When I was 25, I decided to go to Japan to run away from the girl who loved me, but not anymore. The idea was to remain in a Buddhist temple for the rest of my life, sweeping up leaves, but the immigration rules were against me.
It was the worst period of my life. I had my first epilepsy attack, couldn’t become a father, and lost everything and everybody I cared about. I touched the bottom when I spent a night sleeping on the sidewalk near Shibuya Station. Sounds strange, eh? Spent thousands of euros on a flight to fall asleep on the street as an inemuri businessman.
The day after, I woke up when a girl handed me a can of Boss hot black coffee. My face hurt from sleeping on concrete. She told me, in her best possible English, that I could ask for help and that people would. Or something similar. I had a bad hangover. I don’t remember much except that she had a Matrix-style coat similar to mine. We would have made a great cosplay couple.
She probably took it from a nearby vending machine because the can was still very hot. The coffee tasted strange, but it was the best I had in years. That day I moved to Shinjuku to have some fun and stopped being sad for something I can’t have anymore.
A problem is not a problem if you can solve it.
Don’t run from problems; they won’t solve them. It will only hide them.
Don’t look for a solution to a problem you don’t know. Study that problem; once you know it, you have the chance to solve it.
Until next time.