Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Harbour - To house, to contain

       You have to understand that at the time, I was in a particular state of mind. I was a party-pooper and a fire hazard. Through nine years of 'gymnastics' and volleyball I learned to walk on my haunches like a cat, like a delicate little figurine or ornament. I made no noise in the night when I went downstairs, when I downed every Cheez-It in the cabinet, and when I harboured the pitch-dark jealousy of a twelve-year-old.

       I still believe, even as I fly with the great, soaring eagle kid at the sleep-away-high-school-camp, that I still harbour a childish side. Since I was a little boy, I would love to run through clouds of anything: fog or mist in the mornings when I walked to school and bounced a worn-out, generic brand volleyball. Smoke from a barbecue grill at twilight or from a man's cigarette in downtown Sendai. Exhaust from a car while walking between them at a red light, shaking free from my father's grip for a few moments. Today I ran through a vape cloud. It smelled like the taste of one of those American Smarties candies, the ones that disintegrate when you drop them. Only more saturated and stronger, like medicine.

       I sit at a little bay somewhere near the beach, one that is harbouring an American boat from California, California in America. After I ran through that vape cloud I had an asthma attack, and now I have a splitting headache. I sit at a little bay somewhere near the beach and think about America. America, the land of fakes and nationalists and buttery-bacon'y everything, the dream of everyone who's not part of it.

       After a thousand years, Japan hasn't changed much. Or at least I don't think so. I watched the Kimi no Na Wa movie last night, and I was surprised at how their tradition was upheld in that little nowhere in what seems to be in the Gifu Prefecture. I've never been there. In her heart, Mitsuha or whatever her name is harboured a deep feeling of humiliation when the kids from her school saw her. They saw her, and watched her perform a ritual of some sortー I'm not sure what ritual because I'm an ignorant little-big monsterー in which this Mitsu-something girl and her little sister would chew up a glob of rice really well and let it mix with saliva, spit the runny solution into a special container, and put the stuff into a stone jar to ferment for a while. I think that's how they used to make sake, back in the day. Just to be safe, I will never drink sake. I don't want someone else's spit or chemicals or whatever they put in it now to be in my stomach.

       No, Semisemi. It's weird and I harbour a deep hatred for it. Death Note will only bring this team death. No pun intended.

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Inexplicable - Unexplainable

       My fingers and nails are inexplicably blue. My hands are also very cold all the time. Yaku-san tells me that it's because I'm "too fucking tall".

       I am inexplicably tall, nearly two metres. The coach says that it's because I'm half-Russian, but that's a stinky lie. I know some short Russians, yes I do. Plus, Yuri Plisetsky from that skating anime is shorter than Yaku-san. And Hinata. He's not as short as that flashy spiky-haired Karasuno-Rolling-Thunder libero, though. It must suck to be him.

       Yaku-san probably has a crush on my sister, and it makes me angry. It's that inexplicable kind of anger, where I want to push him into a wall, but I don't at the same time. 'Cause if he doesn't back down then I'll have some good blackmail material.

       I watched that skating anime. It was inexplicably heartwarming and sad and hilarious at the same time. I cried. The animation really suffered near the end, though.

       To me, pirozhki is inexplicably disgusting. I've tried to love it so many times, stuffing as many as I can in my mouth whenever my mom makes them, but I always throw them up afterwards. I am a failure.

       Why do I have grey hair? Why, in that one panel, is my arm a two-metre-long blurry blob while the other is just a few centimetres with an inexplicably tiny hand? Furudate, give me answers. Am I an old man? Is that sorry excuse of a limb a desperate attempt to undo all the yaoi hands you've drawn me with?

       The noises Hinata makes when he's excited are inexplicable. GUUUUAAAAHHHH. HOGYAAAAAHHHH. UUUUUOOOOHHHHHHH.

       When I was a little kid on summer vacation staying in some tiny little town in the Gifu Prefecture, I remember my first time seeing an ant colony. Watching hundreds of tiny creatures going about their little tasks in such an organised fashion created a flowing stream that mesmerised me for hours, to the point where I could watch them from morning till evening. But eventually and unavoidably, I wanted to learn where these ants were coming from. I followed the trail to a small mound and, as a kid, there was much mystery and wonder behind that mound. What was in it? Was there something controlling all the ants? Were they coming up from the pits of hell to destroy the world? It was this curiosity that led me to try and uncover the secrets that lay in that pile of dirt using just a stick and my bare hands. I was stupid. This event has left me with an inexplicable fear and hatred for the Gifu Prefecture, vacations, and ants.

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Surpass - To exceed, to pass

       I would like to say would like to say before I start that I will not run through vape clouds or dig up anthills. I will also be following a theme, using my word 'surpass' in these quick facts to describe the day's events, my hate for math, and my love for volleyball.

       I am one of the top five spikers in Japan. Though some people will like to say that I missed the top three, I can tell them that I have indirectly surpassed Ushijima Wakatoshi, who is in the top three. He was defeated by my precious disciple, Megane-kun.

       Everyday confusion can be handled. However, the confusion you get right after being dropkicked out of a nightmare far surpasses that. I once woke up and feared that I had become a goat.

       My best friend Akaashi got mad at me just now. The entire Fukurodani volleyball team had to go to this charity event at the junior high nearby, which was really just a concert where the midget choir club stood arm-to-arm on some metal stairs and squeaked barely-comprehensible lyrics into microphones. We sat in the front row, close enough to see and, if we reached, touch the droplets of sweat sliding down their grimy faces. I commented quietly, very, very, quietly, that Akaashi had far surpassed them even when he was in elementary school. I have no idea why he got so pissed off. He's so mysterious. Sometimes he scares me.

       I failed my math exam. I surpass my country in volleyball.

       I'm kind of in a slump right now, with my piano career. I just had this huge audition for this college in America, and results are supposed to come out in three months. Right now, I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, and the pieces I planned to play after are collecting dust in the cabinets. I can't bring myself to play them. I failed my math exam, I am one of the best in the country for volleyball, and if I get into this college, then I will have surpassed almost all the kids my age in the world for music.

       I ate a sea urchin. It surpasses all other seafood in sliminess, messiness, and deliciousness.

       I finally got to see Tokyo Ghoul Root A. I started a little late because I was busy looking for colleges, so there are currently nine episodes I have to watch. At first it was okay, but then things really started going down: Kaneki joined Aogiri Tree. Naki was in a tour bus on his way to the Cochlea when it exploded into a fiery inferno. Kurona and Nashiro were sitting on lampposts. It was awful. If I were Ishida, I'd be banging my head against a tree like Kanae and shutting down the whole thing. Up until now I believed that the first season would be the worst of it, having not done the manga justice, but this second season has far surpassed it in inaccuracy. I can only hope that the third season will actually follow the manga.

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Embarrass - to cause someone to feel awkward, self-conscious, or ashamed

       Before we start, I'd like to introduce a character beforehand. Every second I'm around him I am embarrassed, enough to make me want to drown myself in a toilet or put a bag over my head so no one knows that it's me. And the fact that he's my best friend and the captain of my volleyball team makes it so much worse. One of the first things you'll notice about him is that he's good-looking, and seemingly charismatic and strong. However, if you dig a little deeper and spend a few years as his mindless pawn, you will come to realise that his stupid face is just a mask to hide all his insecurities and shitty personality. Even his hair looks like a pile of dog shit. Since it causes me so much pain to say (and write) his name, I will be calling him 'Trash', because it is exactly what he is and the bin is where he belongs.

       I was in the house of Trash, eating some left over ice cream he had in his freezer. Trash was sad, and it was annoying. He'd been bullied, embarrassed by the losers in the grade above, and his snotty seven-year-old nose was dripping into his bowl. It was summer, and the cicadas were frying in the trees. Trash's tears snaked their way down his face and the ice cream was melting. I licked the spoon.

       I did not know how to tie my shoes until I was fourteen. It shouldn't have been possible, though I think the reason for it is because I wore those shoes with either the Velcro straps or the bungee cords for the majority of my childhood. But those kinds of shoes were not acceptable in real, actual volleyball. So I bought my fancy volleyball shoes with real, actual laces and had my mother tie them for me, double knotted to ensure that they would never come untied. But I lived in constant fear that they would during practice or during a match, that I'd be embarrassed in front of everyone. No one could know, not even Trash. But he found out eventually, and like the shitty friend he was he taught me how to tie my shoes.

       I love that wonderful flying feeling I get when I embarrass Trash in front of girls.

       Summer is an awful time for me because it's when my brain refuses to cooperate. It's like not sleeping well for a month and then having to play volleyball and create several calculus problems for the kids in your summer school class, or whatever. I don't know. It's the season where I embarrass myself the most. This happened last summer: It was a very hot day, flies flying and flesh searing. I was wandering through my house, singing Die Flügel der Freiheit by Linked Horizon at the top of my lungs. As I reached the "senaka ni wa Flügel der Freiheit!" I tripped and fell down the stairs.

       A few months ago I was really stressing over the Spring Interhigh. I made a huge mistake in telling my mother, who went and bought a tiny ¥55 spiral notebook for me. It was embarrassing. I have to thank her for getting a less noticeable one with a black cover, though I was tempted to scratch 'Death Note' on the front for a while.

       Here's a really embarrassing and absolutely terrifying moment that happened the summer before fifth grade: My friends and I plus Trash were riding our bikes on the road, me on a relatively new one, a beautiful dark blue thing with real handlebar brakes and no coaster brake. I felt like a grown-up. My friends and I plus Trash were pedaling down when we reached the T-intersection at the end of the road. I tried to stop by pushing back on the pedals, but there was no resistance. The bike kept on building speed, rolling down towards the big road. Trash was screaming. A car was coming. This was it. I was going to die. And then I remembered that I had handlebar brakes and saved my life.

       It was a dark time, you have to believe me. It's embarrassing to admit, but I must face my past in order to move on. I was once one of those kids whose cringe and memery are much too great for them to be actual human beings. I will admit that I was in on the Vines. "Sore wa sen en no wakanai". "Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day..."

I found trash on the roof of the playscape in July, in the summer before college. I called him a dumbass and told him that if he fell he would break his neck and fucking die, and that it would be embarrassing. I went up to sit next to him. We talked for a bit, about the times we spent together in junior high and high school, the good matches, the horribly bad matches, and university. Trash decided to stay in Miyagi and continue volleyball, maybe find his way to Japan's national team or something. I would restart in Tokyo, become a pharmacist or a doctor and never see him again. I watched Trash stare up at the sky, at the stars that just started shining. He looked a little sad, like he was about to lose something important. I watched him stare up, reflecting light from the fence, from the nonexistent sea, from the moon.

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Country - The place of one's birth

       I have a few hazy memories from when I was really, really little, way before volleyball and school, even before I stepped foot out of the general area of my apartment. My first memory, or the earliest one I can come up with, is my mother and I sitting on the couch watching Astro Boy, this ancient anime about a robot and his adventures. I can't remember which episode it was, but Astro Boy was at a circus and there was another robot named Tornado who could fly through something that looked like an electrified Ferris Wheel. Astro Boy had to learn how to do the same thing before a show or something, but he couldn't. I really didn't like that episode. It was so vague and Tornado died. Anyway, for a while I was the only little kid in the building, and nearly every day our neighbours would come over with sweets and food. It was like my kingdom, the inhabitants of the building my subjects. But one day a new family moved in from far away, taking with them a son a year younger than I, who became the new centre of attention. Upset, I went to see who this usurper was. His name was Kenma, and he was disgusting. This greasy-haired, TV-obsessed worm had no right to be here. So I banished him. This building was mine. This city Tokyo, was my world, this country, Japan, my universe. There was nothing beyond that.

       I started school in August, like nearly every other student in my country. The next year, my spirits were dampened because Greasy Kenma would be in the same school. The year was halfway over when I actually had to interact with him. It was in gym class, I think, and we were starting the volleyball unit. The teacher thought it would be a good idea to pair the loudest and most popular kid in second grade with the one a grade under who sat on a bench under a tree during recess. We were taught how to bump the ball to our partner and sent off to practice for ten minutes. Greasy Kenma actually wasn't that bad, and playing volleyball with him was kind of fun. By the end of the day I had invited him back into my kingdom, and by the end of the year we were inseparable.

       At the beginning of my third year in elementary school, second grade Kenma and I signed up for the volleyball club at our school. We swore that one day we'd be good enough to maybe, just maybe fight in Nationals with people across the country. We were really bad but it was still fun, especially because we got to spend more time around each other. A lot of classmates asked me how I was able to get near Kenma, how I got him to get up from the Loser Bench and actually play. Up until then I hadn't really cared much about Kenma's social life, but this worried me. When I confronted him later he said that as long as he had me, he'd be fine. I think I might've cried.

       Of course, the time for high school came around and I had to leave Kenma, to enter the shiny powerschool and meet new teammates, to drown in even more work than I did in Junior High. I missed Kenma during the day, and the time I should've been doing homework was spent sprawled out on his floor, whining about how everyone in the high school team was so much better than me. I complained about how my parents kept on pushing me to get into a higher class, how no one seemed to want to be friends with me, and how there was an annoying short libero who was the polar opposite of me. Kenma told me that he'd like to go to my high school so we could be together, and smash the annoying short kid together. That night, I came to a sudden realisation: I liked Kenma. It was scary, so out-of-the-blue, and I thought to myself, if he finds out about this he'll be too creeped out to be your friend. so I hid and stopped visiting him, played volleyball to take my mind off things, and almost completely forgot about him. Of course, it didn't last long. In my second year, Kenma came back into my life and screwed everything up again. The feeling built to the point where I told myself that by the end of next year, my third and final year, I would tell him. I would tell Kenma that I had fallen for him, then hope for the best. But when third year rolled around I found out that it would be impossible, that even if he returned my feelings we couldn't be together, because this country, my universe, wouldn't allow it.

       My parents had always pushed me to do good in school, to the point where I would break down in the middle of an assignment, crawling under my ages-old carpet and inching around the room like a slug, leaving a trail of tears and mucus in my wake. I guess it payed off, as all my top choices were really good colleges in America, top in their country and top in the world. My parents sat me down the other day to talk, saying that they needed me to work extra hard this last year. But it really conflicted with volleyball, so I may or may not have followed their advice. (Hint: the latter). After my third year was over, and after bawling over leaving Kenma and the rest of the team, I decided to take a year off and travel, maybe as around about the colleges or something. I first went to Miyagi to connect with some old friends and rivals, then gradually moved west from there. South Korea was interesting. I went to a BTS concert and came up with a simple description: BTS, or Bad Tickle Soupー beautiful men, music as frail as a card house, A=460H (it's 440, dummies), no knowledge of music theory. Then I went to Beijing, where I made some friends with some people. Quite a few of them actually tried to apply for colleges in America. This was where I learned that Harvard was rejecting Asians, the reason being that there were "too many of them". The person who told me about it was a volleyball player just like me. I kept this in mind as I continued moving west, to Moscow and Stockholm, and Hamburg and Normandy. I even got to go to an Austrian village called Fucking. And then I went to California, California in America, where in a harbor I saw a boat from Japan. I eventually found myself back in my own universe, standing in front of my old kingdom. It was three in the morning and Kenma's light was on. He had once again risen early to play video games. Smiling to myself, I went up.

       In the end, I was rejected from Harvard. It was great, I got a letter and everything. Two American colleges, Yale and Stamford, accepted me. I told Kenma about it, and he said that he'd miss me. No one had much to say after that. It took several seconds of thought and consideration before I decided to go to Yale. I left my kingdom again in August, landed in New York at 7:30 AM. The East Coast was so different and much cooler than California, and the way the city moved reminded me so much of Tokyo. Just duller, less colour in the neons and billboards on the ash-grey buildings. I had a strange feeling like I was at home. I reached the Grand Central Station at 8:30 AM, the great, garish thing tinted orange in the sun. The inside was terrifying and so pristine, and the vaulted ceiling was sprinkled with stars. Taking the metro wasn't very different from taking the subway in Tokyo, everyone keeping to their own business or asleep against the window. Only after the train rattled up from underground did I notice the difference. There was a distinct line between the city and the forest, separated by the Hudson River like a greasy man high on chemicals and waste, crawling his way to the sea. We passed by tall buildings, short, buildings, weird buildings, and buildings with cars on the third floor, and as we passed Juilliard I could've sworn I saw my old friend Bokuto through the glass wall. And then suddenly it was noon and II was in Connecticut, off the metro and passing though the wharf on a taxi, to the city. The driver dropped me off at a parking lot next to a brick building with stained glass windows, telling me that Yale was up and left, and to keep following the sidewalk. I watched him drive away and kept staring. I kept staring until 12:40 PM, when buses started to line the street and high-schoolers began to file off. A group jumped off their bus singing Die Flügel Der Freiheit by Linked Horizon. Taking this as a sign I began my walk to Yale, through the sea of students, and left. Unlike Tokyo and New York City, the building were stone and brick and it felt like all of it was closing in on me, watching the intruder from across the ocean. I hated it so much, like losing a match, like losing Kenma. But maybe, just maybe, I'll come to love this place. This country where the people are fat with butter and bacon, and the sky is fat with stars.