Anachronistic-Neuroticism
Ren Yūji’s Soliloquy
January 21st, 2007
Arabica has a floral tone to its aroma. My father loves it. He always brews it at exactly 7’o clock in the morning, a routine as steady as the sunrise. I crawled out of bed and walked towards the kitchen to greet my father. I’d reach for Robusta, which I prefer for its earthy smell and bitter taste. The sharpness feels unfiltered, a reflection of who I think I’ve become. I’m not 13 anymore—and there’s no one in the kitchen.
June 29th, 2010
I dream of a future shaped by solarpunk ideals, but it remains a pipedream. Technology here, under the sun, often springs from greed. I, for one, am in a parasitic relationship with my smartphone Sony Ericsson Satio: I read neatly boxed-up articles on the Internet, which renders me unthinking; I chase after dopamine to fill the void that is left behind by spending unhealthy hours on my smartphone, where the cost I pay is the erosion of attention; I compare my everything with everybody else’s highlights. I feel the crashing weight of 2047 through the future I carry in my pocket.
March 2nd, 2012
I dislike hot showers. I don’t disagree with the fact that the warmth from the hot water, especially on a cold rainy day, provides comfort. However, that very comfort is a passageway to the dark underbelly of the mind; the stillness of the moment lets suppressed worries rise to the surface. When the door I’d rather keep shuts open, I would rehearse past arguments in the shower and draft apologies for future wrongs before they happen. I love cold showers.
February 7th, 2013
I have a habit of hoarding memories, both real and imagined, in mental boxes I can’t stop rearranging. The nostalgia for what could have been and the regrets for actions I’ve left undone fuel the fever dream that is the present.
November 11th, 2017
My friends say I suffer from anachronistic-neuroticism. A made-up label perhaps, but it fits; time doesn’t move the same for me. My mind is a pendulum, swinging violetly between decades. I obsess over conversations I’ve never had in college, while I grieve for mistakes I’ve yet to make in the morrows to come. I admit, I’m anxious. Maybe it borders on the extreme. But it isn’t simply anxiety—it’s dislocation. I’m not where I’m supposed to be. Time slips away like the fading taste of Arabica—and I chase it, always just behind or just ahead, never now.
Glossary
/uh-nack-ruh-NISS-tick/
(adjective)
An error in chronology, especially, a chronological misplacing of persons, events, objects or customs in regard to each other.
/nyuh-ROT-uh-siz-uhm/
(noun)
A personality trait characterized by a tendency to experience negative emotions such as anxiety, anger, envy, guilt, and depression more easily and more frequently.