Somehow, within my first two weeks in Japan, I got a stye in my eye. I’ve never had a stye before, so this was naturally the best time for it to occur. I diagnosed myself with my favorite doctor, Web MD. After performing a warm compress as many home remedies had suggested, I pulled the warm towel away only to discover that I couldn’t see shit. I had two options: freak the fuck out or dance around the room in my Black Butler blankie while blasting Where Are U Now by Justin Bieber. Obviously, I chose the latter. My fear of doctors is really quite humorous actually, especially doctors in a foreign country that I probably won’t be able to communicate with. The first time I went to a gynecologist she had to take my blood pressure twice because I was freaking out so bad she thought I was a 21-year-old with hypertension. Needless to say, doctors’ visits are not my thing.
My second week in Tokyo has consisted of me going to random places just so I don’t have to wallow in my deep loneliness. Having an eye infection, going days without actually talking to people, and living in a roach infested apartment is not the coolest combo. Usually there is someone nearby to force me to go to the doctor, make me some soup when my eye is producing weird slime, and tell me to chill the fuck out when I’m freaking out over literally everything. But there is no one here for me. Typing that is hard. Saying that is hard. I’m depressed.
I’m in Asakusa, an annoying tourist place, sitting on some steps in front of some river. The water in the river is murky and watching the ripples move across the surface of the water has successfully distracted me from my own poisonous thoughts for at least 30 minutes. The longer I stare blankly at the surface of the water, letting my tired eyes lose focus, the water looks like nothing but patterns. I’m making myself dizzy, but I can’t even force my eyes to focus. The weather is disgusting. 90 degrees with 60% humidity makes me want to go home. But I came here so I thought I ought to get something done. I had an overpriced and quite frankly bad coffee at some shop that I thought looked quaint but in retrospect probably had a few health code violations. I don’t know what it is about eating near people who are smoking, but it makes everything taste like cigarettes smell. You know what, I think I’ll pass on cigarette taste and lung cancer. Thanks, but no thanks.
Recently I’ve been waking up when the sun comes pouring in through my window at about 6 in the morning. Sometimes as I’m awaking I briefly think that my life in Tokyo was a dream, and I swear to God that I am still expecting to wake up in my house back in Utah. As my vision comes into focus, this heavy feeling of loneliness presses down on my chest like a brick. I am not home. I am here, wherever here is. I know the pain is worth something. I know the self-doubt is worth something. I keep asking myself terrifying questions like, “Why did you come here?” and “Did you make a mistake?” followed by such great hits as, “What if you can’t do it?” I ask these questions as if someone will answer me back. I don’t know who I’m talking to and what I expect to happen. I’ve never been one for God or a higher power, but you know what, I can see why some people dig that. Staring up at a cloudy sky and asking for answers while waiting for nothing in return isn’t fun. While the commentary from the peanut gallery in my brain is super encouraging, I try not to think too deeply about all of it. Luckily, since the area near my tear glands is so swollen, I don’t think I can cry anymore even if I wanted to. *I did cry more.
“Well didn’t you want this more than anything, Alie?”, some of you critics might ask. “Get off your ass and stop being sad”, some others might say. Easier said than done. Until you have been in my shoes. Until you have left your everything behind, don’t push your advice onto me. I understand that it was my choice, but that doesn’t have to stop me from being sad. I know that I longingly looked out the window every day at my 9-5 in America and thought about how life would be so much better if I’d only never left Japan. That’s the problem. We can never see what we truly have until it is gone. I never really thought about how nice it was to wake up and not feel so completely and utterly alone. I never thought about how nice it was to have a cat to pet and a dog to walk. I never thought about how nice it was to come home to a freshly cooked meal and parents who love me until I didn’t have that anymore. Maybe we should all dabble in a decent amount of deprecation, because it might just allow us to appreciate what we have a little bit more. When I come back home, whenever that might be, I will no longer be looking out that window longing for “freedom”, but rather, I will be enjoying every moment that I have with the ones I love.
But right now, I reserve the right to be the depressed girl with a stye in her eye. So, don’t tell me to cheer up. I’ll cheer up when I’m damn ready for it. Right now, I am in my limbo, waiting for my life to make sense again and I can’t explain to anyone else how that feels. To quote a great scholar of our times, Mr. Marilyn Manson (you bet your ass I’m listening to my 8thgrade emo playlist right now), “When you want it, it goes away too fast. Times you hate it always seem to last.” Think about it, okay? But for now, I am going to go home and warm compress my eye and try to get the pieces of my life back together again.
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