Diary of a Void

by Emi Yagi

I got off at the station closest to home. Something was missing, but I wasn’t sure what. I wasn’t hungry. I decided to drop by a bookstore.

No thought was given to whether any of this served a purpose. There was neither time nor energy to object. Just do it. Don’t ask questions. When the stress got to be too much, you simply got in the elevator, a pack of cigarettes in your shirt pocket, and went out for a smoke.

My name’s not Microwave.

Nope. That’s not my name, either.

People seemed to be under the impression, at least in my section, that if they made coffee for somebody else, it would signify some deep personal inadequacy.

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

Then again, to be eternally known as the Virgin Mother, as if that’s the only thing that gave meaning to your existence . . . Hey, did you have any hobbies of your own? Or maybe there was a singer you were really into? You must have gotten stressed out sometimes. I mean, being called the Virgin Mother, even after your son was all grown up . . . And then to have him crucified like that. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. 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. . . .

Everywhere I looked, I saw the icy cool colors of winter. It’s a boy, it’s a boy. Maybe if I said it to myself enough times, if I really prayed for it, it just might . . .

Once I’d gone through the titles that just came to mind, I moved on to the You May Also Likes. There was no end to the worlds that showed up on my screen: a diner in some cold, far-off place; an assassin taking in a young girl; pandemonium while a kid’s parents are away. . . . At least I think that’s what happened? I dipped a toe into one world, then another.

Nothing. It’s true. And that’s why I keep on making empty cores. Sometimes I wonder if the world really needs all these paper cores, but the orders keep coming in, so we keep making them. On and on the ribbon goes, never stopping.

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. And maybe if I could really hold on to that thing, a snowy night like tonight might become something else, something just a little different.

Why should I act so grateful just because you changed your daughter’s diaper one time? Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe I’m worn out? Maybe it has, but, what, you think that’s just part of being a mom? Do you think he knows how it feels, Sheeba? Do you think he gets it? Even though he’s maybe eight inches away, blissfully asleep, he’s more of a stranger than some random politician I’ve never met or some stray dog somewhere in Brazil. I feel more alone with him than I do when I’m on my own.”

“I’m so alone. I’m sorry—this has nothing to do with how hard things are for you, Hosono. 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.”

“Even if it’s a lie, it’s a place of my own. That’s why I’m going to keep it. It doesn’t need to be a big lie—just big enough for one person. And if I can hold on to that lie inside my heart, if I can keep repeating it to myself, it might lead me somewhere. Somewhere else, somewhere different. If I can do that, maybe I’ll change a little, and maybe the world will, too.”

I guess I figured I might as well make the most of my situation. Even if it is just a lie. The world’s what we make it, right? Even if it’s just us, on our own—with the whole world against us.