EPT***
Even closing his eyes was too much effort. Mogi’s eyelids would slowly slide apart to reveal the blurry yellow light overhead. His vision was unfocused, but there was nothing to see. He couldn’t really see anything without his glasses anyways. Mogi lay on his back on the wooden floor of the empty room, his head propped on his hands. It would have been more comfortable in darkness. He was grateful for the makeshift lamp cover shielding the light bulb, preventing the burning luminescence from searing his retinas. He had accidently shattered the original ceramic lampshade months ago, and in its place affixed a cardboard cereal box with a hole punched in the middle. Mogi let his body relax, and sleepiness set in.
It was a sunny day, the sky a vivid blue. Such weather was a rarity, and Mogi felt obligated to go and appreciate the short-lived luxury. He stepped outside, pausing at his doorstep. People were enjoying themselves, running, playing, socializing and laughing. Mogi wanted to share in this exuberance and vitality, and approached a group of familiar looking faces. Their eyes turned on him as he walked up to the circle, then their gazes fell back to the center. He put on a smile to express his friendliness. Mogi stood for some time and found that he had absolutely no interest in their topic of conversation. He remained and suffered politely until an opportunity presented itself and drifted away from the crowd.
Mogi stood off by himself, glanced around, and found that everyone seemed to be engaged in something. He decided to give himself the appearance of purpose, and started walking. Mogi saw someone else standing alone on a bridge, looking to be in the same position he had just been in. Mogi made no attempt to connect with this stranger he was very sure was someone he could relate to. Mogi’s legs were on autopilot with no intention of slowing down as he carried past the solitary soul. They shared a mutual understanding of that same attitude, one which precluded them from the burden of conversation. Once he walked far enough away, Mogi glanced back at the stranger before moving on.
Mogi wandered near another circle of friends. The group opened up and warmly welcomed him in, just by virtue of being from the same local area. Mogi attached himself to the group for a while, grateful to be acknowledged, and content to observe quietly as the flow of conversation swept around him. While it felt this club truly accepted and respected him, Mogi was not able to reciprocate the camaraderie. Eventually the crew decided to relocate to another site. Mogi considered the invitation to come along, but was hesitant to make the sacrifice of time and energy, and said goodbye. He longed for some kind of fulfillment he was unable to sense from this crowd.
Mogi wondered whether he could ever find company in which he felt truly comfortable. He certainly had deeper personal connections with certain people, but circumstances dictated that such encounters were short lived. Few people appreciated his way of thinking, and matters that weighed the heaviest in his mind were seldom appropriate to be shared.
As Mogi walked along, he admired the greenness of the grass, the sway of the leaves, and the wind blowing through his hair. Knowing the fleeting temporariness of the natural sensations pressured him to appreciate everything all the more. Several hours passed, and Mogi found that his legs had taken him back to the door to his room. He did not want to go back inside yet, but had nothing left to do outside. He stepped inside and lay down on the floor.
More time passed and the sky turned dark. Mogi sat up off the floor and gazed through the window, seeing the white moon glow through the clouds. He stepped outside once again where the dark night landscape beckoned. The streets were vacant, cold and quiet. Once again, he felt obligated to take in the twilight scenery under the mystical lunar illumination. This time Mogi felt immensely more at ease and relaxed, with no other people to confront. The streets belonged to him alone. There was no one around to judge or care about what he did. Even those he passed by would be unable to see him as anything more than a faceless shape.
He always ended up lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The light bulb’s orange glaze peaked out from behind the cardboard. Mogi wrestled with unfulfillment and resentment, emotions that never ceased to plague him. Being unable to deduce the source of his troubles only maddened his grief. He did not need to stare out into the starry night sky to be reminded of his insignificance in the universe. Yes, in the big scheme he was small negligible speck, but this speck was the only thing he had any control over.
Mogi’s goals in life were simple; or, at least he thought they were. To get rich, fall in love, have the love reciprocated, and die painlessly were what he wanted. He would gladly forfeit all of them in exchange for the last one only. He was working towards the first one which was all he could do. Many of his closest friends would be starting their working careers very shortly, but Mogi still had some more time to go before reaching that stage. He knew his happiness was heavily influenced by the relative success to those around him, and it naturally came to be that those around him were successful people. Mogi’s pride and confidence convinced him he should be emerging at the top of the fray. His primary motivation was spite, to crush those who challenged his assertion of success. At this stage of the game, score was measured in dollars and Mogi was steadily falling behind. The power hungry egoist was wagering that his chosen path would take him to the top in the long run.
Everything else that detracted from his goals were trivial. Yet those goals did not consume one hundred percent of his time, and Mogi was left with copious amounts of idle emptiness. Time left to tend to unavoidably trivial matters. Obsessed with painting the big picture, he could barely stand to confront the minor challenges of everyday life. How could he tackle the large issues? He couldn’t, and so he resigned himself to writing angst riddled blog entries that others might find meaningful. Mogi was reminded of the loner standing on the bridge, and noted that sometimes reaching out to make connections was easier if they remained faceless.
*NOTES*
The title comes from a funny personal story. One day, I was putting on a shirt and lifted my arms up to thread them through the sleeves. I unknowingly reached over the ceramic lampshade and brought the dish crashing down as I lowered my arms. The lamp shade shattered into pieces on top of my foot, but luckily no cuts were suffered. Now the light bulbs were too bright when I looked in the ceiling’s direction. Being the lazy but resourceful bum I am, I got the idea to stick a flattened cereal box in the shade’s place. I poked a hole through the middle of the cardboard and twisted the cover into place. It’s not quite translucent enough, but it does the trick, and is still there now. During my daily exercise routine as lie on my back, I stare blankly at the cardboard orange lights on the ceiling as I catch my breath.
