In Japan, there are two characters who can occasionally be seen walking hand in hand. Their names are Sadness and Resentment.
unlikely couple, but then love has proven countless times that
opposites attract. Some obviously don't need sameness in another. And
this was how it was with the two of them, but if you are the kind to
judge by appearances alone, then you would automatically think: What
had an aloof, yet elegant beauty, which she somehow managed to retain
no matter what age she turned. The real beauties, I read Leonardo da
Vinci once said, are always sorrowful, a little downtrodden, and
Sadness was certainly that. She had a fixed woebegone expression and
physically drooped as if she'd had no cover from a deluge of rain or
spent too long under a baking sun. She modelled a haunted and
famished look: slender bordering on skinny, lank, shoulder-length
hair, and under-eye circles. Her mouth and almond-shaped eyes were
permanently down-turned as if she was immersed in some private agony.
A look that said she hadn't known joy and wasn't concerned about
trying to find it. Quiet and reserved, she lingered everywhere: on
street corners, in shop doorways, on park benches, sometimes sidling
up close to others merely passing the time of day, but yet she never
engaged in any form of conversation.
on the other hand, was a brash businessman. A stockbroker. He could
silently fume, but nine times out of ten preferred to show or air his
grievances, and had an insatiable appetite for complaining. He was
always wronged by someone or circumstances. Someone had stupidly
bumped into him spilling his coffee on his freshly pressed
dry-cleaned suit, never mind that at the time he was hiding behind a
section of a newspaper. Every day there were instances like this
where another person was blamed for their clumsiness or lack of
consideration. A person could tremble under his steely gaze as he
verbally attacked them. And he wasn't exactly a man you would care to
look at. There was something in this appearance that was
disagreeable. A sweaty set face, a large, rubbery mouth, and a pot
belly that grumbled from beneath his buttoned suit jacket. His
penchant for hostility meant he wasn't in the best of shape, but that
of course was not his fault.
two came to meet I do not know, although I can conjecture. Perhaps
Sadness was trapped by Resentment's laments, the only listener to his
protesting voice; or maybe on a day where Resentment was silently
fuming, Sadness sidled up to him. All I know is that somewhere in the
course of their lives these two became firm friends.
lovers? Possibly. A no-strings, casual fling perhaps underpins their
non-dependent relationship. They can spend a whole two weeks
together, then months apart with no noticeable effect. When they meet
next they pick up where they left as if there had never been a
was immune to Resentment's blasts of bitterness, which were not
usually directed at her but to other people, and if he ever did
demonstrate this towards her his criticisms were like oil to water.
His words were contained within a watery vacuum. But she liked his
combustive energy and listening to his self-important tirades. He
didn't demand anything of her. Resentment was fond of Sadness for
these exact same reasons. He could say whatever he wanted and she
never seemed to take offence or had once, since he'd known her, asked
for an apology. He could be his most dissatisfied self with her and
that was very pleasing. She was a good listener and he was drawn to
her quieter energy.
you'd think there'd be a power struggle or an interplay of tears,
sulks and hurtful words, there was none. Sadness and Resentment's
lifetime of grief made them the perfect companions.