are the doors done slamming yet
can i get some sleep
Tag Archives: journal
“
Other than being a total dick to Heiji?You could’ve been more polite in that Detective Koushien episode. I get that you were irritated, but talking bad about someone isn’t going to help solve the issue at hand. I feel quite disappointed with how you dealt with the situation.“
"Ah, yes… that little bit. I’m not one to fight fire with fire. When confronted with a point of contention, I seek the most direct and precise method of attack and go for the kill. It’s the most effective. Hattori-san threatened fire, I got out the fire hose.
"He’s used to dealing with his problems physically, which meant that using words would put him on uneven ground. From there, pointing out the flaws and inconsistencies in his methods took him down several notches, requiring him to – once he regained equilibrium – really think about his actions and proceed with proper care.
"Please note that once he began to behave as a professional ought to, I no longer had need to attack. It’s not my fault that he was brash and reckless. Honestly, it should be expected that the son of the Superintendent Supervisor would act accordingly, but alas. It was a harsh lesson, but it needed to be learned.
"Yes, attempting to save a life is very important, I agree. But there are more ways to get into a locked room than breaking down the door. Besides, did he even consider that the person might be behind the door? Destroying evidence is bad enough, but there are times when culprits will put victims directly in harm’s way for that purpose. How would Hattori-san have felt if he inadvertently injured or killed someone in the very attempt to save them?
"Granted, no one really knows what the situation is behind a locked door. Hence why I suggested the window. But there are times when a decision must be made, immediately and arbitrarily, because there simply is not time to debate. This is understandable, but those decisions must only be made if the individual is willing to accept the consequences of his actions, which one cannot do if they are not even considered.
"My role was to act as a catalyst to make Hattori consider these matters before acting. Consider the risks, the alternatives, the implications – and so on – many factors that go into each and every decision. A wrong decision, after all, is still better than a blind one made without any thought at all.
"I know that his father has been trying to get this through his thick skull for many years, but to no avail. Hattori-san is stubborn, which is both a blessing and a curse for him. By stepping in and sharing my opinion, I offered a direct challenge that he could not ignore… partly because I am a colleague and thus a rival, and also because I am not a member of his immediate family. As an impartial outside observer, I carried more weight in terms of an unbiased judge. Meaning, someone he could not just brush off.
"So you see, my actions, while admittedly not the most polite, were effective in their reason and purpose. By getting him to stop and think for a moment, Hattori-san was able to identify the culprit. I give him full marks for that – both for the correct deduction and for stepping up to the challenge. It’s to be commended.
"In the end, it’s unfortunate that the entire situation has resulted in bad blood between myself and Hattori-san, but I stand by my methods and am pleased with the results otherwise. I have offered my apologies to Hattori-san and feel no further need to defend myself on this matter."
Rereading
Mum and papa Dad wouldn’t stop bickering at the table so I excused myself and hid in the study, doors locked. It’s ridiculous, I know, but they’re so persistant that I’ve had a near-constant headache since she got here. Don’t misunderstand me, I love my mum – dearly – even with all of her meddling. They just can’t stop picking fight after fight. It’s almost as bad as Hattori-san and I. But at least we’re still children, not full-grown adults.
I told Baaya that I had cases to work on, which I do… but instead I’ve been rereading the James Herriot books. I think I can get away with it so long as I get back to work once everyone else has retired for the night…
Life continues to get more complicated. I have a date this week (arranged by mum, of course), KID has somehow managed to get tangled up in mythological nonsense, Hattori may or may not be legitimately psychotic, the charity benefit may be in danger, and I don’t know where I fit in anywhere.
All I want to do is read about the countryside. How long is it until Paris, now? I hope that the trip won’t be called off due to some unforeseen tragedy (which seems to be more and more likely these days).
I miss Kaito-kun… but I don’t dare call him, not while everything is so ambiguous. I’ll just… keep reading.
An Email from Mother || akaikujixyaku
Yes, Hakuba’s mother is in town and already digging through the poor young detective’s life with greedy hands. The following is an email sent on behalf of her despairing son.
—-
Dearest Emi,
I hope that this letter finds you well, as I am about to ask you for a very important favor. Of course, I completely understand if you’re not able to help, but I do believe that you are the best suited for the task. My name is Marion Hakuba, and I am the wife of the Superintendent General. Our son, Saguru, is a brilliant detective, as you are well aware, but appears to be… struggling in some areas.
To put it simply, he consistently overworks himself and does not leave any time for socializing. I’m not certain if this is because he really has so much work to do (I can’t blame his clients for needing him, but he should show some self-restraint), or if it because he simply does not feel that he fits in here in Japan. I do know that his mixed heritage is cause for some contention among his peers, but Saguru has never let it stop him before when it comes to his studies or work, so I cannot understand why he lacks the foresight to not let it effect his social life.
This said, I really am hoping that you can assist me. The favor that I am asking is for you to go on a formal outing with him. A date, really. He is aware of my intentions and has agreed to my terms, on condition that you be interested and not forced into it. (He’s very much enjoyed his correspondence with you thus far and, in his words, ‘would not tolerate [my] meddling’ with your current working relationship.)
Why he hasn’t asked you on a date himself by now is beyond me. I think he might secretly be painfully shy. I do know that he has consistently referred to himself as an introvert when I have pressed, and spends an inordinate amount of time reading when he could be interacting with those of his own age.
Which is why have I come to you, specifically. With an already established repertoire between the two of you, he is sure to open up… particularly as he is used to journalists and interviewers asking things of him. Your talent and brilliance will impress him, and your beauty (you are quite a darling thing, you know), is sure to engage.
I hope that this letter does not come across as insulting in any way, but rather as a plea for help. You would make a friend for life of me if you were willing to oblige. My dear darling son really is a sweetheart, but he needs a lot of help. Would you be willing to help draw him out of his shell?
Regardless of your answer, I do appreciate your time and attention. Please let me know as soon as you can by phone or by email; I won’t be in town for more than a couple of weeks and I would very much like to arrange the perfect evening for you both.
Sincerely yours,
Marion W. Hakuba
(The Meddling Mother)
A “Talk”
“Saguru, could you come here for a moment?”
“Yes, Papa?”
“We’re not French, Saguru. It’s ‘tousan,’ ‘dad,’ or ‘sir.’”
“Ah right… Dad..”
“I’ve been getting a few comments lately about your investigations around the office…”
Shit. “Oh?”
“Please close the door. …Thank you. Yes, comments about the level of detail in… well, in the… How shall I put this?”
“I’m not sure. Am I in trouble..?”
“No, no… Nothing like that. It’s just that a couple of the staff have raised concerns…”
“Concerns about what?”
“That you might be taking things a little too… seriously. Now, now, Saguru, don’t make that face. They’re worried that you’re working too hard. That you’re wasting your time pulling up records that you don’t really need…”
“They have no idea what my investigations are. The information I pull is always strictly necessary.”
A heavy sigh from the senior Hakuba. “Their not knowing is part of the problem, Saguru. I give you a lot of freedom and a lot more unrestricted access to things than I really should, but I do it because I trust you and I don’t want you to be hindered. Especially with the language barrier, I-”
“I’m getting better, Dad. I’m working very hard.”
“I know you are. I know. I can see it in your face. You look tired, son.”
“…I’m fine.”
“Look, I just want you to relax for a while. Lay off all of the research and cut back on your cases. Exams are coming up, aren’t they? Some term thing?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Well, your friends, then.”
“I don’t have any.”
“You certainly seem interested in the lives of your classmates, or so I’ve been told.”
“I… just want to be prepared.”
“Stop it. Just lay off. You remember the conversation we had about the Kuroba boy?”
“Yes.”
“Take a break. Get some air. You’re going to ruin your eyes pouring over that paperwork at all hours of the night and day.”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily true.”
“…Saguru.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do as you’re told. I don’t want to hear any more ‘comments.’ You’re excused.”
“Yes, sir."
Dear ex-boyfriend,
John-
I received the wedding invitation the other day, forwarded on from my mum. I know you would want me to be thanking you, but instead I’m left baffled. I haven’t spoken to you in over three years and I damn well don’t intend to start now, let alone attend your ‘celebration.’
Oh, yes, your bride is very lovely indeed. I’m left to wonder, though… did you choose her, or your parents? Have you really changed or are you just hiding who you are, how you felt, and what you told me?
Honestly, I don’t care to find out the answer.
-S.J.H.
…
“I will never let you in again. Ever.”
Unsent Letters
“…Okay, okay… I can take a hint. I’ll write a letter to Kuroba-kun. I doubt that I’ll send it, however… it’ll go in the journal with the rest of them, but then you can get off of my back about it.”
…
Dearest Kuroba-kun,
It’s no secret that I’m fond of you. At least, I hope that my mannerisms express this fact to you. I have enjoyed getting to know you, and watching you mature as you’ve taken your responsibilities more seriously. Your work ethic has improved, as has your manner. I don’t know if this is simply you becoming the man that you will be or if it is strongly influenced by your work…
Ah, but I’m getting off track… this isn’t to be an evaluation of your character, though I can say that I am pleased with how you have handled most obstacles thus far, and-
Again, getting off track.
I don’t know what I am to you… what we are together. In the grand scheme of things, that probably doesn’t matter so much. You have your work, I have mine. Regardless of what the median of our feelings convey, we will continue on as always… avoidance, secrets, lies. It’s part of our lot in life and I can accept that. Really, I can. I’m used to living a lie. I do it all of the time. But…
…now I’ve become vulnerable to you, something I did not want to do. When I said that I was wrapped around your finger, I meant it. I’m certain I’ll tell you one day how I fell for you, and my concerns for how it may put us both at great risk. If you asked me to do something, whatever it was, I would do it. If you specified ‘no questions asked,’ I would keep my lips sealed. I’ve put my trust in your hands because I believe with conviction that you are an honest, peaceful person despite your occupation. Underneath all of that bravado is a person who truly cares. You’ve ruined me.
I have vain hopes that, one day, you might care for me with such passion. I know that you are protective of me and are willing to spend time with me… even close, personal time… but I do not believe that you love me. I can’t see how you possibly could, as you know almost nothing about me. And how could you? Hattori-san even said it so aptly before that I carry my own cross and refuse to share the burden. I keep everything locked away from everyone. Heart sealed, cold, stone walls around me, pushing everyone away.
I hope that my feeling this way does not hurt you (but then I will not be sending this letter)… I am only being honest. I care greatly for you, and hope that you will learn my secrets… that I might be important enough to you that you’ll solve the mystery that I cannot.
Perhaps some day… when we’re older, wiser… when the world is a better place, if that can ever be.
In my mind I hear you laughing at me, amused. Chiding me for taking things so seriously, that I should try to enjoy myself and our time together instead. I don’t think you understand just how difficult that is for me /because/ it’s you and not some foolish, spoiled rich one night stand that I’ve picked up at a benefit. I respect you. I admire you. I…
I won’t say that I love you, either, as I only have my investigative reports and observations to go off of… Until I learn about you from your lips, and reach a common ground /with/ you…
This is so difficult to talk and to write about.
It’s just that… I will not let myself make the same mistake again. I cannot. I don’t think that I could survive going through it another time… and I would hate to tarnish your name in my heart forever more.
I can’t stand the thought of that… I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
God, why is this so difficult?
I’m so sorry for being so bloody fucked up.
Yours,
S. J. Hakuba
…
“…It’s just… no good.”
My Fear, My Shame
Just who does that Osakan think he is?
Really. Hattori Heiji, detective. How did I come to loathe him so? Why does he have to be so reckless and coarse? I’ve gone back and forth between hating the brute and trying to let it go so many times in the past few weeks that I can’t seem to get my head to stop spinning.
I’ve already gone through this month’s pack of cigarettes and into my secret backup stash. At this rate, my father is sure to discover… I shouldn’t be so careless. The more I indulge, the less sensitive I am to the smoke, and it does cling…
God, what am I doing?
Insult my intelligence all ya want…I don’ need big words ta make my point… But ya’d know all ‘bout that, wouldn’ ya? How somethin’ so simple as a cross can inject fear like a syringe injects hot air inta an IV line?
How could I have let him see the cross? Of all of the people to discover it… My head is throbbing just thinking about it. It’s a symbol of faith and protection, yet Hattori compares it to self-induced air embolism. Surely he must know…
But then, does the cross really protect if the wearer is entrenched in sin? If he’s unfaithful and unrepentant and living lie after lie after lie? Koizumi-san asked if I was a man of logic. I am. I believe that I am, and yet…
Why do I carry this symbol if I don’t even know what I believe anymore? The people of this country, Japan… Many wonderful people who life rich, fulfilling, wholesome lives without any regard to a rosary. Are they to be condemned? I can’t imagine any real God could be so cruel. But for myself, I know, I am bound for Hell.
I wear the cross as if it were a shameful secret. And it is. I dread the thought of my colleagues making the discovery. Now that Hattori-san knows, I’m certain it won’t be long…
…Though, he doesn’t seem to remember that night. At least that part. Did he forget on my behalf? Has God spared me the awful truth of-
No, that doesn’t make sense. No sense at all. Not in any way, shape, or form. I’m writing nonsense.
That flash of silver in the rain betrayed me.
….the flash of silver, similar to the lighter – ah, the cross! The cross is the key.
Damn the cross! Damn Hattori! I am not Javert. I am not Val Jean. I have no noble aspirations; I survive only to be punished to atone for my life, praying and pleading to die and leave this miserable and cold, lonely place.
Cambridge. They’d told me to go to Cambridge and become a lawyer. I’d wanted to. If I had been stronger, more obedient, would I be there now? Would I loathe myself more than… more than that man, or–?
I don’t belong here. Not here, not in London. Ramson is in prison where he should be, yet those in the court plead for his release. How could they? Forgiveness in all things, yet…
Yet I cannot forgive.
Circular logic, trapped and drowning. What to do? Everything aches. I haven’t been able to work, sleep, or eat. More and more my associates ask if I ever relax. KID, too. I don’t have any answer for them. How can I relax when everything is at the verge of crumbling apart? Everything I’ve worked for, struggled to maintain?
Paris.
Paris in a forty-seven days. I can last that long. Surely, I can. I’ll drink until everything is numb and let the city take me. A brief reprieve. I am strong enough.
Perhaps I’ll give that terrible symbol to La Seine with Notre-Dame herself as the witness! No longer keeping it… caged in my ribs.. and no longer upon my shoulders… or whatever that nonsense Hattori was spouting.
God… God, I need something stronger than scotch tonight. I must figure out how to help Hattori-san.
She’ll understand one day
It’s true, ladies… the rumors are true. I did, indeed, get a haircut this afternoon. Fortunately, it was just a trim and it’s likely that most of you won’t even notice a difference. Never fear: I understand that my hair is one of the things that makes me so exotic, unique, and desirable.
Another quality are the parallels between myself and James Bond (especially as played by Sean Connery).
I brought this up with Baaya on the drive home and she gave me the most odd look.
“You? James Bond? I suppose I can suspend my disbelief to correlate his name to yours with enough effort…”
“Please, you know I’m more of an international spy than a regular old detective.”
“Young Master…”
And then she laughed. And continued to do for the next four and a quarter minutes. I waited until she was finished, but the moment she looked back at me, the laughter returned.
Baaya is known to be a critic, however, so I suppose I should not be surprised. It does not change the facts.
The Passive-Aggressive Requirements Unspecified in Japanese Institutions of Academia
Today, I received the equivalent to a B- on an assignment.
Yes, a B-. In English Language Studies, no less.
We were to translate a paragraph into English and then write a short essay on stylistic choices. This was a fairly simple task, as one would expect, and I had it finished and turned in before the end of the period. So you can easily imagine my shock and surprise – no, utter horror – when they were returned to us today with grades attached.
I spoke to the teacher after the class, politely and calmly requesting an explanation, and can you guess what she said?
She told me that she had requested a short essay and that mine was too verbose. Apparently, I was not concise enough to meet the requirements of the assignment.
Sensei wanted me to be more succinct. As if that had ever been specified before. If she wanted a certain length, she should have assigned a word limit!
Livid as I was, I found myself, for once, speechless. She offered the opportunity to redo the assignment, which I have agreed upon… but honestly… the nerve.
I suspect that the real problem here is that she didn’t want to have as much work to do. As if grading papers weren’t her job.
Today has been a very bad day. I don’t even have the heart to calculate the grade into the algorithm I wrote to determine how this will effect my percentage… Can I maintain my status at the top of the class at this rate?
Perhaps it’s time for tea.