February 24, 2024

Start time: 15:50

It is now less than 48 hours before my 51st birthday, at least “Tokyo time,” though I was born on the East Coast of the U.S., so I guess officially it would be something like 5-6 hours past midnight in Japan (I was apparently born early in the morning). As my mother recounts it, I kicked and punched inside her and didn’t want to come out when the time had come. Once I did come out I screamed and beat my little fists and also I apparently had colic. 

Little has changed. The difference is that these days I scream and beat my fists via musical instruments or electronic noise gadgets, and colic comes in the form of daily belly aches, sharp pains in my stomach, nausea, and so on.

Last year was “The Big 50” for me, and so I guess you could say that this year is “The Lesser 51”? Yet, well, if last year marked my entry into my “fifties,” getting my feet used to its wet lukewarm-ness, this one marks my first steps toward true “elderly status” (in other words, my 60s). Will I make it that far? Perhaps, if I do not meet with a terrible accident, take my negative internal thoughts a bit too seriously one day and slip into a deep lake, or develop a more serious illness as a result of my multiple and unresolved (“cause-unknown” and in some cases with generic labels like “IBS” or “Hashimoto’s,” yet with no treatment provided…) health issues, most of which are apparently auto-immune in nature and have not responded either to medications, therapy, or dietary changes. (I have tried at least three or four different diets over the last year and a half or so, with minimal improvement initially, and then, gradually, a full return of symptoms and/or, in some cases, even, a worsening of symptoms.)

The biggest change in my “status” last year from the previous two was that, temporarily, I was in a sort of off-on relationship with a fellow divorcee, a few years younger than I (it was supposed to be an “on-on” relationship, I think, but we didn’t have much correspondance other than “Good morning,” “I’m home” after she got home from work, and then “Goodnight” - that sort of thing. In actuality I only saw her on occasion, and so apart from those times when we actually did see each other for a day or two I didn’t feel so involved overall). It had been my first real relationship since leaving my ex-gf in the spring of 2020, just after the first “State of Emergency” had been declared for Tokyo during Phase One of the Covid-19 pandemic, which was when I moved into my current box-sized room alone, and stayed alone. When this new relationship started last year I thought it a sort of miracle… I finally had days, for the first time in two years, when I was again someone’s companion, at least, if not her full-fledged “boyfriend” (she never once used that term for me, and I now believe she never thought of me as a full-fledged partner). We went on dates together, we shared food and drink, we slept in the same bed, so, yes: It was a romantic relationship, and not a platonic one. 

Actually, the reason it ended very abruptly at the beginning of December, around two weeks before Christmas (she had still been speaking of where to have Christmas dinner together the very last time we met, asking me to consider it and to "let her know"), via a terse text message that read "No need to write to me again," was that, well… I don't know. My guess is that maybe we hadn’t had enough in common, after all, or perhaps our expectations were just too different for what the "relationship" even was. She apparently wanted me to be a quiet, off-on style companion, I guess, whereas I was hoping for a bit more than just dates and physical closeness after around a year of having seen each other semi-regularly on weekends and holidays, staying at each other's places sometimes, etc. In fact, she never told me her last (family) name, so that itself was pretty much a huge "red flag" from the get-go.

Oh well. So much for her "One day, when we get an apartment together..." talk! 

When she told me “You need not bother writing again” in early December one night, I was not very surprised. Being a pessimist overall, and knowing how fragile relationships tend to be, I pretty much knew that it could come at any time (i.e. in any relationship, the potential is always there for the other person to "drop the bomb," after all, and so it's better to consider the possibility than to be caught completely off-guard and be crushed by it). The first thing that surprised me was that I thought it would come a bit later, certainly after (at least!) our first planned Christmas Eve dinner together. What surprised me even more than this, though, was that she didn’t even suggest we first meet to at least "talk it over." It came as a single, terse text (in Japanese, as all of our correspondence was in Japanese), “You need not bother writing again.” Indirect and curt, in the Japanese style. To which I replied, "I see." I was not going to make a fuss, either.

And so, that was it. 

Easy-peasy, right? No mess, no tears...

There was no major fight before the break up ― we only got into a very minor verbal tiff once or maybe twice, and both times, as I recall, I immediately backed off, having learned from my previous relationship, which was almost constant fighting and stress for both parties, that backing down is definitely a wise choice ― and the only major shift I’d noticed the last couple of times that we were together was that she asked me before we went to sleep not to touch her, to "be kind" and to let her be, because she was “tired” and had to work in the morning (she almost always “had to work in the morning,” though, and I could read between the lines just fine...). Maybe she found another guy. Maybe she had already had one, and decided that she liked him better. Who knows. I’m not a detective and, actually, I really don’t care. Jealousy is a waste of time.

And so, having already become rather “hardened” re: relationships after the last one nearly killed me, I didn’t take it very hard this time around at all. In fact, I even felt relieved the day after, thinking the freedom was in fact good for me. I went to Shinjuku by myself (it was a crisp and clear day, as I recall), bought a new pair of semi-formal shoes I could wear at university (which I had badly needed, as the ones I'd been wearing were falling apart) as well as a couple of shirts on sale, got a tea at a cafe… I felt fine. Just fine. We really had had so little to talk about when together, after all, right? And, although we never really argued, there was also no “warmth” between us either, I’d been feeling all along, just surface stuff. She frequently spent time scrolling through her news feeds on her iPhone whilst lying in bed, while I would listen to my own music in my earphones and/or write on my computer (she did not share my more "alternative" taste in music, though she sometimes liked listening to Ryuichi Sakamoto together, so I'd always play her the song or songs she requested via Apple Music). What I found slightly ironic, even funny, about the whole thing, however, was the timing of it, as I’d been thinking to myself, “Ah, 2023 is finally the year I will at last have a date on Christmas Eve!” Well…I spent it alone. Again. For the third consecutive year, in fact. Ditto for New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day.

C’est la vie.

Indeed, as I had (and have) grown used to “aloneness,” it wasn’t a major problem for me, just a bit “ironic.” And so, though I had had an invitation to join an older couple for dinner at their house, I opted instead to spent Christmas Eve, as well as Christmas Day and the day after that, too, cleaning and organizing my (small, closetless) apartment, throwing more stuff out and/or putting some things I no longer needed aside to sell used. (I eventually did so, selling off my toaster oven and some other appliances, though thankfully I held on to my rice cooker, which I now use almost daily to make white rice, as I can digest that OK.) The thing is, it is now the end of February, so it has already been over three months sans, well, sans any sort of relationship with a woman, and…well, here I am, still quite single, still quite alone, still quite “stoic.” And I have also grown rather tired of it, frankly. And so has my body.

My health, which had been on a steady (or, well, fairly steady) decline since 2020, has had periods where it rebounded slightly, but some of the more annoying symptoms, including sometimes getting a swollen, painful tongue, have returned recently. This is just one symptom on my rotating list of annoying and/or downright scary symptoms. I have lost an inordinate amount of weight since around 2021, and the last time I was weighed at a doctor’s office I was down to around 50 kg (110 lbs). It is possible that I’ve lost even more since then. as I am looking rather skeletal these days. I wake up every morning with stomach problems, and I fall asleep every night with them, too, no matter what my diet. I have also tried intermittent fasting, but in fact if I leave my stomach completely empty for too long it gets much worse, with nausea and a horrible taste in my mouth, so now I try not to, though I also have to eat in moderation. I was told I had a (slight) Zinc deficiency in 2022, which then “normalized” (though my swollen tongue didn’t get better until some months after the numbers normalized), and the last time I had a blood test for my thyroid at a specialist’s office (less than two months ago) I was not retested for vitamin deficiencies, so who knows? What would it matter, anyway? I've again started supplementing with Zinc, though it seems not to help much with these symptoms in either case.

"What Is the Body?" Pt. 3... (A Film by Marc Lowe, with Mizukami Takuya)

Am I dying?

We are all dying. From the moment we are born.

So, yes. I am dying.

Am I mental?

Chicken or the egg.

Yes, I am mentally depressed.

Am I lonely? 

Oh boy. Loaded question.

Well, I am certainly still quite alone. However, I do not want to be dependent on anyone else for my happiness. My happiness depends on me, and me alone, and that is why I am trying so hard not to cave in and go to some bar and try to pick up someone who might become a token girlfriend looking for a token (foreign) boyfriend. I am not in the market for this sort of thing now, though my body sometimes weeps at night, as I have not had any physical relations with anyone since, well before the (text message) breakup last December. Further, and with all of these issues, along with an obsession with making music few women would likely share an enthusiasm for, who would stay with me a single day longer than the last one did? Maybe the next time I'll get a full name??

This is my predicament, you see. I am caught in a recursive loop…

So, to use a David Bowie phrase/lyric from 2013: “Where Are We Now?”

Where am /I/ now?

I don’t know. 

I am still here. My heart is still beating. I can read and write and teach and make music, and occasionally I still perform live (I have two shows coming up in two and three days, respectively, from the time of this writing, in fact). Today my tongue hurts more than it has in a long time, and so do my teeth (I have been “clenching” them in my sleep since the middle of last year, after a dental visit for a regular cleaning and check-up ― I had no cavities, and the only thing done was a teeth cleaning, but I went home with sensitive gums and, ever since, I wake up every morning with sore teeth and jaw).

Why are we put here on this earth? Why must we suffer so? What is the “meaning” of all this pain?

I turn 51 in two days. I doubt that I will able to answer this question at that age, nor at the age of 52, nor at 62, nor even at 72, if I in fact do get beyond 51… However, one thing I know is this:

I am alive.

I will do my best.

This is my life. It is precious.

Marc Lowe

February 24, 2024 (Finish time: 16:20/17:33 for edits)