Play that music louder

Play that music louder, お願い

All this time I wanted to dance and smile again, not just with my mouth, but with my eyes, heart and soul.

何この気持ち?

It reminded me that I still have something in me I thought I had lost.

In a sweaty pounding room filled with bodies moving to a beat, I look around and find faces of kindness where I used to see suspicion.

隣の鏡で I see my reflection smiling back at me, then leaning forward to tell me: keep going.

But things shake and rumble.

What do they call it again? 波瀾万丈

Because that’s life, and we have to ride the storm.

It will never be easy.

The timing will never be right.

それぐらいわかってほしい

But it isn’t my place.

Despite all that, 今も言えないまま後悔

だけど近くにいて応援する

Hey DJ, play that music harder, お願い

But I look down again and I’m reminded that it’s over.

いつもいいとこで終わる

The floor clears out.

The lights have turned on.

時間が経つと things change.

Everything looks different in the light when the dust has settled.

ありがとう

Movement / 動き出す

Tonight the world looks familiar but it does not feel the same.

The streets are where I left them. The buildings still hold their shape. The same lamps buzz above the cracks on the footpath I know by heart. But something shifted and now everything has changed. 

I wobble in the middle of it.

There is a part of me that wants to turn back. Back to what I knew. Back to the rooms I memorised so well I could move through them in the dark. Back to the old comforts even if they were small, even if they asked me to shrink beside them.

But when I really look behind me, the path begins to distort.

What exactly am I longing for?

Was it safety or simply familiarity wearing the mask of safety?

I can almost see it now for what it was: a song drifting from another street, beautiful and enchanting enough to follow. But that song was not for me. 

Looking ahead asks something harder of me.

The future does not arrive with guarantees. It does not kneel beside me and explain itself. Even now, with a clearer gaze than I have ever had, I cannot fully tell what is promise and what is projection. Some horizons glow beautifully because they are real. Others glow only because they borrow reflected light from around them, nothing of their own. 

So I stand in the tension of that.

I want guidance. I want a voice from somewhere wiser than me to call out across the platform and tell me which train to board, which road to walk, which love to choose, which self to become.

But the station glass offers only my reflection.

And there I am.

Not finished.

Not certain.

Not rescued.

But here.

I laugh at the absurdity of it. I smile at the tenderness of it. I could cry for all that has fallen away and all that has not yet arrived.

Then somewhere in the distance, something opens.

Not a miracle.

Not a map.

Just a way forward.

No guarantees. 

I take a breath out.

And with whatever grace I can gather, I waltz into the unknown.

Briefly, everything softens

There are moments lately where things shift.

Nothing dramatic. No announcement.

Just a small softening as if the world has loosened its grip for a minute.

You don’t notice it at first.

But by the time you do, you’re already inside it.

Music

We walk out from book club into the night. One of the last warm evenings in early autumn.

“It feels like a summer evening,” you say.

But it’s not. There’s something thinner in the air. Something already fading. 

The city is busy for a Tuesday night. As we head towards the station, music drifts toward us. Faint at first, then clearer.

I have my arm around yours while you tap your cane along the bluestone footpath. We’re not in any rush.

You stop.

“Where’s that music coming from?”

I look ahead. A man with a keyboard is set up in front of the State Library steps.

“He’s just over in front of the State Library. About a hundred metres from where we are standing.”

You tilt your head slightly, placing it.

“Do you think we could listen for a bit?”

“Of course.”

We make our way over slowly. There are only a couple of people standing around listening to him. 

We stop.

Your hands rest over the top of your cane, your chin resting on your hands. Still. Listening.

The music carries through the air, soft, steady, like it’s holding everything together for a moment.

I watch the city move around us. People passing, night lights sparkling through the trees, everything shifting.

And then I look back at you.

You’re completely still in the middle of it. Listening. Seeing it in a way that I can’t see. 

And it hits me all at once. How much is here right now, and how quickly it passes. How we’re both in it, but not in the same way. How this won’t last.

My chest tightens. My eyes fill before I can stop it.

I don’t say anything. I just stand there beside you.

After a while, you lift your head.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Just like that.

We turn, and the music fades behind us.

I start describing things passing us by as we walk. We talk about life. We catch the train.

Happy 

It’s that point in the night where everything has softened.

The room is thick with heat. Bodies pressed together, music running through the floor. We lean in close, mouths near ears, saying things we wouldn’t say anywhere else.

We haven’t spoken properly in a while.

Our foreheads touch before we pull into each other.

“How have you been?” he asks.

“Yeah, good. How about you?”

A pause.

“Are you happy?”

I almost answer straight away.

Then I stop.

The room keeps moving around us. There’s more I could say, but none of it belongs here.

“Yeah,” I say.

A beat.

“I am.”

He nods, like that’s enough.

“Good.”

“What about you?”

“I was in a dark place,” he says. “But I’m getting better now.”

I pull him in a little tighter.

“I’m glad. You know I’m always here for you.”

“Thank you.”

We hold it for a second longer than we need to, then let go.

Just like that, it’s done.

He disappears back into the crowd. The music closes in again.

But something has settled.

I stand there for a moment, then smile to myself, lighter than I’ve felt in a long time.

For Internal Use

Induction

CAR PARKING ALLOCATION

Vendor Induction Summary
(For Internal Use)

Allocated Space: B4–17
Building: [Redacted] Apartments
Vendor: [Account on File]

This induction covers access, usage, and general expectations relating to the above-noted parking space.

No physical orientation is required (although recommended)

Completion of this induction indicates acknowledgment of the following:

  • The allocated space is subject to periodic review.
  • Access to the space may be required outside standard business hours.
  • Invoices relating to this space are to be prioritised and processed in full.
  • Any supplementary requests associated with these invoices are to be actioned as provided.
  • Requests may vary month to month and should be treated as routine.

Please note:

  • This space is not to be reassigned or discussed externally.
  • Any issues or queries are to be directed to the nominated contact only.
  • Do not escalate unless advised.

Building access is monitored.

By proceeding, you confirm you have read and understood the above.

Status: Completed (recommended physical orientation not undertaken)
Date: [Auto-generated]
Confirmed by: System

I looked back at the screen, the automated email still open, the induction summary attached beneath the confirmation. I pinched the skin at the back of my neck while I reread the status line. Perhaps the physical orientation could be done later.

It had been a quiet morning. Two patients had come and gone without issue, and I had finished my training modules by eleven thirty.

Michael came out of his suite and smiled at me.

“How are you settling in?”

“It’s great,” I said. “The systems work well. I just finished the car parking induction module.”

Michael blinked, then kept smiling.

“Tuesday,” he said. “Nearly hump day. Some people say Monday’s the worst, but I think Tuesday is.”

I smiled back before he disappeared into his suite.

Invoice for March Service Period

Invoice

Invoice Number: 000481
Date Issued: 3 April
Account: [On File]
Service Period: March
Allocated Space: B4–17

Description
Monthly parking allocation
Standard access and usage

Amount Due: $220.00
GST: Included

Payment Terms: 14 days
Preferred Method: Direct deposit

Please ensure payment is processed within the above timeframe.

Thank you for your continued cooperation.

I processed the invoice before lunch. It came through overnight and matched the previous month’s amount. I checked the space number against the induction summary and entered it into the system. There were no attachments and no additional notes.

Sarah asked if I’d seen her keep cup anywhere. It was on the windowsill behind the printer. She laughed when she found it and said she’d been looking everywhere. I said I was thinking of getting one too. She said it made the coffee taste better.

After lunch I filed the invoice under vendors and marked it complete.

Please Confirm

Someone reheated fish and apologised to the room before anyone had a chance to comment. Sarah asked if anyone had tried the new place near the station. Michael said he hadn’t been, but that Jane, the clinic owner and head dentist, had said it was fine but expensive. Someone else said everything was expensive now. I was looking down at my own food in a glass Tupperware container and hadn’t noticed who said it. No one disagreed.

I ate at my desk with the window open and scrolled through emails while I finished the last of my meal. This batch would likely last me until Friday. A calendar reminder popped up for a staff birthday the following week. I clicked maybe.

When I came back from refilling my water bottle, another invoice had arrived.

It was from the same account.

The format was identical to the previous one, down to the spacing and the reference number sequence. The amount was the same. The dates lined up. There was an additional line beneath the description, indented slightly, as if it had been added after the template was generated.

Note: Please confirm receipt. A response is appreciated.

It wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular. There was no salutation. I checked the metadata. The file had been created less than a minute before it was sent. I processed it anyway and replied with a brief confirmation.

The original sender has requested delivery and read receipts for this message.

The system marked it as sent, then promptly as delivered.

At five thirty I shut down my computer and said goodbye to whoever was still around. Michael waved from his doorway and asked if it was still raining. I said it hadn’t started yet. He said it would probably hold off then.

I could see a shadow moving slightly in Jane’s suite. We hadn’t met yet. Whenever I arrived, Jane was already working, and each time I left, she was still there. Sarah had assured me Jane would love to sit down with me when she had the chance.

The walk to the station took less than three minutes. The car park was already half empty. I unlocked my car and sat for a moment before starting the engine, checking my phone, deleting a notification from the clinic app.

The invoice confirmation had been read.

Ribbon Survey

Invoice

Invoice Number: 000493
Date Issued: 1 May
Account: [On File]
Service Period: April
Allocated Space: B4–17

Description
Monthly parking allocation
Standard access and usage

Amount Due: $220.00
GST: Included

Attached: Customer Feedback Survey

The invoice came through mid-afternoon, flagged as routine. I opened it briefly, checked the amount, and saved it to process before end of day. The survey was a single page PDF, attached beneath the invoice.

Thank you for continuing to be one of our valued customers. As part of our ongoing efforts to improve the customer experience, we are seeking feedback on recent changes to our invoices. The question below is intended to help guide improvements to our invoice presentation and customer relations. Your privacy is important to us and all responses are anonymous.

It asked one question.

Please indicate your preferred ribbon colour for future invoices.
☐ Blue
☐ Black
☐ No preference

There was space beneath for additional comments. I closed the file without filling it in. I told myself I would come back to it once the phones were quieter.

The afternoon passed quickly. One patient arrived early and another was late. Michael needed help rescheduling an appointment for the following week. Sarah asked if I could print something for her. At four forty-five I processed the invoice and marked it paid. The system accepted it without prompting me for the attachment.

At five o’clock the lights above reception dimmed automatically. I finished what I was doing and shut down my computer.

I expected to hear someone moving, a door closing, a voice from one of the suites. There was nothing. Michael’s door was open and dark. Sarah’s chair was pushed in. Jane’s suite, at the end of the hall, was unlit.

I stood for a moment before collecting my bag.

On the way out I glanced back at the reception desk, the printer, the stack of blank forms in the tray. Everything was in its place. I turned off the last light and locked the door behind me.

I remembered the survey while I was already halfway down the stairs up to my apartment. I decided I would respond to it in the morning.

Something Missed

The next morning Michael was already in his suite when I arrived. His door was open and the lights were on. I logged in, cleared a handful of emails, and started the phones.

He came out a little after nine with a folder tucked under his arm.

“Morning,” he said. “Just checking in. Did you manage to get everything done yesterday?”

I paused. “Yes,” I said. “I think so.”

Michael nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. “Good. There was just a notification that something might still be outstanding. Probably nothing. I just wanted to make sure. But you are on top of it. You’ve got this!”

I told Michael I would double check there weren’t any misses on my end. He said that sounded right. He smiled, thanked me, and went back into his suite.

I sat for a moment before opening the vendor folder.

The survey was still there, unopened. I filled it in quickly, ticking No preference and leaving the comments section blank. I attached it to a short reply and sent it through.

A response came back less than a minute later.

Thank you for feedback.
We appreciate you taking the time to support our ongoing improvements.
Your response has been recorded.

The system marked it as delivered. Nothing else followed.

I reread the first sentence. It was a little off, but still understandable.

The rest of the day passed without issue. Michael asked if I’d had a good weekend, even though it was only Wednesday. Sarah said she was thinking of taking Friday off. Someone mentioned the weather again. The phones stayed manageable. No further invoices came through.

At five o’clock the lights dimmed and everyone left at roughly the same time. Jane’s suite was lit when I walked past, her door closed. I didn’t stop.

By the time I got home, I had forgotten about the survey entirely.

Incident

I noticed it before I reached the driver’s door.

The scratch ran the length of the panel, shallow in places and deeper in others, as if the key had slipped. The paint had curled slightly at the edges. I stood on the footpath for a moment and looked up and down the street. The older apartment block opposite was still dark. Someone’s alarm was going off further down, then stopped.

I took a photo on my phone and unlocked the car. I drove to work with the radio off.

At lunch Sarah asked how my morning had been. I told her my car had been keyed overnight. She frowned and said that was awful. She asked where I parked. I said on the street, outside my building. She said I should report it.

Michael nodded. “There’s been a lot of that lately,” he said. “Rising crime rates. It’s all over the news.” He said you couldn’t be too careful anymore. Even the station car park wasn’t what it used to be. He’d read something about it just last week. We have to stay vigilant.

Someone said their neighbour’s car had been broken into. Someone else said their bike had been stolen. Sarah leaned in and looked at me directly.

“R U OK?” she asked, enunciating each word clearly.

I said yes.

I ate the rest of my lunch without tasting it. The fish smell lingered in the room longer than usual.

The afternoon passed normally. Patients came and went. The phones rang. No new invoices came through. At five o’clock the lights dimmed and we all left together.

When I got home I looked at the scratch again. It was worse in the daylight. I filed a report online and attached the photo. The confirmation email came through immediately.

Thank you for your submission.
Your report has been received.

I closed it without reading further.

Update

Invoice

Invoice Number: 000506
Date Issued: 1 August
Account: [On File]
Service Period: July
Allocated Space: B4–17

Description
Monthly parking allocation
Standard access and usage

Amount Due: $220.00
GST: Included

Thank you to our valued customers for your recent feedback.
We appreciate your continued engagement and support.

I noticed the ribbon before I noticed anything else.

It was black.

The rest of the invoice was unchanged. The amount was the same. The dates lined up. The language was familiar. I scrolled through it once, then again, looking for an attachment or a note explaining the change. There wasn’t one.

I processed the invoice and marked it complete.

Later, when I printed a copy for the records, the ribbon showed clearly against the white paper. I stacked it with the others and slid it into the drawer.

No further communication followed.

By the end of the day, the ribbon colour felt like a detail I’d imagined.

I didn’t mention it to anyone.

Procedural

Invoice

Invoice Number: 000518
Date Issued: 14 September
Account: [On File]
Service Period: August
Allocated Space: B4–17

Description
Monthly parking allocation
Standard access and usage

Amount Due: $220.00
GST: Included

Note:
Due to recent incidents and ongoing review, we are updating our records.
Please attend the allocated space to verify access and confirm condition.
Confirmation is required to maintain uninterrupted service.

I read the note twice before opening the vendor folder. There was nothing else attached. No timeframe was specified.

I asked Sarah if she’d seen it.

She frowned and said that didn’t seem right. She said she’d talk to Michael.

Michael listened, nodded, and said it sounded like a vendor requirement. He said these things tended to happen after incidents. He said it was probably just a box-ticking exercise. Jane wouldn’t need to be involved. She didn’t need to be across this kind of detail.

Sarah came back later and said she’d tried, but Michael had determined that procedure would need to be followed. There wasn’t really anything more she could do. If it was a vendor condition, it would need to be completed.

“Just get it done and it’ll go away,” she said.

I waited until the phones were quiet and the last patient had left. At five forty-five I shut down my computer and took the lift down. I had not been down to the basement before.

The basement was cooler than the rest of the building. The lights came on in sections as I walked. B4–17 was at the far end, close to the wall.

The space was empty.

I stood there for a moment, then took a photo on my phone. I checked the number against the sign. I confirmed access. There was nothing to note.

I couldn’t see anyone else in the basement. Periodic red lights blinked from the security cameras mounted along the ceiling, angled towards me.

Coming out into the lobby, I walked past Building Management, who greeted me politely as I left the building.

When I got home, I attached the photo to a brief email and sent it through.

A reply came back shortly after.

Thank you for your cooperation.
Verification complete.

I deleted the photo from my phone.

After hours

Invoice

Invoice Number: 000531
Date Issued: 1 October
Account: [On File]
Service Period: September
Allocated Space: B4–17

Description
Monthly parking allocation
Standard access and usage

Amount Due: $220.00
GST: Included

Note:
To support updated access controls and monitoring, verification is to be completed after 6:30 pm on billing days.
This ensures alignment with building operations and safety protocols.
Thank you for your cooperation.

I read the note once, then again more slowly.

I asked Sarah if she’d seen the update. She said she hadn’t. She said after six thirty sounded late. She said she’d ask Michael.

Michael said it made sense. He said the building ran differently after hours. He said it was probably safer that way. Jane wouldn’t need to be involved.

Sarah came back and said she was sorry. It was just how the vendor wanted it done. At least it was only once a month.

I didn’t respond straight away.

That afternoon I watched the clock more than usual. At four fifty the phones went quiet. The last patient left early. Michael packed up and said goodnight.

“Ah, tonight is your late night,” he said. “Well at least the days are getting longer so it’s not too dark out!”

Sarah waved and said she hoped I didn’t have to stay later than I needed to.

“It’s fine,” I said. “I just have one thing to do for the vendor.”

At six thirty-five I shut down my computer and took the lift down.

The basement was darker than before. Fewer lights came on as I walked. The space was empty again. I stood where I had stood last time and waited for my eyes to adjust. I took the photo and checked the number.

There was nothing to note.

I sent the confirmation from my phone as I walked through the foyer and said goodnight to the building manager, who tipped his head slightly, looking at me as I passed him.

The reply came through before I reached the street.

Thank you for your cooperation.
Verification complete.

I realised, walking home, that no one had told me when this requirement would end.

Optics

Invoice

Invoice Number: 000612
Date Issued: 1 November
Account: [On File]
Service Period: October
Allocated Space: B4–17

Description
Monthly parking allocation
Standard access and usage

Amount Due: $220.00
GST: Included

Thank you to our valued customers for your ongoing commitment throughout the year.
We appreciate your cooperation and continued engagement.

Additional Note:

As part of our end-of-year activities, we will be hosting a customer appreciation gathering. Attendance is requested to support continued partnership and service alignment.

Food, drink and fun end-of-year activities are provided!

NB: There is a special raffle. For every month you have paid an invoice, you receive an entry into the special raffle, with the grand prize being a month of credit!

Please confirm your attendance, along with any dietary requirements (specify if food allergy or preference).

I read the note at my desk while the phones rang.

There was no date listed yet, just the request to confirm. The language was familiar. Ongoing commitment. Continued engagement. Partnership.

I forwarded the invoice to Sarah and asked if she’d seen it.

She came over and read it on my screen. She said it was odd. She said she didn’t realise vendors did end-of-year things like that. She said she’d talk to Michael.

Michael said it sounded like a relationship exercise. He said vendors liked to put faces to names. He said it reflected well when the clinic showed engagement beyond the transactional.

He smiled and said I’d done really well this year. He said everyone had noticed how smoothly things had been running. He said my review was coming up and it was always good to be visible around this time of year.

He didn’t say I had to go.

He didn’t say what would happen if I didn’t.

Sarah came back later and said she didn’t think it was something Jane would get involved in. It wasn’t really her area. Sarah said it might look a bit strange if we didn’t acknowledge the invitation at all.

“It’s probably just drinks,” she said. “And it’s nice they’re making the effort.”

I left the invoice open for most of the afternoon.

At four fifty-five I clicked Confirm Attendance.

A response came through almost immediately.

Thank you for confirming your attendance.
Further details will be provided closer to the date.

That evening, as I shut down the computer, I noticed Jane’s suite was dark.

Invite

Subject: Customer Appreciation Gathering – Event Details

Thank you for confirming an attendance.
Please find the details for our upcoming customer appreciation gathering below.

Date: Friday, 15 December
Time: From 7:00 pm
Location: Apartment 14B
[Redacted] Apartments

Food, drinks, and end-of-year activities will be provided.

To support building safety and access requirements, guests are requested to use their allocated parking space upon arrival.

Please park in B4–17.
The allocated parking space is

Confirmation of arrival will be monitored as part of attendance for the evening. This helps ensure smooth access and a safe experience for all guests.

If you have nominated any dietary requirements or have accessibility needs, please advise at your earliest conveniences.

We appreciate your continued commitment and look forward to celebrating the end of the year with you.


This message was sent automatically. Please do nott reply.

End of Year Party

The last day before the break was quieter than usual. The phones rang less often and no new appointments were booked. Someone had brought in mince pies and left them in the staff room with a handwritten note. Michael asked what everyone’s plans were over the holidays. Sarah said she was heading down the coast if the weather held. Someone else mentioned family. I said I didn’t have anything planned.

Michael thanked me again for agreeing to attend the gathering. He said it was important. He said it reflected well on the clinic to be represented. Sarah nodded and said it was really appreciated. She said Jane had mentioned how reliable I’d been this year. She said Jane was impressed.

Jane didn’t come out of her suite.

Just before lunch Michael handed me the garage remote. He reminded me to bring it back in the new year and not to use this as an excuse to get free secure car parking over the break before letting out a laugh as if he were joking. I smiled at Michael as I put the remote in my bag.

We locked up early. Sarah hugged me and said to enjoy myself. Michael waved and said he’d see me next year.

I walked to the station, then drove back to the building, moving my car into the basement as instructed. The gate opened smoothly when I pressed the button. I parked in B4–17 and sat for a moment before turning the engine off. Even though I had never parked in this spot before, the space felt familiar now, as if I’d been standing in it for a long time.

I took the lift up. It stopped twice on the way but no one got in. The lift smelled faintly of cleaning product. Someone had decorated it with tinsel that was already sagging at the corners.

Apartment 14B was at the end of the hallway. Music played softly inside. I knocked and waited.

The man who opened the door smiled as if he’d been expecting me. He stepped aside to let me in. Nothing stood out about him. He was completely non-descript. The apartment was decorated carefully. Tinsel along the shelves. Candles already lit. Food laid out on the bench. The smell of something warm and sweet hung in the air.

He apologised for being in the kitchen and went back to the oven. He said he’d just take something out before it overcooked. He asked if I had found the car space easily enough. I said yes. He said the basement was much safer than the street for parking.

“Please, help yourself to food. There’s plenty,” he called from the kitchen.

I stood near the counter and looked around. On the edge of a drawer beside me, something blue was caught. A lanyard. I recognised it immediately. The same one we wore at the clinic, printed with the logo, the plastic sleeve still attached.

I instinctively thought it was mine but noticed mine was still around my neck. I started to pinch my skin.

“Can I get you a drink? I’m not sure what the policy is for the clinic, so we have non-alcoholic options too,” he called from somewhere behind me as he shuffled around.

I pinched the skin a little harder.

“Are you expecting many people this evening?”

There was silence. I turned around and saw him looking at me, head tilted slightly, a faintly amused smile on his face.

He walked slowly toward me.

“No,” he said. “I only have one car space.”

I looked towards the door.

Epilogue

Position Available: Administrative Support Officer
Part-time | Immediate Start

A small, well-established dental clinic is seeking a reliable and organised administrative support officer.

Key responsibilities include:

  • Appointment scheduling
  • Invoice processing
  • Vendor coordination
  • General reception duties

The successful applicant will be:

  • Detail-oriented
  • Comfortable following established processes
  • Able to manage competing priorities independently

No handover documentation available.

Applications close Friday.

Between here and home

When I arrived, the blossoms were still dancing in the air.

The sky was wide and clear, that soft spring blue that always feels full of possibility. The sun warmed my skin.

I had landed right in the middle of Tokyo’s short, beautiful season, where everything feels suspended for a moment.

One night soon after I arrived, I found myself at the smoke-filled yakitori store I’ve come to nearly every day since.

In just two weeks, I had slipped in like a regular.

The staff call out my name and greet me with a smile; the regulars give me a few winks, like I’ve always been here.

Some nights, I talked with a tired salaryman, half-laughing, half-serious, as he vented about Trump and the looming rice shortages.

Other nights, it was two pro golfers, talking about their summer house in California and asking about Australia like it was some faraway rumour.

There was the married couple too, my close friends who, between rounds of beer and grilled beef heart and chicken skin, theorised what the pyramids were really used for, our feverish conversation making the theories wilder the later it got.

Small, passing conversations but somehow they stuck.

Tonight, the rain is pouring down hard.

It drums against the roof and turns the streets into a surrealist mirror.

Tomorrow, I go back home back to my usual spots and I’ll disappear from here, just like I did before I came.

Life works like that sometimes: you slip into a place, make it yours for a little while, and then move on.

I’m reflecting tonight.

My relationship with Tokyo has always been complicated.

I act like a local, but I’m not.

I fit in, but I know I don’t belong.

Coming back here calms me in a way no other place can.

One day, I know I’ll live here again, I just don’t know when, or how.

I’ll wait and see.

Like the city itself, this trip has been layered, shifting slightly depending on where I stand and how I look at it.

And, like always, it ends just as it gets to the good part.

There was a moment, too, when my two worlds collided.

Friends from Melbourne were here at the same time, and for a few days we explored the city together, wandering through some streets I had never thought I would be sharing and talking about.

It felt strange, seeing Tokyo through their eyes while carrying my own version of it inside me.

For a while, it was as if the two parts of my life, the one I had built back home and the one I slip into here were crashing together, and as weird as it was, fuck, it felt good.

There were so many different parts to this trip.

It’s been a layered and slow burn.

It reminds me of being a kid,just when the night got fun, just when we didn’t want it to end, the parents would call us home.

I guess that feeling never really leaves.

It’s when I let go of expectations, when I stop trying to shape the moment, that the best things seem to happen.

And it’s always then that life steps in and says: Time’s up. Let’s move on.

“I don’t want to go home,” I told my friend yesterday.

But he reminded me that if this was my everyday, I wouldn’t feel the same way about it.

He’s right, I know he is, even if I don’t want to hear it.

My last day has been the most eventful.

It always hits me the hardest.

Why did I meet you on the last day?

Would it have felt different if we had more time?

Maybe it’s because it was short that it meant so much.

I might never even see you again, even though we say we will.

Whatever happens, that’s fine.

Earlier today, I sat by the lake in Inokashira Park.

The air was warm and heavy, the sky bruising with rain, the little paddle boats drifting by.

I sat there talking with you, who, like me, can see ghosts, comparing notes about what we’d glimpsed in the corners of our lives.

It felt strange, and fitting, like a conversation I was meant to have just once and then carry quietly with me.

I can’t imagine falling back into my routine, the same old streets, the same habits, but I know when I do, I’ll still love them, because I always have.

When I travel, I shake things up.

I break my routines.

I live differently for a while.

But I always bring little pieces of it back with me, the new ways of seeing, the small changes that stay.

Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe that’s what it’s all for.

The rain is still falling. My feet are soaked, I’m buzzed from the drinks and my fingers stink of tobacco but I don’t care. 

It’s time.

I’m ready to go home.

Waxing Gibbous Again, Purple-Blue Hydrangeas, and an Uninvited Guest

It happened again tonight. A month to the day since I last wrote, though it feels much longer. When I looked up at the moon, hanging in its faint, yellowed glow, I knew it was the same phase as last time. A waxing gibbous, half-grown and half-empty.

A month. Is that all it’s been? Time feels like a thread I dropped somewhere and never bothered to retrieve.

Inside my apartment, the air is still and thick, like a held breath. I don’t turn on the lights. A strange glow spills in from the balcony, though. I see it before I understand it. The balcony light is on. It shouldn’t be. And yet, somehow, I know why.

I step toward the light and feel his presence before I see him. He’s there, waiting, leaning casually against the rail, as if he belongs there. But he doesn’t.

“Sorry, but you aren’t welcome,” I say.

I can’t see his face clearly, but I recognize him. Not the man he became, but the younger version, as he looked in those old family photos—sharp, brash, eternal. This is the version he’s chosen to wear. Or maybe it’s the one I’ve summoned.

“Why can’t I come in?” His voice is soft, almost kind, and that throws me.

“You know why.”

“I know,” he says, like a sigh let loose from his chest.

“Don’t bother with the others. Mum and Dad aren’t home yet, so—”
“I know.” He cuts me off, his voice harder this time.

“It wasn’t easy, you know?” He looks away as he says it, like the words are meant for the empty night rather than me.

“Yeah, but you chose to be that way. To everyone.”

He doesn’t answer, not right away. There’s an ache in the silence, like the air between us is too thin to hold what we mean. Then, just as I blink, he vanishes, as if he was never there.

The stillness that remains is heavier than his presence. I open the balcony door and step outside. The night is cool and damp, smelling faintly of wet earth and green leaves. To my left, the hydrangeas catch my eye, their petals purple and blue, glowing faintly in the light. They don’t move, but somehow I feel them noticing me. Watching me, maybe.

I smile at them, something unspoken passing between us, and go back inside.

Life has been strange lately, like a reel of film that’s jumped tracks. Everything I know is unraveling. The past, the future—it’s all just threads slipping through my fingers. I’m standing in that hazy, in-between space, where nothing is certain and everything feels possible.

I get glimpses of the past sometimes. Shadows, voices, half-hearted invitations to return to the old patterns, the old way of being. But I don’t accept them. I’ve turned my back on all that, though I can’t quite see where I’m headed yet.

When I drew The Tower from the deck, my friends were alarmed. But me? I was relieved. The Tower meant destruction, upheaval, collapse. I craved it. Not the ruin, but the space it leaves behind—the silence after the storm. The chance to start again.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Somewhere outside, the hydrangeas are still waiting. The moon is still growing. And me? I’m still here.

Jasmine Flowers, Waxing Gibbous, and a Spring Evening

Everything still shimmers slightly. The grapevine on the brick wall I stop to admire quivers under my gaze. I know that it does this only because I looked.

I could walk endlessly tonight. The weather is perfect for it. It’s the perfect time for me to swim in my impressions of things so far, breathing in the scent of jasmine dancing delicately in the air.

Some particular thoughts rise up, coming in close.

“You don’t write as much as you used to.”

“True.”

“You would always default to seeing the worst.”

“True.”

“It’s funny how things don’t bug you like they used to.”

“It is.”

“What do you think is happening?”

“Change.”

“Into what?”

“I don’t know. That’s what excites me.”

“You’re not scared?”

“No. I was scared when I thought I was stuck. I felt like I wasn’t living anymore.”

The thoughts evaporate almost as quickly as they appear.

Continuing my walk home towards the tram stop, I see three people having a picnic on the median strip under the moonlight. From where I stand, they look so cosy and intimate on the blanket covered with snacks and drinks. I will never know if the cosy intimacy I perceive is their reality or whether I am just projecting what I want them to be experiencing and feeling. It’s probably the latter, but there is the slightest chance that I have guessed correctly.

Leaving the sleepy glow of the quiet street I just walked down, I glide onto the main road and over to the tram stop, where I see the tram coasting towards me. The tram stops in front of me, and for the briefest moment, I imagine it to be a mechanical caterpillar. I get inside so I can finally get back home.

The scent of the jasmine is long gone, and I look out the window to see the moon. My body finally starts to feel tired.

Paths

It’s a little before 9:00 PM, and I’m exhausted. It’s been an office day, and I caught up with a guy from New York visiting Melbourne. We met in Bangkok around New Year.

Summer is ending, but the nights are still warm. The windows on the tram are open, and the breeze just touches my face as we coast down the quiet road.

Not far from my stop, and the tram is less packed now, making it easier to see who is on. Fewer faces, less overwhelmed, and more calm.

I look at the end of the carriage and see a familiar face. For a moment, it doesn’t register. It’s my ex. He’s staring right back at me.

It’s been a little over two years since we broke up, and in that time, I have not seen him once. I used to wish I would bump into him. Not that I wanted to get back together, but part of me just wanted to make sure he still existed—no, part of me wanted to make sure he existed in the first place.

Over time, I forgot about wanting to bump into him. I forgot about some of the things I never thought I would forget about.

As our eyes locked, I wondered if I wanted to say hi to him, ask him how he’s been, if he is happy. But as instantly as these questions came into my mind, the answer was no. I didn’t want to say hi, ask him how he’s been, or if he is happy.

We must have stared for at least a minute before I realized it was my stop and quickly got off the tram.

Walking through the quiet street towards my apartment, I smiled to myself as I started to realize.

Dark Train / Light Train

It’s 6:58, and a train is approaching slowly. It won’t stop at my station or any others. There is no announcement, but it is coming my way. There are no lights on; there probably isn’t even a driver. It just keeps going until it reaches something that it can’t push out of the way. There really isn’t much that can stop it.

As the train passes me, I am forced to see every part of it, hear every screech and thud. I watch it slowly disappear into the darkness and out of my view completely.

I feel a sense of hopelessness wash over me. There is no one else at the station, so I cry a bit. I think about the phone call I received today from the sexual crimes detective assigned to my case. It was not the news I wanted to hear, but deep down, it is the news I knew I would receive. I cry some more.

My mind wanders, and I think about how sweaty I got at the gym before. I couldn’t figure out why. I never usually get that sweaty.

Now I hear the announcement, and my train is coming. It’s approaching, and it’s full of light. I wipe my eyes and get ready to board.

Messages I never sent, thoughts I didn’t share

I had a dream about you last night. In the dream, I was walking down the street nearby my place and I noticed you on the roof of one of the shops, you were beaming down at me. I called out to you but you said nothing and just kept smiling. You then jumped to the next roof and danced like a ballerina. I was scared you might fall but you didn’t.

Anyway, I hope you’re doing okay x

The other day when we were dancing, I thought you said something like, “I don’t know what happened to us but I want to fix it.” All I could manage to say back was, “Okay.” I had so much more I wanted to say but I couldn’t.

You looked really sad about something last night. I know you don’t want to talk about it-

Everything we do is intentional whether we admit to it or not.

Sometimes I wish I could be part of the group photos.

2024 has been my come down from 2023.

Nothing annoys me more than people telling me how busy they think I am.

My favourite part of the morning is when I’ve just finished the gym and I’m walking to go get my coffee. Everything is so quiet, I love the smell of the air and everything is so clear.

I think about the fact that whenever I go out, I see so many faces I know and love. I also know that this won’t be forever because everything changes. Everything is always changing. That’s what makes life so special. The boring bits like this are the best part.

I miss the way you used to be. I know I’m not meant to say it.

But I know that you are more you now than you were before so it’s a good thing. I don’t know what I’m even trying to say. Actually, I think this is more about me than it is you. I’m not going to send this.