Kiwami

Finger Eleven - Slow Chemical

The wonder of the world is gone
I know for sure
All the wonder that I want
I've found in her
As the whole becomes a part
I strike to burn
And no flame returns

Every intuition fails to find its way
One more table turned around and back again
Finding I'm more lost than found
When she's not around
When she's not around
I feel it coming down

Give me what I could never ask for
Connect me and you could be my chemical now
Give me the drug you know I'm after
Connect me and you could be my chemical

When everybody wants you
(The chemical comes slow)
When everybody wants you
(The chemical comes slow)
And everybody wants you
(Slow)
And everybody wants you

So give me what I could never ask for
Connect me and you could be the chemical, now
Give me the drug you know I'm after
Connect me and you could be the chemical

You could be the chemical

***************************************

Okay, so here's my customary ramble tangent to ward off people with short attention spans before I open a very bitter can of worms: Today is August 28th, 2018. It's the second anniversary of my release from slavery, but more crucially, it's the Western release date of Yakuza Kiwami 2, which features the return of the heartthrob couple from Yakuza 0: Majima Goro and Makimura Makoto! With how downright awfully the main protagonist Kiryu Kazuma's storyline and character has aged, I'm actually buying this game only for the newer, cinematically breathtaking and thought provoking story written for Majima and Makimura. How do I know it's gonna be that good? Blind faith from having experienced what I consider to be a modern masterpiece, Yakuza 0. Also because new content in Yakuza Kiwami 1 pertaining to Nishiki was just so gasp drawingly tragic and beautiful... I honestly believe that if you at all consider yourself a fan of games, Japanese culture, or just storytelling in general, you'd be doing yourself a serious disservice if you don't at least watch a playthrough of Yakuza 0.

Disclaimer: the fact that 0 features an extensive list of real life Japanese porn stars, some of whom are my firm favourites, and some of whom I became a fan of after seeing them in 0, is in no way related to my bias towards Yakuza 0. (But seriously Uehara Ai is so ridiculously good at everything she does, between voice acting and AV stuff, I'm surprised Japan didn't declare a national holiday to grieve her retirement. Oh and Ootsuki Hibiki might be a woman I love more to sit and talk to than watching her getting ploughed I mean not that she's BAD at ploughing or being ploughed but she's such a lovable personality even outside of a studio you know? She's one of those women that could be and do anything in life and be loved for it, but somehow chose to be an AV star. Also how the FUCK is Tsubomi not in any game yet?!)

So anyway, in my anxious haste to get and play the game, I've arrived way too early at a shopping mall to buy the game, and now I'm forced to sit on my ass and pass time somehow, and with mobile games being as toxic as they are I... have nothing else to do but write.

That song, Slow Chemical, came on shuffle play on my long ass walk to Waterway Point. It's a song I suddenly fell in love with all over again as a grown ass adult who thinks he's seen his fair share of shit, because it suddenly becomes all so relatable. As a kid watching wrestling, I've always liked this song on a surface level, but it's only now that the song really seems to have opened its doors to me and shown me what it truly is.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I tend to associate most tracks in my playlist with certain things or certain people. Moreso than the wrestler Kane, as big a fan of his as I am, this song reminds me most about Cypy, because I vividly remember the lyrics of this song running through my head around this time last year, when my anxiety and depression were at their worst. I felt super needy, super dependent on her company and making me feel better, because at the time she really did feel like the last viable source of happiness, and in turn, hope, to me. When going to meet her I felt unparalleled energy, zest and vigor about life, and just the thought of her could motivate me to push through physical and mental pain at work. She... meant a lot to me, as I hope should be abundantly clear by now.

With everything in my life falling apart, and me feeling like I never had any control over it, I always knew on some levels I was going insane, that something was terribly, terribly wrong with my psyche, mental state and thought patterns. Yet it was nigh impossible to find proof to challenge those thought patterns and beliefs, which really set those thoughts and beliefs into stone. I started to get thoughts on how I seem to be the only one thinking rationally, and the world is going insane, and along with it, Cypy. But that's signature crazy talk, isn't it? After all, what IS insanity? Is it just things that don't make sense to you, an individual, subjective human being? Or is insanity defined by being the odd one out in the whole world that determines what normal is?

In that state of desperate puzzlement, I had to resort to a lot of coping habits that made as little sense as the world itself, that the world provides me, such as drugs and alcohol. After all, how the hell are drugs to magically make my problems, thoughts, beliefs and trauma go away, like everybody makes them out to be, from friends to psychiatrists? Why would people willingly spend ludicrous amounts of money to intoxicate themselves, to lose control of their own body and mind, to reek and potentially harm themselves and others as a rite of passage in negotiating business deals? Yet the world churns on with drugs and alcohol inextricably interwoven into its structure, and, to the 22 year old me at my first job, that's just what becoming a responsible adult that can put food on the table meant: going along with the insanity. Never mind that there was a very strong and persistent voice in my head that kept protesting that this can't be right; that voice sounded like that of a naïve child to me, unwilling to toughen up and grow up to be a "real man" and "suck it up", as slavery so loves to resort to saying. Yep, I'm gonna blame the mandatory slavery experience for imparting toxic, impractical thinking habits and beliefs and you can suck one. Your thumb, that is. After all, 2 years is a hell of a long time, and not just any two years of my life, either. It was my first real taste of society fresh out of school, and being imprisoned by a culture for two years... I don't care who you are, it's gonna rub off on you to some extent.

So, in that state where hope, happiness and coping in a bleak and desolate world meant blotting out large chunks of it you don't like with drugs and alcohol, that's just how I pigeon holed romantic love as well.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again because it bears repeating: helplessly, knowingly watching yourself go insane is one of the scariest things you can experience in life. There will always be too many causes to pinpoint, there's no evidence to support you, and every evidence against you, and so at every turn all your values and beliefs feel vengefully invalidated and ridiculed at every turn of life. I was afraid of myself, afraid of the world, and afraid of what I might find in both should I look deep and long enough into either. And so, even though it wasn't what I wanted out of a woman, out of a relationship, out of myself, even, treating the woman I loved as a supply, a paid commodity, akin to that of drugs and alcohol, to blot out and erase all the darkness and unhappiness of my life, is what I wound up unknowingly doing. At my worst, I even forced myself onto her, hugging her from behind even though she really didn't want to be hugged. In hindsight, I still don't know what the hell came over me at the time. Everything is just a blur of things I don't want to remember, of emotions I don't want to experience again. I know it's no justification for what I've done, and me saying that isn't meant to be any justification. I'm saying all this in attempt to own my mistakes and flaws, so that I may make peace with my past.

Of course, the difference between drugs and alcohol and a real life woman is that a real life woman, even the most materialistic ones, can reject you. They have their own lives, their own struggles, their own needs and their own preferences. Cypy was struggling immensely with her final year of university at that point in time, with the workload and stress driving her to never before seen levels of irritability, and her outbursts thus became more common and more hurtful. It was just an awful, awful time for us both, and I suppose both of our suffering was so immense it left us no capacity to see, or at least care, about the needs of others.

I knew it too at the time. That her snappy, angry remarks and condescending attitude was only temporary. I told myself that her recklessly throwing herself whole into her job, her task, and even in love was something I loved about her. Yet at the same time, no wise words have ever stopped a bleeding, has it? I needed happiness, I needed hope. I needed someone to be there for me, to talk to me, to reassure me that I'm wanted and loved, that I matter. That I'm not insane, and worth saving. So, yes, occasionally I'd ask for dinners together, and talks at her void deck in the dead of night. But honestly I think even just the ability to tell her "good morning", and get a simple response each time would've been enough. But everything was so strained between us that even that became difficult; so much so that I'd physically shake with my phone barely in my hands at the mere thought of texting her, in spite of how badly I needed my drug that is her. The angrier she got at me, the more worried/ angrier I got towards her as well. The longer we went without meeting each other, the more it felt to me like she owed that debt of friendship to me. From there it just slowly degraded into classic, toxic relationship signs, such as passive aggression, withholding emotions and communication, counting and storing upsetting events as future ammo, gossip, badmouthing, etc..

Of course, I can't definitively tell you what the heck went on in her head at the time, given how little we talked, so I can only give you my side of the coin. I started to hold grudges and do "petty statistics", like checking when the hell was the last time she ever initiated a conversation with me, without her explicitly telling me, "buy this for me for my birthday". Then I did a cold shoulder experiment where I went a few months without texting her, to see if she would notice anything wrong with me, as I know she's so uncannily adept at doing even through text. Then I got angry every time I unlocked my phone and saw no new messages, especially when I needed her the most in reslavery, where I was physically falling apart and mentally about to explode, and used my phone for some fifteen minutes a day. Not even a "hey, what's up"? Not even a "are you okay"? For all I did for you, all the time and money I put into you, for how emotionally invested I am into you, this is what I get in return? I was nothing short of livid. Again, I knew it even back then. I was watching myself go insane through a silver screen, powerless to do anything to alter the hateful plot. It felt like the only thing to do, it felt so right and so justified, even if I knew it was unhealthy and, quite frankly, stupid.

I said I loved how hard she works for what she wants, be it at a job, or in a relationship. When she was in Uni I could "suck it up", telling myself it was "only two years". But by that time she had already started work, and showed no sign of changing. All alone, I felt so thrown away, so useless, so played, so taken advantage of, and so stupid for investing so much into a woman who would never see me as anything more than a friend, if even that. I honestly felt so indebted to her and her friendship towards me that I could spend the rest of however long I've left on this earth taking care of her, and never be able to repay her for all that she's done for me in the ten years we've known each other. I feel the most natural and relaxed around her, and we share such a deep familiarity and sense of security with each other we can talk about crude and embarrassing topics, from porn, to periods, bra sizes, masturbation, awful bosses, eccentric family members... anything. I don't at all hesitate to say that she has had a huge hand in helping me become an adult, being the business student that she was, teaching me how to write resumes, finding part time jobs together, picking out clothes for me, at times telling me how the world works, what I want out of a woman, out of a relationship... Goddamnit she meant the world to me. But, what my cold shoulder experiment proved to me was that, for as much as she meant to me, I never meant a fraction of that to her. While I was struggling with anxiety, depression, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, binge drinking... every moment felt like it could've been my last. And what cut the most deeply was the thought that this, all this, my entire fucking life, meant less to her than some superficial piece of paper crap that is a degree. And it's not like she can't emphatise, either; last I heard she still struggles with anxiety herself and takes meds for them, so don't give me that bullshit of "you can't expect everybody to know what it's like". She knows it full well and consciously chose to blow me off.

She... changed. Even if I know it was unhealthy and stupid, even to this day I think I learned something invaluable from my cold shoulder charade. With a clear(er) head now, I can tell you, or anyone else for that matter, that I don't regret my decision to henceforth cut her off from my life entirely. I learnt to prioritise my own happiness, my own needs, my own sanity, above that of anyone else's, even that of someone I could at one point in my life swore till death does us part. I mean, how hypocritical would it be of me, to try to force my own brand, my own idea of happiness, down the throats of someone else, when I myself am not happy? What do I know of what happiness is or should be? Who am I to decide for others what happiness is to each individual? I'm still learning to not blame myself for how sourly things ended, in spite of all the voices in my head screaming at me how I may never find a woman as special as her in my life again, given my looks and personality. The voices in my head that scorns me for not being able to make her happy because of my nonexistent financial means.

I don't regret cutting her from my life because, akin to trying to hold a crumbling sandcastle together with bare hands, I was trying to hold together something that was just never going to work, and perhaps she, business student and all, was just too "polite" to not want to say it to me straight. It was only after cutting her from my life, not having to deal with her bullshit, her abuse, and my own expectations of her, that I started to have some semblance of foundation for inner peace. A relationship is always a two-way street; common sense should tell anyone as much. I never felt the same reciprocation from her in spite how how increasingly desperate I had been becoming, and in turn, how increasingly harder I tried. If common sense should tell anyone that any relationship is a two-way street, that same common sense should also tell anyone that love is built with acceptance, understanding, sacrifice, and hard work. I took that to the extremes, and started to go into the region of having to make excuses for her in my head to hold that sandcastle together. I started to go into the region of driving myself up the damn wall with insanity in the name of ideals and love. And the moment it felt like I could've died for someone who wouldn't give my corpse a second glance, that was when everything snapped together and made sense to me, and what I had to do became clear to me.

What even was the point of me trying so hard anymore? Evidently you can live happily without me. If I have to legitimately feel like taking my own life to guilt trip you into meeting me for a meal, what even is the point anymore? If I rank below JK on your friends list, if I have to go through JK first to be next in line for a meal with you then you evidently don't need me very much at all, do you? You're right. I'm a fucking idiot. For trying so hard. For thinking it could work. For thinking that I could see you as just a friend. For thinking that your change was only temporary. For thinking that I could "wake up your idea". For thinking that I knew the "real you" wasn't like this. I am a fucking idiot. And you're right: I do deserve better. I do deserve to feel better. I do deserve better than you.

It might sound like I'm extremely angry towards her, and I am; make no mistake about it. Yet at the same time, because I'm an emotional wussy, I still carry the weight of the guilt and blame for the whole shebang, and I think of her at least once every day. Yeah, I feel that she's changed immensely in the ten years I've known her. Sure, she could've been a hell of a lot nicer towards me. But over the last year or so, I'm slowly learning how to better myself, and in doing so, I think I've come to pinpoint what went wrong. As I've said, relationships are always a two-way street. As such, there's almost never an instance where one party is the absolute angel and the other is an asshole on whom all blame can be pinned. That's... just my really roundabout way of saying... I done fucked up as well. I was the one who laid all these asinine expectations onto her. I already have a problem of holding people to too high a standard in any setting, so could you imagine how god-awful being my wife must be? Here I am, staking an entire lifetime worth of happiness on her and heaping all my visions and expectations of my ideal wife onto an innocent woman who evidently didn't feel much for me in the end. And, yeah, I could've been more civil and communicative about wanting to end the friendship we had, but...

pshhhh, you know?

Whys it matter? She evidently is happy without me. And, as I found out when the song came on shuffle play during that walk, I am evidently a better person, with some budding inner peace within me, without her. The screaming in the song... I used to scream alongside the song in my head, but now I'm happy to say that... the screaming, has stopped.

I may not yet know what it means to be happy in life, to be happy with life, but it sure felt like I headed in the right direction with amputating her from my life. And so, with that being the case, whys it matter if what I did was right or wrong? This world is subjective and insane. It changes, so fast. Too fast. It took a woman I loved and changed her into a monster. Whys it matter if what I did was right or wrong, to one or two persons, at one point in time? It's not like I'm trying to write a romance novel. Long as you're happy, long as I'm happy, who cares about right and wrong anymore?

That's just my roundabout, polite way of saying, I'm gone. I'm done. Forever. I've given up. I'm broken, and it may be a long, long time before I can mend myself, and find it in me to try again for someone else.

If, by some miracle you're reading this, Cypy, I just want to say, I hope you're happy with your life choices, and I'm sorry for being an idiot for so long.

The above post was brought to you by Yakuza Kiwami 2. Some 35 hours into the game later and I've finally completed both sagas, and Majima's saga, while disgustingly short, left such a deep, deep impression on me, it physically hurts me to the point of losing sleep. There's such a bitter gash in me... it's so rare to be so moved by a work of fiction I... can't really believe it, still. Something about it really resonated with me, like it came from such a dark yet beautiful place in someone's soul I just... can't cope with it. And so here I am, writing to get it off my chest.