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Who’s your best friend, the one who knows everything about you, holds all your secrets?
Who do you vent to?
That and many more friendly, but curious, questions are what Gori-san and Washimi-san ask her every now and then. The two have been friends for years and it’s exciting to have someone new, younger, in their group.
Retsuko wishes she could name someone. She had her past classmates and now, colleagues. Not really friends. She wonders if she ever had actual friends.
The red panda doesn’t quite remember ever venting to someone, not completely, not without fear of being judged.
Is it too weird if she says the karaoke has been her best, truest companion?
Scratch that, of course it is.
She tried to hide her favorite pastime for a long time. Could it even be considered a past time when she went daily, almost religiously, to that same karaoke place and that same room? The room that served as her own private confessional.
No one would get it, so she just kept it quiet. Even during high school, she went weekly if not more often. To her parents, she always excused the time spent there as being with friends. Her classmates (not friends) always thought it was weird how often she went to a karaoke. Some girls thought she was hooking up and hiding flings. Retsuko only wishes it were that simple.
Confessional, indeed. Her own personal place to let it all out: the anger, confusion, frustration, rage, everything she couldn’t possibly work out. Much less in a conversation, with everyone looking at her. But when she was alone, in this small room, with the silly lights and the numbers glowing at her from the screen, she felt safe.
This was her place to let it all out.
It was only as a working adult that she started letting people in. Actually, life forced her to, but it was a good change; if not a welcome one — at least at first.
Her first real friends, Gori-san and Washimi-san, joined her in karaoke and, while not as enthusiastic at singing herselves, how they headbanged when Retsuko sang! What a rush! She felt like a rock star for a second there!
It felt so silly and if she saw a recording, she’d die. But just having people see her sing (or more like scream her heart out and rap to her heart’s content) and have them not judge her, not distance themselves from her was… incredible, really.
She decided the karaoke would be her so-called ‘filter’. Where she could be her real, honest, brutal, raw self and see if she could be accepted.
It was heartbreaking to see that it wasn’t always the case. Some thought it was funny (like Fenneko), some only understood her then (dear Tadano…) and some she never thought of bringing (i.e. the rest of her coworkers though surprisingly the chauvinistic pig seemed to know how to rap, if their drunk battle way back then was anything to base it off of).
And some were very, very surprising. To think Haida could not only sing but rock it out with her! Even bringing a guitar and all! Retsuko had been elated.
To find someone who could bring it just as much as her!
The karaoke had become their own special little hangout place.
But singing and strumming out their frustrations didn’t translate into actual good, honest communication in daily life. And so, they rushed through a lot of stages without really discussing anything. Even marriage was more of an unplanned decision than anything (to the discontent of her parents, who were happy with a shotgun wedding as it was).
And Retsuko, in a job with no future and no longer being a ‘newbie’ at it, finds herself stuck in life. Even with a group of people she could trust and some, half-trust, her closest confidant was still a singing machine.
Some things were too hurtful to say, even if they needed to be said. No one needs to hear your full, unfiltered opinion, especially if they’re not in the right place for that (like Haida), nor do they have to set the same goals in life as you (like Tadano). Retsuko understood why it took her so long to have friends. Some things were better kept within. Or, at least, worded better.
But her first impulse was always there. And sometimes the frustration was so much (too much!) that she had to let it out. Therapy was too expensive (and what would others think?!) and so karaoke it was.
Retsuko told her machine secret holder everything she thought, the good, the bad and the very, very rude. She had a mean bone for someone so small, Haida said that a lot. Well, someone had to have an attitude and it usually ended up being her, in all spheres of life.
She would let out all her frustration, anger at her mom and her incessant need for a housewife daughter, her father who never really cared about anything (but was the one that taught her about karaoke), Haida with his never-ending idealization of her and never saying what he really thought until the very last minute (but how she loved him so; it took a while, but she did), her friends (who had to offer their opinion on everything and she had to listen) and her colleagues (who did the same and Retsuko just ignored).
And sometimes, it was really nothing big and it still set her off. The new kid at work calling her ‘obasan’ instead of ‘senpai’, as if she isn’t barely over 30, the nerve! Having an endless string of bad bosses but not being able to find an actual good job (or really having the guts to look for one). Being in the middle of endless discussions of career vs. family, the eternal Japanese woman’s struggle, and having to listen to both sides nonstop (Washimi, Fenneko vs. Gori, Haida and her parents). It got so tiring, she offered Haida and Gori to carry her uterus around if they were that enthused about babies. That shut them up, thankfully. But Retsuko regrets their looks.
Singing clears out all your worries. That’s something quite true, Retsuko found. When she’s singing, she gets to escape to another plane of existence. She sings and raps about her life, but it’s not like she’s living it then. As if she’s an alien in outer space, just raging it out. That was an analogy Haida made that she really loved. For someone who felt so off in society, she did feel like an alien most of the time. And she was only on her home planet in these short hours of singing.
Slowly, she brings what she learns about herself and her situation from the karaoke’s tiny room to her life. Red pandas aren’t venomous, but she’s happy to show she has plenty of weapons, her tongue being the sharpest.
And Retsuko makes sure to leave the bitterness and harshness in those small four walls. Even if she still ends up hurting people with her words and indecisiveness — who doesn’t? — she starts getting a bit better at it.
As the seasons pass and she gets older (not wiser, just older), her only confidant stays by her side.
She’s glad that the shop never closed down — though they might be surviving off her salary easily at this point.
Her repertoire extends.
No longer does she only sing the heaviest of metals and let out her feelings in the only way she knows how. Gori-san and Washimi-san taught her there are better, healthier ways. And these work.
Retsuko keeps singing, as her therapist (newly found, by Washimi-san) also recommends it, but she also lets loose in other ways: continuing yoga, starting self-defense class (as Tokyo at night can be a dangerous place), taking up running, photography and even lyric writing with Haida.
That brings them closer than ever. Communication about big life decisions continues to be difficult for them, but composing lyrics and small melodies together brings a feeling unlike anything she’s ever felt. Retsuko feels more at home than she ever did before. It feels like they’re in their little alien homeworld, and she’s not alone for once.
Haida, in particular, gets really good at recognizing the things that set her off. A forgotten toilet seat or clothes thrown on the floor don’t end up in their same old arguments, where she’d either scream or shut off entirely. Now, he makes a little singing joke and she harshly finishes the lyric for him while he fixes it. And vice-versa. Her own perfectionism makes her so angry when things are out of line, but she takes it easier when she forgets to pay a bill — Haida took care of it and even came up with a new guitar riff, and would she like to hear it?
And home feels so nice, so musical now. Retsuko loves it.
Break up songs were her standard in her early twenties. She got excellent in many, but she didn’t dare sing them in front of anyone, since tears were always on the verge of falling.
In her thirties, they are still as painful, but a thing of the past. She likes singing them only to Haida, who listens in, always quietly and reflecting. He likes Tadano and all her exes but jealousy is still a thing. He, in turn, sings his own one-sided love songs. Retsuko doesn’t need to ask who they’re for.
They don’t discuss much. Singing and looking at each other is enough.
Love songs have become a favorite for Retsuko. Haida is happy to introduce all of his top tracks and surprisingly, she likes them all. No surprise that her husband is so sappy, but more like she is becoming a bit sappy herself.
They rushed too fast into marriage, but things started fitting in, slowly. Retsuko sings songs about female empowerment, about how tough it is to be a woman in this closed-off, sexist, lost to the ages society. Haida doesn’t quite get all of it, but he’s learning (Fenneko, Gori-san and Washimi-san make sure he has his own lessons).
And Retsuko realizes, at least for her, there is no need to choose between career and family. They make do.
Children-themed songs have never been Retsuko’s style. But having to listen to them nonstop thanks to Gori-san’s daughter made her know every latest song by heart. The little gorilla loves Retsuko’s singing, apparently, and always asks auntie for an encore. She complies due to the cuteness but when it gets too tiring, she’s happy to pass the baton to Haida, who’s more than happy to entertain mother and daughter.
Like marriage, having kids happens a little too fast and without planning — unlike what Retsuko imagined her life to be. But it doesn’t bother her as she thought it would. Pregnancy didn’t make her glow or anything silly like that (although everyone but Fenneko denied it; that’s why she liked the fox, someone honest around), and her hormones made her even more pissed off than usual.
Retsuko swore she’d make the kid eat everything and not be a picky eater. It was annoying enough having to suffer through that with a huge belly, and throwing up every once in a while. For all the progress she had made with her temper, it all went right back during those long months. Spending entire afternoons in the karaoke might not be the best activity for her, but it was well needed for her mind.
Maybe it was the hormones, but her playlist then was half metal and half sappy songs, so sappy that even Haida would laugh at. She blames their son for still liking those sappy songs long after he was born.
The karaoke repertoire just increases. Retsuko can sing almost any genre now, and each member of her family has their own little list of favorite songs. Any late-work event at a bar and everyone always requests Retsuko to belt it out (especially metal). She’s always happy to provide.
Who’s her current best friend? Who does she vent to?
Everyone. About how awful her job is (but she still likes it), to Washimi-san, who only gets it all too well. She just avoids any conversation about marriage with the secretary bird. To Gori-san, she loves discussing child-rearing and tips. The marketing head is always very creative, even in her home and she comes up with the best ideas to make kids go to sleep or nice hangout dates between families.
She doesn’t vent to Fenneko because she knows the fox is Haida’s animal for that. And Retsuko’s mother gives every tip under the sun about any little thing to the point it needs to be tuned out. Surprisingly, her father is actually involved in this stage of her life and has good tips — mostly on how to go to the karaoke. She understands the secret of why he’s so distant. A good example but not one she wants to follow. She wants to be there for her kids, even if the most her patient allows is at the end of the workday and during weekends. Thankfully, Haida is more than happy to be with the kids.
People continue to judge her, just like they always did. Why is she the one working when she’s a woman, they ask. Why is she still at that company if she hates it so much? Why does she disappear to karaoke even now, as a fulfilled adult with a family?
Exactly to let all those answers out — to a machine, who won’t tell.
And Haida needs it too. Their date nights always include either karaoke or something music-related. He receives the same questions, only inverted (‘How is he, the man, taking care of children? That’s a woman’s job’) and it gets so, so tiring.
The karaoke is no longer her only confidant… but a way to talk to her new confidant.
As the married couple steps in front of the mic for their new duet inside this ever the same small room, all part of their well-built and oiled routine, she asks,
“What are we singing about today?”
And her favorite hyena in the world grins at her and picks their first topic to sing, scream, and rock about.