mono no aware + short stories

tatemae 建前

tatemae (n.) what a person pretends to believe; the behavior and opinions one must display to satisfy society's demands. literally "constructed facade".

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You took a break from your frantic scribbling in your journal to glance up at me with wide, slightly fearful baby blue eyes, the eyes of a hatchling bird taking its first flight and almost toppling out of its nest. And you swallowed gingerly.

"I don't know," You said, but your gaze betrayed your nervousness as you twisted your body lithely on the beanbags we were lolling on. "I never contacted her again. It wasn't that big of a deal."

I stared at you, your front teeth nibbling slightly on your lower lip as if you were a rabbit hankering for food. The rays of remaining sunset light dappling in from the windows were dim but warm. They illuminated the waterfall of dark brown hair falling down your shoulders in a graceful arc, bouncing gaily off the streaks of gold highlights tangled in between the luscious chocolate. You noticed my eyes on you, and snapped,

"What? It was years ago. Of course I would have talked to her about meeting up in real life, actually getting to know each other, yeah? But I knew it wasn't possible even then. America, Singapore - too far away."

"Well," I interrupted, "Not wanting to point out the obvious, but you are in America right now."

"Mmm. I did say we lost contact."

The only response I got out of you was this noncommittal murmur, and you leaned far, far back on your beanbag and closed your eyes briefly as if you were exhausted. If it weren't for the tranquil silence that encompassed the library, I would almost have missed the minute sigh that escaped your lips like a wisp of a ghost on the fading air.

You stood up abruptly a few seconds later, almost tripping over the reference books you'd left on the floor absent-mindedly. I was surprised. It wasn't like you to be careless.

"Look, I'm heading back home. Just pretend I didn't say anything. Again, there's nothing to it - I've lost countless friends over the span of my life. It's just because you showed me that goddamn newspaper, and triggered me to spill my guts over this. And it wasn't her. I'm sure of it. I'm positive. That incident... has got nothing to do with my old internet best friend."

And then you were gone, slightly flushed cheeks and books clutched tightly in trembling hands, and all.

---

It wasn't till a few months later that I bumped into you again.

You'd stopped coming to the library since then, and I spent most of my days sitting on a quiet bench and writing at the local park, meandering my way through the seemingly endless Saturdays and Sundays and infinite spaces in between me and my unknown future. I wasn't studying in your prestiged university, after all, and I didn't have to work as hard as you did.

I remember our encounter clearly. It was a December morning and I stopped by Starbucks for a quick espresso before I headed back to work (more accurately, lazing around in my apartment and trying to write a semblance of a single line of poetry). You were wearing some sort of overcoat, with a lightly feathered rim, and you tapped my shoulder softly as I was standing in line and whispered in my ear,

"Hey. Long time no see."

I recognised your voice, and turned to see you beaming at me. I realised quite belatedly that it was a smile so radically different from those that I had seen in those quiet hours we had studied together in the confines of squishy beanbags, a smile that pained me to look at - it was too bright, under the artificial lights of the cafe, it seemed even more comically gaudy.