Diary of a Void

by Emi Yagi

So this is pregnancy. What luxury. What loneliness.

Here I was, more than thirty years of life behind me, still completely unaware of the simplest things.

My work, however, involved a few additional tasks. They weren’t named, and no one told me that they were mine. It was simply assumed.

The office was a swamp. Not a deep one. But one that let off a weird-smelling gas all year round.

One moment they’re there, the next they’re gone. And it all happens so quietly that you don’t even realize they aren’t there anymore.

I just hope you managed to live your life the way you wanted, to take naps when you felt like it, to know yourself by a name that made sense to you. . . .

I needed real food, not sad-looking izakaya snacks, if I was going to say anything that people could hear.

Thirty-four years on this earth, but I couldn’t remember anything about how I’d spent the first few days of any January.

Who was I to determine what kind of person someone else should become?

How many other imaginary children were there in the world? And where were they now? What were they doing? I hoped they were leading happy lives.

I didn’t give any thought to safety or language before I left, but once I’d found the rhythm of the place, I was fine.

“I don’t know what ‘expensive’ is for you, or why it matters if you live on your own or not, but I think you should make your place look the way you want, before you forget what that is.”

Of course I knew about the lounge. Whenever I walked into the gym, I could see it through the glass, filled with people of all ages, but it hadn’t ever occurred to me to step inside.

But what surprised me most as I read the blog was how I couldn’t remember much of anything that had happened in those worlds.

It was just a little more crowded than usual, and all the passengers were united by a common prayer: please don’t let the train stop.

I suddenly wanted something of my own, something to make space for. Even if it was just my own and no one else could even see it—something like a lie.

That was what I wanted to see. Unexpected cracks in a giant system that seemed so unassailable.

I mean, I’m sure it’s a lot for you. . . . And I know you’re on your own. Sorry, I shouldn’t say anything. But I told my wife all about you.

I started wondering what kinds of feelings must have been passing through him when he wrote down that list of names to go with Shibata.

The sky had turned violet, and the warmth of the day had been mercilessly forgotten—the coolness of the air gave me goosebumps.

At least Yamada was real to them, even if only in their heads.

There was a baby there. It had a place in the world. It had taken its own form, a human form. Out of nothing.

Why should I act so grateful just because you changed your daughter’s diaper one time?

Don’t you think it’s weird how in an age of cryptocurrency and telework, childbirth—something experienced by pretty much half the world’s population—is still so hard and so painful?

PREACH

But I’m always so alone. I guess I should be used to it by now. That’s the way it is from the moment we come into this world, but I’m still not used to it—how alone we all are.”

“Then there’s the other side of it. Why can’t anybody just mind their own business? It’s not like they actually care about you or anything, but they’re still happy to tell you that what you’re doing isn’t right when they should really just stay out of it. They’re so annoying, and I’m so alone—I feel like I might forget who I am.”

I simply couldn’t believe I’d been allowed to witness this spectacle without leaving my own body.

At work, everybody had learned how to make the coffee—with the sole exception of the section head.

This panel, “Balancing Your Career and Your Life,” is offered specifically to women, as if work-life balance is something only women need to consider.