March 20, 2007

• loss

  I don't know how to write, or how not to write, about losing my purse.
  
  Of course the moment is terrible, when you realize that you left it downstairs in a cafe, and the subsequent moment when you realize that it's gone. It gets worse as your last hopes are exhausted- the store doesn't have it, and there's no security camera. Then there is the usual spiral into sorrow, regret, and self- flagellation. But then, all of a sudden, everything becomes pragmatic. Credit cards must be canceled, police reports filed, and IDs replaced. I found myself having to list everything that was stolen, and to estimate its monetary value. Of course, I didn't list all the things I was really thinking about- my ID card from university, the sticker pics I took in HK with carol, and the dozens of old receipts, the backs of which were covered in semi-inspired scribbles. In the days that followed I found myself having alternate flashes of regret- sometimes for the things that were "valuable", and sometimes for the things that were of value only to me.
  
  It is nearly April, and people are leaving. The beginning of the Japanese fiscal and academic years start at the same time, and everything is in upheaval. Jessica told me that in government offices people change jobs every 3-7 years, sometimes moving to completely different departments. So every year she loses half of her friends. That sort of waste seems less random when its caused by government policy; sometimes life can be just as needlessly cruel. Sometimes I feel like living abroad is just like living in an office where you know all your coworkers are going to be transferred eventually. Of course you get close to them anyway, because you need to to survive, but you still never take your future with them for granted; you get cynically used to the idea that no one will be around for very long. The world seems cold then, but then you seem cold too- you could get a job that's a little more stable, but you don't.

  If you study Buddhism you learn that all attachment to material things brings pain when they pass away, as they inevitably will. The solution, then is to care for nothing, and to rid yourself of all emotional ties to this world. I learned this at a time when Buddhism was very popular as a more "free" alternative to organized religion, which- especially after 9-11, seemed to be little more than a source of violence. But to me, nothing seemed more cruel or more depressing than having to train yourself to be indifferent to all worldly things, to your family and friends, to the city where you live and the food that you eat.

  I have a passionate longing for this world, and for every moment of my life. It's the reason I obsessively save every scrap of the past and catalogue every event in the present. I mourn for the times that have passed, the times I never had, and things I have never seen. When I suddenly lose a stash of the memories I have collected, or a friend I was just starting to get to know, my mind is filled with the sadness of losing something I may never know that I lost, something that may not even have happened yet.
  
  To the person who stole my purse: if you ever read this, could you just take the money and drop the other stuff off at a koban? I promise not to look for you if you do.

  • 4:43 am
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