Lagtrain: On Valentine’s Day and romantic love
Inabakumori: “If I don’t know the words I lost, I’ll set off on a journey, taking a ride on the local train”
Grace Zhang–The Tech
Feb. 14 passed like any other day.
Of course, I couldn’t escape the annual heart-themed promotions or couples’ posts, but strangely, I didn’t mind the activity this Valentine’s Day. Around this time last year, I participated in a college matchmaking algorithm; some years before that, I bought flowers for a guy friend from my high school’s environmental club. Much to my past selves’ despair, none of these endeavors led anywhere.
There’s a particular vocaloid song that I keep coming back to: “Lagtrain” by Inabakumori, which uses the metaphor of missing an express train to communicate the feeling of falling behind in life. “It seems the train connecting the far apart cities has already departed,” the song begins, carrying a tone of acceptance accentuated by the robotic vocaloid voice. I’ve been trying to catch this express train for a long time — the one that will surely lead to my fated forever relationship and happily ever after. But regardless of when I arrive, the train will have already left. And I remain at the station, alone.
Listening to “Lagtrain” reminds me of my 5th grade friend group, back in those distant days where we would giggle about our crushes in that typical childish way. I was always slightly left out; as long as I didn’t like anyone, I would be an audience member. So I convinced myself I liked this one boy who seemed like a reasonable choice. Looking back, what stands out the most is the relief I felt knowing I was acting out the right feelings. That I was keeping up with everyone else. I barely recall the actual guy, but I do know that I spent my 10th birthday party whispering about my supposed crush to the eager nods and wide eyes of my friends.
All this to say, I think I’m on the aromantic and asexual spectrum. I don’t like to use labels; words tend to feel too stifling for the fluid consciousness of an individual (and perhaps I still want to keep the door ajar, just in case). But being aroace is an identity I’ve been revisiting on-and-off for a long time. It answers a lot of questions, like why people never catch my eye, why it feels so alien to even go on a date (isn’t it more like a coffee chat, anyway?), and why — if you take away the societal pressure to be in a relationship — I’m pretty fine with my life, in terms of love.
It’s similar to aphantasia, a condition I have where I can’t form mental images in my mind; if you tell me to picture an apple, I know that I’m thinking of an apple, but I can’t actually visualize one. Similarly, I understand what romantic love is supposed to be, but I don’t know what the difference is between liking someone as a good friend and liking someone as a significant other.
In the final chorus of “Lagtrain,” Inabakumori introduces the hope of a new beginning, rather than wallowing in resignation: “If I don’t know the words I lost, I’ll set off on a journey, taking a ride on the local train.” Even if I don’t feel much of this amorphous concept known as romantic love, love still persists in other forms. Through family. Friends. People I’ve held close to me my entire life, who know me inside out. I love them.
I’m still searching for answers to many larger questions, ones that don’t involve romance — who do I want to be; how can I realize my long-held dreams; can I make my time alive worthwhile? Similar to the girl in the “Lagtrain” music video, I’m only beginning my journey. But even though I’m taking the T and not the Amtrak, I’ll arrive at my destination nonetheless, wherever it may be.