That Dark Juvenile Time

When I was a teenager, there was the period that I thought it was for the best if I ended my own life. I was afraid of people, responsibilities, future: practically everything. I thought the world would be better off without me. I stopped eating for months and cried endlessly because of my own despair I had created.

What saved me from the dismal selfish period was keeping journals. I turned to the healing ability of words. I felt as though I made the ultimate beauty when I described every negative sad emotion of mine on a paper. Thinking back, I was too ignorant to appreciate how fortunate I had been that I had my own bedroom and food to eat. The spoiled brat, who did not know anything about the reality of living, best described who I really was.

Now I have a job that demands the skills to face people. I am responsible for many things and I have the future I want to live. I eat a lot and I don’t cry anymore. And I learned to be grateful for everything and everybody around me. I did grow up, just like everybody else. But, almost two decades later, I still recall that era at times. Its memory deeply haunts me still and I keep on questioning myself why.

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The Road Not Taken

Today is one of the rare days I don’t have to work. I slowly sip a big mug of coffee for breakfast, reading random newspaper articles on the Internet in Japanese. I clean the bathroom, take some bio trash out and walk to the station to mail some documents off to my tax accountant’s office in northern Germany. I buy an amazing sandwich at the bakery of the station- the French bread filled with fresh Parmesan and rucola. I walk back home and start to cook some decent supper- homemade patty from scratch with the sauteed mushroom sauce, hoping it turns out to be so good and my husband loves it. I exercise for an hour in the backroom then plan what to teach tomorrow while I wait for him to come home from work. Does anything I do today somewhat make me be a good housewife? Or does he feel that way? Am I still a big part of his happiness? 

And at the same time, I wonder why I am not in New York City right now, pursuing my MFA degree or working as a professional interpreter or something like that. And then again I think to myself how happy I am here in Germany. I wonder if I ever had different paths to take. 

I Can’t Write.

Here I confess: I can’t write.
For a long time, I do suffer.
Two mugs of coffee later, still a blank page on my iPad screen.
In my head, dead boring words.
Frustration growing- this ain’t me.
Work and responsibilities- emotions blocked by rationality.
Me- 31 years old.
Innocence reduced- so darn stable.
The background song: Ellie Goulding
Intuition, here I follow.
Still I confess: I can’t write.

It’s Already 2016!!!

I simply feel terrible. I launched this website last September with the countless amount of positive energy. I was so motivated to write. And I accomplished nothing I wanted last year. I was completely tied up with work and studying German and failed to invest time in this website.

However, despite all of those huge regrets, I want to express my sincere gratitude to all of the readers who devoted your precious time to read my works. It required me to have lots of courage to expose my writings to the eyes of the public, and your positive reactions certainly meant a lot to me.

Last year, I was too focused on the thought that I HAD TO write something creative all the time. But this year, I will treat this website more as the tool of communication, which is like the journals composed of random thoughts, addressed to be read by people. And, I may also post poems and short stories when I feel like doing so.

Hope you still stick around. Please feel free to talk to me through comments.

Again, thank you so much for reading.

The Tokyo Subway Story

It was 8:32 am, just on time. The silver subway packed with numbers of people arrived at the station with the aggressive loud sound. As soon as the doors were opened, tons of people went out and came in. It was the usual chaos and the flooding of ants.

The fact that this was the busiest moment excused their rudeness and violence. The well-known Japanese politeness was no longer there. It was like some kind of war. I became the ant and joined the war, and I stepped into the subway. Yes baby, it was my showtime.

As soon as I got on the subway, I kept on moving my eyes. I was starving for this. Then, the word echoed in my head, “backpack”. In a few seconds, I found the backpack. You became my today’s target.

It was neither you nor your suit nor your tie that was wrong. The whole fault was your huge black backpack that was accidentally in my sight. I could not resist. I slowly walked within the crowd and stood right behind you. As you seemed busy reading the newspapers, I soundlessly unzipped your backpack and put my right hand inside. The familiar touch of the leather immediately satisfied my right hand. No hesitation necessary. Within a second, I took it out and it became totally mine, no longer yours.

As soon as the subway reached the next station and the doors were open, I got out with the other bunch of ants. I could not help smiling at the Louis Vuitton wallet in my hand.

I checked your ugly face on your company ID and 70,000 yen in the wallet. More than what I got from you, I had to laugh at how stupid you were. Maybe, you learned a lesson, and you’d better thank me before you blame me.

© 2015 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!

The Twelve-hour Sleep

It is the escape from your reality,
It is the cure of your mind,
It is the reward addressed to you
Until the short hand of the clock makes a circle.

No need to drink, No need to eat,
No talk, No argument, Just-
Let your eyes closed,
Let your mouth breathe,
Let your heart beat,
Let your body live in the dream,
Let your idleness be the luxury
For the twelve hours.

Nothing more is necessary,
For after the twelve hours,
When your eyes are opened again,
It is going to be the time
To go back to your reality where
You are forced to
Face the hours,
Face the people,
For this is where you belong to.

© 2015 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!

About Me

I decided to start my own website here since I enjoy writing in general and it means a lot to me to do so in English as my voice can reach the global audience.

My name is Kiara Belle. I am from Japan and went to college in the United States. After living in France for six months, Portugal for two years and Germany for six years, I moved back to the United States in August, 2017. Although I am a Japanese-English translator and I have taught both languages, I have to admit that I still tend to make crazy mistakes in English at times, which can be disturbing to some readers. And, I hope this website helps me to improve my writing skills in English as well, and your feedback on anything is greatly appreciated.

I have no idea how this website turns out to be, but I hope I can come up with the interesting pieces that can entertain you.

Kiara Belle
Kiara Belle

© 2015 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!

The Orange from Ehime

The circular sunrise
raised by the golden wind of Ehime.

The customary desert of the elementary school
now placed as a treasure
on the cold table of Tokyo.

Gently and carefully,
the sunrise bloomed
with the petals like the sunlight
just like the day I left my hometown.

One by one,
I smell and taste
my hometown
where I no longer belong to.

But the sourness of the sunrise,
still gently welcomes my return.

© 2015 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!

Unrequited Love

After absorbing the air,
She blows up
Into the red balloon.

The more she blows,
The more it grows,
Larger and rounder.
The more of her passion is
Swallowed
By the red balloon.

Making its skin worn,
The red balloon
Becomes more transparent,
Too visible, too naked.

Her red face, so breathless,
Can’t tell, Can’t speak.
No word can be voiced.

With full of her passion,
The red balloon is
About to explode.

Soon, it will.
Even if he never knows
The existence of the red balloon.

Soon, it will
And will disappear,
With the blast,
Hurting her.

© 2015 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!

The Modern Tokyo Version of the Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen

It was a summer day in August where the concrete of the road reflected the heat of the dazzling sunlight. It was a busy day in Tokyo, where the mass amount of people constantly walked with hasty steps and disappeared into and appeared from buildings.

On a such day in a such place, this girl, who was almost sixteen, had to sacrifice herself to survive. As her mother could not affort to send her to high school, this was the unbearable nightmare when the normal girls of her age enjoyed shopping and summer vacations.

Her job had to be simple, for the work that kids without education could do were limited in this advanced country, but she was against commiting any crimes.

What she had to do was to distribute the packets of the pocket-sized Kleenex, whose covers were the printed ads of the notorious loan shark company, to those walking people.

Who to blame was her father who had disappeared five years ago, leaving the crazy amount of debt. Who to protect was her mother who was currently hospitalized due to her chronic heart disease, incapable of working. Poverty was the pronoun of hers and her fate was cruel.

For hours and hours, she kept on distributing the packets to all of the people she could reach to. Her fake smile brutally hid her exhaustion and the sunburn made her skin uglier. Some received the packets and some did not. It was the job with no thank-you. The sweat running on her skin inside the pink tank top and her wet long hair gradually absorbed her energy. Those people were so unfriendly and her fate was indeed cruel.

As the sun rose over her head, her exhaustion reached its peak. The world was demanding too much of her. She could not stand this. 

She crept away from the central road to the dark alleyway and started to wipe her body with the Kleenex. The more she wasted the tissue papers, the more she thought and worried of her sickened mother. But, the more she used the tissue papers, the more she could be free. Her mind was filled with the happy moments from the past when her fate was still gentle. 

The Disney Land she went with her parents on her 8th birthday, the delicious miso soup her mother used to always make for her breakfast, the piano contest she participated every year till she turned 10, the boy from junior high school who once said he liked her. The memories came and went like a cool sea breeze.

When she finished the last packet of the tissue papers, she took a deepest breath and silently collapsed to the ground.

  • “Tissue-pack marketing is a type of guerrilla marketing that is a phenomenon in Japan. Companies use small, portable tissue packages to move advertising copy directly into consumers’ hands.” by Wikipedia

© 2015 Kiara Belle * To subscribe on your Kindle, please click HERE!!!