The Kimochi Warui Diary
It was the last day of the trip. Tonight, we’d be getting on the plane back to California.
Jotaro and I checked out of our hotel and headed over to Noah and Kumiko’s place.
On the train ride over, I saw a Japanese girl who looked just a few years younger than me. She had shoulder-length, wavy black hair and a petite mole just over her lip.
She was definitely my type.
No, she was insanely my type.
I knew so because I felt the intense pang of yearning and dread—yearning for what I desired, but dread because I knew I couldn’t have it.
Wait… What did I mean by “couldn’t have it?”
Why was I always assuming the worst about things and always selling myself short?
How long was I going to live this way?
Had any of the heroes in my anime ever backed down without even trying in the first place?
I forced my body to stand up, even while my mind was fighting against it.
I walked to the other side of the train, each foot feeling like it had training weights strapped to it.
I took a seat next to the girl.
At first, she seemed to ignore me, assuming that I was just moving over or being an odd foreigner. But I wouldn’t let my intentions be buried by such assumptions!
I gently tapped her on the shoulder.
「ちょっと」 she replied nervously.
“You’re really cute,” I said. “What’s your name?”
Her pale, white face began to redden. She looked away, frightened by my eye contact. But she was powerfully intrigued—she carefully looked back up at me.
“M-my name… My name is Yuki.”
Yeah, I suppose that’s what her name would have been.
I wouldn’t actually know, though.
That whole thing I just wrote up there? It’s all made up.
Well, the girl was real, though—I definitely saw her. And I definitely felt lots of dread over not being able to have her.
But, who the hell cares? I was going to feel that dread every single time I saw a cute girl—I probably wouldn’t stop feeling it even after I turn 80 years old.
So why the hell had I let it drag me down so much during this whole trip?
Why hadn’t I been laughing and smiling in spite of it all?
Something about Japan plunged me into the depths of myself, basking in the feelings of self-loathing and solitude—an addicting sort of melancholy perpetually fueled by neurosis. At some point during the trip, I had inherited this feeling and carried it with me the entire way.