this is my path, this is my life...

+ March 9 +

I tend to forget to mention that the Shogun whom I hold a grudge to has not been a shogun for such a long time. It was only last year when he finally replaced the 14th shogun, who died just last year. Previously, he was a Daimyo, then for a long time, a very influential part of the Bakufu. He would have been the 14th shogun, if not for detractors, but it was only last year that he became what he had sought to be.

I hate the man, hate what he had done to my family, to myself and to so many others. But I hear what he's done, read them through praising manuscripts even - what he had gone through to achieve his status - the way his father had trained him so diligently from birth to become a shogun. I /know/. (Imagine sleeping with two swords by the sides of your head so that you will not toss and turn - true discipline inscribed through your very blood and bones) His training had been harsh and perhaps my struggles don't even come close to the surface of his process of learning. I admire his wisdom and his abilities. I wish sometimes that I could have been like him, in those matters. But that does not take away the fact that he can be a cruel monster and that, through him, I too became one.

Yes, I admit it. I am a monster, underneath all this silk. My Path to Shura is only what I could see. Revenge to attain salvation.


***

+ March 4 +

I held a paintbrush today, in the art room. I stared at the blank canvas for so long that it must have been days that I stood there, still as a statue, silent as stone. The paintbrush was dry. I saw no color. I felt no hope. Then Toru-san came in and told me that I had to murder once again. An hour later, I came back in the room. And you know what I painted? I painted the canvas red.


***

+ March 2 +

Black is my favorite color. Does that sound morbid? Maybe it's odd. Maybe not... Why is it my favorite color? It's because you can look at a black surface for so long and you would see absolutely... nothing. It's an abyss. What is in your mind, in your imagination, is what you could place in that abyss. It's emptiness. And in that emptiness, either there is nothing or you could create something. Black represents the absence of something. Black represents the need to fill the void with something. Black represents the uncertain, as-of-yet empty future. And the future is what you make of it.


***

+ February 28 +

I wonder, sometimes, why Toru-san doesn't touch me. He could. And I don't know if I would refuse him. Is it because of the obvious fact - that I'm dirty? Or... I don't know what he thinks. Sometimes, I want to read his mind. The way he looks at me can be mind-boggling. I wonder what he really thinks of me. Although... I really shouldn't concern myself with these thoughts. Toru-san keeps a certain distance between us to make us both safe. I should be thankful...


***

+ February 25 +

The fever has passed, finally. Three days ago was the worst day of it. I was restless. I see that I've even written an entry here. It was a mindless moment; I was truly delirious. Reading the entry from three days past, I can not make sense of a lot of it. I just know that I was in so much physical ache. And even now, I'm still drained. There's no escape though. Earlier in the day, I went back to serving my clients. Sawakita-san told me he missed me, of course. Yeah, right...

Toru-san told me a secret just moments ago. He told me of the location of his hidden village. It's in a path between mountains, in the north. It's very near Nikko. He told me that it was really nice there, just like Kyoto - although somewhat more unspoiled. I told him silently that I would see it one day. I thought he didn't hear me but he did. He told me that he believed me.


***

+ February 22 +

I'm going to do something about my life. If you think that I won't -- I will. Somehow, someway... My hands, drenched in human blood... I dream a lot these days, still sick. The ache is bone-deep, like flesh-eating maggots consuming my organs. I think I'm delirious. I'm seeing visions now and then, ghosts perhaps. There are a lot of ghosts in this estate, most of them created by me. I am the ghost machine. I see them, taunting me and laughing as I cough my lungs out. It hurts. I wonder if I will die from this. And if I die, I wonder who will cry at my grave. Maybe the fireflies. But then, can fireflies even cry?


***

+ February 21 +

Constant rains... And I'm still sick. This is the longest time that I have been ill - nearly one week without any one touching me /that way/. I can not think, for one second, that I am fortunate though, for I know that it is not a permanent thing.

In my boredom, I try to play the flute. Of course I have stopped trying because of one incident that led to me nearly coughing my lungs out because of exerting too much effort. I received a lecture from Keiko-san because of that...

So I settled with sitting beside the doorway of the veranda, watching and listening to rain as it fell outside. One time, I asked Toru to tell me about his clan. He did - he told me about the hidden village where they were born, raised and trained until they were superb in skills and were ready to be hired by the highest bidder. I didn't say it out loud but at that moment, I felt for him and his kind.

To be born and to have an unchangeable fate especially designed for you.

I wonder if he's happy with his job...


***

+ February 16 +

I am sick with fever at the moment and therefore, could not do any kind of job. I'm thankful for this small amount of rest. I hope I will not recover too soon. Despite the fever being annoying and rendering me nearly useless, it's a blessing too.

Keiko-san and Toru-san are the ones caring for me. I... don't like the way Keiko-san looks at me sometimes. It's not that she looks at me cruelly or with any kind of judgment. It's that she looks at me with ache. She is so very kind - to her children and to those around her... To see her with ache because of me is the worst thing I could possibly do to her.

Toru-san helps out in caring for me. It's not a man's job to care but he tells me that he just wants to. His actions make me recall of the first time we met, when I was but ten summers old. He had pitied me and risked so much by offering me something so precious - the opportunity to commit seppuku. That would have gotten him killed - hunted down and tortured to death by this country's leader. For that, I shall never forget his sacrifice that day... Even after I die...

My head is aching again. I should probably sleep now...


***

+ February 12 +

Hush, my child,
men with swords have come,
Purse your lips and be still,
for our lives to be safe,
if only for awhile.

Hiding in the darkness,
in tears and in ache,
in fear and in regret,
I wish only for you
to one day find the sun.

Be bathed in warmth
one day, my little son.
Touch skies as red as blood,
like life not pain,
and soar like a free bird.

Dry your tears
and journey forward.
Don't look back
at my unmoving body.
Go forward now, my son.

Just keep this lullaby,
and let it remind you
that mama's in a better place.
Where I'll meet you
again one day.

So don't look back,
but never forget this song.
Just go forward...
Go forward now,
my little one...

...Mother used to sing this for me when I was small. How bitterly ironic.

I heard Keiko-san, one of the servants, singing this lullaby to her baby (no one else could take care of little Saya today so she had to be here, in this filthy place, with her mother). It hurt to recall it. And to know...

There's so much beauty and innocence out there, things that I try to grasp blindly but could never reach. I cried last night, as silently as I could, because I didn't want anyone to know - even Toru-san who knew everything about me. But I knew he heard me despite my attempts to mask my ache - knew that he was aware.

He didn't say anything. I was thankful for that.


***

+ February 9 +

I did my secret job again today...

It was my duty, of course. And I know that the man deserved what he got. But, there's this growing hollowness in me because I know that what I was doing was /wrong/. And yet, being this far along my road to redemption, I can no longer turn back. It's far too late for that.

As I washed myself - my hands - it was so hard to remove the evidence of my crime. It faded eventually from red to pink to nothing at all. And yet, I am aware that it will never truly vanish.

At that moment, I recalled Mother's hands as she helped me wash my then-small hands after I painted a portrait in the backyard of our home.

How could hands that could /create/ something beautiful, /destroy/ so cruelly?

I am suffocating in the depths of guilt.

Nothing will ever justify my crimes.


***

+ February 7 +

I found myself scribbling at the back of this notebook earlier. It was the picture of a crane, something that I could create through origami. My instinct for art comes out now and then when I am not careful and am not focussing on the moment. I loathe the feeling I get after I see my talent. It /hurts/ because it reminds me of the past, something I will never be free from.

Earlier today, Maki-san took me out of the brothel. (Again, I refuse to call any man Lord here, and I will most definitely not call Maki-san as 'Father'.) At the crack of dawn, before the sun rose, he picked me up (with permission from the Shogun, of course) and I rode with him on his powerful brown roan towards one of the edges of Japan. (Toru-san was with us too; he rode one of the brothel's roans. And also, two of Maki-san's retainers trailed behind.)

We went to a deserted beach and ate lunch. I knew it was going to be another of Maki-san's twisted games - and it was, of course. An hour after lunch, we played another game of cat and mouse, where I was told to run through the forest at the back of the beach. And of course, I ran, wondering if by a stroke of luck, I could outwit my persuers (I knew I was monitored by a few other men, just to be on the safe side.) After obtaining a few cuts from a thorny bush I ran by in my hurry, I was caught as expected - and was taken against a tree...

Weird but familiar experience.

Sometimes I wonder if Maki-san did not get to play much during his childhood.


***

+ February 1 +

I will not specify too many things about myself in this forum for myself (the month, yes, but not the year), both for safety and for my own need for even a small amount of security. Mother knows that it's been a long time since I've had a taste of both those things. I will, however, describe things - things that may or may not matter, just small things that could become highlights (no matter how inconsequential) of this particular odd life.

A strange occurence had happened to me this afternoon. A European man from Italy came to acquire of my services. He's a travelling artist, one of the best, as told to me by Takato-san. It was a small wonder to a lot of us how he came to a country such as Japan, when it is so strictly closed-off to foreigners. But he's here and he had come all the way to the outskirts of the capital just to sample the finest geisha from Shidareyanagi. All that was important was that he feel welcomed and that we would all serve him well.

It was morbidly fascinating how the non-slave geisha flocked to this man as if they were bees to a honey comb. The man was not that attractive; he was just a foreigner. And the women, curious or just backward in their thinking, ran to him with legs wide open, hoping for a glance from him or anything that would render them with the experience - something that they could boast to the others.

I loathed them again then, like I always did. What ever happened to dignity? To subtlety? To living with meaning? If they are so into what they do for a living, why don't they exchange their life with mine? I want to take a sip of their freedom, for but a fraction of a second.

Carlos (I refuse to call any man Lord in this diary), the foreigner, chose me to bed with in the end, causing the women to direct hateful looks towards my way - a common gesture. We spoke in Italian and he was surprised that I was quite fluent in it. I explained the strict tutoring I went through and he just smiled. I felt neutral about him, mostly. He was just a client.

One odd thing about him when we were together for half a day in his room was that he asked me to bare my body as he painted my image onto a canvas. For two hours perhaps, I lay on my front, my nude back exposed to him as he concentrated on completing his portrait. A few other men have asked the same thing before (and all those incidents resulted in sex after the paintings) although they were Japanese. It shouldn't have been that much of an odd thing, really but...

It was just that...

I felt once again the strain of my destiny. Because I used to paint - that was my talent, something I was better at than my brothers and sisters... Something that I got from my /father's/ side, a proof that I was connected to him even though he never acknowledged it...

Toru-san noticed me drifting off in deep thoughts after the painting and the sex so he asked me to play my flute for him. I did. I played another one of those haunting tunes. I didn't say anything as I drifted off to sleep in my room, Toru-san laying on his own futon nearby... although I wanted to thank him for the distraction...

He keeps me sane.


***

+ January 29 +

I never thought I would resort to voicing my thoughts and opinions using a brush, an ink and an empty notebook. As of yet, I have just began to fill out the first page, although I know that one day, there will no longer be enough pages to occupy any more words. Or perhaps not. I am not certain how long I will live, although I do not expect to live long.

This is... a diary... It sounds absurd. Boys rarely write in diaries, especially in this day and age where they are trained to be honorable warriors. They are more focussed in physical things - things that would make them strong or would please them. Although I share their physical components, I am too far removed from their world. I can not grasp their reasonings nor their mind structure. I just know that some of them will grow to become men - men like those I serve each day that I am still alive...

My purpose in writing, by the way, is just to express myself in some way. I am unable to speak with anyone. Perhaps these inanimate objects could verify something within myself. I only hope that it would not be discovered by anyone. For if that happened, not only shall I be caught in despair, but whatever I expose may cause the ceasing of too many lives.

Sometimes, I wonder why I still care...


***