readers

This weekend, I started two ballet-themed books that at various times I have felt curious about and wanted to read:

Forbidden Dance, vol. 1., by Hinako Ashihara. I saw this advertised in the backs of other manga when I started collecting it again, but I don't remember seeing it in stores back in the day (early 00s). The manga style seems a little different to me, very "airy," so that the characters look partially constructed sometimes, and most of the sound effects aren't translated, so I have to stare at a page for a while before I can figure out if someone was laughing or there was a knock on the door. The work was originally published in 1997, and the English edition is copyrighted 2000.

Ballet for Drina, by Jean Estoril [cover image here]. I remember selecting one or more of the Drina series from the Scholastic book catalog. I was intrigued by the haughty-looking girl on the covers, and my memory definitely was right. I want to collect only the books with the haughty girl, so it might take a little bit longer. When I was in 5th grade, I found the books a little hard to read and never finished the series (possibly never finished any of the books), and it turns out they were originally published in 1957 and are British, so the language is definitely more advanced than other books I was reading at the time. Plus, there are many different editions floating around. 

I just finished the last volume of Aya Kanno's Otomen. I did enjoy that series, and it had a very good, solid ending. It was about Asuka, a boy in high school, who loves girly things but has to hide his hobbies like crochet, making cute bento boxes, or reading shojo manga because his mom is terrified of him becoming a "girl" and making their life more abnormal, since his dad left the family to "become a woman" when Asuka was a young child. There's a sense that there's a whole backstory about the parents that isn't quite resolved, but it is a little beyond the scope of a light comedy shojo manga, probably, so I don't mind just wondering about them. The dad "becoming a woman" reminded me of that same theme in Banana Yoshimoto's novel Kitchen (the main character's dad begins to identify as a woman after the mom passes away). 

I have been curious about what I was doing twenty years ago, and this afternoon while I was doing my facial treatments, I took out my old journals. 

I wrote a poem, and I’m not sure if it’s haiku-inspired or sijo-inspired. I am not sharing it because it is “good.” I am sharing it because it is pure, unadulterated me at 26:

I make my evening
of roses, antique lace and milk
For a moment I am a belle.

I wanted to add some commas in there when I typed that out, but I resisted. What was I talking about? I have no idea, but it’s interesting to ponder.

I was working night shift at the time, which was really hard on me both physically and emotionally. I really dreaded the evening, when I would leave for work. My shift started at 7 p.m., so I probably left around 6:15. So I was probably constructing a fantasy evening that contrasted as much with the real one as much as possible, an evening of pink and ivory colors, fragrance, and femininity. 

At some point, I had to start wearing glasses rather than contacts because my eyes hurt so badly. I cringed at my looks. And I taped my safety glasses to my glasses, so they wouldn’t slip off, to add insult to injury.

I try not to think too badly of night shift now, because if my plant ever closes, or I’m laid off (the former seems likely at this point), I may have to take what I can get for a time. My biorhythms have changed a lot, too. My shift starts at 7 a.m. now, and I’m in agony. Years ago, my shift started at 5 a.m., and it was no problem. Manufacturing plants have a special way of coming up with the most sadistic shifts ever. The one I left to come here was 6 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. 

Also, I have had to start wearing glasses again lately. My eyes were hurting so badly in contacts. When I got my eye exam last week, I got my first progressive lenses prescription. Today was my first day wearing progressive lenses. It’s not nearly as big of a deal as I thought, and I can read the tiny, tiny text on the little chemical bottles at work, which has been a daily struggle for me for a long time, since I am constantly having to record lot numbers and expiration dates for stuff I use in my lab notebook. 

I feel like my glasses look like the ones that a girl I once admired online wore (she doesn’t seem to keep any accounts anymore). She wore medieval costumes sometimes, and somehow I feel a step closer to making my medieval outfits.

All in all, I am doing a lot better right here, right now, in 2026, than I was in 2006. I wish I could visit with my past self, because I would have a lot to say.