Felicia in Tokyo

Time after time in Tokyo | “In Japan I have learned that when something or someone takes time, it is often worth the wait. So, you’re expected to always be on time to make the most out of the 24 hours, be respectful towards the other and do not waste any of their time.”

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IMG_20200209_154624_808In Japan I have learned that when something or someone takes time, it is often worth the wait. So, you’re expected to always be on time to make the most out of the 24 hours, be respectful towards the other and do not waste any of their time. You can imagine that I am bettering my punctuality and time management. No wonder that their commitments to deadlines cause the overflow of working overtime. 

 

If I had one wish to get rid of something, then it is time. My obsession with time has never worked in my favor. Time is not equal; it discriminates, it manipulates. 

It has everything to do with the fact that I’ve been in Tokyo for more than a year now. Only a year, yet it feels like a lifetime. My sense of time has its wicked way with me: One day I’m all about schedules and the other day I couldn’t care less how my schemes don’t work out. My work pushes me to race against the clock; I never have enough time to finish my tasks. A never-ending cycle which I’m sick and tired of. I keep looking at the clock behind my desk, hoping that it will give me another hour or extracting 60 minutes. Time ticks faster in Tokyo than in Amsterdam. I can hear the clock ticking in the back of my head, as if everything around me is empty and worthless. My whole entire being forces me to witness the passing time. 

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Time is my nemesis. My nephew (15) visited me last week. Puberty hits him like a storm; he grew taller than I’d imagined and his voice drops as low as his balls can get. This was not my son I left at the airport for my mum to take care of. Yes, we did miss out on a whole year together, but this is just ridiculous. Then again, I have to admit that time looks good on him, and, if we weren’t apart for so long, I wouldn’t have noticed his growth, change, and beauty. Neither would I have the strongest desire to go back home, to be closer to my beloved ones. I don’t want to miss another birthday of theirs, family reunions, where I get to see blurry stills from a mobile device. I’m becoming auntie for the third time, mum is not getting any younger, it’s time to go home. It’s time to hydrate myself with love and worth again. 

Ironically, I started negotiating with myself. As I was so sure of myself a couple of weeks ago, I am freaking out by the fact that I have to start all over again in Amsterdam. Without him. As if time is running out on me.

Home means away from him. Away from this. Even though we have been living apart for more than a year, it still feels surreal that he won’t be in my future. Time is a huge factor in our separated and combined lives. In the past we kept convincing each other that in the future everything will be alright. We should give it time, give each other space. Only then, time will tell. It did tell us everything, such as that we grew apart and we both had different aspirations and goals. It was good that time told us that we weren’t meant to be, yet we keep giving new meanings and definitions to time. We might have put too much value on the “10 years”, now we have to give it time to let our hearts heal. How much more time are we wasting on this? Would we still have the same state of mind if we’d known each other for 5 years? These cliffhanging questions still haven’t left my lips yet – I don’t have the courage to pop those questions. Maybe it is because I don’t want to know the answers, or just by seeing his face I don’t want to crush my imagination. Do I want to go through all of this again after 10 years? No. Maybe. No, I don’t know.  Time manipulates my heart. We have to accept that everything is over. There is nothing left for me here than grief and strength. The main reason I came to this place, the main reason I will leave this place. 

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Where people keep reminding me that time will heal everything, I wonder, what if that is bullshit? 

What if time makes everything worse?
What if time just extends the execution?
What if time doesn’t do shit for me?
What if someone adds more time to this ‘time’?
What does it mean actually? 

Is it something that knocks on the door and gives the antidote to all the problems in life so we can enjoy more of our time?

My hatred towards this human concept runs deep in my veins. It is an addiction, obsession. Someone who can tell me how I can get off this drug without relapsing? 

I’m running out of time.


 

 

 

 

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