果敢無く散る
Yesterday Andrew and I were talking about the feeling of emptiness and worthlessness and whether it could ever go away. He talked about becoming a doctor as a goal he really feels passionate about, and I tried to think if I had any such goal. Right now I think I want to teach English. And maybe if I do that for a long time, if I meet tons of people and see each of their stories, maybe someday, eventually, I'll be able to look back and feel like maybe I made some sort of positive impact....but right now, I feel as though I'm always going to wonder if it's really worth it, to feel like if I weren't doing whatever I'm doing, someone else would be, and would quite possibly be doing it better -- so I'm unnecessary at best and in the way at worst. So what is my goal, then?
This is embarrassing, because it's so unoriginal, and I'm sure it comes from some sort of genetic code, and in many ways it's incredibly selfish -- but if I project forward ten or twenty years, what I want, what I really feel I most want, is children. So much so that as soon as I typed this to Andrew I started crying. Score one for evolution, I guess. And maybe I'll change my mind on this, especially if I never find someone to be with, but as a purely selfish desire, I want to give birth, not just raise children. I've known that I wanted to have kids someday pretty much since I can remember, but the desire has grown so much more intense recently. Especially now that the trajectory I am currently on is not leading there.
My mom freaks out when I say I want children, but don't worry Mom -- I'm not trying to say that I'm desperate to get pregnant any time very soon, or that I'm going to start going after guys based on how likely I think they are to agree to have kids, rather than how much I really love them. Just....it's something I want, someday. Someday.
This week every day is my last day. Every day I have to make a little お別れのあいさつ speech, and tell the kids to work hard at English and come to America someday so we can meet there. And wave goodbye to them saying "See you again!" That's 建前 -- the chances that I'll see these kids again are marginal at best. Although I suppose that if I ever do make it back to this area for a summer within the next four or five years, most of the younger ones will still be around, so there's a chance. Whether they'll remember me is another question. Today I said goodbye to the six kindergarten kids at Shibayama. I'd only played with them twice, but their faces all light up so brightly when they see me, and they wave and run over and grab my hands and say レベッカ先生 or べベッカ先生 or べブレッカ先生 or some such approximation of my name so excitedly, like they've spent the past two weeks just waiting for me to show back up. Will they grow up with any memories of me at all?
I've been meaning to post this here but I keep forgetting -- just a random line I wrote in my notebook one day when I was musing about the importance we place on love being eternal. The line was as follows:
Love can stretch infinitely in dimensions other than time.
Well, initial reviews of this as a little bit of writing were not good, but that's okay -- I didn't intend for it to be brilliant writing. But I do think it's a concept that we sometimes forget to question. Most of the language used to talk about the deepest possible love expresses the idea of infinite time, with the unspoken but powerful implication that if love ever fades, ends, proves finite in time, then it was by definition not the deepest, truest, most powerful sort of love. Well, I think that love that lasts a whole lifetime can be great, if it's possible; I'm not trying to devalue that, but I don't think we should be made to feel that a love was lacking, finite, shallow, fragile, just because it changes through time. That's all I meant to be expressing. I don't know if that's deep but it is important.
Maybe an interaction can be meaningful even if it doesn't create a lasting memory? Maybe?
But if you believe in the sort of afterlife envisioned by John McCutcheon and Yu-Gi-Oh (among others), then afterlife is memory, the memories you leave with people.
Maybe part of me believes afterlife can be children. Maybe that's part of why it's a selfish desire.
Yesterday was (sort of) 七夕, Tanabata, a night on which you're supposed to be able to make a wish to the stars. Last night also contained (if you allow twelve hour time) the moment labeled 12:34:56 7/8/9. This must be the moment at which the Gods of 12:34 are at their most potent. All together, I figure last night was one of the best opportunities of my lifetime to make a serious wish.
But I couldn't think of the right wish. Nothing that wasn't too vague to be reasonable: "I want to be happy" doesn't feel like a fair wish to me, if I don't even know what it means.
I hope I can trust the Gods to have heard the right wish from my confused mind.
Perhaps they'll just give up and improve my penmanship.
Right now almost everything I see or hear makes me feel like crying. Not out of sadness. Just from an overflowing swell of contradiction and poignancy. This happens to me during transitions. Everything is shimmering with more power than I usually bother to notice.
めいちゃん、ひなちゃん、きわこちゃん、なずなちゃん、ひろとくん、ひろゆきくん、あなた達のことをいつまでも忘れたくない。
急ぎ 廻れ、 砕けても
果敢無く散るが故にも
今を待たずに
まわれ、 Hurry merry-go-round
生き溺れても
また春に会いましょう
春に会いましょう。。。
This is embarrassing, because it's so unoriginal, and I'm sure it comes from some sort of genetic code, and in many ways it's incredibly selfish -- but if I project forward ten or twenty years, what I want, what I really feel I most want, is children. So much so that as soon as I typed this to Andrew I started crying. Score one for evolution, I guess. And maybe I'll change my mind on this, especially if I never find someone to be with, but as a purely selfish desire, I want to give birth, not just raise children. I've known that I wanted to have kids someday pretty much since I can remember, but the desire has grown so much more intense recently. Especially now that the trajectory I am currently on is not leading there.
My mom freaks out when I say I want children, but don't worry Mom -- I'm not trying to say that I'm desperate to get pregnant any time very soon, or that I'm going to start going after guys based on how likely I think they are to agree to have kids, rather than how much I really love them. Just....it's something I want, someday. Someday.
This week every day is my last day. Every day I have to make a little お別れのあいさつ speech, and tell the kids to work hard at English and come to America someday so we can meet there. And wave goodbye to them saying "See you again!" That's 建前 -- the chances that I'll see these kids again are marginal at best. Although I suppose that if I ever do make it back to this area for a summer within the next four or five years, most of the younger ones will still be around, so there's a chance. Whether they'll remember me is another question. Today I said goodbye to the six kindergarten kids at Shibayama. I'd only played with them twice, but their faces all light up so brightly when they see me, and they wave and run over and grab my hands and say レベッカ先生 or べベッカ先生 or べブレッカ先生 or some such approximation of my name so excitedly, like they've spent the past two weeks just waiting for me to show back up. Will they grow up with any memories of me at all?
I've been meaning to post this here but I keep forgetting -- just a random line I wrote in my notebook one day when I was musing about the importance we place on love being eternal. The line was as follows:
Love can stretch infinitely in dimensions other than time.
Well, initial reviews of this as a little bit of writing were not good, but that's okay -- I didn't intend for it to be brilliant writing. But I do think it's a concept that we sometimes forget to question. Most of the language used to talk about the deepest possible love expresses the idea of infinite time, with the unspoken but powerful implication that if love ever fades, ends, proves finite in time, then it was by definition not the deepest, truest, most powerful sort of love. Well, I think that love that lasts a whole lifetime can be great, if it's possible; I'm not trying to devalue that, but I don't think we should be made to feel that a love was lacking, finite, shallow, fragile, just because it changes through time. That's all I meant to be expressing. I don't know if that's deep but it is important.
Maybe an interaction can be meaningful even if it doesn't create a lasting memory? Maybe?
But if you believe in the sort of afterlife envisioned by John McCutcheon and Yu-Gi-Oh (among others), then afterlife is memory, the memories you leave with people.
Maybe part of me believes afterlife can be children. Maybe that's part of why it's a selfish desire.
Yesterday was (sort of) 七夕, Tanabata, a night on which you're supposed to be able to make a wish to the stars. Last night also contained (if you allow twelve hour time) the moment labeled 12:34:56 7/8/9. This must be the moment at which the Gods of 12:34 are at their most potent. All together, I figure last night was one of the best opportunities of my lifetime to make a serious wish.
But I couldn't think of the right wish. Nothing that wasn't too vague to be reasonable: "I want to be happy" doesn't feel like a fair wish to me, if I don't even know what it means.
I hope I can trust the Gods to have heard the right wish from my confused mind.
Perhaps they'll just give up and improve my penmanship.
Right now almost everything I see or hear makes me feel like crying. Not out of sadness. Just from an overflowing swell of contradiction and poignancy. This happens to me during transitions. Everything is shimmering with more power than I usually bother to notice.
めいちゃん、ひなちゃん、きわこちゃん、なずなちゃん、ひろとくん、ひろゆきくん、あなた達のことをいつまでも忘れたくない。
果敢無く散るが故にも
今を待たずに
まわれ、 Hurry merry-go-round
生き溺れても
また春に会いましょう
春に会いましょう。。。
posted by Ashila at 3:59 AM
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