#mrs fujimaya

[lacunasbalustrade]

Paruko Nanana; livestreams & podcasts on a computer, a phone, an iPad, a MacBook, and a headset all at once. "only someone like you could handle all that."waking up on chilly rainy mornings at 6 am after studying till 2am, so used to telling the camera to get your good side that you forgot how some liked seeing you with silly haircurlers in. drinking bubble tea; the joys of youth. can't stretch or flex for your life, but the Easter Bunny couldn't jump higher. your idea of comfort food is french fries in ketchup someone save you from yourself, healthy living is working & playing hard in your book, bicycling in gardens, affection badly expressed, using short forms & text emojis, talkative but comforting, conscious of other people's existence,"YOU. you get me."

Kazane Fujimaya: positivity post accounts, local thrift shops and flea markets, haggling good-naturedly. that specific moment when the sun starts to rise and you've hiked up to the top of some steep hill that smells of fresh bamboo and steamed chestnut buns. it's sunrise over calm waters and there are no clouds if there are you're in the wrong place. being a regular customer, would volunteer at pet shelters but you're allergic to fur, eating egg mayonnaise sandwiches with black pepper and dropping it on your lap, you'll never get that stain out if you soak it for the rest of your life. vegetable soup is so good you swear by it, feeling alienated from everyone by some really hurtful circumstance but going home to face it regardless. "hey, are you awake yet?"

Kuguru Uki: clay scent of contented pottery wheels, oven mitts, potwarmers, the way lavender hangs in the air over the blue that has yet to descend and bring twilight with it, getting ready to leave and sitting down to pull on your shoes over your feet in their padded socks. never yelling in case you startle someone nearby who's working. getting used to warmed-up rice balls in place of actual meals. inhumanly good at playing those claw machine games, even when they're rigged. "fifty points to gryffindor", sitting and revising your notes only to realise that your handwriting is embarrassingly rushed, redoing them although it's still readable. life's a balancing act and you are a champion. compromises. "there you are, I've been waiting for you!"

Megumi Mamakari: buying instant fashion from high-end malls, inhaling the aroma of cold-brew coffee beans in a place so cold your fingers are turning pink, mini whitebread tuna and lettuce sandwiches that crunch underneath your teeth, doing ballet as a kid and never tiptoeing again because your toes are still bruised underneath your socks. crawling under the bed because you take hide-and-seek very seriously. copying people's handwriting is a strange hobby but if it's not fascinating your hair isn't lemonade pink. the most starched out days when moisture hangs so thick you could slice it with a knife, the clouds are as grey as your jumper, lightning may strike any moment, that's part of the thrill. rollercoasters & haunted houses, "laugh all you want. you can't deny it."

Suzuha Amanosuzu: perfect eyeliner. flawlessly groomed, prideful with a reason, being the benevolent queen is difficult but you'll do it with grace and strength if it costs you your beautifully manicured fingernails. "End of discussion - there's nothing more to say" bubbly apple cider bursts against your palate, let it wash down the aromatic basil-topped lamb cutlet that's laid out artisan style on your porcelain plate. korean dramas and scandalous romance novels, you know the myths better than the history professor does, that doesn't disconnect you from reality. snapping a painted fan closed, elegant victorian fashion, stars coming out in a whole parade across the galaxy at 4am (you glow brighter than all, this is light pollution my dear), "what, are my feelings a concern to you?"

Ku Teito: flashy sunsets on the subway, riding on the carousel when the circus comes to town. big hearted only means your heart falls harder, darling; the air smells lonelier at night when you're out patroling on your lonesome: you always work yourself to the bone. chocolate roll bread fresh from the oven that your teeth sink into like butter. drafting reports by using the speech function because you'd rather use your hands to play Minecraft and Nitendo Wii games instead, you actually subscribe to legitimate music services instead of pirating. good for you. the world is so big and you could fit in a pocket of my hands, you need to be protected but only wish to protect others, selflessly, brightly, purely. it's not about the ego for you. karaoke master. "you can never match up to me, but go on and try!"

Mrs Fujimaya: making jokes that aren't funny. stop using your humour to cut wounds open in yourself; those who love you do not want to watch you bleed. i know you've been staying strong all through every trial, just a little longer, keep standing, please. having a picture perfect memory: the differences in the world you move forward through is as glaring as the sun to you, you are the closest to realisation you've ever been. keep going. popcorn salted dissolves in your mouth leaving only hard kernels of truth - the scent of flower pollen is one you'll never forget as you kneel in front of his portrait (in front of him at his grave.) days when you couldn't bear to open the windows and no one kept track of time for you, it's so hard being a mother who has to shoulder her little girl's pain on top of her own. "you don't have to worry, I can push through like a freight train."

Suzumi Mikado: the clouds are so much closer than you thought at first, green crocuses, leaves falling in a crochet pattern, beckoning storms and their irises of calm, the final light of the day, twisted paper cones of salted peanuts, tricoloured pansies, black tulips "you sure don't mess around, do you?" mad rollerblading skills, probably jogged every day before school, had a million graduation photo albums and her son's smile, bulldog terrier as a childhood pet, against light pollution, manic for radio dramas. constantly smells of hugging, how can someone smell like hugging? the one who eats door-to-door salesmen for breakfast, but charms the entire parent support group with your boisterous enthusiasm and courageous grace of carrying yourself well. you are a survivor. "you! stand up on your own two feet!"

Ageha: little white lies. the epitome of showbiz. slightly bizarre but you never want those clicking high heels to stop, champion of climbing trees. snakes and the divine are inextricably connected like the four beasts of the directions that protect a large snake coiled at the centre of the world (isn't that what you are?) time doesn't leave a mark on you, to you it is inconsequential my lady. spray that hibiscus perfume once again and watch me become enthralled by it. pancakes are a go to breakfast with your secret sauce that's really just citrus juice mixed with cream and vodka. kindness in the mask of an expertly carried theatre performance, or the rhythm of a street dancer, you bring tidal waves wherever you step. "you should know by now, that isn't enough to keep me entertained. show me something spectacular!"

Sofia Sakharov: compassion never picked up on, you prefer it that way. sticky food like homemade jam with the pips squeezed out, borscht and rye bread a familiar but not comforting texture on your pale tongue. days and nights blend together when you are the very essence of stars and the sun is right beside you - what more do you need? never have you ever been interested in the moon. putting up with things, a magenta that demands attention. unconsciously mimicking those around you and copying theur behaviour; it must be a pattern by now to blend in. that's all you've ever been asked to do. little ways of being rebellious. blunt and insensitive comments that scream for someone to try and uncover their source. tsarina of a thousand fullstops, sarcasm, matryoshka dolls,"who are you to lecture me?"

Terumi Kuchinawa: hungry looks exchanged between lovers. you probably learned french in school. speaking of that, slightly burnt french toast scarred like the sun's surface with a thousand pits, sweet and thick like a promise. here you are at the steps of the school waiting for the pigeons to take flight, over the rising light that illuminates your world (and you alone.) smell the cigarettes and stamp your foot at the irresponsible person who ruined your beautiful morning. where is the shyness and insecurity that you hide so well under the surface? oh but my dear you are a dragonfruit; when squishy, you burn with a whoosh of fire. not so innocent are you? your worth has pain dormant in yourself all the time you were searching for someone to give it to. "you're pathetic! but then, I guess you already know that."