I wrote this during my separation and before my divorce. It’s kind of heavy and self-absorbed.

When he walked in for the first time, I knew that I had seen him before. He had walked by the store, heading West sometimes, and heading East other times. I remembered him because his face always gave away his emotion. 

When he first walked in here the bento shop, I knew that he worked with some relationship to the university. He had the look of a person who thought he was deep, and knew that that made him a certain type of person. I think he also knew that that did not make him any better than the people who weren’t self-conscious of the ramifications of their introspection.

He was shy first when he ordered his bento. I don’t think it was really a language issue. It didn’t feel like he was putting on an accent that he deemed Japanese, and he didn’t really seem to psyche himself up before speaking. The first time he came in, he smiled. He ordered a fried veggies bento. I remember handing it to him, and how his eyes showed that he didn’t expect what he got. I guess that it was because the rice and the friend veggies (and meat) were separate. At first I did not understand why that would be, but after a while I realized that after he left the shop he didn’t return to the university, but went in the opposite direction to the river. He must have found it hard to eat outside. 

I think one day I saw pity in his eyes. He was pitying me. I think he saw me get frustrated with my superior who is Chinese and half my age. I bet he had some giant grandiose revelations about me, and maybe about Japan after seeing that. I could feel bad, but when your boss makes so many obviously incorrect decisions in the lunch rush, to express frustration is only necessary. With his pity at me, the old woman at the Hotto Motto, putting up with such hardship, I almost felt pity for him, how he got embarrassed by the human experience so much to not be able to comprehend my happiness, and perhaps sometimes not see his own unhappiness. 

After he started coming to pick up a lunch here, I remembered that when he was walking past the shop before he also had a lunch bag in his hands. Sometimes peaceful, sometimes pained, sometimes intense, always listening to music. Never really being a part of his surroundings. 

The first few months he came to buy his lunch, he was generally happy, well shaven, and having this hopeful look. After he got used to the kind of bentos we had, and sort of knew the lay of the land, there was a weight lifted off his shoulders. He was happy in a way that he wasn’t aware of for a while. To think he had pitied me!

It was as if he had previously not been able to enjoy the simple fact of enjoying a cup of coffee. I bet he didn’t like coffee though, so let’s say tea. He would mindlessly drink tea while being preoccupied with something that was helping him avoid whatever issues he was facing, which led him not even be able to enjoy the tea! The sugar in it, the almond milk (he was probably “too good” for soy). All of it together. I bet he didn’t even know what kind of tea he was drinking. It was a thoughtless action in the name of something that was no longer enough to think about. 

This happiness didn’t stay though. I guess one can’t be happy with the taste of tea forever, when everything around them may be burning down. Maybe something was put on hold. Maybe he thought something was dealt with when it was not. 

He ordered the pre-made daily bentos we had after his disastrous mistake of the bento with rice and veggies separate. He then ventured into the slightly cheaper karaage and shogayaki bentos. When he finally found the irotori bento, I was almost happy for him. I wasn’t though, because I knew how cheap it was, and how much work it was to make. The bento had 20 different things in it, different beans, veggies, seaweeds, and meats. We hated having to make it, and we stopped making it for that reason about two months after he found it. I remember when he realized that. You could almost see his brain thinking. There’s no more of that iwatori bento (he could never get the name right). Nothing else seems as good. I’ll just get a cheap ready made bento. And so he did, and so he does.

Sometimes various people came with him. Some waited outside. Some came in. Some sometimes bought their lunch with him here. Some were also Westerners, and had more stilted Japanese. Usually when it was a Japanese person it was a woman. Recently it has always been the same woman that he eats his lunch with. She never comes in. I see them split up before he crosses the road to get here. She goes into the 7-11 across the street. He meets her on this side of the street after he buys his ready-made bento. They walk a conscious distance apart until they are out of sight. 

He used to buy a bento from us every day, but then it was only two or three times a week. Now when he does, he is more often than not with the same woman. Since then, his emotions have been less distance, and more real. I don’t think he has been any happier though to be honest. Maybe he now thinks that it is not all about happiness, or maybe he doesn’t know what he is doing at all, just drifting along. I don’t think that kind of faux-deep person would consciously drift along though. Those types have that going along for them at least. 

Last week was the worse that I had seen him. Every day he was stressed when he came in. He was never with that woman. Always alone, always ordering the karaage bento. I don’t think he liked it that much, but he just didn’t want to think about what to order. He was too busy pitying or hating himself it seemed like. I felt sorry for him, and that troubled face that he always wore, but one can only feel so much sympathy for others. Whatever problem he was having, he would need to work through it, and come through the other side. My role in his story was a simple one. To be that static character that says my set lines every day, takes his money, hands him his change, and does nothing else. I admit I do try to not get angry at my boss in front of him. He probably has a blog where he writes grandiose statements thinking he is deep. 

When he came in today for lunch, it was the first time I saw him truly happy. He had a bento bag in his hand, and it seems like he came in absentmindedly. He had realized what he did, laughed, not even caring how his laugh would be received by those surrounding him (that’s a big thing for types like him), and walked out. I hope that will be the last time I see him in this shop.

I wonder about all the details that I don’t have though. Why did he go from having a bento from home, to coming in here almost nearly every day? Why the rollercoaster of emotions? Why was he so bad at hiding them from his face? Why so sad last week? Why so happy this week? 

He seemed genuinely happy, and genuinely carefree. If only you could tell people in all their worries, and all their pain that there will be a time again when they are happy and carefree. Where they can happily walk outside on sunny days, happily cuddle up with a good book on a rainy day, enjoy that cup of tea with the fancy almond milk, close their eyes at the end of a long day, and feel nothing but peace. I guess you could not tell people that with any certainty, as not everyone gets there. 

Some will forever have their bento bag, and walk around without a connection to their surroundings. Some will wade into the waters of pain and the unknown, only to recede back into comfortable habits, or perhaps stay forever in pain, being unable to recognize anything else. And then some will be able to break down, and find that true happiness. 

I don’t imagine that I had any part in this guy’s story. But I’m happy that he was able to break through, and find that true happiness that was always in him. I don’t even mind that I don’t really even exist, and am only here as a form of therapy for him. To plant seeds in his head that there is hope, that this pain will end, and that happy endings exist to those who fight for them.

The guy is still a bit of a tool though.

The ending at the time was just a dream, but not anymore.