alexのブログ https://ameblo.jp/teirateira/ ブログの説明を入力します。 ja anxiety daydreams
Why is it wrong to fantasise about exposing your insecurities to others?
(For example, in the context of a debate speech, suddenly mentioning how you don't think you're good-looking or confident, perhaps trying to 'conceal' these observations under the guise of an actual argument. That sort of thing.)

- It validates the idea that you have these 'bad' qualities. (Why?)

- It wouldn't achieve anything good if you did it. (Why not?)

- It sabotages your actual social interactions with the people you imagine yourself telling - especially if it's become a dominant pattern, like with N. (How?)

So I had lots of ideas, and they all seemed to fade before I could start writing. This is a useful formatting test and I might come back to it if I get my train back! ]]> https://ameblo.jp/teirateira/entry-11484359931.html Wed, 06 Mar 2013 04:59:35 +0900 i actually threw style out of my actual window It's amazing, how quickly things can change! I know this, because in getting to the 'new blog' page I glanced at the first few lines of my last post. It's so weird, seeing the phrase 'the girl I like', asking yourself 'Who?'
- - - - - -
'oh, her! er... yeah...', realising that in the meantime I met someone so much more interesting and totally forgot about her from before.

What do you mean, is this the best material you have? This is absolutely everything. I'm giving everything here.

Anyway, we won't discuss that. This is a little less ephemeral. I've been trying to understand and summarise my problems for long enough. That I have issues is as clear to me as it may be news to you. Gaining an actual understanding of these concerns is what has been bothering me for a while. This is what I have for the moment.

I'm afraid of being boring, and ugly, and unfunny. The irrational belief that I absolutely must not be these things, is deeply internalised over time. It leads to greater and greater inhibition, because the fear that making a mistake which would make me one of those things, would be the worst possible thing, is always there in the background... It's an explanation for why I avoid a lot of things, on a lot of levels. I'm still working on it! Maybe having it down on paper will help.

The curious thing is that this has actually been a pretty banner few weeks for me up here. I got selected for the National University of Singapore next year, subject to a bunch of extra checks and hurdles, which is pretty exciting! I broke at a proper debating competition with a strong field and got to speak in the final, which I figured would not be happening. I passed the Japanese Language Proficiency Test, 'only' at level N3, but it's certainly encouraging. And I met a girl who restored my faith that one day I will find someone I actually want to have a serious relationship with and everything will be cool... well, briefly. I honestly don't think there's ever been a better first impression, and what I've seen since hasn't really met that level. But it's better than never meeting someone like that at all. That would be insufferable.

That's the end!


]]> https://ameblo.jp/teirateira/entry-11478010859.html Mon, 25 Feb 2013 07:49:29 +0900 sometimes it's good to write, sometimes it's bad I just deleted a skip of self-pitying garbage. (Sample excerpt: ‘How do you rekindle a relationship that wasn’t working?’) The fucker upstairs is still having a conversation with himself. If you were here you couldn’t not hear him. It’s almost midnight. What is with that? The bastard seems to think that it’s his world. It’s not.

I am frustrated, because the girl I like still won’t give me her undivided attention, and that’s just unbearable. I’m kidding, sort of, but that kind of thought keeps coming back like it’s on some diseased automatic loop.

I’ve been getting worked up about it even though I’m not available for a relationship in the first place. My future is up in the air: think of it as my current club deciding whether or not to send me out on a season-long loan. (Because that way, if I don’t get to study abroad, I can tell myself it’s because my ‘club’ really needs me.) (Well, no, but because I ♥ football metaphors.)

What’s worse is that I want sex. Only once have I even come close to a one night stand. Inexperience conspired with total shock and I utterly misread the advances of a beautiful Indian girl, after a day of debating in York. I got halfway to first base and left when my friends told me to. I’m not exaggerating about anything, which just makes it even more baffling.

I’m slightly picky about who I sleep with. Not with anyone I’m not attracted to; …well, in a way, that’s it. I’m old enough to know that girls will not ask me out. Nothing for five years is more or less nothing. You can imagine my frustration, I’m guessing? I'm too shy to make it work!

This is a higher quality of garbage than the detritus I deleted. I can live with this. Trying to reason my way out of sexual stagnation may be moot, because the worlds of sex and reason have less than zero in common. Why is that girl who judges my debates so overwhelmingly beautiful that I can’t even talk to her? Why does her Facebook continue to claim that she’s single?

…Well, OK. Freedom of choice. I can see that. Beauty stands, though. I just can’t reconcile involuntary, irrational sexual attractions and repulsions with my semi-rational desire for pleasure.

I prefer when things make sense! Still, perhaps these struggles will come in handy. If my future self ever needs to feel better about the way things are going... ]]> https://ameblo.jp/teirateira/entry-11461868891.html Sat, 02 Feb 2013 00:40:27 +0900 New York! but not just that It’s time, then, to put together some impressions from this trip. Having to actually think in order to piece everything together doesn’t really suit me too well. I’d prefer to quite passively let the memories organise themselves, and have the results just kind of pour out. If they were to do so in the coherent form of a single story, well, so much the better!

Today, though, that simply will not happen. So, we can start at the end. (The end, of course, technically still being the middle. It’s close enough.) Where am I? In the pub. It’s a Sunday afternoon, still clear and bright outside, but the place has been wilfully darkened, and it was all browns to begin with. I’m here, as ever, because the reviews said so. The sight of someone using a computer seems to have come as a shock to several of my fellow drinkers; ten people must have looked at my screen as they walked past. I hope they saw what they wanted to see.

This is to say nothing of New York as a whole, of course. Yet finding the words to summarise my experiences here is a certain kind of challenge. At the very least, this trip has justified its cost. We can certainly say that. But what kind of standard is this? If you had the chance to cross the Atlantic for £35, you’d take it, wouldn’t you? As a hopefully-not-but-probably once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, it was always going to provide ‘good value’. And it’s in our nature as humans to want what we’re guaranteed - and more.

So – what more has there been? I guess one of the most interesting ‘bonuses’ has been a growing sense that I might be able to live in a city after all. This comes after a series of problematic experiences in Tokyo. For the longest time, I was sure I would flourish over there. It is, after all, the capital city of so many of my obsessions – Japanese culture, modern Japanese architecture (really!), Japanese women (really). Yet I struggled to reconcile my expectations with the reality. I’d predicted a chaotic, beautiful, futuristic environment. My imagination had even built in several ‘special features’, part of a dangerously idealised image of this most unusual of cities. I did not get what I was expecting.

What am I really talking about? It’s a growing sense that New York is, well, nice and all, but if it had more of what makes Tokyo Tokyo, it would be better? I know, I should think this through a little more. But it’s a positive development, given my likely ability to attract the top Tokyo graduate schools in a couple of years. (It is worth noting that this feeling is, perhaps, tempered somewhat by the recent discovery of a Japanese deli on 47th – they have my favourite Japanese chocolate! It’s well priced, too. I doubt it will ever taste as good anywhere outside of a snowy winter’s night in Sapporo. But it’s still the best. Anyway.)

The pub is starting to fill up, and I’m only going to feel more awkward about having a four-person table to myself from this point on. The beers are OK – yes, beers, I picked up a ‘flight’ which gives me four sample-size drinks at once. But I’m not bowled over like I was in Philadelphia. Not yet, anyway. Fuck it. I’m moving to the bar. (Which, of course, had been totally full when I came in.)

It’s actually possible to argue that my trip to Philadelphia, all 24 hours thereof, deserves so much more emphasis than I might be tempted to give it. It was there I was befriended by Nick, an unemployed construction worker. It soon became clear that here was a deeply unhappy, lonely, fundamentally decent man. It helped that he seemed to like me better than I like myself. It was there I staggered home, drunk. I had my 20 McNuggets and the most delicious chocolate drink in months, years! If I hadn’t felt so sick I would have even finished it. It’s there I might end up studying next year – not New York! So, more relevant? Absolutely.

It’s a slim chance, for sure – you don’t put the University of Pennsylvania as your second choice and just expect to walk right in. The great thing is that I don’t feel as if I’d really be missing all that much if I missed out. The city is not without its charms. 30th Street Station, unnecessarily beautiful, with its generous public seating and multiple pretzel stands, was a happy place, and let’s not lie to one another on that. I just didn’t happen to fall in love with the town as a whole. I could live there, or I could not. I don’t feel that way about Japan.

Anyway, Philadelphia was fine. New York, well, that’s harder to pin down. We could start with the hostel, which is outstandingly efficient, but also smells terrible because men smell terrible. I feel like my days of staying in hostels are basically numbered because I just can’t take it any more. Or maybe we should start with the pubs, my spiritual home(s) – unless it’s Friday or Saturday, in which case the places literally become insufferable. It’s not their fault there are so many people here, of course. Seriously, though, I came to this very pub at 6.30 on Friday. All I can say is this: no dice. No dice.

This trip may end up being significant for another reason. Having grown up in the distant countryside, I guess it’s natural that I’ve generally felt drawn to cities. Since I’ve been in charge of my own holidays, I’ve built them around seeing cities and towns. When I arrived here, though, this idea was already in question. Of course, there were the low moments in Tokyo. It took a bigger battering in the summer – as did I, when three days in Cologne, with the girl who had literally just broken up with me, left me in absolute despair. That this was to some degree self-inflicted invariably fails to sweeten the memory of those three days. (For the sake of balance, Brussels was… pretty good.)

Not that I hadn’t had some sense of the old maxim about how ‘it’s the people, not the place’. But old beliefs need time before they can truly change. New York might be the tipping point in that regard. Cities may well be full of people, but this alone won’t make it any more likely that the place will solve your problems. I’ve felt a need to change for a couple of years, actually, but the fact that my social anxiety is still so strong could well give me the impetus I need to force more radical changes through. (Even if I have to give up Ghana chocolate. I’ll do it.)

This isn’t so close to my original point, now. I just feel like I might have seen everything any city can make me see. Skyscrapers had power years ago, when I first blundered into Canary Wharf (fuck the DLR) – but not today. I’m not a pro shopper because I simply can’t afford to be. Added on to this, the nightlife is either so much too crowded (the three minutes I spent here on Friday will stay with me forever) or terrifying. As a lone male, wrong side of average-looking, even getting into a nightclub is a challenge. Let alone getting the sex that probably ends up the main long-term reason for me being there. (Sorry!)

So New York has made me feel worse about cities and is therefore bad? Well, no. Not really. Ghana chocolate on its own will score you major points whatever you happen to be. (One day I might actually let you try some.) There are enough beautiful buildings to satisfy whatever weird building craving you might have. The Liverpool Supporters’ Club was a sweaty, uncomfortable highlight. I won’t abbreviate the Metropolitan Museum of Art, because I still barely know the place. I was, however, deeply impressed. I even considered going with ‘astounded’. It’s a true great.

Groceries are overpriced, candy disappointingly so. Pub prices are reasonable, as long as you keep them in perspective. For me, that means regular reminders as to how much this stuff would cost in Paris. (I was buying supermarket beers and ‘chilling’ them under the hotel bathroom’s cold tap in those days, mind.)

----

So I stopped there. I’m not in New York any more. The circumstances are… special. Basic concentration is a challenge – but that’s also why I’m writing in the first place. The search for an inflight distraction has inevitably brought me here. If I say I’ve always hated flying, well, perhaps that wouldn’t quite hit the mark. I hate it now! Not because my trip is over, because I know there will be more. It’s more to do with being crammed into a middle seat behind a suspiciously fat man with a strong desire to recline. I am the tallest person on the plane.

I’m not even going to write about that. Yes, my topic is today, but it shouldn’t have to be this bit. Before I get on a plane, my fears invariably manage my thoughts down a well-beaten path. The hours ahead of each airborne tubular nightmare simply must constitute a fitting ‘last day’. No regrets, that sort of thing. I don’t think about death that much, but flying increases the odds of being in a plane crash just enough to really bring things home. What am I getting at? Well, today certainly would have fit the bill.

Life is most interesting when you have a goal. It goes without saying that this goal can neither be too easy nor too far away. If it’s uncertain and possible, as if those are opposites, then you can really start to enjoy yourself – because you become the variable that determines the outcome. You can push yourself harder and know that it actually might mean something. Even if the ‘something’ happens to be a trip to the pub.

This, of course, was no mere pub. This was a very special pub, hidden away out west of central Rome, promising a very special beer. It’s called Tipopils, it’s super rare. It has a cute name. Oh, and it’s the best beer of its kind in the world.

I’m not sure I need to go into detail as to what actually took place. The situation contained enough elements that drama was, in hindsight, assured. A truly noble goal at stake. A deadline – in this case, the need not to miss this very flight. And, yes, there was a volatile and in fact increasingly angry protagonist at the helm. I am of course referring to the Roman public transport system – what? This is why I don’t do jokes? You’re absolutely right.

And I am absolutely serious. Rome is not famous for efficient public transport. I would need to cross the city relying on a system that would prove almost perfectly unreliable. In a normal city, for example, would a tram just stop halfway to its destination and indicate to every paying passenger that, interestingly enough, this was your stop after all? Would it be normal to label each station on a sign raised high enough into the air as to be practically invisible from the tram itself? I certainly have questions for the two tram drivers whose vehicles expressly stated that they were going in the opposite direction from reality. (A huge high five to the moment two trams arrived, on the same line, traveling in opposite directions, each claiming to go my way.)

I feel like I’m missing something. Yes! A rogue ticket machine, right at the very start. I hope those euros were delicious. An extraordinary breakdown at Trastevere station, where every departures board failed in unison. Even the Italian-speakers were baffled by that one. The lack of any way to actually buy a ticket for the tram at Belli, leaving me and my luggage to walk the two kilometres to the main station. (It’s fair to say I had begun to enjoy myself by that point.)

This was all in the course of about three hours. I made various faces. Gradually, I convinced myself that I was furious. I wondered if I should give up, and at one point I absolutely did. It was, by some standards, a bad time. And yet, as I said, everything just sort of came good. Whether it was bloody-mindedness, optimism, or just some new purer strain of rage – who can say? Somehow, the nightmare became an adventure.

It helped that this pub was amazing. Let’s start with the headline, shall we? I got my beer! It was just after mid-day, so the place was almost empty. Just me, one bartender, and a well-built young man with an American accent. I’m not the type to start a conversation* but Ryan absolutely was, and so began perhaps the greatest not-quite half hour in recent memory. Honestly, to find the pub, stumble in (did I mention I had my luggage with me this whole time?), and see that Tipopils tap right there on the bar… well, just remembering the smile on my face makes me smile over again. The conversation was easy, simple, fun. The beer? Love. Even though I’d planned to spend so much longer there than time allowed, I’m just intensely glad I didn’t give up. It was worth it.

I got off the plane a couple of paragraphs ago. I’m on a train, actually. Back to university once more. I literally have the best seat on the entire train: not only am I in First Class, I have a proper individual chair. I sit next to no man. Bad luck, of course, has not spared me completely. A – what would you call it? - former acquaintance is in our mutual range of perception. Which is to say she’s sat right across from me. She’s nice enough, I have absolutely nothing to say to her, and I don’t expect any problems. I’m mulling over whether to deliberately interpret it as a bad omen anyway.

Well over two thousand words, and I’m about to wrap up, at least for now. This trip gave me so many experiences in just eleven days. I hadn’t ever traveled alone before, so I was fighting loneliness the whole way (even more than usual). Money really wasn’t a problem, but I made it one anyway. I still haven’t properly organised my memories, but I’ll do what I can. If anything comes of that, well, it’ll be here.

--

*I will, if I can tell that you’re even more socially awkward than I am. yes, you


]]> https://ameblo.jp/teirateira/entry-11458111936.html Sun, 27 Jan 2013 21:05:02 +0900 2013? hi i'm alex!
I don't actually have any reason to say that. It's eighteen minutes past midnight, New Year's Day, and I'm writing, which probably tells a certain kind of person everything they need to know. Thinking back, I've never done any kind of New Year's party - in fact, the experience is indellibly associated with television.

An ex-girlfriend used to boast about her crazy New Year's parties. Crossing London with a huge group of friends, sneaking into bars despite obviously being underage... well, I've ended up a country boy and that sort of thing always sounded so much more fun. Scary, too. When I imagined myself in that sort of situation, I was way too worried about fitting in, thinking of things to say.

But it never happened, and tonight is more of the same. Except it's different, somehow. Said as if the difference isn't obvious! I'm completely alone. That's what's new. My family is either asleep, at work, or outwith my pathetic movement range. So it's just me and the TV.

There's nothing special about this old John Bishop set, except perhaps the venue - a compelling, stadium-like arrangement, but with more flat rows than would seem productive or possible. Also, it's in HD, which I guess is nice.

Details like this are really only useful for me, because they hammer home a point I keep having to make to myself - that I want a certain kind of life, and that this existence, with the colossal TV and the fancy highbrow beer and nobody to love, isn't necessarily my first choice.

For my New Year's resolution, I considered making a promise - as opposed to 'taking a vow', ew, I'm reading Underground and the Aum guys, they do that. Seeing as my main aim is to change myself and my life for the better, I wondered about promising celibacy.

Disgusting word, isn't it? Sounds atrocious. And when I realised that all I would be doing is taking ownership of what has to this point been a not at all deliberate dry spell...

...well, I still might do that. I have a face to save. But it won't be a 'New Year's Resolution' like these, which are gradually getting rolled the fuck out from today. I'm setting them down because, y'know, evidence.

#1 - 鏡、駄目!

So this one's actually been in place for a while. My self-image is horrible. I have anxiety. Sometimes, I think I'm a truly world-class weird looking, ugly guy. I look in the mirror and see that guy. I don't want anyone else to have to. Clearly, realising that I see myself that way makes me feel terrible.

I'm not saying it's entirely the mirror's fault, but I'm going to avoid them anyway. I need to stop focusing on my looks, and if I can do that, I'll probably be happier! Which would be ideal.

#2 - チョコレート、禁止!

People who know me will know I know snacks. You will at least allow that I think I do. I eat socially and all the time. If it's made of chocolate, I can eat it all. Mini jaffa cakes, magic stars, ガーナミルク...

...and maybe I won't do that any more. I've become more and more aware of the nature of pleasures like food. I don't think I can ever have enough. But I can fuck up my body, make myself unattractive in the short-term and unwell in the future. Perhaps, for the first time, the scales have tipped and it isn't worth it. This, though, will be a hard road (especially if I ban pizza, too).

#3 - ポルノ、打ち切!

Problem attitude to sex and women, wanting to see women as people rather than sexy people, and it's super addictive can we move on? Let's move on.

#4 - インターネット、この世の終わり!

I'm getting tired, so I won't say everything I could say here. The internet takes up more of my time than any other single waking activity. But it takes it because I give it. I'm happy to describe how and why I think it's dangerously addictive. It's a little different for everyone, though.

For me... I love information. I can spend hours just wandering around the internet, reading about things. These things could be any old things, really. It doesn't matter. There are two reasons why this becomes a problem.

The first is that there's a tremendously low yield of actual knowledge. Not much is gained, because not that much concentration ever gets invested. So these long internet sessions - and I may as well include marathon, obsessive bargain-hunting efforts along with this here - don't really leave me with anything to show for it. In other words, I'm somehow wasting my time.

The second is more interesting. I've always been socially inconsistent, veering between extremes of awkwardness and confidence. I ended up diagnosing myself with a bunch of DSM disorders - yes, on Wikipedia! - in a long, drawn out, but also desperate attempt to figure out what on earth was making me behave as I did. (In the end, I settled on social anxiety disorder, which I might talk about more another time.)

What does this have to do with anything? Well, my theory is that the experience of being unable to 'control' my social skills made me fearful of social situations - because the 'bad' experiences I would get on the awkward days were disproportionately rough, and shaped negative expectations for the future. Shit, I'm talking about it now!

Anyway, one of the main reasons people socialise is to exchange information, right? And to hear all the interesting things other people have to say. The problem is that once you master it, and find sites that perfectly cater to every single one of your interests, the internet can be so much more interesting.

The desire for information is a natural one. But if you can satisfy that craving using a machine - and one that lets you avoid those very situations that you associate with such fear, such embarrassment - well, perhaps that's what's happened to me.

The sad thing is that I really want to be energetic, to want to talk to people and get closer, because I don't feel like I have enough close friends. And yet... what is there to talk about, if you feel like you know everything you need to (and, moreover, as if everyone else probably does, too)? So that's a change I think I need to make.

The common theme here is addiction. In each case, I've identified a problem of abuse and decided that the object of that desire isn't improving my life enough not to try and cut it out. By the end of 2013, which is not so far away as it might seem... well, I hope to be back here. Let's see how it goes. And in the meantime, happy new year! ]]> https://ameblo.jp/teirateira/entry-11439725329.html Tue, 01 Jan 2013 01:07:16 +0900 less a post and more an order I know what I like, but I'm not really a genius when it comes to describing why. Part of it comes from the classic critic's dilemma - when the stuff you love becomes your work, it stops being the stuff you love, because explaining something to someone usually means taking it apart. I guess this means that I can't justify why I love physical comedy, but I can justify why I can't justify it.

Anyway, I'm only talking about it because of what I saw today. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6TsfePz75lo - this text editor is being weird, so that may well in fact be a raw link - go to about one minute in. Wait for the man on the motorbike.

No further instructions should be necessary. ]]> https://ameblo.jp/teirateira/entry-11431518756.html Thu, 20 Dec 2012 23:39:29 +0900 i did a bad thing Well, that's not exactly true. It's just that I might have put myself under too much pressure to write well with those last few (first few) posts. Finding the motivation to write is challenging enough in itself, but when you start setting down standards, expecting the best... that's when you really screw yourself.

We can all agree that there is a proper time and place for screwing yourself. Make no mistake about this one - I mean deliberate screwing. In its proper context: popular, respectable, normal activity. It can be a great way to pass the time. What am I talking about? Yes, perhaps you're right. Masturbation doesn't need another lobbyist. It's doing just fine on its own.

Let's talk more about my blog! I was reading it on my phone, because I find it hard to concentrate on anything other than myself. Two things pissed me off immediately. This site advertises to the absolute fucking depths. You get to choose from one font, which happens to be the second most Japanese-looking English script imaginable.

You can embiggen the font, but what's the point? It just gets worse.

Should I stop writing now? Even I'm bored of this. This is boring. I'll come up with something suitably self-flagellating to compensate. (Because that's what I do best... ouch...)
 ]]> https://ameblo.jp/teirateira/entry-11428785855.html Sun, 16 Dec 2012 22:55:54 +0900 name of post redacted The concept of 'writing for pleasure' - don't you find it strange? Writing is like thinking with all the good parts taken out. It's a great deal slower, for a start. If you have a good idea, you have a good thought. A good sentence, however, must read well. Unfortunately, this takes time.

You can already see that writing is essentially a bad thing, because it takes a good thing and makes it worse. But this is not the worst of it. To write is to foster a yet greater evil: writing is embarrassing. Allow me to illustrate my point.

If shameful moments were a crop, then this semester was certainly its season.

10 I tried to thank my tutor, and I stuttered
OK, so there's not much of a story here. I just want you to know how insecure I am when it comes to the small stuff.

#9 I forgot my flatmate's name, guessed, got it right, and still felt awful for some reason
One day, you might have to choose between Liam and Ed. When that day comes, I want you to know that... no, wait. I'm not interested in your problems at all.

#8 I asked someone out over facebook. It didn't work out
I'm not even embarrassed about this! I haven't run into them since, so it's really all good.

#7 I gave the impression that I frequent 'girlsandcorpses.com'. I do not
OK, this was bad. I don't even understand why this happened. My phone threw up this URL while I was showing someone another page. I hate this.

...perhaps we should leave it there. My point should be clear by now, right? You get it.


]]> https://ameblo.jp/teirateira/entry-11422512032.html Fri, 07 Dec 2012 18:47:59 +0900 as if this is going to work

Somehow, my day off from revision has brought me right back to an activity that feels a lot like work. This vague desire to keep up a blog has been with me for as long as I can remember; and I've tried. Many times. And every single effort started out like this! An introductory paragraph where I challenge my own laziness and suggest that this time, things will be quite different. Often, the next few posts will end up being far more personal than anyone could ever ask - before, at last, another blog is left to die in the face of complete indifference. (My own.)


I am a perfectionist, at least to the extent I am obsessed with perfectly being myself. The inevitable result is a kind of bullying self-censorship. If you spend your life waiting for the right thing to say, and the right moment to say it, well, you will be exactly like me. In other words, you won't say much at all.


Clearly, this tendency may have its own implications for the future of my blog.

]]> https://ameblo.jp/teirateira/entry-11422505097.html Fri, 07 Dec 2012 18:00:09 +0900