Stolidism

"I had developed a taste."  And it was gourmet, epicurean rather.  But it was all for nigh, alone. The bitter taste of the blackened brew in front of me felt a bit off.  What had changed?   Not much, really.  It was still the same powder I used, mixed with the same water that I had always drank, in even the same crystal mug that I so adored. Why then, did it feel so repugnant?  I poured all the coffee down the sink. The silver grey steel clanked as the water splashed against it, bickering down the drainage pipes. In the dead silence of the night, it made a loud racket. But it was fine, I was alone. I rinsed the cup, the warm water running in ellipses between my calloused fingertips. It was disgusting, the water. Warm enough to not be refreshing and cold enough to not be comforting. It felt like touching the insides of someone's mouth, the saliva coating the palms, digits snuggling the slimy epithelium, as the person gagged on your fingers chocking their only way to breat-

"Tastes are acquired." "Gradually. Painstakingly. Slowly." "It's not a one time thing, it takes a while." "It takes repetition."   The sun started to stir in the east sky. It was early spring, the sun was still groggy, a bit late to the 5 am party. I looked down from the terrace. Dogs, three of them, barking, roughing each other up, snarling in a constant struggle for survival. Beside them, humans. Families walking, couples sauntering, friends running beside each other, the rare person jogging alone. Open drains, faeces piled up on the sides of the roads, adorning the dark corners. All of this, making a suburban scenery, lightly brightened by the drunk late winter, early spring sun.  From my vantage point, without my glasses, they all looked the same. So small, so scattered, so lifeless, so insignificant to the universe. Just like me. I averted my gaze from the streets below and looked at the skyline instead. It still was not bright enough to

A detailed depiction of a cramped Japanese city. A bell shaped creature with a long nose. A classroom. These are the first three panels you are introduced to after you open the book. You start with the most basic design. A simple bird that seems to be drawn by a 3rd grader, with an equally simple name to accompany it - Punpun. But the simplicity ends right after the first panel, as you're thrown into the eerily realistic backdrop filled with characters almost bordering on the cliffs of the uncanny valley. And before you realise it, you're engrossed in the story. Inio Asano and his team are brilliant mangakas. And here, their brilliance lies not in the main character designs, but in the extremely well thought out grading and shading choices of the backgrounds in the panels. Whether you read it in stark daylight or huddled under your sheets at night, there is something ever so slightly off-putting about the whole manga that will put your mind in a state of unease, setting the ton

"Today is 22 September 2021" It's finally the dreaded day. Dreaded not because it is horrendous, but because it is painful, beautifully painful. It has been a wild 12 week ride. I sat waiting , every Wednesday, eagerly, for whenever the next episode would drop, usually at 12 am Japanese Standard Time. The 20 something minutes of joy I recieved was second to none. Enjoyable, funny, cute, and sometimes demurely touching in on more serious topics like drifting away from family, the resolve of a lone struggler and societal pressure, Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid S, has certainly lived up to the high standards that the previous season had set. However, this is a more personal post, not a review of the show, because I'm aware of the heavy bias I have, in favour of it. I remember watching the first episode of the original season - Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid - on a car trip I was on with my family.  It was a long, tiring 12 hour ride with five people and all the lugg

I couldn't remember where the months went by. Sounds overly dramatic?  Well, it is not, and it is much more common than we might imagine. Most of us, whether aware of it, or unaware, space out sometimes. Those short bursts when we perform an action, but have no recollection of it later on. Although usually, these are physical things - leaving our keys in a drawer, finding ourselves with an open bottle of alcohol on our couches - these activities can be mentally demanding too. From not having recollections of a meeting to doing our job duties on autopilot while thinking of something else, it all is the same. But in the moment, as we live it, it feels natural, nothing out of the ordinary. Except when a long while later something from that duration comes up, and we have no memories. And that? That is scary. The same thing happened to me.  It was a cold evening in January. Jovial and merry spirits all around, the staple when it comes to new year. A slight drizzle tapped at my small win

"Buzzzz. Buzzzz. Buzzzz." Jolt out of bed. Dismiss the alarm. Drag body to the bathroom. Come back. Succumb to sleep again. "Buzzzz. Buzzzz. Buzzzz." Turn sideways. Stick a hand out of the blanket. Switch off the alarm. Fall back into the slumber. "Weeeeoooo. Weeeeooo." Can't ignore this one. Siren alarm, which means it is seriously late. Roll out of bed at 10 am.  "Feel like brushing?" Not really.  "Alright, postpone." "Feel like showering? " Nah, it's cold. "Alright, postpone." Mix eight big spoons of instant coffee powder into the two litre flask with cold water. Stuff the mouth with anything lying around the house.  Wear whatever lies in sight. Get to work. Roam around like a zombie, taking swigs from the flask to keep awake. "Empty?" Refill.  "Empty again?" Refill again. Back home, finally.  More coffee. Stay up late to work. Browse. Chat. Surf. Eat dinner. Procrastinate. Surf some mo