02/27/25, Tokyo

I live in tokyo now and I sleep in a small gray bedroom with a big window that faces a translucent-tiled wall. About five other women, who I don’t really know, live in the apartment with me, and it’s an ecosystem with a mellow flow, but yesterday, somebody stole my plates from the kitchen. or hid them, i don't know. I had five, each of them pastel colored and plastic. They are kids-plates from ikea and I eat meals that a child would when I use them; like Cut up grapes and strawberries and other measly portioned bites, despite being a good cook when I feel like it. I wish i knew where they went, i searched through every drawer and cabinet but they’re just gone. i wish somebody didn't take the plates, because i hid my youth in them, but some people get their youth stolen before its even time to hide it so i cant complain much about my plates. 

Besides that ill be twenty two this year and im the most alone i've ever been. I ride the train alone and in silence, eat alone, think alone.I keep my youth other places too but its an easy thing to lose and these days i forget how to find it. 

I get this feeling in my chest when i eat in restaurants and i forget where i am and forget all about my youth and i feel very wrinkled. when i speak aloud i get dizzy and i cant recognize my voice and it scares me so bad sometimes that it makes me cry.

On the other side of my wall sleeps a small Vietnamese woman who is not too much older than me but who still makes me feel apt for the usage of my plates. She likes to practice english with me in the kitchen and sometimes she speaks clearly and i understand it all and other times we get very stuck in translation but giggle at each other warmly. In the mornings she microwaves her breakfast and it often includes fish and the aroma is very unpleasant but i respect that she doesn't just eat cut up fruit like me. She moved here to learn Japanese and find a good job and I don't think she took my plates because she is happy and likes to smile and has no greed in her at all, i think.

Beside her sleeps a similarly small woman from India who is older than her neighbor but younger than my mother. She is a woman, with a disposition far meeker than mine, but our admissions to one another are equal in timidness. We spoke about her seventeen year old daughter who lives back in India, but the comprehensiveness of the conversation didn’t last much further than just the fact that the daughter exists. She cooks an intricate dinner for herself each night with lots of vegetables and strong, hearty scents and often speaks to her husband on the phone as she eats it. I don’t remember her name, or the name of the Vietnamese woman, even though I see them everyday. But I know that in this house I exist as a nameless being as well, so I don’t feel bad. One night I sat at the kitchen table with them and I gave the vietnamese woman a small can of white wine that I wasn’t gonna drink. She thanked me dearly, fled the room hastily and came back with a small bar of chocolate for me. Through giggles of amazement she told me how the Indian woman next to her had never in her life tried alcohol. I tried to ask her why and didn’t receive a clear answer but i understood that it was in some way against her worldly principles. I don’t think the Vietnamese woman intended to offend as she unknowingly proceeded to pressure the Indian woman into trying a sip of wine. I watched her try to politely decline several times, but ultimately accept the cup, because she knows that we are all in different places and sometimes your honesty is unwanted when it doesn't appeal to somebody else’s humility. And though the purpose of honesty isn't to appease, it also kind of is. I understand this because I know that sometimes the truth is nasty and people don’t like it when its not the type of nasty they sell on TV. This woman is never nasty at the cost of what she thinks is harmless dishonesty. From my side of the table i watched her put her lips to the cup and fake a sip of the wine to humor our housemate. i pretended not to notice and asked her if she liked it. She seemed nervous but nodded her head yes. Liar, I think, but in another way, the fake sip was her attempt at staying true. Like the Vietnamese woman, she is also here to find a good job and I don’t think she took my plates because of her tendency to never burden the room and because she has a daughter and because she will never try to use the excuse of being inebriated.

I’ve never interacted with the other three women who live with me. They don’t seem to speak to the Vietnamese woman or the Indian woman or to each other, and they don’t return the smiles I give them in passing. I don’t know why they moved to Tokyo or what they eat for breakfast or whether they drink wine. And they only leave their rooms to go to the bathroom or to go outside or to steal youth i guess.

But it isn’t just the process of elimination that makes them plate thieves, 

It’s that Time eats from plates, then hides them where you’ll never look, it is merciless and natural, And those whose time you’ve never frequented, will hide your plates too.