Quiet Ventures

- Masako -

"I'll drop you off at your meeting place. It's out of my way, but I'd rather you ride with me than take a cab."

"No thanks, auntie. I'll be fine."

"Okay. But wear casual clothes and those thick glasses of yours—you won't be recognized that way. It'll be such a headache if you get into a scandal now."

"Yes, auntie."

"Be nice to him, 'kay? He's a TV producer's son, you might get a new show. Oh, but don't stay out too late. If you don't get enough sleep, your face will get puffy and—"

"I understand, auntie. Be careful on your way."

"Make sure you—"

"See you tomorrow."

Masako stepped out of her aunt's new car, yet another luxury model, and headed straight into her parents' house before her aunt could get one more word out. It had been a two-hour drive, and pretending to sleep had not stopped the older woman from nagging at her incessantly. From Masako's dwindling projects to the small blemish she had on her forehead, her aunt covered all topics that needed reiteration.

Taking in a deep breath and shaking her head slightly as she exhaled, she pushed away an onslaught of fatigue from filming overnight at a dilapidated house one prefecture away. She had no sleep at all, so she couldn't fathom why her aunt had scheduled that shoot a night before an apparently high-stakes blind date she had set up for her. Didn't her aunt want this to go smoothly?

Although . . . it had always been like this, she admitted to herself. From the start of her career until ten years later today, her aunt would push her to do too much and would expect her to do well in everything, even as she frayed on the edges.

Well. There was no use crying over it now. She just needed to do what she was told, like a perfect doll.

Hitching her duffel bag's strap higher on her shoulder, she trudged straight toward the bathroom next to her room on the second floor, taking one step at a time, ignoring her screaming ankles. Besides having no sleep, her body ached as if she had run a marathon all night long even though all she did was stand still at the center of one room, trying to connect to a spirit that clearly did not want to communicate with her. All she wanted to do now was to draw hot water into the ofuro and soak for hours and hours until she fell asleep. She could think of nothing that was more soothing than to curl into herself as an unconditional veil of warmth enveloped her, to disappear as she melted into nothingness. But —she couldn't do that. Of course not. All she could do was turn her back to the tub to keep herself from staring at it longingly. She showered quickly, put on her robe, and headed back to her room.

Her closet was the only modern piece of furniture in the entire house. They had to replace the old one because it had become too small for her wardrobe of kimono for everyday use and its numerous layers. The closet spanned throughout the entire length of her room, from one side to the next. It used to be baby pink, but it faded into an ashy off-white.

When she was twelve years old at the height of her career, she had to appear on television nearly seven days a week, be it on supernatural programs, morning news, or variety shows, and so her aunt and parents had to severely expand the few outfits she used to have for then weekly shows. Her wardrobe stayed consistent over time; every kimono would be replaced with a new one once it had already made its appearance on a show since she was not allowed to use the same one twice.

She headed straight to the far end of the closet, sliding its door open to find the few casual clothes she had. She had only a few dresses, blouses, skirts and pants for going out, and the only shirts she had were for sleeping. Deciding on a loose dress so that she didn't have to worry about matching a top and bottom, she took it out and put it on with haste.

For her, it was always such a peculiar experience putting on casual clothes. She did not have to don layers upon layers whenever she wore her kimono, but at the same time casual clothes made her feel so naked. With a kimono, she could assume the persona she had built over the years—she was a television personality who rarely ever showed any expression, a woman who must keep up an air of mystery at all times to keep the cameras on her. If she wasn't wearing a kimono, she became unsure of which mask she must wear. Would it be enough to stay expressionless? How should she act in a dress? In a skirt? In pants?

This predicament reminded her of the few dolls her father once bought for her when she was a child. She had always been amazed at how different they all were despite having the same face. One doll was a doctor just because she wore a white robe, one was an art student just because she wore a smock and held a paintbrush, one was a dancer just because she wore leg warmers and a headband. It would give her endless comfort to know instantly what she should be just by the clothes she would wear.

For now, with her long, free-flowing floral dress and black boots, she faced a mirror and told herself that she was a normal twenty-two-year-old woman. She was not a medium and she definitely did not profit from it. While saving up for grad school, she was helping out her parents with their family business. She still did not know which program she wanted to pursue, but she knew for a fact that she wanted to teach. This should be enough for her to survive the day.

Tomorrow, she must remember to forget. When she dons her kimono once more, she must remember that she is Masako Hara.

note: this was supposed to be longer but i realized that it would take me about three months to write that ^^; masako's such a complex character and i wanted to explore every facet of her personal history . . . another time, maybe. i should focus on finishing this series first. (please remind me not to ovethink bc at this rate the quarantine might end even before i finish writing this "warm-up" hahah)

i drew masako btw! head on over to rmnitb on tumblr to see it~