Dream On: Vinyl and Tavi's Private Weblog

by Koiyuki

Octavia, on Passion and Obsession

Vinyl, I’m sure you know that to truly excel at something, there must be sacrifice. This was a concept my instructor introduced during my first Cello lessons. When it was near the tail end of our session, I told him all the things I wanted to be, to which he said, “It’s fine if you want to be so many things. If you cannot pick the one you truly want, though, you won’t ever be exceptional at any of them.” When I asked what he meant by that, he asked me to stand beside him at the towering french window in front of us. Bathed in the waning light of the sunset, he said something I’ve heard many times during my time as a Cellist

“The great musicians devoted their lives to their art, often to the point of total obsession. Serious skill cannot be learned casually. To truly be great, you must be willing to sacrifice many other things, as your father has to give you the life you enjoy, the house you live in, and the dinner you are about to enjoy”

At the time, such concepts were difficult for me to grasp, but as I thought about all the hours he spent away from home and overhearing classmates wishing they could have time with the parents, I slowly realized that if I truly loved playing the Cello, I had to give more of myself to it, so it, in turn, could better express what I held deep within. This was affirmed when I was playing at the elementary school talent show, and my performance, with a classmate accompanying me on Piano, had the others on their feet in applause(If I’m not mistaken, the piece was a cello adaptation of Zigeunerweisen). I simply couldn’t believe that something I did could get people out of their seats, and almost lost grip on my bow from the shock.

It was shortly after that day that I swore to be as proficient at the instrument as I could, putting anything I thought detrimental to my progress far off into the distance. I had my caretaker, I had you, when when we became friends, and I had the luxury of devoting myself to my craft without having to focus on anything unrelated to it, I didn’t need anything else that wasn’t, somehow, related to me growing as a cellist. Honestly, if you and the others hadn’t been there, I’m certain I would’ve become far more tunnel visioned than I currently am about what has now become my profession. This much I realized when one of my mates in the college orchestra I was apart of convinced me, somehow, to go to a meeting for a club she was part of, this one centered around Japonican animation, or what you know better as Anime.

***

Before that day, I, through the late night viewing sessions you and I had from time to time, had a passing fancy for the medium. The image I had of its typical fan, however, was that of a fat, neckbearded male who took terrible care of himself and was even worse at basic socialization, something I picked up from fellow students who spoke horribly of people they called “Freaks and Geeks” When I got to the classroom where the club met, I saw a few people who fit that to a T, but among the people waiting to watch the Anime of the moment was a man who, even to this day, stands as one of the most dazzling hunks of man meat I’ve ever seen.

His skinny black jeans and sunshine yellow tee hugged every bit of his taut physique, the word Senpai seemingly imprinted across that chiseled chest. His jawline had the kind of strong grace you’d expect from a runway model, while his sunkissed hair flowed in waves around around his sapphire eyes. When our eyes met after the meeting’s end, I approached him, butterflies in the stomach, and before I could get a word out, he greeted me with a hearty handshake and, “Hi! I’m First Spring! Have you read the new chapter of Kashimashi!? ” At the time, I had no clue what he was talking about, so I had the friend who brought me inform me about the young man, learning that he was quite an enthusiast concerning a lesbian romance-focused subgenre of Anime called Yuri, giving me his FaceSpace account, so I could establish further contact.

In all honesty, though, I didn’t really know what I could say to him, considering I knew absolutely nothing about him nor what he was into. I spent what felt like hours on my bed staring at his profile on my laptop, seeing him post pictures of his cosplay featuring those rippling abs while my thoughts ran a kilometer a minute. I went to the fridge for some Bourbon Creams and Earl Grey, and out of the blue, I remembered a nugget of wisdom my butler shared with me en route to my first day of school, when I was openly wondering how I was going to talk with the other kids. Before I left, he kneeled down and told me, “Let others teach you about themselves. When you are open to learning from them, they will be open to learning about you”

With those thoughts as my guide, I requested First Spring's friendship on the site, learning over the few conversations we had that he was quite an ebullient young man, one quite bold about both his love of Yuri and his own personal struggles to be a social creature. He certainly wasn’t shy about showing the plethora of young female figures decorating his living space and inviting friends over to play single player games featuring them. One thing, in particular, though, stuck out to me while I was preparing to travel with the school orchestra for a global tour(because that’s a thing people are willing to pay to hear, college students playing orchestra music).

I was waiting for the other students to file into the bus and get their luggage sorted, when he asked if I had any dreams I wanted to achieve, to which, even with my passion for the cello, I had no answer to after all the research I did, and reading tale after tale of musicians scraping by while they sought a place to practice their craft professionally. Not long after I expressed such concerns, he told me, “Well it has to be better than working some nine to five wondering what could’ve happened if you had the guts to go after what you love to do, right? Life is way too short to be playing it safe and not having fun with things, if you ask me!” With those words in my heart, I rededicated myself to my craft, putting aside everything I thought unneeded in order to pursue what my heart desired.

During the weeks long pursuit, however, I had lost contact with that young man. He was still on my list of friends, but for whatever reason, he would not return any attempt I made at contacting him. I tried and tried in as respectful a manner as I could to encourage conversation, but a month of those attempts turned up absolutely nothing in return. I couldn’t understand. What had I done wrong? What changed in the month I could not contact him? How is it possible that the progress I had in getting to know him had suddenly been ground to a halt?

At the time, I didn’t think it was worth exploring any further, so I put the issue aside, and threw myself into my studies and my practice. The few times I could make time for meeting up with you and the others were the only face to face social contact I had my entire school year, including when you all saw me take the stage at graduation. It was a happy day to see you all, but wasn’t until years later that I realized the day I spoke with him on the bus was the last time I ever heard from him.

***

While I was in the studio with Takamine, her beloved arrived with a tray of Bourbon Creams and Earl Grey for tea time, all of us congregating on the couch to partake. As we sunk in, I remember saying something like, “It was sweet of you to bring this out for us, Neon. I only wish I had someone in my life to do the same” When he asked what I meant by that, I started to recount the moments I spent with First Spring, Takamine letting out a soft chuckle between nibbles.

“Seems like, while you parted ways with the boy, the boy never parted ways with you” I scratched at my crown trying to interpret what she meant

"How can you say we never parted ways, when I've heard neither hide nor hair from him in ages?"

"You're still making a space for him, in your heart, are you not? Or is there another reason why you still speak so wistfully of him after all this time?" A sigh escaped me, the violin I brought for the session resting in my lap during its tune up.

"In all honesty, I don't think anything ever got going between he and I, no matter what I did. I never even found the courage nor the time to tell him I liked him"

"Because you got so caught up in going after what you desire, correct?"

"I was." I said as I ran through the Mixolydian Mode. "To this day, I wonder if we could've started something special, if things had been different. What if I had been bolder, like he said he likes in a girl? What if I put more effort into meeting him face to face? What if I was better at being social back then?"

"What if you were so focused on what could have been, that you’re making it that much harder to realize what happened then and there?" For an instant, I froze from the realization. I never thought about it that deeply before that day, and in reality, I was so focused on what I thought I did wrong, I had forgotten how I felt when we had those moments together, even if most of them were in a Facespace chat room.

“Perhaps I was. I can’t help but think, though, that if the connection I made with him had ever made any progress, my life would’ve been that much richer”

“How would it have made your life richer?”

“For one, I would’ve had someone to find comfort in, the kind of comfort that mere friends cannot offer without taking it into that next phase of a relationship, if you catch my drift”

“Like something you can center yourself on?”

“Right. As much as I love playing the cello, it’s just not healthy to make that the thing I build myself around.” At that moment, her beloved slammed his glass on the jet black table, the cookies and trey skipping a bit as he stared dead at me

“Do you honestly think that building around someone instead of something is any healthier?” He asked. “If either go away, isn’t the end result the damn same?” I have to admit, the tension in that room felt thick enough to cut with a knife. A hand on the shoulder and a gentle smile seems to work just as well, though, as Takamine demonstrated after she got up to face him. Without a word, he nodded at her, and got up to head off, asking, “Meat supreme, okay?” right before he went out to pick up a pizza. Turning to me, she, with far more kindness in her voice, asked me the same question, and I had the same answer that I had for him: confusion and silence from not knowing how to answer.

“I understand if it isn’t easy for you to find an answer within. The reason, in my view, that he got so upset, is because he knows what it’s like to base your emotional growth and well being on something external. If I may, can I tell you a bit of a story?” I nodded, and took a nibble of the Bourbon Creams as she, and later he, after he got back home with the pie, shared this memory with me, which I’ll now share with you as best as my memory will allow.

***

When first I met him, he, like you, poured himself into his music. Like you, he was convinced his worth came from when his work was worth something, when it was something that ‘got the crowd pumping and the joint jumping,’ as he likes to say about the music he loves. A year and some change into our relationship, he hit a wall, as all creatives do, in how he created his style of music, and couldn’t put out anything that he considered good no matter what he did. Because of that, he started leaning more heavily on things that he thought would let him be more creative, such as Marijuana, alcohol and other, harder substances that he was frequently offered on tour, but never took. I’ve seen enough from others I’ve known to know that if he got too reliant on those things, it would burn him out like other creative greats before him, something that grew clearer to me from how much more ragged he looked and how much more irritable he grew to be longer his creative block went on.

The night I confronted him about it, we were both pretty smashed, which lead to us having less than stellar judgement, and lead to us hurting each other pretty bad. I swear, it was so heated, it got to the point where he slapped me for taking his music lightly and I decked him in return with a right hook to the temple. We needed a few days of space to cool down and see things at least somewhat objectively, something that revealed that I was being a bit of a prick, and he was a total wreck about where he wanted his career in EDM to go. I was the same way about being a singer a couple years before I met him, so I took him to meet my uncle, Meishu, back home in Japonica. Whenever I hit a rough patch, that cocoa maned, handsome waif of a man was always the one that ended up taking me in to help me get my head right. He was also the one that introduced me to Saddled Buddhism, as a matter of fact, and taught me a lot of stuff I still hold dear today, the same stuff he talked about with my boy in the month we were exploring the country, cleaning around the house and hitting up different concerts and clubs.

The morning we were supposed to get our stuff ready for the plane ride back home, my uncle woke us up super early, and asked if we wanted to go fishing, still wearing the same sleeveless lumberjack’s shirt and hand-made denim hakama he had on when I first met him. My uncle can understand our language as well as my boy could understand his(as in, when my uncle smiled at me and said, “Okaeri, Mine-chan!” my boy kinda scratched at his crown and had this ‘What?’ look on his face), so I had to play interpreter the entire trip. This was including while we were sitting on that little dinghy, and my uncle, with his pond scum green eyes fixed on his fishing lure, asked, “I’m curious, Neon. What kind of fish would you rather have: a 10 pounder that someone said they would bring you or a 1 pounder that you taught yourself to catch? Which one do you think would taste better?” The silence was killer, the anticipation fueled by the weeks of him speaking to my uncle about his issues-through texts, though, as my uncle’s written knowledge seems way stronger than spoken, for reasons, and looking like he picked up NOTHING my uncle was conveying.

During one of my uncle’s off days from his job at the cop box, he and I took a stroll through downtown Kakegawa, catching up on old times and him making sure I still had my head on straight. Over the course of our chat, I told him the only thing I wanted to do was help my boy find his center again, to which he asked, “Do you want to help him to where he don’t need your help no more, or to where you feel needed enough for him to turn to you when things get rough?” It was around that time he gestured towards the top of an incomplete skyscraper, my uncle sipping his Seabucks before he spoke about the welder working on the steel beams all around them.

“See that big fella’ up there? See how he’s working closely with all that intense heat and either lethal mixes of gases or fatal quantities of electricity? See how, with just his skills and his tools, he’s creating plasma with his hands? Why, to do that, they gotta have the highest level of focus the entire time they are working, ‘til their bodies get so used to what they gotta do that they’re ain’t no need to be continually conscious of it, ‘til the entirety of their being becomes ‘I am welding now.’ What they’re doing right now is their internalized bliss. Their act is sublime, and their focus is perfect. In the moment they weld, they’ve attained Mushin no Shin, something you young folks like to call The Zone.” You and I know that things happen, though, and welders like that might lose their job, or injure a hand, leaving ‘em unable to weld.

I said as much to my uncle and asked “What happens to their zone? What happens to their bliss?” His answer? “Well, if their zone was an expression of the zone they already had within them, does losing the ability to express their zone in one way leave them unable to do it in another?” I think my uncle saw my eye twitching, because not long after, he offered to treat me to some Azuki Bean ice cream from my favorite dessert spot in the city, his question swimming around in my head ‘til a few days later, when I met up with my boy at the local bike rental shop. As I saw him wobble about, he laughed and talked about the first time he rode a bike as a kid, about how good it felt when he didn’t have anyone or anything but himself keeping the bike straight and pushing forward. In that moment I started realizing that, like training wheels, the best way you can help another is to give them the wisdom they need until that wisdom is no longer needed to do what they want to do, for someone to help another until the help they provide is no longer needed, however tough on the ego that may be.

When I was a kid, my uncle taught me that when you can help others, without attachment or expecting anything back from them, that you’ll be practicing what he called Isshin, or in practical terms, One Mind. It wasn’t until years later that I realized it means, in part, that you’ll be benefiting all beings in the world by helping just one. I know how crazy that sounds, but as I got older, it helped me better grasp that the things I do don’t define me, the things I do are defined by me, something that, the more I saw him ride with that smile plastered on his face, I knew he had to realize on his own in order for it to stick.

As a musician, I'm big on the idea that our best work comes from what we create being an extension of who we are, where we’ve been and what we’ve been through, things I heard in his earlier work and part of what made me reach out to provide my services to him all those years back. After he fell into his funk, I could sense that quality in his music starting to flicker with each track he put out, each one sounding more like the other and less like something he really wanted to make. To help him get back to his creative zone, I had to trust that the wisdom given to him was enough for him to start the journey towards finding the emotional center within him, no matter how much it hurt to watch him struggle it out. Hours later, while we were shooting the breeze on that little dinghy, my uncle’s fishing line was suddenly taut and being pulled into the water, my uncle leaning back and pulling on his bamboo fishing rod like he was trying to yank out the world’s biggest bathtub plugger. After about 10 minutes of watching that massive salmon flop around on the water’s surface, my uncle was able to reel it in, panting as he triumphantly yelled “Finally got ya’, ya’ slippery little bastard!” in Japonican, and held it up next to him, so I could snap a pic of it on my phone(by the way, that salmon was over half as tall as my 5'5 uncle!) Not a moment later, he turned to my boy and asked if he wanted the big fish cooked up for dinner. With the softest smile I saw from him that whole trip, he answered, “Thanks, but I think I’ll catch my own fish.”

My jaw dropped as I watched my uncle confirm his choice, then unhook the fish and release it back into the water(as he’s a vegetarian and only eats veggies, and junk). I knew, though, that when my boy cast his line into the water, that he wanted to be able to catch his own fish, even if it took ‘til the sun dropped into the horizon to snag a fish you could hold in the palm of your hand(which is roughly what ended up happening, me sitting silently and patiently by his side the whole time). That act of determination told me that he was ready to start the journey my uncle told me all of us need to take, if we ever expect to find the emotional center waiting deep within to be expressed without, one I was glad to be by his side for during all those months back at home and while he was on tour. A few seasons later, I went to go pick up from the airport after he rocked the house at Japonica’s mega rave fest, Electric Lily Carnival, expecting to his eyes look as bloodshot as all getout. Sure enough, when my gaze locked with his cerulean blues, I could see the veins bumping, but something felt different. His gaze was bleary, but that half closed look showed so much about the kind of peace my uncle taught me about as a kid. About the only thing I could think to do was return that sleepy smile with my own, holding him close as I whispered, “When we get home, I’m gonna hop on you like white on rice”

***

As usual, my time with them ended with them asking if I was interested in a three-way, and me politely declining. When I headed off that night, however, I started to think more in depth about my life’s journey and how so much of it seemed to revolve around seeking something I could center myself on, whether it was the cello, First Spring or anything else. Perhaps it was also part of why I felt so lost after we had that time apart, why, during moments of solitude not spent in research nor practice, I felt so alone. That much crossed my mind months later, after I saw my butler off from one of his periodic visits, and I went to partake of my S'mores Frappuccino from the local Seabucks, taking in the winter afternoon from my window seat. I believe I was on my phone playing that Puzzle game you're always going on about, PazuDora, when suddenly I hear a voice call out "Octy? Octy, is that you?" From the corner of my eye, I saw the same sunkissed hair I first caught glimpse of in that anime club, this time wearing a tight black tee, jeans and a green apron and visor hat. My gaze locked with his striking sapphire blues, the familiar spark of life telling me this was indeed First Spring. With my own softest smile, I answered, “It’s been quite a long time, hasn’t it, First Spring?”

“Sure has! So sorry for never writing you back, by the way. You know how college gets, with classes, parties, and friends, and junk! I’m going to meet someone downtown, why don’t you come with me, so we can catch up on old times?” With that, I followed him to his somewhat worse for wear minivan, and rode passenger as he drove through the busy Manehatten streets, snow dusting the windshield and car horns filling the air. While we were crawling through traffic, I learned about the details of his life that I couldn’t glean from his FaceSpace activity, sharing his journey towards becoming more social the more I shared my own with him. When I heard him speak about how he forced himself into more social situations in order to improve his social skills-and ultimately himself, I started to remember the sheepish charm that first attracted me to him. I know a giggle escaped me when he said, “I never imagined I would be sitting a few tables away from someone for two hours debating with myself whether or not I should even talk to them” concerning someone he met long ago. Shortly after securing parking, he took me inside the Toy Bazaar, both us climbing the the stairs spiraling up towards the gigantic keyboard built into the floor. There, a young woman waited for our, or more likely his arrival. Covered in a grey winter coat, somewhat tattered jeans, and tan beanie, she waved at us, First Spring returning her wave and introducing her to me as his beloved(something I probably should have guessed from the daggers her murky purples shot through her coke bottle glasses and between her aqua bangs). With my hand extended, I smiled at her and told her, “It does my heart well to know a friend of mine ended up with someone as lovely as you.”

“L-lovely?” she stammered as she shook my hand firmly. “Well I don’t know about lovely. I’m hardly as lovely as her.” In one swift motion, she pulled out her smartphone and opened to this image of Skuld, from Oh My Goddess(a charming little romance series, if I do say so!). With a loving sigh, she cast her gaze upon it and said, “She makes me want to cut my heart out and serve it as a sacrifice to her beautiful face. Right, honey?” He nodded in agreement, then rushed us off to the local Hawaiian diner for us to try Loco Moco, a bed of rice topped by a hand formed burger patty, then topped with sunny side up eggs, then topped with gravy he said he grew up with. As I watched them feed each other their Loco Moco, a strange sensation came over me. As the savoury scent of the dish struck, I could feel my heart rip to pieces, but soon after, a warmth sprang forth to soothe the wounds. I felt a joy for them I never thought I could, like I wanted to be happy for them and do what I could to help them find a better happiness, even if that happiness was not my happiness.

When I got home to practice my cello technique, I noticed something unusual in how I played it. As I went through my repetitions, I felt more like what I wanted to express was coming through my instrument, not my instrument guiding what I played. Instead of straining to follow the rhythm, I learned to syncopate so I could more distinctly define it. Everything I learned about the world’s musical traditions, from the enchanting strums of Saddle Arabia to the uplifting swing of the Celtic isles soon blended together, better arming me to craft rich, intricate cross rhythms I was proud to call my own. My instrument was part of me, and I flowed through my instrument, in time drawing me closer to the zone all of us seek when we perform, a place where every act flows out as naturally as breathing. To this day, I wonder if that meant my journey towards finding the emotional centre within has finally begun. I have no doubt, however, that what I’ve learned has helped me more clearly realise what it means to be creative, what it means to be my own person and to draw from both the world around me and the thoughts and feelings deep within me. This much was dawned on me during a hangout First Spring had arranged between me, him and his beloved over back at that Seabucks, and his beloved asked me to play a few pieces from her favourite anime. I certainly do like to get paid for my performances, but seeing her eyes light up, as well as the small crowd of onlookers that gathered, reminded me of what my gift could bring to the world, of how my music could stir the emotions of those who heard it. Perhaps someday, I might even honour the request of the next hooligan who yells “Play Freebird!” instead of fighting off the urge to bash them about the face and body. It’s highly doubtful, but you never know what wonders the future will hold

Author's Note:

From Vinyl

I know what you mean about finding your creative center, man. It's never easy to keep in touch with that special little place in you, and sometimes, just to find it, you gotta do something super crazy. I remember back in high school, I was super big on being independent, to the point where I was saving away to move out of my comfy little house in the 'burbs, as well studying up on all the stuff I'd need. The day I finally got all my stuff over to the new pad is one I still think about whenever I remember about the people who helped me and my folks get where they are now. Maybe I'll start writing about on the way to next big outdoor rave

Comments

[Koiyuki]

6584041 Thank you, sir! I hope you enjoy the rest of the entries, as well as the ones in the works!