Everyone loves a good confession, be it the confessor or the confessee. We all crave the telling of tales and to be the teller of tales, so much the better that it involves our own selves in some such way. In our vanity we consider ourselves the end-all be-all. We are the World. The World is Us.
It is thus that the following thoughts occurred to me during my ritual 7:30am ride from my dormitory style apartment to the high school of my employ, beneath the seething clouds, fat with rainy expectations prodding my inner voices ever onward.
A bit of background first. Recently I have been awarded the position of Designer for the Fukuoka Prefecture JET Guide To Life in Fukuoka (a bit redundant, yes) and being sole recipient of that previously two-person role, I have had my work cut out for me. But only since June, that is, as the editing of this 250 page collection of Fukuoka’s buenas vistas and bonnes repasts has gone past deadline, thereby truncating my own allotted design time to less than a month. Thusly am I entrenched in the good fight with complicated design programs and convoluted map layouts in all too little time so much so, my personal life of late has, unfortunately, taken a back seat.
Pedaling through the narrow rice field roads and pushing past the lolly-gagging students on their way to school, I pass by absentmindedly, my conscious biking mind negotiating the well-known route on rote, while my subconscious wandering mind meanders like the wind blowing through the rustling green bamboo surrounding me.
“Finally,” I think, “something to do! A real job. An actual design job. Finally someone has seen my work and decided to bump me up, has seen me for what I am worth, has seen fit to give me a place of power, worthy of my talent, to give me what I deserve. At last they (those powers that be) have deigned me to join the fray and see what I have to say.”
Though it should, this does not make me smile. Though it should, this does not make me happy. Though I am extremely contented by the fact that I have a job, that I have, finally, something to do, I am fearful for two reasons, contradictory in nature: 1) That the Guide is Not Enough and, all too soon, it will be over, a done deal, relegated to the dusty piles of accumulated works of nameless so-and-so”s who deserved what they got and 2) that the Guide is a Great Opportunity and all too soon the job will be done and I will have nothing to do. That I will no longer be contented and safe in my secure corner of the world, hunting and pecking away at basically – in the grand scheme – a meaningless thing. Once again I will be worthless.
Turning a corner I see a small construction of Cranes wading and hunting for bugs in the recently flooded paddy of rice sprouts, what last week boasted a king”s harvest of Barley this week reminds one of a mirthless bog of mud. Thusly does my tack change.
“Wait,” I think, “why do I deserve any of this? What have I done? A few photos published here, a few websites designed there, a stupid little Zine and I think I am owed a job doing exactly what I want because of my good looks? Grandpa was right: A quarter and your good looks will get you a cup of coffee. Of course that was back when a cup of coffee actually cost a quarter…Who are the proverbial They who supposedly owe me anything at all anyway? In this case, they are some old Japanese men who have a budget in need of expenditure, one that stipends the printing but not the workers who amass the work. They care not a wit for qualification (and in this case I am actually the most qualified, so the point is moot) but merely, in the end, for a finished product, a done deal, a Guidebook for Fukuoka Jets. Fin. I, in my sagacity, tend to attach too much importance to the whole thing, thereby sparking erratic sleeping and eating patterns, moodiness and daydreaming. I am both addicted to the perfection of this stupid little Guide and the idea of perfection in and of itself. Do I reach too far? Do I desire too much? Am I so full of folly as to miss the point of even the most basic life lessons? Here”s Buddha & Lao Tsu arm in arm, rocking to and fro, crooning in Bing Crosby fashion, ‘Be satisfied with what you have…cha cha…be content within your surroundings…cha cha cha…worldly desires bring only pain…cha cha…’”
Never Be Happy
I never thought I would be quoting Bruce Willis, but two years ago Memorial Day when I saw him play live with his blues band in a tiny bar in Idaho, he had a shirt. A simple fraying gray cotton job with what looked to be iron-on letters reading, “NEVER BE HAPPY.” Midway through the set he held it up and beseeched the crowd to follow its sage advice, saying this mantra had gotten him to where he stood today. While some people may equate his current day standing as a womanizing, hack actor divorced and balding, others point to his various successes (Moonlighting or Hudson Hawk anyone?). But I digress. This isn’t about Uncle Bruce at all. This is about all of us. We are the World.
Just because it’s obsessing and tedious and boring and mood-altering and lifestyle-upsetting and some innocuous little guidebook which no one but 130 people will ever read, should I care less than I would if I were Moses writing the Torah? Would God want me lackadaisically fretting over penning Deuteronomy? Would he mind if I placed less importance on Numbers than on Leviticus? Should I really be questioning all this in the light of a planet wracked with disease and drought, natural disasters and bad politics, condoms and meatloaf? Do any of our problems or failures, triumphs or successes add up to, like Bogey said all those years ago to Ingrid on the LAX backlot, “a hill of beans?”
Not really.
You see, the good thing about confessions is that once they’re out, they”re out. They evaporate into the thin air. Your chest rises and falls. You breathe. Look around. It’s ok. Say your Hail Marys and Jesus Forgives You. Right? Don’t you feel better now? Don’t you like knowing that whether you’re Uncle Bruce with his T-shirt or Moses with the Torah or Bogey trying to get Ilsa out of Casablanca or me with the Guide or you with your thing, that everything is alright, no matter how small and insignificant it may feel? In reality, each with our own hill of beans to contemplate, maybe Never Being Happy means that the chance of tomorrow will always be there, the chance to have your beans mix with another person”s beans, another person with whom you should care for and cook for and laugh with and play with and kiss and hug and joke and talk and run and dance and yes, maybe, maybe even love. Is that not the point of everything Bruce & Moses & Bogey & Jesus were trying to get across?
But that”s just a thought I had, me riding my broken down old bike, simple like, to my simple job in the middle of nowhere Japan. I could be you. In fact I think I am.
I am a documentary and portrait photographer, specializing in a raw approach to shooting everything under the sun. Though I travel abroad often, I am currently based in the Pacific Northwest of the United States, and am available for assignments throughout North America and beyond.
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All content © 2012 by Manny Santiago Photography