#642nd

Damn, AI is good 😂😂😂 Of course editing is still needed, but, well, it is damn good.

The Day Everything Blended Together

I think what happened on 8th May was not simply “an intense date” or “an emotional overreaction.” Looking back now, it feels more like a perfect example of what happens when too many emotionally meaningful experiences occur within one nervous system before there is enough time to digest any of them properly.

At first, I could not separate anything clearly. Everything felt fused together into one overwhelming emotional mass: attraction, anxiety, excitement, confusion, joy, self-worth, family, future, loneliness, hope. It all felt like one giant unnamed feeling pressing against my chest.

Only after three days did I begin to understand what actually happened.

But to understand 8th May properly, I also need to go back to 1st May, 2026.

That evening, I joined a Meetup group that advertised itself as a space for slower, more genuine connection. I arrived not expecting anything significant at all. I was simply another shy person entering another unfamiliar social environment.

That was where I first met Mr. X.

He spoke Japanese quickly at first, and I responded timidly because I felt nervous and self-conscious. Eventually I admitted that my Japanese was not very good, so we switched to English. The conversation immediately became easier.

He asked about my work situation, and I mentioned that I was currently looking for a job. Then, almost casually, he told me that only hours earlier, his colleague had announced she was leaving a customer support position at his company — exactly the kind of work I had been doing.

The coincidence startled me.

I asked for his business card, but instead we exchanged Line contacts. During the conversation, he also asked if I liked video games because his company was in the gaming industry. Nervously trying to be playful, I answered, “I will!” He burst into laughter and jokingly said, “You are hired.”

The interaction itself was brief. Afterward he joined another group, and we barely spoke again for the rest of the evening.

Yet something about the encounter stayed with me afterward.

There was a strange feeling of possibility around it — romantic, professional, accidental, symbolic, all mixed together. It felt like one of those small unexpected encounters that somehow carry emotional weight disproportionate to their actual duration.

Later that night, after we connected on Line, he disclosed his company's name for applying. I thanked him and wished him a good holiday. He responded with a thumbs-up.

At that point, I already felt attracted to him, but because the situation now involved a potential job application, I convinced myself that boundaries probably needed to exist. In my mind, the connection became compartmentalized into something “professional” rather than personal.

Ironically, I had not even been urgently searching for a new job. I originally wanted a break from working entirely.

Part of me even considered sending him a message saying I could not find a suitable position and would not apply after all, just so I could continue interacting with him more freely as a person rather than as a potential employee. But, well, I applied anyway (just for the sake of clearing the tab on my laptop lol). Only after submitting the application, did I realise 'Oh shit, how would I approach him now?' I told myself I would just leave it.

So life continued.

Then came 8th May.

Earlier that day, my nervous system had already been carrying multiple emotional layers: career reflection, family anxiety, anticipation about my niece’s birth, accumulated social stimulation, and questions about self-worth.

Still, by evening I felt relatively grounded again.

I went to another Meetup event organized by a completely different group. I had no expectation whatsoever that I would see Mr. X again there.

Then the moment I entered the room, I saw him immediately.

And he saw me too.

The coincidence hit me with almost cinematic force.

For a brief moment, it genuinely felt like something out of a romantic film — not because anything dramatic happened externally, but because of the improbability and timing of it all. We had met unexpectedly once already, exchanged contacts because of an accidental job opportunity, and after I had mentally categorized the situation as something I should probably distance myself from, we encountered each other again completely by chance in another unrelated social environment.

The emotional effect on me was immediate.

There was no preparation, no emotional transition, no internal grounding period. We simply fell into conversation naturally and stayed there together for almost the entire evening.

Looking back, this was the real turning point of the day.

The connection felt immersive and strangely effortless. He talked a great deal about himself and his life, and I mostly listened quietly, absorbed in him. I remember wondering afterward whether I had been too passive, whether I had failed to actively shape the interaction. But in the moment, I felt emotionally pulled into his presence in a way that made self-awareness difficult.

There were also moments where his interest seemed unmistakable. He suggested continuing the evening elsewhere together after the Meetup ended. Small physical touches and gestures carried disproportionate emotional intensity for me. Time disappeared.

At the same time, subtle alarm signals were also quietly appearing beneath the attraction. He spoke about previous relationships in ways that made me uneasy, and I sensed unresolved bitterness and emotional complexity underneath his charm. Part of me felt drawn toward him while another part became increasingly vigilant.

I now think those two forces — attraction and vigilance — were colliding inside me simultaneously.

At some point, overwhelmed by the emotional intensity, I unconsciously tried to create distance by shifting attention elsewhere. When he asked whether there was anyone else at the event I wanted to connect, I mentioned another man in the room. He kept pressing the question jokingly until I finally admitted the man was handsome 😂

The atmosphere changed after that.

He said he could introduce us but implied that he himself would then disappear from my life. Hearing that triggered something immediate and vulnerable in me. I looked at him directly and told him I did not want to lose him.

That moment remains vivid in my memory. I remember looking at his eyes and only seeing the unreadable stillness and depth instead.

The interaction unraveled awkwardly after that. I decided to leave abruptly, emotionally overwhelmed and unable to regulate the situation anymore. He followed me briefly and gently wished me a good evening before I left without looking back.

At 1AM, he messaged me apologizing if he had made me uncomfortable and saying he 'would have loved to introduce me to his friend'.

Still emotionally flooded, I replied with a long message trying to explain everything I had felt: that I had actually been attracted to him from the beginning, that I became overwhelmed by the intensity, that suggesting another man had been an attempt to slow things down rather than reject him.

At the time, the message felt emotionally necessary.

Now I understand that it was my nervous system trying to regulate uncertainty and emotional overload through explanation.

He only sent a thump up to my long message. Several hours later, still seeking emotional resolution, I asked him to dinner. He replied sorry he was meeting a friend.

At first, his response felt painfully significant.

But with distance, I can now see that none of this happened inside an emotionally neutral environment.

Everything occurred while my nervous system was simultaneously processing:

attraction,

career uncertainty,

family anxiety,

excitement about becoming an aunt,

sleep disruption,

social overstimulation,

and long-term emotional exhaustion from constant adaptation.

For several days afterward, all of these feelings remained fused together into one giant emotional mass that felt impossible to categorize or digest.

Only slowly, through sleep, exercise, quietness, journaling, and reduced stimulation, did the experience begin separating itself into understandable pieces.

And once separated, the emotional intensity became much less frightening.

I think this is one of the most important things I have learned about myself recently: my emotional difficulty is not that I feel too much. It is that too many emotionally meaningful experiences can merge together before I have enough time to process them individually.

The solution is not becoming colder or less emotional.

The solution is creating pauses between experiences, allowing feelings to unfold one at a time instead of all at once.

For most of my life, I have adapted quickly to environments, relationships, cultures, and emotional atmospheres. But adaptation without pauses eventually creates internal overload.

Maybe this is what healing actually looks like for me now: not escaping life, not reinventing myself again, but learning how to remain connected to myself while life is happening :")