After getting on the morning ferry and eating a bowl of udon for breakfast, Miki and I returned to our seats. On the table, she set down a pack of grape gummy candy that she had just bought and said that I could have some. Looking forward to something sweet, I happily helped myself to one. When I was finished, she took the package and said in an annoyed voice:
“Why don’t you ever tear this completely off?”
By this, she was referring to the protective seal, which I had torn but stopped just before the very end so that it would stay attached to the package. She ripped it off and placed it on the table. Confused, I looked at the seal in front of me… The reason why I left it on – and, I guess, why I always leave it on – was because once torn completely off, the seal becomes trash. Since there are basically no public trashcans in Japan, once you make garbage, you usually have to carry it around in your bag all day.
Even though it was the stupidest thing to get mad about, I got mad because in actuality it wasn’t about the seal at all, but about her attitude towards me lately. I then accused her of always getting on my case about everything. To which, she denied, asking me to list some examples. To my surprise, I couldn’t remember any off the top of my head since those incidents were just as stupid and minor like this one – something that you would forget in a day or so, unless you recorded it down (like now). But what couldn’t be so easily forgotten was the disdain in her voice, which, like money in a bank, kept stacking up inside me...
“Does she really hate me that much?” I asked myself. Up until now, I wanted to believe that she feels something more for me than what she allows herself to show, which was why I always put up with her bullshit and did my best to accommodate in hopes that one day I could actually make a breakthrough. Maybe I was just fooling myself and letting myself be trampled upon instead.
While she escaped to the restroom, I realized that I had enough. I no longer wanted to be around her either, let alone spend the whole day with her in Osaka like we had originally planned. When she returned, I made the excuse that I wanted to go upstairs to spread out and sleep.
After leaving her alone, I went to the tatami room, put my stuff down, and got comfortable on the floor, using my bag as a pillow. I thought about escaping mentally into my iPhone to look at videos of the latest cameras out on the market, which I have been doing a lot lately, regardless that I don’t really need a camera as well as that I don’t even like digital for that matter, hoping that some magical new invention will solve all my problems. Closing my eyes, I fought the urge, trying to get some sleep since it was still only eight in the morning.
Twenty minutes later, I opened my eyes again, but no luck. I was still angry. I gave in and spent the rest of the two-and-half hours numbing myself with my phone.
After arriving in Kobe, we took the train to Osaka. During lunch, the mood lightened a little. Since we still had time to kill before my appointment to get my computer fixed, we walked around Shinsaibashi. Immediately my head began to spin from not being used to all the visual stimulation of the city anymore as well as from the heat.
After dropping off my computer and taking care of some other errands, we hurried on over to the Wolfgang Tillman’s exhibition, which we had been looking forward to. Before entering the museum, we stopped at a café to rest. As I sat by the windows watching the endless stream of cars passing by while drinking my expensive drink, I wondered where they were all going, but then remembered that, just like them, we were headed to somewhere too.
At the Tillmans show, we were immediately presented with the photos of his that I had seen a million times – photos that once spoke to me greatly when I was young, but not so much anymore. But as I went from room to room, I saw some of his new work as well and eventually the hardness inside me began to soften. “He’s still good,” I thought, relieved that he didn’t succumb to the fate that most artists do when they get old.
Regardless, more than his work, I was probably more interested in the beautiful women who were present nearby – two in particular. They were like magnets, sucking me in. I switched back and forth from peaking at them and looking at the art. When Miki occasionally popped into view, I pretended not to be cheating on her with my eyes. In a way, I knew that these two women were not really people at all, but a test, which I was failing horribly.
When it was closing time, we left and my head was about to burst. Everywhere I looked outside was a Tillman’s photo. I kept raising my camera, but then second-guessing myself. The stress of not being able to see anymore – not just today, but as of late – was getting to me, especially about how I had originally thought that being in a new environment like Osaka would help things, but in the end, it probably made things worse.
Suddenly, something unexpected happened. Miki took my hand while we were walking – an act totally normal and natural for most people, but not for her since she hates doing things like that, especially in public.
As we continued on, I decided to stop looking. I understood then that the city was no longer my story to tell and that my relationship with Miki, the island, and my art are all connected. Without love, it doesn’t work, and without daily effort, attention, and care, the balance cannot be sustained – it’s as simple (and extremely difficult) as that.
After dinner and coffee, we headed back to Kobe and went to the public bath in the red light district of Sannomiya. When we were done, we felt relatively human again. We decided to walk back to the ferry port instead of waiting for the bus. As we headed toward the water, the men with the waxed hair, the women in the slutty clothes, the neon, and the shops all began to disappear, and it was just us again and the night.