Starting topics still makes me so nervous...
Itooshikutte Gomen Ne!
The instructions to make an origami lily the proper way are very simple:
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Take a square piece of origami paper and fold it into the water balloon fold.
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The flip over the center fold and squish it until it is flat but even on both sides. (It should look like a drone)
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Then you flip the flaps . . . and . . .
Okay, so I don’t know how to do that, but there is an instructional book. A book you can follow to make sure you won’t stray off course, and make a mess of the paper before you can make a proper shape. Although it is technically a necessity, a part of me would consider it a luxury, since it is completely possible to fold these shapes by memory.
The process is comparable to many things, like a calculator, textbook, dictionary, etc.
What makes them all so intriguing is that they are rather objective results. You choose a design (math problem, historical event, word, etc.) and you follow it with a near guarantee to achieve the knowledge you seeked before.
They are objective, of course.
Every now and then, though, do you ever wish that devices such as these could be applied to subjective situations?
As cheesy as it may sound, a book on the guide to love that could apply to every situation and every single person would be the greatest luxury of all time.
But surely, this would make life boring?
It would? Wouldn’t it? So for now, I’ll resort to the next best thing: a magazine.
Wait, wait!
Hear me out!
Naturally, a magazine is a rather (incredibly, certifiably, absolutely, without a doubt-) unreliable source, but to some extent, some of the tips must be useful . . . right?
Well anyway, I decided to take a shot at PEACH, a magazine centered around the likes of lesbian couples. Their main writer, Tina, happened to have recently written an article on how to sustain a relationship. Step, by step, it outlined a fool-proof plan of how to keep your partner interested in you.
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1. Affection!
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Of course! Your partner must love to get kisses from you everyday or so. A good relationship, is a relationship where you have an unbreakable bond. This bond can be built in many ways! Such as kissing, hugging, or even just being in the same room. Everyone is different, find your partner’s sweet spot and overload them with your affection!
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I gawked in reverence.
This tip seemed like it just might help.
Oddly enough, the maps in the mall all seemed to be concentrated in one area; around the food court. While in theory, most people indulge in the food court most frequently, how would one find themselves out of a sticky situation? Surely, the purpose of a map is to form an itinerary, and also to keep from getting lost . . . but the prevention from getting lost would mean that a map would be in a random place, so one would be able to trace themselves back from anywhere.
I wonder if I should send in a complaint one day? Though, they may have done this for a particular reason? They would ignore my complain anyway, so I guess there is no real purpose in complaining about this ---
“Kano-chan!” Haruka hollered as she dashed through the crowds ebbing along the space of the mall. She wore her usual messenger bag (since purses were too embarrassing), and a rather interesting ensemble. A pair of green, plaid chinos that matched a fitting blazer to look like a suit, yet instead of a shirt, she wore a crop top. She wore plaid every day of April every year, something I'll never understand since St. Patrick’s Day was in March.
Haruka and I had been dating since our second year of high school, back then she had chest length hair, that she would braid into twin-tails. By the last few months of our last year, she suddenly cut all of her hair, the ends just barely tickling her ears. Though she received a generally negative response from the people at school, I still thought she looked rather cute.
I cupped my hands around my mouth, and hollered back to her, “Haruka!”
When she reached me, she glanced at the map, already aware of my musings. I frequently voiced my complaints, though she brushed them off as me having too much time on my hands.
She grabbed me by the waist, indulged me in a side hug and nuzzled my neck, pecking my jaw. She never explained why, but she had an affinity for my hair, or rather, the parts of my neck that would generally be covered by my hair. So far, I have assumed that she simply enjoyed sweeping my hair from over my shoulder. I came to this conclusion when I had stolen a hairstyle from my best friend Kana, I swept my hair to one side, and clipped my bangs behind my ears. Seconds after sitting down for a meal at a local park, she “accidently” plucked out my clips, making my hair fall back over my neck and ears.
At the moment, we were reveling in the post-new year rush of the mall.
I had mapped out a plan: for every gift or treat Haruka bought me, I would kiss her. For every compliment, I would hug her. Though mechanical, I would assume this route will be effective.
The mall recently acquired a Molang store, and it instantaneously become my favorite store. I clasped Haruka’s hand, and toted her toward the there, hoping to finally buy the Molang face cream I had been obsessing over for the past year. As we approached the entrance I noticed a giant Molang plush that had Molang’s usual dumbfounded expression, resting on its back on a giant lilypad. The lilypad and plush were separable, but could be purchased as a set. Haruka was vaguely aware of my obsession, but never picked up on Molang’s name, instead called it “Uzukki”, a fusion of my nickname and the word “usagi”.
She pointed at the display and said, “let’s buy one.”
She called the greeting clerk over and asked her to put the set in their cart. The clerk started to demonstrate the set, a policy to avoid buyer’s remorse. When she placed the lilypad mat on the floor, Haruka begged me to take a picture on it.
“But I’m wearing a skirt,” I rationed, pointing at my navy overall skirt.
“Only I will see it anyway,” she responded, taking out her iphone in preparation for the picture.
I carefully got on to my knees, smoothed my skirt against my butt, and crawled onto the lilypad. I laid back, lifted my legs and arms straight up, just as the Molang plush, and used a placid expression.
Haruka giggled as she took the picture, the clerk awkwardly joined her.
“You are so cute!” Haruka commented.
As I started sitting up, I noticed that Haruka was still taking pictures.
“Why are you taking pictures still?” I said in an embarrassed tone, I never liked candid shots.
“Ah, I’m pretty sure it isn’t a crime to take pictures of my cute girlfriend,” she said with a grin, helping me up to my feet.
Suddenly recalling my mission, I softly pecked her lips as I swung to full standing.
She gawked in surprise. Throughout our relationship, she almost always initiated kisses.
I left her with a gobsmacked expression, moving on to the bag section of the store. By the time I was half done shuffling through bags, she revived from her stunned state and followed behind me closely.
“Kanon, make sure you pick up a wallet,” she said steadily, knowing how I felt about being pushed to do things, “you can’t keep dropping your money into your purse loosely.”
I generally never worried about buying a wallet, since I rarely carried money and Haruka paid for everything. The issue of a wallet usually reared its head when I had to pay for things at school or buy things at convenience stores. Haruka badgered me about this relentlessly and I finally decided to give in.
I pointed at a wallet kiss-cut to the image of a jumping brown and white bunny. She picked it up, inspecting it for the proper compartments and card file. She nodded in agreement and added it to our cart.
“Make sure you use it,” she said sternly.
I agreed, kissing her again. She reacted in silence, a confused expression gracing her face.
We went on to buy a few stationery items and the Molang face cream. Haruka didn’t find anything to her taste, since she was more into “cool” things.
After scheduling our pick up, we headed out to some clothing stores. While walking through, I pointed a few things out to Haruka, whose arm was still gripping my waist.
“How do they continuously succeed to come up with such silly names?” I voiced, “Most don’t relate to fashion . . . or anything for that matter.”
“It really isn’t that bad,” Haruka replied.
“Really? But there is a place called ‘Stone; Haru, I mean who would name a store ‘Stone’?”
“It’s edgy,” she suggested.
She guided me into the store, and surprisingly, the store was actually incredibly cool, and just up Haruka’s alley. The general look of the store was a minimalist’s high fashion. Everything within the entrance was greyscale or sepia, but in a small corner, far in the back, there was a color splashed area of near neon colors. Haruka guided me toward the pant section, and picked up a few pairs. She also picked up a skirt for me, the waist was elastic so I didn’t bother trying it on. After putting together a few outfits and deciding on a few dresses, she called a clerk for the dressing room. She was guided away and I wandered around until her return.
I found a sepia top that looked rather interesting. It went with a layered set that ranged between a warm gray scarf, and undershirt, and a sepia top. I pulled them off of the rack, folding them over my arm.
A clerk joined me suddenly.
“Do you need any help?” She asked.
I shook my head, and quietly whispered, “no”.
She nodded and stepped a few paces away, but hovered over me nonetheless.
I continued to browse self-consciously, hoping she would eventually leave, but she didn’t
Finally, hoping to get rid of her, I asked, “Do you have any cooler grays?”
She shook her head, and responded, “no, but ‘Celestial’ does.”
Celestial was a plus sized friendly store, I actually frequented there, since they had clothes with mostly galaxy patterns. Haruka also indulged in this store, often buying their hoodies.
“But celestial doesn’t have solid colors,” I informed her.
She hummed, “I’m sorry if you are not getting the hint, ma’am, but we do not carry your size and would rather not risk having our clothes stretched out.”
Being that Haruka was a super-model I gradually learned to accept comments such as hers. I nodded, placing the items back on the rack and stepping back.
I went through more racks, browsing through Haruka’s size to see if I could find anything for her. The clerk continued hovering.
I finally became annoyed and asked, “is there any reason you are following me?”
“I just told you we don’t carry your size, yet you are still wandering around this store,” she huffed, “please, leave if you don’t plan to purchase anything.”
Fed up, I strapped my purse tighter and walked out of the store, opting to actually just go to Celestial, and get a ###### awesome sweater, because I wanted to, before I could leave, Haruka came back with a bag of her picks.
“Can I add these to my cart, please?” she asked politely.
The clerk suddenly perked up, and nearly three octaves higher she replied, “of course!”
Winded by her pitch, Haruka cringed but smiled handing her the clothes. She turned to me with a smile, but noticed my somber expression.
“What’s wrong?” Haruka asked.
I pouted and whined, “this took forever.”
Haruka chuckled and grasped my hand, interlacing our fingers. “Are you not buying anything?” She asked, eyes wide.
I shook my head, “nothing seems to really fit . . . my style.”
“Nonsense, just look past the absence of contrast, they are actually really cute outfits.”
I shook my head again, “no, Haru, I want to go to another store anyway, I would rather save for that.”
Haruka nodded, solemnly, catching my odd tone. Her expression softened and she willfully asked, “so . . . do I still get a kiss?”
I laughed loudly, realizing that she noticed my pattern.
I kissed her ferociously. After paying, we headed for the food court.
We decided to go to a conveyor sushi restaurant located at the center of the mall. At the counter we decided to get some specialty drinks, and a few small snacks for appetizers. After sitting down at our table, we started talking about life generally.
“So how is school right now?” Haruka asked.
I paused for a moment, formulating a complete response, “it is hard right now, since we are in a rather heavy chapter, but overall the interest outweighs the fatigue.”
“Ahh,” she responded.
As an economics major, and I was aware that detailing my studies would be rather extraneous on Haruka, since she would probably not understand, but try to force my words to memory in order to let me know that she is aware of me. A major part of the reason I decided to focus on pleasing Haruka more is that externally, and even internally, Haruka put far more effort into our relationship that I did. Even if its from some shotty tween magazine, I still wanted to do all that I could to try to even slightly even out our output for each other.
“So how was the shoot yesterday?” I volleyed.
“Hm . . . the usual,” she groaned, “some designer, with very little talent that thinks that originality should be valued over taste.”
Haruka didn’t rant very often, didn’t really complain about anything in life generally, but her vendetta toward the “ banal avant-garde” fashion industry was definitely a gem to marvel.
“This idiot,” she began, “she thinks that long hair makes a woman feminine, so she didn’t even chose me based on my resume, but the fact that my hair is short. I don’t kind that, but where is the art? Why is it “short must be masculine”, instead of . . . the round face. I mean you are the ultimate feminine, and even with short hair, you would still be feminine”
As she ranted her tone got harsher and harsher, but not because of her feelings toward the designer, but rather that the table ahead of us kept taking the mentaiko rolls every time it passed. I laughed at her childish frustration.
Haruka was truly too cute for words.
“Haru, I’ll just make you some when we get home,” I assured her.
She nodded, relaxing into her chair.
“I think, a show where long hair girls in masculine clothing, would clearly be more interesting,” she continued, “or even short girl hairs with incredibly feminine faces would be even more interesting.”
I nodded in agreement, though I had no idea what she was talking about.
After our meal, we decided to stop by two more stored then go home.
At Forever 21 I picked up cherry earrings, and kissed Haruka, and at the candy store, I bought as many Chupa Chups as I could.
On our way out we picked up our cart and wished the clerks a farewell.
At some point within the summer between college and high school, Haruka acquired a driver’s licence. The first thing she did with her first few paychecks from her modelling was buy a car, a modest Toyota compact. The poor car suffered when we made trips to the mall, since we usually stuffed it to the brim with newly bought items.
We boarded the car and headed home.
A staple in our relationship is comfortable silence. We generally spoke in conversation, but in lulling situations such as driving, or bathing we were silent, and didn't speak.
For the first time in a while, I broke the silence, and turned to Haruka.
“Haru,” I called softly.
She hummed in response.
“I love you,” I said vigorously.
She smiled at me, and replied, “you know my feelings, and because I don’t want to use loose words in response to a precious moment, I’ll tell you at another time. I’ll hold these feelings in my heart for a while, just for you, in that moment.”
I sighed, content.
It is rather obvious that not all instructions work for everyone, especially when we are dealing with subjective topics. For example, an English textbook often follows numerous components: vocabulary, parts of speech, structure, perception and many more. The art of perception is completely based on a subjective school of thought.
With that in mind, English teachers and textbooks uniformly teach us the devices to properly perceive, but leave our perception open ended. On the other hand, many teachers believe in the “right answer” and force students into a set, molded perception.
Applying this to the “school of love”, one would assume that all would be given the proper devices to receive love benevolently, and to express it back with a plethora of options.
Surely, there must be parameters for even a structure that is this open ended?
