#shoganai

Come avevo accennato, i giapponesi me lo hanno messo nel culo e dallo scorso Venerdì ho cominciato un training sui network, che durerà fino a Giovedi prossimo. Più che training, lo definirei "self-training", dato che l'insegnante è teoricamente a disposizione per eventuali domande, ma non insegna niente, per cui se non sai dove e come si inseriscono i cavi LAN, se non sai quali sono i comandi per creare una vlan ecc, arrivederci e buonanotte. Fortunatamente per me, in questo training c'era un mio coinquilino indiano e una cinese già avviata su queste cose con cui avevo già trascorso i due giorni in sede (anche se non abbiamo fatto un cazzo e non è che avessimo parlato tanto, però comunque ci salutavamo e questo è già tanto in questo paese, posso assicurare), per cui da qualche domanda su qualche dubbio random, siamo passati da essere quattro team da 2 persone a un solo team con tutti dentro e questo ha aiutato tutti a capire, a imparare e a riuscire a fare ciò che ci avevano assegnato di fare in relativamente poco tempo.

La mia routine in questi giorni comincia alle 6:00 del mattino. Prendo il treno pieno zeppo di salaryman e ragazzini che vanno a scuola lontanissimo da casa, sperando con tutto il cuore che qualcuno scenda a fanculo per prendere il suo posto a sedere così dormicchio un altro poco, perchè altrimenti sto 1h e passa in piedi e finisco per chiudere gli occhi così dalla stanchezza. Tutto ciò per arrivare in sede intorno alle 8:30 perché in questo paese se cominci alle 09:00 e arrivi puntuale allo stesso orario, sei in ritardo, dato che alle 09:00 devi solo timbrare ed essere già pronto a lavorare immediatamente. La giornata lavorativa finisce alle 18:00 sempre se non hai nessun meeting per eventuali colloqui (che hanno la priorità sui training) fissati alle 17:30 e che possono prolungarsi anche oltre l'orario stabilito. Prendi il treno, con la stessa speranza di riuscire a trovare un posto per dormicchiare e arrivi alla stazione di casa alle 19:00 circa. Poi vado in palestra per finire alle 21:00/21:30. Mentre torno a casa si fanno le 22:00 e passa e fortunatamente ho avuto l'accortezza di prepararmi tutti i pasti nel weekend così ho solo da scaldarli al microonde per mangiare la cena. Tra cena e chiacchiere generali si fanno quasi sempre le 23:00 o mezzanotte. Il giorno dopo di nuovo sveglia alle sei del mattino con solo 6h di sonno addosso, quando io per funzionare ho bisogno di almeno 8h. Tutto questo, se protratto per tutta la settimana, può far capire quanto poco ho dormito in questi giorni e quanto stanca io possa sentirmi (una notte ho dormito solo 5h).

Eppure questa è la normalità giapponese. Ultimamente mi fa molto ridere vedere su IG post italiani sul burnout, sulla settimana lavorativa corta, sulla tossicità del posto di lavoro e vedere i commenti di tutti che, giustamente, si lamentano. Ma vi dovete considerare privilegiati e fortunati per questo. Perché almeno in Italia esiste un dibattito su questi temi e certe cose hanno cominciato ad essere messe in discussione.

Qui no. Qui non si vede nemmeno l'ombra di un dibattito e di una messa in discussione. È così, funziona così, basta, non ci puoi fare niente. Non ci puoi fare niente se non hai una vita oltre il lavoro, se puoi dormire solo 5/6h a notte ed essere talmente stanco da dormire ogni minuto possibile in treno e se sei in bornout senza manco saperlo. Lo fanno tutti e lo fai anche tu: tutti già pronti alle 7 per aspettare il treno, tutti a dormire sia seduti che in piedi, tutti con la faccia da zombie per raggiungere il posto di lavoro lontano anche 40km da casa. E i treni sono piedi zeppi come l'uovo al mattino - per far capire quanto dire "tutti" significhi letteralmente "tutti" (oltre per far capire che culo possa essere trovare un posto a sedere).

E la mentalità del "è così, basta, non ci puoi fare niente" deriva da un concetto culturale e religioso semplicissimo. Tutto il mondo euro-americano non fa che elogiare il buddismo, specie quello zen. Perché mette al centro l'armonia, la calma dell'anima, l'accettazione stoica del momento presente per poter raggiungere la pace interiore. Ebbene, questa mentalità che sembra essere così affascinante, porta il popolo asiatico ad accogliere passivamente pure la merda di vita che fanno. Non si mette in dubbio più niente, devo solo seguire il flusso, subire passivamente quello che mi succede perché è normale così e perché "non ci posso fare niente".

In giapponese esiste l'espressione 仕方がない (letto: shōganai/shikata ga nai) proprio per dire:"non c'è altro modo" e quindi "non ci puoi fare niente", lo devi fare e basta. E lo dicono praticamente sempre, per tutto: durante il training nessuno ti spiega niente e devi fare tutto da solo? E vabbè, shōganai. La tua vita fa schifo perché è solo lavoro e treno? Shōganai. Il capo ti dà task impossibili che ti fanno rimanere in ufficio fino alle 21? Shōganai. Tante compagnie stanno togliendo lo smartworking perché si sono finalmente accorti che l'emergenza covid è finita? Shōganai.

Ma SHŌGANAI UN CAZZO. Vi dovreste incazzare, dovreste urlare dicendo: no, questa cosa non ha letteralmente senso quindi BASTA, non sono d'accordo, io non la faccio, vaffanculo. E invece loro no. Questi accettano passivamente tutto quello che accade nella loro vita ed è per questo motivo che sono una società arretrata di morti ambulanti che vedono la morte fisica come l'unica via di fuga. Perché non sanno vedere oltre. Perché nessuno glielo ha insegnato.

Quanti padri sto vedendo in questi giorni di mattina alle 7 nel treno e la sera alle 22 per strada e penso: questi quando li vedono la moglie e i figli se tornano alle 22 a casa (che in Giappone è come dire le 24 per gli italiani) dopo le cene aziendali dove spesso si ubriacano pure male? Che senso ha? E i ragazzini persino delle elementari e medie che alle 7 già stanno in strada o sui treni per raggiungere la scuola, i genitori che cazzo hanno nel cervello per preoccuparsi più che i figli vadano nella scuola rinomata piuttosto che pensare alla loro salute mentale?

Ma qua la salute mentale è un altro dibattito che semplicemente non esiste. Si fa così, si è sempre fatto così e non ci si fanno domande perché la loro testa è fatta in modo da non riuscire a vedere una via alternativa. E se da una parte ti verrebbe da dire "Madonna però poverini", dall'altra il suggerimento che mi viene da europea è pure "aò scetati perché se stai come na merda la colpa è pure tua che non fai letteralmente un cazzo per cambiare la situazione".

shoganai - “it can’t be helped”, resigning yourself to a situation

Pairing: Kwon Soon Young/Hoshi (Seventeen) x GN!Reader; Genre: Hybrid AU, Strangers to hinted lovers, Fluff; Rating: sfw, PG-13; Warnings: sky diving, hinted that the wind is some supernatural being with a mind on its own, somewhat crash landing in the middle of nowhere, a sudden thunderstorm, an abandoned house, tiger hybrid Hoshi, a lightning stroke close to the reader, mentions of undressing, implied nudity (not sexual); Wordcount: 2.725

Summary: Skydiving was supposed to be fun but the weather decided to turn and drift you. Once you land your only shelter from the upcoming storm is an abandoned mansion in the middle of nowhere. Though it might be not as abandoned as you thought.

Event: K-Bucketlist event by @k-vanity​ with the prompts “jumping out a plane” and “checking out an abandoned house”

A/N: It is too late.. and I haven’t finished others from my own project list... but at least I was able to write at all... so please enjoy this one!

Soon Young restlessly paced in front of the fireplace of the abandoned manor he took shelter in. For months he hid there in peace, feeling content with his life despite being somewhat lonely.

The urge to have someone with him grew stronger inside of his heart with every passing day and when he longingly stared into the sky and silently wished for someone to find him there, it was the wind who listened to his earnest words.

It was also the wind, who decided to take action.

:read more:

L’appel du vide: You’re waiting for the train when an inexplicable thought flashes into your mind: What if you jumped off the platform? Or perhaps you’re driving up some precarious mountain pass, when you feel strangely moved to jerk your steering wheel to the right and sail clear off the road. American psychologists in 2012 published a paper in which this feeling was dubbed the “high place phenomenon” (and their study suggested, by the way, that its presence does not necessarily signal suicidal ideation), but the French term for the phenomenon is much more alluring, as French words so often are: l’appel du vide, or “the call of the void.” As the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre once observed, the emotion is so unsettling because of the way it “creates an unnerving, shaky sensation of not being able to trust one’s own instincts.” It’s a reminder, then, to perhaps not always let your emotions rule your behavior.

Ilinx: There exists a GIF of a fluffy white cat that speaks directly to my soul. In it, the cat is perched atop a desk, and as its human places various objects near its paws — a lighter, a glasses case, a wallet — it pushes each item off the desk and onto the floor. You might say the animal is expressing ilinx, a French word for “the ‘strange excitement’ of wanton destruction,” as Smith describes it, borrowing her phrasing from sociologist Roger Caillois. “Callois traced ilinx back to the practices of ancient mystics who by whirling and dancing hoped to induce rapturous trance states and glimpse alternative realities,” Smith writes. “Today, even succumbing to the urge to create a minor chaos by kicking over the office recycling bin should give you a mild hit.”

Kaukokaipuu: People of, say, Irish descent who have never actually been to the country of their ancestry may still experience an unexpected ache for it, as if they miss it — a strange, contradictory sort of feeling, as you can’t really miss someplace you’ve never been. But the Finnish recognize that the emotion exists, and they gave it a name: kaukokaipuu, a feeling of homesickness for a place you’ve never visited. It can also mean a kind of highly specified version of wanderlust, a “craving for a distant land” — dreaming from your desk about some far-off place like New Zealand, or the Hawaiian Islands, or Machu Picchu, with an intensity that feels almost like homesickness.

Dolce far niente: The pleasure of doing nothing.

Greng Jai: In Thailand, greng jai (pronounced: kreng jai) is the feeling of being reluctant to accept another’s offer of help because of the bother it would call them.

Iktsuarpok: When visitors are due to arrive, a fidgety feeling sprouts up. We might keep glancing out of the window, or pause mid-sentence, thinking we’ve heard the sound of a car. Among the Inuit, this antsy anticipation, causing them to scan the frozen Arctic tundra for approaching sledges, is called iktsuarpok (pronounced: eet-so-ahr-pohk).

Matutolypea: The alarm clock trills. The dawn slips in through the curtains. And we awake, overcome with misery and bad temper. Your grandmother might know it as “getting out of bed on the wrong side.” But it is, in fact, the much more important-sounding matutolypea (pronounced: mah-tu-toh-leh-pee-a). No one quite knows when the word was invented or by whom, but it comes from a combination of the name of the Roman goddess of the dawn, Mater Matuta, and the Greek word for dejection, lype, to give us the dignity of “morning sorrow.”

Umpty: Perkin Flump is in a very bad mood. (The Flumps was a 1970s children’s cartoon presenting the home life of a family of round furry creatures who lived in northern England.) The water is too cold. The floor is too bumpy. His porridge is too lumpy and too sticky. “I feel umpty” he tells his mother. “What’s umpty?” she asks. “It’s a too-much morning” he explains and stomps off to be on his own. Umpty: a feeling of everything being “too much” and all in the wrong way.

Mono no aware: Murasaki Shikibu, a poet and lady-in-waiting in 12th-century Japan, crafted what is often described today as the world’s first novel, The Tale of Genji. Set in the imperial court, it recounts the political intrigues and love affairs of an emperor’s illegitimate son. The book is infused with a quiet feeling for life’s transience, a sensitivity to the beauty of decay and the fading of all living and inanimate things. To read it is to become well acquainted with the feeling the Japanese call mono no aware (pronounced: moh-noh noh ah-wah-ray). Literally translated as the pathos (aware) of things (mono), it is often described as a kind of a sigh for the impermanence of life. "Monoaware" is "the pathos of things." It is the awareness of the impermanence of all things and the gentle sadness and wistfulness at their passing. "Bitter sweetness of fading beauty".

Itadakimasu - means “I will have this." It is used before eating any food to express appreciation and respect for life, nature, the person who prepared the food, the person who served the food, and everything else that is related to eating. "I humbly receive with gratitude".

Kogarashi - is the cold wind that lets us know of the arrival of winter.

Yuugen - is an awareness of the universe that triggers emotional responses that are too mysterious and deep for words.

Shoganai - The literal meaning of "Shoganai" is “it cannot be helped." However, it is not discouraging or despairing. It means to accept that something was out of your control. It encourages people to realize that it wasn't their fault and to move on with no regret. "It is what it is".

Hanafubuki - "flower petal storm" is usually used to describe how cherry blossom petals float down en-masse, like snowflakes in a blizzard. I certainly wouldn’t mind being caught in this storm.

Tsundoku - Booklovers are all too familiar with the truth behind the Japanese word tsundoku. In English, this untranslatable Japanese word describes the act of piling up books that you never get around to reading.

Natsukashii - While the Japanese word ‘natsukashii’ does have an English equivalent in the word ‘nostalgia,’ the use and meaning of the word are quite different. Natsukashii is used quite often in everyday language in Japan. When used, Japanese people are not saying “nostalgia”; they are expressing a feeling that warms the heart because it brings back memories.

Kouyou - Like Hanafubuki is used in Cherry Blossom season, Kouyou is used as Autumn arrives. Kouyou is a way to say, “The leaves are changing colour, so Autumn is near.”

Komorebi - In a single untranslatable Japanese word, ‘Komorebi’ illustrates a beautiful forest with sunlight peeking through the leaves of the trees. What English word could compare? "Light filtering through leaves".

Kawaakari - Just like many untranslatable Japanese words, kawaakari conjures an entire landscape in the mind’s eye. This word refers to light reflected off a river at night or dusk.

Kyouka suigetsu - is a Japanese phrase that can’t be easily translated into English. It refers to something that is visible but can’t be touched, like the moon’s reflection on the water. Or, an emotion that can’t be described in words.

Tsukimi - Japanese festivals often revolve around nature. Tsukimi is the act of viewing the moon, which is often enjoyed en-masse during moon-viewing festivals in September or October.

Mottainai - Having a hard time parting with clothes you never wear or throwing out expired condiments? ‘Mottainai’ is a colloquial term used when confronting the feeling of regret that comes with wastefulness. ‘Mottainai’ doesn’t only refer to items that you toss in the bin, but also perfectly good things that are left unused or sitting in storage. The term can also be used to describe a waste of talents or missed opportunities

Irusu - 'Irusu’, a word combining the Japanese terms for ‘here’ and' ignore’, is used to describe a situation where you’re home but don’t feel like answering the doorbell. If you have a sneaking suspicion that the person at your door is there to sell you another subscription plan you don’t need, you might feel tempted to just ‘irusu’.  

.Champion.

The first time Tegoshi read that Koyama thought of him whenever he heard of the word "champion" on WinkUp, he only laughed and made a face.

He didn't tell Koyama that he still dreamed about it sometimes, his cowardice. He dreamed about a younger Tegoshi, tiny hands clenched into fists while looking at a mirror and see the reflection of a cute young girl staring back at him; she even dressed in that fluffy skirt his mother loved seeing on him. He dreamed about a fifteen years old Tegoshi, face paled with anger seeing the pervert who dared touch him escape to the crowd on the train home. He dreamed about the audience turning away even when he was still on stage, the distant looks from the members who were supposed to be his comrades.

But Koyama did not know that, not the past and not those dreams. 

Koyama did not know about the days Tegoshi had lived before he reached out his hand for him to take. To him, Tegoshi of that time would always remained innocent. A boy who was naive, was struggling, but never damaged. A boy who was easily contented, smiled when patted on the head and tried to hug him whenever he could. He did not know of a Tegoshi who talked to stuffed animals and went to the forest to look for Totoro, one who knew he could take on five to seven in a fight because of experience, one who was weak, troubled, and stood on the other spectrum of the word "champion". It was not enough to make Tegoshi wanted to correct him. He did not hate himself, and he knew was not the boy he was in the past. But sometimes, the way Koyama looked at him like he was looking at the most unblemished existence on earth shattered him to a thousand pieces. 

Koyama could never figured out why Tegoshi was so touched upon having Koyama driving him home or agreed to join him in practice. A simple act of kindness, Koyama would think it did not matter. He could never know how deep of an abyss he dragged Tegoshi out of when he gave out his hand that day. 

He wanted to shout it all out for Koyama to hear. That he was not perfect, that "not perfect" was not just about the pranks or the bad habits Koyama never minded. He wanted to tell him things he knew would not make Koyama hate him, but would make him look at Tegoshi somewhat less admiringly and more sympathetically, which he hated the most. 

He wanted to tell him everything, but at the same time did not feel the need to breathe a word. People only talked about things like that when they needed help did they not? And Tegoshi need no help from him. 

That is why every time they met, Tegoshi spent most of his time drinking, singing, laughing and kissing. Koyama loved him enough to make him forget even himself. He thought that was enough.

But deep inside, some very, very small part of him wanted even more than that. 

That some day, he would love Koyama enough to show him all of these scars.