running in the rain
My birthday brought me to the other side of the 20’s, and I suddenly feel old. Most of the older people I know met the person they would marry, or already have a kid at that age. Then I saw my best friend from college tie the knot at a spectacular wedding in Germany, like out of a fairytale. I wasn’t jealous, but it struck something in me, like getting scolded by my father, and I felt like there was something I should have done differently before.

After that, breaking off a six-month relationship threw me for a spin. I guess whenever a relationship ends, it’s like pulling off a band-aid. You know, even if the wound is healed, it’s still going to sting.

I guess all of this gives me the feeling of being picked last for dodge-ball, which has followed me all the way through college, after which I learned to be sick or have a piano lesson every time I was invited to play an organized sport. I’ve always thought that if someone didn’t like me for who I am, that’s their problem, and I’m better off with out them. I haven’t made a lot of friends this way, but hell, that’s me.

It’s the rainy season in Japan, and I went for a run in some pretty heavy rain. I even did some push-ups and pull-ups in a park that would make Arnold Swarzanagger (I don't know how to spell that thing) yell words of encouragement without using consonants. There’s something about running in the rain—which no one in Japan will do, since they think rain is dirty. It’s hard to hear anything but the rain drops, and your body soaked in water keeps you from feeling the air. Combined with the numbness from exercise, it’s a really strange sensation, almost like an out of body experience. I was coming back from my run, and I saw one of my students coming back from Saturday school, holding her umbrella and riding her bike—a standard skill in Japan. She smiled and said, “Ganbare!” Now on the one hand, I couldn’t really think of anything that could have been more simply happy than having a young girl smile and cheer you on in the pouring rain. On the other hand, that thought made me feel sad. But that’s the beauty of the rain. You could be crying or have just peed your pants because of that car that came out of nowhere, but no one can tell.
The other day we were doing our beer on the balcony, and one of my friends that’s a girl starts detailing her night with a guy she was with. I mean, we used “the base” system for describing the sexual parts, but it was still pretty easy to imagine. I don’t ever share the details about my bedroom, but I guess I don’t mind when other guys share. When she started telling us about it, I pretended that it didn’t bother me, but I got a bad feeling in my chest. I don’t ever want to hear details beyond a kiss from any girl I care about. If I don’t want to hear it about my sisters or my mother, then I don’t want to hear it from another girl. I wasn’t angry. It was a sad feeling, like watching my sister cry. I wanted her to be the girl biking home in the rain, not another guy throwing out the story of how he got laid.