Diary of Unspoken Feelings

This article is an excerpt from the book Diary of Unspoken Feelings, published by Sanctuary Publishing on May 2, 2025.
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At the supermarket checkout, my line is the only one moving slowly.

I head to the checkout with my shopping basket. There, a small battle begins in my mind. "Which line should I join?" I strain my eyes to observe the situation at each register and choose the one I think will be the fastest. However, an incident occurs. While the line next to me keeps moving, my line doesn't budge at all. It's as if the laws of the universe have decided to "make only my line slow." People in the next line move along smoothly. Meanwhile, in my line, the barcode won't scan, or a point card can't be found. Observing it, the speed of a checkout line is made up of complex variables. The speed and skill of the cashier. The number of people in front, the number of baskets, and the amount of items inside. How easy it is to find the barcode on each product. Whether or not the line splits into two registers ahead. Whether or not a shopping bag is needed. And, of course, dealing with the ever-increasing number of payment methods, and so on and so on. Yes, a whole universe unfolds in front of the register. Facing such a situation, trying to observe and guess "which line is the fastest" is impossible and futile. It's lucky if it moves smoothly, and if it's slower than other lines, well, that's just how it is. Whether I can actually reach that state of mind, however, is another story.

I'm the only one who can't drink alcohol, yet we split the bill.

I know we're splitting the bill anyway. Beer and cocktails are being consumed smoothly at the same table. I think, "Should I try to drink at the same pace?" but non-alcoholic drinks don't go down as easily. Compared to that, alcohol is consumed so smoothly. What is that, that smoothness? And then, just as the drunkenness starts to set in, a mysteriously expensive wine is ordered. I can only sigh. The unit price is different, and the amount we can drink is different. But, we're splitting the bill anyway.

Staring at the oolong tea in front of me, my consciousness starts to fade. And I haven't even had any alcohol. I hear the sound of a high-end wine bottle being uncorked next to me. The "otoshi" (appetizer) and the "otsumami" (snacks) are all ordered with alcohol in mind anyway. Even so, when I'm told, "Let's all have fun," I can't refuse. The amount I see at checkout has ballooned to dozens of times the cost of a single glass of oolong tea. The inequality begins the moment the invitation to "drink together" is made. The reasons for not being able to drink or choosing not to drink vary from person to person. It might be a physical constitution, or it might be a personal belief. Even so, as if ignoring such individual circumstances, it weighs heavily on me in the form of "equal financial burden" at a drinking party. The easy solution of equality ends up creating a new kind of inequality. The atmosphere where I can't speak up, the vibe where I can't refuse, and the expenses I can't accept. Caught in that vicious cycle, I silently open my wallet.

We were supposed to meet just the two of us, but there's someone I don't know.

I wait for someone at the meeting place. What should we talk about? Where should we go? The time spent looking for them with excitement is actually quite fun. Oh, I see them. But they haven't noticed me yet. When I wave, they seem to notice and wave back. However, there is a stranger next to them. We had promised to meet just the two of us. I wanted to talk about things that only the two of us could talk about. That person gives a small nod to me. I have no choice but to nod back somewhat. By the way, who are you? Who are you? Are you an acquaintance? A friend? Give me back our time together. The excitement that was swelling in my chest deflates in an instant. The topics I had prepared and the places I wanted to go all end up hanging in the air. I have no choice but to respond with a fake smile to the introduction, "Sorry, my friend decided to come too. I thought you'd get along." Inside, frustration swirls: "Why didn't you tell me?" It might have been a casual decision for the other person. Perhaps they thought they were doing something good. They might have truly invited their friend thinking it would be a wonderful new encounter. However, a promise to meet just the two of us has a special meaning. That atmosphere, that intimacy, that freedom. It all fades away at once due to the presence of a third party. And I end up carrying a feeling of being "betrayed" all by myself.

Book Official Website https://www.sanctuarybooks.jp/book/detail/1572
Amazon https://www.amazon.co.jp/dp/4801401562/