It’s My Party And I’ll Cry If I Want To: my ephermeral youth

I prance into the staff room donning multiple party hats,
Eyes remain cast down, not a single eyelid bats.
Only in Japan could such things possibly be ignored,
All my classes were canceled, hence I’m bored, bored, BORED.

“But it’s MY BIRTHDAY!!11” I shout, “Let me be
Somewhat, somehow useful. I can speak English, SEE??”
“No, no we don’t need you. We’re just giving back the tests.
That should take all 50 minutes, you sit back down, dear, take a rest.”

So instead of being productive and studying kanji like mad,
I choose to sit and reflect on the last year – things both good and bad.
A lone New Yorker in a staff room, I sit – contemplatively, I ponder
Of things in the past and what’s coming, what’s yonder.

At twenty-two my life’s not at all what I thought it’d be,
I sleep upon the ground and must squat when I need to pee.
True, my toilet has a heater, but I’m too cheap to turn it on,
I’m considering low-end forms of warmth, like fire, first name bon.
I could burn the contents of my mailbox, gibberish that I can’t read,
Flyers, letters, bills – all become the fire feed.

I sit at my desk gazing out upon the sights,
Lawsons have replaced Starbucks, and mountains, the lights.
It’s pitch black by 5:30 and yet somehow I’m still detected,
Perhaps my walking gives it away, or my whiteness is reflected.
The careless cars zoom right by me, driving me into a ditch,
But then they stop, slow down, “Hey it’s a gaijin!! Let’s see… Fuck! Bitch!”

Their English might be lacking but, hey, at least they try,
It’s more impressive than some students who look like they’re about to cry –
When I ask them what their name is, they freeze and gape and stare.
It’s an alien, useless language – not worthy of their care.

My bike has become the abysmal bane of my existence
It burns calories so fast, I’m gnawing handlebars for subsistence.
Instead I’ve turned to walking which, indeed, will keep me fit,
Too much biking enlarges the legs causing my jeans to shriek and split.

Granted, I’d fully like to embrace my Japanesey half,
But there’s nothing fun about leg-muscle bulking up each calf.
I don’t fancy communal bathing – somethings should be done alone
Sharing society’s filth and gore I can’t and won’t condone.

But perhaps I’m grousing far too much, there are things I quite enjoy:
The cheap eats, the range of Pocky and guessing if that girl in truth’s a boy.
It’s fun to hazard which winter days they’ll choose to turn on heat
I often think about it giddily as I’m drifting off to sleep.

As busy as my day’s been I can’t wait to get on home
To tear open all my presents and eat an entire cake alone.
Receiving gifts by mail is tricky, as the element of surprise
Is ruined by the post office with their “official labels” and prying eyes.

They demand to know the contents of each and every box,
They paste it on in bold letters be it “heroin” “naked manatee” or “rocks”
I blindly tore off all the labels, the unknown is what I need,
But now the day hath finally come where I may indulge my greed.

So I realize this is terribly vain, but since some of my favoritest of favorite people couldn’t be with me on this momentous occasion (and sent me awesome loot), I’m bringing me to you.

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Published:
12.14.06 / 6pm
Category:
what i call life, unschoolish