to arrive on Madison Street, I looked up at a seemingly nondescript building, the rain slanting sideways in a series of long, straight lines. The glow of neon signs accentuated the vacancy of the dark floors above. This feels like a movie scene; this feels like loneliness.

I heave a heavy sigh, my canvas pair of Converse submerged in water. In the rain, every city feels the exact same way: desolate. Where there was once hope, the rain has washed away any remaining glimmers of futures into the gutter. Yet, there is a cleansing peace in the city streets. The pitter patter of droplets slowly washes away the grime of a hot Chicago summer. Somewhere, someone is staring outside their apartment window, hot cup of tea in hand, watching the droplets slowly make their way down the window pane. As for myself, I am reminded of my completely soaked shoes and whether I will catch the next train home.

I have hope for myself. This LSAT is slowly chipping away at my sanity, yet onwards I go. Maybe I'm just tired. My watch says 10:20pm, and I'm 1 hour from home.