October 8th and 9th in 2015

Last night I didn’t go to Tennis. I felt very unwell, and thought it best to stay home. I think part of it may simply be being tired, but I also suspect that I may be fighting off a bug. There are definitely things going around school, and I know how they tend to spread around schools. Well, I ate too much for dinner, but not unreasonably too much. I think I may have (hopefully) split about even calorie wise. Also, for reasons that still vaguely escape me, I left a Sailor Moon BGM playlist on Youtube to keep my computer’s screen from going off. This morning, I woke up at 5:30, still felt like crap, and went back to bed. I ended up sitting in my floor chair and listening to the entirety of Tuxedo Mirage. It was a video that included a video montage (possibly one used in the series itself, if not, a very well made one). It was overwhelming emotionally. But I sat there, and I made myself watch it. I was so glad that I did. It was one of the most wonderful experiences I’ve had in ages. In a moment, I was fifteen again. I could feel things, things I’d thought were long dead in me. I felt things that I hadn’t even remembered I’d forgotten. In an instant, it was like a dam burst and a world came pouring out of me. All through that music.
I had two classes with Matsumoto Sensei today. The first one we tried a bit of acting with the students. It didn’t go terribly well. The second, we did a Mad Libs style game. It went very well. We’ll use that again. At lunch, which was pretty good, I sat there and kept spacing out. The feelings from the morning keep overwhelming me. I loved watching the wind blow the curtains open slightly, revealing a slightly different shade of Satsuma with every gust of wind. I loved watching the smiling students’ faces. I loved watching them play for me. Not really. They just move. I’m the one whose looking makes them play. For me.
This afternoon, there was an adorable play. As far as I can make out, a touring company came to the school. The story was about a girl named Aya and her neighbors and there were money problems of some sort, and the neighbors (I was told) tried to sell Aya but Aya used her goodness to save everyone. Also magic. It was really well done. I felt bad for Copper Kettle Sensei, though. He kept falling asleep and snoring. Loudly. Poor guy. He must have been tired. Eventually the art (I think) teacher went and sat next to him.
I should mention, that all of this is done in the gym. There’s a stage, but the students sit on the floor, on their butts, with their knees making a triangle with the ground, holding onto their legs. We teachers have the luxury of leaning against the wall.
I snuck back after to tell the actors how well they did. I was hoping they’d let me join. Obviously they didn’t.
I have a doctor’s appointment after this, and we’ll see about my meds. I’ll also explain that I’m not feeling well. We’ll see what happens with that. I’m supposed to have tea ceremony, but if the doctor says not to go, well, it can’t be helped, ne?
The next section was written earlier, and doesn’t really fit in with this. It’s not as well phrased or evocative or accurate as it would have been when it first struck me, but the meaning is still somewhat there. I hope it comes across somehow.
The world is one of struggle. We have to fight. To deny this would be useless. Yet, so often, I struggled with the notion of my armor. Of my protection. But from what was I protected? What was good or bad but what I chose to view as such? I defended myself against a thousand illusions that had no power but what I gave them. The arrows will fly. They will cause me agonies. But they will never pierce me. They are not real. Only their pleasure or pain. And so, what is the use of armor? Armor is impartial. It keeps out the good and the bad. What I need is not protection, but the strength to accept the damage that comes my way. I may feel myself pierced to the core, but I am not. I may feel myself battered and severed, but I am not. I may feel every fiber of my being torn to shreds, yet I am whole. Provided I have the strength to remain so. I feel romantic. I feel illogical. I feel emotional. I want to cry sometimes when I look at the sunrise. I want to stop everything I do and look at the wind making the trees dance across the mountains. For the moment, there is no time. Yet, these are the things to long for. These are the things to pursue. These are the moments and the experiences that I ought to be pursuing. Maybe it’s solipsistic navel gazing. I don’t know. I’m reserving judgment on things until I once more feel capable of judging.
Maybe I’m finding here what I found before. A peace in silence. A peace in solitude. No, I do not do all that I ought to. Yes, I fail. But I still do it. I must make my own world, one within my own mind. The world outside matters, of course, but here, within myself, I can truly be free. Provided I have the strength to be so. And what causes strength? Where does it come from?
We are strong. We are so incredibly strong. But we load ourselves down with chains and definitions. To be sure, we need them. But we need them tentatively. All too quickly, our conveniences become our realities. Things are associated that shouldn’t be. Things are separated that are really the same thing. We call ourselves weak and we are weak. We say that we are this and we are. Yes, even without these faulty names, I have my weaknesses, but what strength, what freedom, I’m finding in pursuit of this new freedom. This . . . namelessness.
Let me do what I will. There’s nothing, there’s no one, that says I can’t be everything at once, maybe even twice over. Provided I do it. Let me expand to fill the world and overflow its limits. It will hurt. It will be agonizing. But ah, what joy in this growth.