I wish I were dreaming…enraptured in an never-waking dream just for me. Why is it that time can never stop, and that time itself is forever my adversary?

There has never been a rock band in my life that has caught me up in such a way like High And Mighty Color. I would do anything to live the life of music for myself the way they do. Though I can only see their world through their music and the videos that have been uploaded on the infamous YT, that is enough to bring me to such a zenith of excitement that I am absolutely convinced that if given the opportunity, I could make a band. Somehow, their songs have opened up a new manner of expression in me that currently involves being near to tears with absolute adoration for their talent and energy. So much so, that I have begun yet another outline for a project inspired by them with the intention of not caring if anyone picks it up or draws for it; I just want to make it happen for the sake of my passion.

Maybe this feeling can be attributed to what I experienced earlier today with Yuri & Erika, and the desire to turn back time and relive what we did together. They are friends. The sense of separation from them, even though I could be seeing them again tomorrow, tears me up inside. I feel as though I will never see them again, as if I am leaving Japan this moment, as if I am already over the Pacific. H&MC brings new energy to my heart; I am a bird, caught up on the current of Maaki’s and Yusuke’s vocals; hanging in the updraft of every rift that comes my way.

Or perhaps, this overarching emotion stems from my frustration at the failure of my Japanese in every way possible while with them. English is as good as dead to me. Japanese is what matters right here, right now. I am disgusted with how I have 0 confidence even with people I call friends. My situation can be compared to forever being up on stage, surrounded by an attentive audience ready to critique your every action…and then you croak. Having been on stage before, minus the stage fright, I have the right to make this simile. Perhaps this is moreso like a class presentation that you swore you had perfected, being weighed and measured by everyone in the room, only to not make it 15 seconds before everything you thought you knew no longer existed in the world you forced yourself into in the first place.

“All that matters is the now. Not the past. Not the future,” Amy said with a softened gaze.

Her hazel eyes, always seemed to be focusing somewhere far away from me, occasionally appearing a bit glazed over. That never bothered me; an evanescent world to invent for oneself is never a crime or an insult, if even for a moment. Whether or not she did this often was not the heart of the matter. I was aware that I was the only one she could speak to in the midst of the time warp that had been molded by the Koto Club’s ambient musical performances. Aside from the initial trek to the bunkasai [culture festival], this was the first time in a while that we had to just talk. My efforts at contending with the Japanese language were temporarily put on hold. Everything had been left at the door — at least in a perfect world.

I prefer my world this way.

I could tell she was being a sincere friend, and knew very well what she was talking about. The worst part is, I have said these very words from my mouth to those who really needed a wake-up call. I do not consider myself one of those people, but I needed those words no matter how much I denied their applicability to me. At a loss for a proper response, a nod and a proper thank you was in order.

We are too much alike…

My issue is with the now. I am forever in the now, and have been for years. Japanese must become a part of me. Even in the midst of two Japanese girls, I was a mess in the necessities of grammar and sensical responses. The opposite was the expectation. English is a crutch, and apparently, I am too much of a fscking perfectionist to let go, fall over, crawl, and bleed until I can stand up without someone holding my hand. Incidentally, I am quite fond of respawning after a less-than-desired suicide kill.

I believe there is great opportunity in the Japanese language for me, especially in writing and singing. H&MC reminds me of the light seeping in through the cracks of the cave of grammar and vocabulary, and the labyrinth of 10+ stroke kanji. I do not think I will ever be able to explain what I am truly aspiring for, and will probably appear as egocentric, emocentric blubbering to anyone who does not give a damn about me.

So be it. My stories have a tale to be told. Even as time is my adversary, my sources of inspiration, passion, and love will always lend an ear to the words that come from the depths of my soul. Let me dream my sentient dreams…

…and dive into myself yet again…