It was almost three years ago when we went to Acapulco and rented a very beautiful house on the cliff with a wonderful ocean view. There were ten of us then, eight Mexicans, one American, and me. Jorgito and I were sitting in the garden beside the pool. And he said, “I’m so glad to see you again, my friend, because I want to talk to you about a lot of things. I’ve been vexed. Now you are on the vacation, and I know you don’t want to talk about your job circumstances, but tell me sincerely how you feel every day as a slave in Japan?”
“Jorgito, I don’t need to express how I hate my job to you because you already knew. I don’t want to take a job, but I have no choice, my friend, because I have a mission in my life. I want to go back to Vancouver, which has everything I need. For example, English Bay and Stanley Park where I can peacefully stroll around, every corner of the downtown where I can find coffee shops, beautiful mountains, beautiful women, and so on and so forth. I really want to go back to Vancouver to write my book as soon as possible. However, it is too depressing for me to go to work every single day, and I am totally aware that I’m wasting my precious time.”
“Exactly!” he exclaimed. “You know, Shogo, likewise I always feel I’m completely wasting my time. I’m thinking constantly about what the meaning of life is. It’s always on my mind. I can’t shake it off. I really don’t think working five days a week is the meaning of life. But mediocrities’ goals are having a right to work and getting a good job. Are they nuts? It is insane, my friend. Why do I have to work five days a week for the rest of my life? Life is one time. Who decided in the first place that we, human beings, have to work five days a week? I really want to know because if I could go back to find a culprit, I would strangle him to death. I mean it. I am so angry at this fucking society system.”
