Tokyo Ever After Quotes

I don't have an American half and a Japanese half. I am a whole person. Nobody gets to tell me if I am Japanese enough or too American.

I used to think the world belonged to me. But I was wrong. I belong to the world. And sometimes … I guess sometimes, our choices have to reflect that.

Shout out to all the girls who apologize too much.

I have snacks." Ah, the real three words every girl longs to hear.

Now I understand How lonely the sun must be The unending job To rise again and again Setting fire to all it sees

Feelings are a real son of a bitch.

Born a foreigner I carry two halves with me Loose skin I pull on To go places and don't fit Like apple pie and mochi

The earth forgets but I will always remember Karaoke bars Pharmacies and cups of tea And plates of dorayaki

If you don't fly too high, you don't have too far to fall.

A heart divided cannot stand.

I'm still a work in progress." "Aren't we all?

But if I had know I had a daughter, I would have found a solution." He studies me, waiting until my eyes raise to meet his. "I would have swum across the oceans. I would have scaled mountains. I would have crossed deserts. I would have found a way.

You are a world unto yourself. Build your own space. One meant uniquely for you.

It’s the climb that makes you appreciate the view.

While I cry, Tamagotchi sleeps. He's not much of an emotional support animal. Our relationship is distinctly one-sided. I feed him treats and he burps in my face. Such is life.

Originally I wanted to get to know my father. But it's bigger than that. I came to figure out who I am, where I'm from. Finding somewhere I belong.

Radish, I'm so heartsick for you.

I want to understand myself. I want to put my hands in the earth and pull up roots.

I have no excuse for my awful behavior. But sometimes when you're down, you can't help but try to pull others into the gutter with you. It's lonely at the bottom.

We wouldn’t have worked out long-term anyway. He likes girls who don’t wear makeup. I like guys who don’t tell girls what to do with their bodies.

Don't have an American half and a Japanese half. I am a whole person. Nobody gets to tell me if I am Japanese enough or too American.

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened. One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street. “This is amazing,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you’re the 100% perfect girl for me.” “And you,” she said to him, “are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I’d pictured you in every detail. It’s like a dream.” They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It’s a miracle, a cosmic miracle. As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one’s dreams to come true so easily? And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, “Let’s test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other’s 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we’ll marry then and there. What do you think?” “Yes,” she said, “that is exactly what we should do.” And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west. The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other’s 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully. One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season’s terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence’s piggy bank. They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love. Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty. One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew: She is the 100% perfect girl for me. He is the 100% perfect boy for me. But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever. A sad story, don’t you think?

Just remember when you're asking what Japan wants from you, make sure you ask what you want from yourself, too. Don't bury who you are to become who others think you should be.

I've always been uncomfortable with compliments, though I have a pathological need for them.

Dr. Y. Hiraiwa, professor of Hiroshima University of Literature and Science, and one of my church members, was buried by the bomb under the two storied house with his son, a student of Tokyo University. Both of them could not move an inch under tremendously heavy pressure. And the house already caught fire. His son said, ‘Father, we can do nothing except make our mind up to consecrate our lives for the country. Let us give Banzai to our Emperor.’ Then the father followed after his son, ‘Tenno-heika, Banzai, Banzai, Banzai!’ . . . In thinking of their experience of that time Dr. Hiraiwa repeated, ‘What a fortunate that we are Japanese! It was my first time I ever tasted such a beautiful spirit when I decided to die for our Emperor.

I’m going to pay for that genealogy thing when I get home. Fingers crossed it shows I’m fifty percent Targaryen, thirty percent British royals, and one hundred percent Oprah’s long-lost sister.

It's late, and my phone is in hand, note page open. I blink and see my father kneeling before my mother. People bowed to him, but he never asked me to. I chew my lip and tap out a poem. For her. For him. For me. I will keep you safe gather around you like a shield, like a barn in a storm, like the fire around the sun, let me shelter you.

In my own life, I’ve never been the leading role. I just don’t have that star power. Wasn’t born with it. I’ve always been a sidekick. My singular purpose is to bolster heroes, stay in the background, and maybe, in one big on-screen moment, sacrifice my life for the greater good.

Are you done fighting for me?" Humiliation inches up my spine; it bleeds through me at Akio's silence. At last, he opens his mouth and speaks. "Never. I'll never be done fighting for you. How can I? I love you, and you fight for the things you love.

Anyway, we get it. We all know what it’s like to roll with the cultural punches. Noora gets questioned about why she doesn’t wear a hijab. People wonder if Glory was adopted when she’s with her white dad. Hansani endures Mr. Apu accents—wrong country, for starters.

I'm like an empty book. No one is interested in reading a blank page.

He’s Christmas morning; a day at the beach; the first time I glimpsed Tamagotchi. Joy, joy, and more joy. A smile in the face of harsh realities.

How could I have expected to stay in your golden orbit forever? I should have known. We’ve been playing a losing game the whole time.

I will keep you safe gather around you like a shield, like a barn in a storm, like the fire around the sun, let me shelter you.

I think you're very serious about the things you care about. I think you lead with your heart.

Staring at the clouds I find it impossible To walk, to run... To stay How to remain grounded when I am always filled with sky?

Now I understand How lonely the sun must be To rise again and again Setting fire to all it sees

Like shortening my name, a paler skin color and a rounder eye shape would have made my life so much easier, the world so much more accessible.

Shout out to all the girls who apologize too much. I feel you.

Gaman is one of those special words in Japanese that doesn’t have an English equivalent. It is the art of perseverance through tough times. It is a part of duty. A sign of growing up. Maturity.

It's true that I was an average, maybe below-average, student. But is there something I am unaware of? Do you really have to abide by a set of certain rules? Do you really have to be special to be loved?

I am constantly learning, which means I will make more mistakes. All I ask is for people to be patient with me. I am working hard to be worthy of this institution and at the same time remain true to myself.

There is also a waka poem Akio penned for me: Now I understand It is all so clear to me August wind, rain, sleet I stopped believing in love Until I saw the leaves fall Poetry is kind of our thing. Originally, we were mortal enemies. Akio drove me nuts with his schedules, his overall gothic-novel vibe, and his eight inches of height over me. But now, our couple dynamic is fun-loving princess and gruff former bodyguard turned promising pilot who only shows his soft side to those closest to him. It really works for me.

It appears this butterfly’s wings have been clipped. What could HIH Princess Izumi have possibly done to warrant an expulsion from the Tokyo imperial estate? No one has a clue. But somebody is definitely in trouble . . .

Do I have a code name? II'm pretty sure I get a code name. I'd like to choose it." His fingers fall from my elbow. A pity. "Yes," he says. "As a matter of fact, you do have a code name." "I knew it!" My twirl is the glee-filled kind. "What is it? Sidewinder or Lightning or maybe Pegasus?" "We were calling you Butterfly." Huh. "That's nice, I guess." A little soft, but okay. "Then, the tabloids gave you the moniker. The Lost Butterfly, so we had to change it." I perk up. "I suggested it," he baits. "What did you suggest?" I look up at Akio with stars in my eyes. The possibilities are endless---Sunshine, Moonflower, Cherry Blossom. My thoughts are a runaway train. Maybe he likes me. Maybe he's not as mean as he seems. Maybe I've terribly misjudged him and this is just a rocky start to a friendship that turns to love that will last the ages. Our affair will inspire folksy campfire ballads. It's the first time I see Akio smile. It's part evil, part satisfied, as if he's just won a bet with himself. "Radish.

Me I've been trying to do the right thing for everyone but myself. But I think I've figured it out now. I'm going to stop trying to please everyone. Noora Yesss! Me Get ready for Izumi 2.0. I'm totally evolving. Noora What do you think your final form will be? Me IDK, probably something winged and glittery. Then I add, Me I'm going to keep the clothes, though. Noora I feel like that's a given.

That night, it's my turn to choose dinner. I know exactly what I want---McDonald's. French fries and Bai Big Macs are plated and served on priceless china inlaid with golden chrysanthemums. Melon soda and chocolate shakes are dumped into crystal goblets. The whole palace smells like fried food.

If white people can learn Klingon, they can learn to pronounce your name.

I see you shrinking smaller and smaller. Giving your time, your smiles, your enegry. Yet, it is not enough. They'll have your bones, too.

... What happened to my promise to take your sorrows and buy them deep?... I saw your call. I didn't answer. Foolish me. I thought it is better to be lonely than to be insecure.

I was foolish to believe my roots could expand past all these walls built around me. Your life can only be as big as the container you’re planted in, after all.

some traditions refuse to fade. They seep through the cracks and cling to the walls

We used to hide in forests of green ribbons, waiting to be found, now we seek open spaces to fill with our voices. See us. See me. SEE. ME. Here I am.

He's young in the photo. His smile full of promise and foolish hope. The kind of grin before the world knocks your teeth out.

All the best things are always wasted on boys.

There is no happily ever after. Fairy tales are bull. The end.

...why does anybody do anything? Money?

Kanji is an expression of the soul

I'm a big fan of moms in general." Well, all women, really, because we're awesome.

A bold silkworm has left the safety of the mulberry and parchment cradle. It inches its way toward my pinkie nail. The little chalk-colored fella is slightly hairy and fat—its rotund body reminds me of how my stomach feels every Thanksgiving. Forget the AGG and the Black Bear Diner, these suckers are really living their best lives, crunching on mulberry while being gently warmed under lights

I slip a piece of ramune candy from my dress into my mouth, letting it melt on my tongue. Sweets are a part of my fundamental essence. That and skirts with pockets. Observe how I've married the two.

What had I pictured? That we’d run into each other’s arms? That our shared DNA would act as opposite ends of a magnet pulling us together? He is not a dad returning from deployment. I am not a child eagerly awaiting his arrival. There are no memories to anchor our relationship. He did not tuck me in at night, hold me while I raged with a fever, or cheer me on when I stole home playing softball.

You can't possibly think you can date a member of the working class." "Sachiko is marrying a commoner." "Sachiko is marrying an heir to a rice empire related to the Takamoris. Ryu can support the life she is accustomed to. Takai, takai, takai." The three words are a well-known cliché, playing off the meanings. Good income, good school, and tall. Ideal characteristics for potential male love interests.

Forget Mount Shasta, my hometown, where the Rainbow Gatherers converge June through August to bask naked in the sun, live communally, and wear flowers in their hair. This year the summer of love is in Tokyo.

You will tell me who said this to you and I will take care of it." I'm touched by his defense. "What will you do? Beat up the other imperial princesses because they were mean to me? You're sweet. But I prefer to fight my own battles.

I brought you a gift." In his hand is a small, yellow box of Tokyo Bananas. The cream-filled cakes are all over the airport. He offers them to me with both hands. Bringing an omiyage is tradition. I can't refuse. I accept the box with both hands and say, "Thank you.

Now it rests on a gold foil chest, next to a single iris in a fluted vase. Something about the flower beckons me to study it. The arrangement is perfectly framed against the silk tapestry behind it. The purple petals are simple but elegant. Its placement here seems deliberate, almost ceremonial.

It's good that I'm excellent at subterfuge. Under my bed, there is half a bottle of peach schnapps and a handful of romance novels (impoverished duke plus lower class heiress equals true love forever). Mom doesn't know any of this. Acting casual is key---just a girl going about her business, nothing to see here.

Are you really okay with the Shining Twins mentoring you?" she asks. She means Akiko and Noriko. I told her the nickname a while ago. She'd never seen the movie. We watched it together in Japanese, which was somehow even more terrifying. She had to sleep with a night-light on for a month. I'm not sure she's forgiven me yet.

Eriku is a free verse. Passion, energy, and rhythm. But Akio... Akio is waka, carefully composed, controlled, polished, and elegant. There is something timeless about him. Everything would be---and was---so easy with Eriku. But he doesn't challenge me enough. Not like Akio does. Love is so many things. And for me, it's a push and a pull.

I know I'm not the man you or your family need me to be. But I'm on my way. I promise if you give me this chance, I'll spend my lifetime being worthy of you. I've enlisted in the Air Self-Defense Force. In a few years, I'll be an officer and can make a good income. It will be difficult, but-" I cut him off with my lips on his. No more talking. Just kissing.

You can wear a variety of clothing. But you should have one designer you favor. I suggest Amano." "Ooh," Noriko hums. "I love him." Ichiko taps out something on her tablet and hands me photographs of his latest runway show. "I see it now. You are a small-town girl who supports the local artist. An up-and-comer like you. That's your brand." She winks at me. "Amano's pieces are flattering with a nod to classical elements, but with a certain modern flair." Women strut down a white runway. One wears a black silk furisode with flowing kimono sleeves and a lotus flower motif. Another sports a red evening gown with a matching capelet. Another, a turquoise fitted dress with a square neckline and beaded belt. All so pretty. I like.

Women royals are especially scrutinized. Everything is done under a magnifying glass. You’re picked apart for the causes you support, the dresses you wear, and what sort of child you bear. I witnessed your father given choices like he was a toddler. You can have this or that, but never all of it. Your life would have been determined by the family you were born into—I didn’t want that for you. For us.

His laptop makes a strange wheezing noise, and the screen appears with a picture of a Saint Bernard. It's a close-up of the dog's droopy face, a thin line of drool hanging from its left jowl. "That's Momo-chan," he says. Momo means peach in Japanese. "She is the love of my life." I swivel my laptop toward him, showing him my screen. It's a photograph of Tamagotchi. His teeth are bared, and the picture is a little dark---flashing lights give him seizures. "Tamagotchi. The love of my life.

So, where are we going?" Eriku then turns onto the highway, one hand on the wheel, the other shifting gears. "I actually put a lot of thought into it. It was hard to decide on a place where we'd have maximum exposure but also enjoy ourselves. Somewhere the public can take us in, yet there's a lot of crowd control." We pass a billboard with a castle and a princess dressed in an ice-blue gown. I shift in my seat. No. Way. "Are we going to Tokyo Disney?" He smiles. "Life is a song, princess. Let's go make some fake-dating music.

When news of our relationship broke, it was all over tabloids, how Akio wasn't good enough for a princess, how he had betrayed his family lineage, spurning his role as an imperial guard to join the Air Self-Defense Force and enter Officer Candidate School. He was painted as a shameless opportunist. But I thought the tabloids were past that. That Tokyo was past it. There is even Akio and Izumi fan fiction. Mariko reads it, but I don't. Well, maybe I've scanned the one where he is a werewolf and we live together in a magical forest full of fairies and talking toads.

This need for me to settle somewhere, on something. To make some choices about my life. What is the life I've dreamed of? Growing up in America, when I was younger, I didn't see many kids who looked like me in books, in video games, on television. What I did see were stereotypes---good at math, studying, working hard. Narrow versions of myself. Now, my world has expanded. I can have things at the touch of my fingertips. But there are still rules to abide by. Princess rules. What I can do and can't. Like my major. I may choose it but within certain parameters. Does life always come with constraints? Is that part of growing up?

It's a shame your mother didn't opt for something more extravagant," Akiko says, examining her nails. "When you get married, please make sure there are at least some guests to see our dresses. This is a waste of Oscar de la Renta," Noriko adds, glancing down meaningfully. "Thank you," I say sincerely. "For all you did for us. For my mom. For me." I regard them intently, liquid gathering in my eyes. "It's not a big deal," Akiko says with a sniff, clearly uncomfortable. Human emotions. So messy. "Um," Noriko says to Akiko. "I think she's going to try to hug us." Before they can object, I wrap them up in my arms, embracing them both. Akiko pats my back awkwardly, and Noriko is stiff. "I love you," I say, releasing them. "And I know you love me, too.

Careless of her own life, the princess sought to protect the precious new life first. This is in contrast to her cousins, Princesses Akiko and Noriko, who shoved their imperial guards in front of them." Mariko stops and takes one overexcited breath. Her cheeks are flushed. She is dreamy-eyed. This is what gets her excited. Good to know. "They compare you to the empress after the 1923 earthquake!" The empress rolled up her sleeves and laid bricks for a new school. She refused to leave until the town was fed, the children safe. There is a famous picture of her hugging a mother who lost her son, both of their cheeks coated in dust. "They end with calling you our very own royal." Words fail me. Mariko seems to know I need a private moment. She places the article in my lap, then glides out the door. When she's gone, I pick it up. I rub my thumb over the last sentence of the article. It's not the royal part that warms me. No, it's the other two words. Very own, it says. Very own. Yes. That's me. A true daughter of Japan.

Eriku opens the door. Momo-chan drops from the car and lumbers forward. And oh my God, she is so cute I could die. Tamagotchi breaks from the leash and rushes toward her. I close my eyes. I should have put the imperial vet on standby. But then... it's quiet. I pop open an eye, then the other, ready to see carnage. Tamagotchi has rolled onto his back, and Momo-chan is sniffing his belly. Her thick tongue darts out, and she licks him. Licks him. Tamagotchi shudders, his body convulsing in what I can only describe as pure ecstasy. "Well, now I've seen it all," Reina says, then wanders off. Eriku smiles. "I think they like each other." What an understatement. Momo-chan collapses onto the ground, and Tamagotchi curls up next to her. "I have mentally and emotionally subscribed to Momo-chan's fan club," I say, walking toward the dogs. Momo-chan rolls to her side. Tamagotchi adjusts too, lying in between her legs, his back curved against her belly. Just so many wishes fulfilled in one magical moment. I always thought I was a one dog kind of woman, but Tamagotchi and Momo-chan----sign me the eff up.

But Shunt, he thirsted for understanding with obsessive perseverance. It was a pathology in this way, and pathologies aren't hobbies to be entertained through the inclination of the willing. With some assertion, you certainly can't direct a pathology: it directs, contorts, warps, wears you. Shunt walked through school, down his bedroom corridor, high-ceiling'd and close-panelled, over asphalt as hot as holiday sex, in his head, always relegated to a realm of internal mystery, a sphere of indecipherable symbols that were filtered in, held fast to, but never understood. He saw things or deduced things, and they were there for eternity. Once Shunt had them inside, it was impossible to divorce or expunge them, and so there they remained, infecting his peace and placidity of mind, thoughts like foreign bodies entering a gaping, unquenched wound, and after that Shunt's life devolved into the gangrene set in by these unpurged foreign bodies. Shunt suffered from epilepsy and a panic disorder. He didn't know who he was. He was not a funny person, a wise person, a valorous person, a soft person. Shunt was epilepsy and a panic disorder, and that's as encompassing as his personality had ever been. When you suffer a pathology it directs, contorts, warps, wears you.

Follow your heart...You lead with your heart.

Cue fireworks.

White was the color of my dolls and the models and families I saw on TV. Like shortening my name, a paler skin color and a rounder eye shape would have made my life so much easier, the world so much more accessible.

Kannon, the goddess of mercy, with dark hair that absorbs the light. A face so lovely it blinded men … and yet, so far from a mere mortal’s reach.

The earth forgets but I will always remember Karaoke bars Pharmacies and cups of tea And plates of dorayaki

Mono no aware—it’s a Japanese phrase expressing a love for impermanence, the ephemeral nature of all things.

I’m going to write it.

I would have swum across oceans. I would have scaled mountains. I would have crossed deserts. I would have found a way.

used to think the world belonged to me. But I was wrong. I belong to the world. And sometimes … I guess sometimes, our choices have to reflect that.

It is the sacred duty of best friends to convince you to do the things you should not do.

The first Superfortress reached Tokyo just after midnight, dropping flares to mark the target area. Then came the onslaught. Hundreds of planes—massive winged mechanical beasts roaring over Tokyo, flying so low that the entire city pulsed with the booming of their engines. The US military’s worries about the city’s air defenses proved groundless: the Japanese were completely unprepared for an attacking force coming in at five thousand feet. The full attack lasted almost three hours; 1,665 tons of napalm were dropped. LeMay’s planners had worked out in advance that this many firebombs, dropped in such tight proximity, would create a firestorm—a conflagration of such intensity that it would create and sustain its own wind system. They were correct. Everything burned for sixteen square miles. Buildings burst into flame before the fire ever reached them. Mothers ran from the fire with their babies strapped to their backs only to discover—when they stopped to rest—that their babies were on fire. People jumped into the canals off the Sumida River, only to drown when the tide came in or when hundreds of others jumped on top of them. People tried to hang on to steel bridges until the metal grew too hot to the touch, and then they fell to their deaths. After the war, the US Strategic Bombing Survey concluded: “Probably more persons lost their lives by fire at Tokyo in a six-hour period than at any time in the history of man.” As many as 100,000 people died that night. The aircrews who flew that mission came back shaken. [According to historian] Conrad Crane: “They’re about five thousand feet, they are pretty low... They are low enough that the smell of burning flesh permeates the aircraft...They actually have to fumigate the aircraft when they land back in the Marianas, because the smell of burning flesh remains within the aircraft. (...) The historian Conrad Crane told me: I actually gave a presentation in Tokyo about the incendiary bombing of Tokyo to a Japanese audience, and at the end of the presentation, one of the senior Japanese historians there stood up and said, “In the end, we must thank you, Americans, for the firebombing and the atomic bombs.” That kind of took me aback. And then he explained: “We would have surrendered eventually anyway, but the impact of the massive firebombing campaign and the atomic bombs was that we surrendered in August.” In other words, this Japanese historian believed: no firebombs and no atomic bombs, and the Japanese don’t surrender. And if they don’t surrender, the Soviets invade, and then the Americans invade, and Japan gets carved up, just as Germany and the Korean peninsula eventually were. Crane added, The other thing that would have happened is that there would have been millions of Japanese who would have starved to death in the winter. Because what happens is that by surrendering in August, that givesMacArthur time to come in with his occupation forces and actually feedJapan...I mean, that’s one of MacArthur’s great successes: bringing in a massive amount of food to avoid starvation in the winter of 1945.He is referring to General Douglas MacArthur, the supreme commander for the Allied powers in the Pacific. He was the one who accepted theJapanese emperor’s surrender.Curtis LeMay’s approach brought everyone—Americans and Japanese—back to peace and prosperity as quickly as possible. In 1964, the Japanese government awarded LeMay the highest award their country could give a foreigner, the First-Class Order of Merit of the Grand Cordon of the Rising Sun, in appreciation for his help in rebuilding the Japanese Air Force. “Bygones are bygones,” the premier of Japan said at the time.

how I smile without showing too many teeth, how

Любов – це багато що, і в різні часи вона проявляється по-різному. Для мене це була доброта, час, зростання, заохочення... відсторонення. Однак, воно того варте. Я не шкодую про всі ті роки, які провела без твого батька. Той, хто дерся на гору, потім цінує краєвид.

Життя – це вірш. І я його писатиму.

Завдяки тобі... я тепер почуваюся геть інакше. Мій батько не змінився, зате я, схоже змінююсь.

It was dark as I walked out of the office building, into the crowded Tokyo street. A feeling came over me, unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I felt spent, but proud. I felt drained, but exhilarated. I felt everything I ever hoped to feel after a day’s work. I felt like an artist, a creator. I looked back over my shoulder, took one last look at Nissho’s offices. Under my breath I said, “We made this.

It's hard to shake the feeling of otherness, telling me I am a tourist in my own life.

When someone tells you over and over again there is something wrong with you, pretty soon you start to believe it, and then you'll do anything to fix it.

Then, he smiles. It shimmers in the night. Vibrates off him in waves. Ensnares me, forces me to reciprocate.