Summer Blog Post - #11

「シャングリラ　幸せだって叫んでくれよ」— "Shangri-La, shout that you’re happy for me."

I usually have lyrics bouncing around in my head. It's what I do as someone who has lived majority of my life as a musician now–even if I don't play my instruments very often anymore. I used to be quite into it, where everyday was some kind of practice or jam session. Sometimes I even played live!

Still, what was once a massive part of my life has evolved into something else. Things you think make up your identity can and will change. Sometimes those changes also just feel 'incorrect,' too. As an example, this week my CRT monitor started to fail me. It wasn't world-ending, but it was enough to inconvenience me in a way that made playing Team Fortress 2 on my friend's birthday a little difficult. I had to ask one of my closest friends for my massive LCD monitor back, and I'm thankful that they obliged me and returned it today.

Still, it's a lot to get used to again—smoother, cleaner, more modern, but still missing that static hum which made my desk feel comfortable. Late-night Phantasy Star Online sessions with a slab of greasy pizza just don't feel right with this. It feels incorrect. I mostly got this massive monitor for art, but I've since been on a hiatus. I actually planned to retire from it after sixteen years, but I'm still unsure if I'm truly able to.

Anyways—technology isn't the only thing to feel like a betrayal this week. I got a pizza, but it was just off enough to feel like a betrayal to myself for not getting it made differently, it was made incorrectly (by me). Stepping into the shower one evening, I was met with a quick wafting scent that threw me back to middle school. Was it something special about the shower being in the early evening instead of my usual morning shower, or something in the water? I don't know. After it, I was on a car ride to Dairy Queen with my partner. As I watched the wall of mountains fade into a thick sheet of rain, the feeling hit me again. I couldn't place it; I was betrayed once again. My memories, I couldn't remember them. 

I think it was just how every week has felt like a copy of the last. I'm unable to differentiate them, with only slight changes, like that of the infamous 'Endless Eight'. Kyon, your phone's ringing.

Anyways, again, There are small things that stand out through the week. Today my partner stopped by for dinner. We watched episode six of CITY The Animation (2025), and the other day we started a new show called The Hot Spot (2025)—about a woman who finds out she's working with an alien— which we liked it quite a bit. On top of those, I was able to finish ToHeart: Remember My Memories (2004) on Tuesday, and now my ringtone is 「Ｆｅｅｌｉｎｇ  Ｈｅａｒｔ」, alongside my HMX-12 wallpaper. I've been really enjoying what I call my personal 'soaps'. 

I do want to talk about a reoccurring dream I've had twice this week—once last week—just for a little bit. 

The dream starts, as I stand by the side of a street. There are a lot of people standing and looking around, others are sitting. I never pay attention to their faces, so as far as I'm aware they're just blank. It reminds me of watching small parades when I was a kid. Then an actual parade begins, and it's very loud. 

On the first day there was no real identifiable music or chanting, it was just sound. As I watched for it, the parade comes into view down the street. It's visually masked by a strong haze, so I can't see it. I just feel sticky from the humidity.

The second day had the dream start on the side of the road again. The parade was closer and louder. Again, no discernible song besides what I can best classify as 'sound'. I turn around and walk into a diner which just so happens to now exist behind me. It's dark inside, and the sound is being drowned out, just a little bit. I sit in a booth alone and example the table's design. It's an off-white look with black and red speckles across it, a metal trim following around its round corners. There's nothing sitting on top of it, and I don't order food. Regardless, something is brought to me. It's a plastic diner cup with some brand of cola in it, probably Pepsi. A plate of cheese fries is also given to me. I feel content and slowly eat them, looking through the blinds that cover the window to see where the parade is. It is closer, but I still can't make anything out. There's music playing inside this diner, which I'm pretty certain was "Invisible Sun" by The Police.

The third day I didn't think would continue the dream. I can't remember much of the beginning, but it didn't take place on that street, which by this point I recognized as being in Beech Creek, PA—the main street that cuts through the town. I open a door from, something, and walk outside. I'm back at this street, and can now recognize the bank across the street from where I'm standing. I remember this as where we always used to sit when we'd go to the Halloween parade, or other parades on this street when I was very young. The parade has finally made it to where I'm at, and I can hear what song is playing. It sounds something close, if not the same as the parade theme from the movie Paprika (2006). It was made up many figures, all of which were me. They ranged in age and era, seemingly going from as young as I can remember, up to me the day before that day. Versions of myself I had seen in photographs; shirtless and wet, swimming goggles on my head–suddenly another with a small polo shirt, wearing a grin that felt bigger than the shirt. Others which I noticed were school picture day photos, childhood photos, or just random pictures from my mother's Facebook account. Some in band outfits (I was never in marching band outside of the single incident where I was requested to join one night), some in outfits inspired by fictional characters I liked. Some holding posters, some with signs. It was a lot.

They were throwing out candy, something that typically happened at those parades. Each one seemed to be a different candy I loved at a different time in my life. 

Eventually, one of the members of this introspection-parade walked up to me specifically and threw some more lyrics from that Chatmonchy song at me, but not in the order they're sung in the song, and more in sync with the parade's marching song;

「シャングリラ　夢の中でさえ上手く笑えない君のこと 。ダメな人って叱りながら愛していたい。」

"Shangri-La, even in dreams, you can’t smile properly.

I want to love you while scolding you for being hopeless."

They walked back into line with others. I stared on, watching what felt like my life flash before my eyes... or I suppose march on would be more applicable.

There I noticed older ones. Greasy looking losers who put on a ton of weight and were sitting in a vehicle being driven, as they were too lazy to walk themselves. They had given up.

"Love me while scolding me for being hopeless. Shangri-La, shout that you’re happy for me!" they shout from the window. I feel disgust for them, because I feel like I know them better than they do. They're me, but I can't remember most of what I felt and thought then. I am a fool for it, and their twisted grin showed they knew what I was thinking.

It went on further. "Show me your stubborn crying face" one quotes, "Sometimes cry on my chest" goes another one.

These lyrics started to sound like platitudes being shoved into my face. As the last one comes into view, I finally answer back with another lyric from the song, "Shangri-La, thinking of you keeps me awake tonight. Shangri-La, shout that you’re happy for me".

No response. The parade finishes, and as I turn to my left to watch it leave, it's already far down the street, marching into the same haze it emerged from.

I quote the song a last time; "Ahhh, before I knew it, we were connected by something so small. Ahhh, maybe walking empty-handed would feel easier". I went silent.The street was now empty. There were stray sweets which were thrown around littering the grass, and tucked forgettably at the bottom of the curb, where it meets the road. I pick one up and pop it in my mouth, realizing I don't like this candy anymore. I felt nostalgic; yet I felt betrayed by my changed taste-buds.

I stood up from my couching position, and as I looked up I realized I wasn't by that road anymore. I was standing on an aged path next to a large rice paddy. The haze persisted, and the environment felt familiar. Still, it was different. I wasn't in America anymore, but I felt more at home. I was relaxed. The quiet was only stirred by an occasional breeze. I'd watch the tops of the field follow them as they passed. Then, I woke up.

As is usually the case, the song I was listening to was playing in my dream. The Susumu Hirasawa track had indeed played a couple videos ago in a music playlist I had going on; the Chatmonchy song a couple plays before it.

I wonder what these could mean? I'd think on them more, but I'm getting tired as I write this.

My best guess was that the dream did end with me in some kind of Shangri-La, or a peek at what I could consider my personal one. There were enough context clues to tell it wasn't in America, the biggest tell being that I felt happy. That's something I can't genuinely feel here. I've never been able to. Waking up to find myself back here in the states? It felt like another betrayal.

To wherever this mystical dream Shangri-La is, I know I can only glimpse it right now—yet still, when I finally reach it, I hope to remind myself to「幸せだって叫んでくれよ。」