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Tokyo brutality

Updated: Oct 24, 2021


Exit number five from Meiji-Jingumae station in Harajuku. This is where ENF comes from. Fucking heaven.



Mizuki moved to Tokyo in early October, traded Khoury for Ichihashi. I think I’m here to stay permanently. No more of 514, it’s +81.


Starting a new life doesn’t feel like I'm starting a new life.


I clutch onto 4000 yen worth of groceries hoping that the incessant eye contact with men isn’t from my skirt riding up.


I feel like I did as a child. Permanently confused, riddled with anxiety and imposter syndrome. I persisted, but I don’t know where I really am going. In fact, I have no fucking idea what I’m fucking doing and all I know is that my calendar is packed until next week. Beyond that, I can’t see a single thing.


I’m scared, mostly. I’m in a sea of people but I know I’ll never really get tired of them.


My life here in Tokyo is glamorous, but that is, to me only. I squat on the floor of my 7m2 room eating cherry tomatoes and refreshing Instagram to tell everyone that I'm back in town so suddenly. Luxury to me is being in awe everywhere you go. I feel fucking rich even if I’ve never been so poor and jobless, and I don’t even feel lonely, not even a little homesick. And I’m dumb as shit here. I can barely fucking read, social anxiety gripping on me every time I have to face a cashier, I’m nervous just to cross the street, am I even walking in the right direction? But I’ve never felt so fucking free. I don’t answer my mom’s calls, I don’t feel like it. I don’t want to talk about Tokyo with others. I’m too busy feeling. It’s just so hard to describe. What’s so fucking lavish about sitting on a pile of laundry eating off-brand cereal? To me this is everything.


I read a book on the train home 2 nights ago, just because I can’t relate to any songs lately so I don’t bother with music and I don’t really want to use up my 4g on things other than Google maps. Reading a book on the train when everyone was glued to their phone did not make me feel better than everyone. I wish I had someone to text. But text like, I don’t want to talk about Tokyo. I’m done. There’s nothing more to say than I almost had a panic attack at exit number five in Harajuku because I was so happy. Exhilarated but fucking nervous to see the light at the end of the stairs. But October 18th 2021 at 3pm was the first time I felt like I was going to die because I was just so happy. My knees were so fucking weak and I felt myself fall apart.



Poke in the quar Airbnb bathroom. Didn't hurt as much as I thought it would tho. Peep luggage behind me I came down w half of my life packed fr



But it’s funny. It’s been 2 years. Where have I been? Not in Tokyo.

I walked around aimlessly. No music. No thoughts. I remember vaguely, I see shadows, and I hunt for pieces of me that I left scattered here. Sometimes I’d get stared at with creepy eyes and I’d get scared but I don't feel anything now. I don’t care anymore, I’m so numb to it. I hate that I look like a toy to them. I give up.


I went to Yoyogi park to find my fucking grave, near the lake but the whole section was closed off so I sat somewhere else and just contented myself by looking at where I rested 2 years ago when I had nothing to do. Where I held hands with people who betrayed me. I give up.


And Harajuku station looks like Fairview now. And the games him and me played at the arcade in Shibuya all got replaced. And Coins Bar was closed. And there’s none of that Jun Inagawa sticker in the backstreet of the building. And Ichi doesn’t work at 2nd Street. And the convenience store on front of the building near Urahara is gone, and to that, I felt relief, because that is related to my most painful memory as a girl, and it feels like it never happened, like maybe that nothing bad ever happened to me in Urahara, nothing bad happened to me when I was a girl.


So the Tokyo I knew and loved and admired is no more.


But, the Apple store is still there, Fukutoshin line still delivers, vending machines still work. I remember my way down to Mcdonald’s, everyone looks like death on the train, no one knows me, no one knows where I am, no one knows their sun sign even and best, no one gives a shit about me.



The Used (Harajuku). Tell 18 year old me I'll be ok.



Tokyo, you’re brutal.

I don’t see the people I was once looking forward to see so fucking bad. You rain, you’re cloudy, I don’t know which coin is worth what, I zip up my hoodie in public, my stomach hurts and I’m always emotional.

Tokyo, you’re fucking brutal.

I send myself out here but you don’t come at me with open arms. You don’t have arms. You’re just a city like every other, rats and trash and cracked sidewalks and catcalls, but I love you. Even here, in bed, at home in Tokyo, I think of you before I fall asleep. I think fuck, I am the luckiest person alive.

Brutal because everything I once knew is gone. I have no one to call. I don’t want to call anyone. I can’t read or write, there’s almost no point in me being here because of that.


So I sit and I draw.

I’m exit number five after all, at exit number five.


Tokyo, I love you, I’ve loved you since I saw you at 16. 3 years gone, I hope I’m still yours.


I’m nobody here and I’m even less than I was in Montreal but I feel like a god.

Brutal. I can never fall asleep. I feel every colour and every sound and everything chimes in me and I feel like I’m falling apart and I love you.


Tokyo, you’ll fucking break me, you fucking broke me, and I’ll do it again and again and again and again.

Watch the stars in my eyes, I’m just 19, genderfucked and just 19.


I’ve never felt so alive. You give me butterflies in my stomach, my hands shake everywhere. You’re a pretty boy and I’m a high school girl. I don’t know what’s next.


I don’t think I can guess what’s coming next. It feels like it’s too big, too surreal for me to even imagine. My mind is blank when I think of the future.


Maybe I am in survival mode right now. Maybe I am too obnoxious when I walk. Maybe I should wear a bra in public.


Tokyo, you’re brutal.

What I feel is huge.


Tokyo, stay brutal.

Don’t mellow out, don’t wither. This is my only home, I have nowhere else to go.


Be hard on me. Be rude. Be cold.

This is my only home and I’ll dig until you have no choice but to submit. I’ll riot until the whole city knows my name. I’ll ink until there’s no more space for revolution.


Tokyo brutality.

How’s Tokyo so far? I hope you’re having fun!

Tokyo is brutal.

And I knew what to expect.


Tokyo, you look good on me. So sleek and so cold, and I’m fuming, rough on the edges, hot pink and not a girl.


Tokyo, you’re brutal.

I don’t know anything else but feeling lost at home.


I don’t think I exist anywhere else.




autoportrait



Yours truly, 4ever n ever n ever n ever n ever n ever n for fkn ever,


Mizuki/enf


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