Takahashi Akihiko appeared to be a very popular Japanese actor that everyone referred to as "The Marvel Actor Of Many Languages" due to his immense capacity of holding several languages in his normal-sized head. After researching him on my laptop while at home I had been left dumbstruck as to why I had never heard, or seen this twenty-seven year old beauty in all my years.
He had been born in Tokyo, Japan and at the ripe age of seven he was instantly recruited on the streets on his way to elementary school with his then fellow classmates. I tried to imagine being a kid whom everything in the world was being offered to on my way to school and failed, it was not something for a child to have to comprehend.
Japan being a country that specialized in its beauty and health, I was not surprised to see that this particular specimen was quite pleasing to the eyes.
Takahashi had--for the first two years of his career--been a singer. His boy band Daisuki Juliet had been one of the most well known boy bands in Japan at the time and his appearance had boosted the CD sales through the roof. By pure chance (or fate, whichever you wish to believe) he was chosen out of hundreds to play the disputable role of Sato Yori for the film adaptation of the then famous romantic Manga "Come Tomorrow". His theatrical debut was the debut of dreams, female fans had flanked outside theaters for months waiting for a chance to glimpse this dark haired, tall, lean beauty that promised to be the future prince for many women alike and film sales had been at record highs.
Yes indeed, after reading his information on Google I was definitely enthralled. Not in his fame and not in his looks (completely) but mostly the fact that while reading I didn't once hear a mention of parents, or of any love. In fact, his fame and success made me feel such loneliness that my heart unknowingly began to ache for him. For the loss of his innocence that had happened the moment that he was offered fame at such a young age.
Scrolling my mouse down various fan pages I came upon a photo that caused me to inhale a ragged breath. He was indeed beautiful, he looked to be in his early twenties. His body glistened under false light that had been most likely set up to perfection and his shirt lay crisply on his lean body with four top buttons unclasped. His jeans sat snugly at his hips, showing off a perfect set of abs where the length of his shirt didn't reach and they hung from his legs as he perfected his pose. His tanning bed darkened arms appeared to sway beside him though the picture sat perfectly still on my monitor. The background was an emotionless gray and his face appeared like a marble statue. His eyes were the main piece that had surprised me the most. His beauty was nothing in comparison to the emotion in his eyes.
I let my author imagination carry me away and my mind began describing the emotions in his eyes: sadness, loneliness, need, hope--it was all an intermingled combination of every desire that an abandoned human being would posses... but why him? I had felt his loneliness earlier and that I understood, but for everything else did he not have his own ways of quenching his desires? I quickly closed the page and closed my laptop. I was getting too deep into this unknown stranger's life, mind you, yes it was his publicized life, but it was his life nonetheless and I had no desire to get dragged into this so soon after everything that had happened.
I walked over to the balcony that occupied a large space on the side of the living room and stared out at the afternoon Habana view. The script that had been given to me lay on the desk beside my laptop and I had highlighted the few lines that had been given to me. Watching a mother scolding her child for making a mess of his ice cream cone I unconsciously thought of how Takahashi might have never had such experiences with his own mother. Whatever, I thought, his problems are his own, he should know how to deal with everything now since he had been raised as an almost world famous child star.
With one last look at the passing Cuban people I stepped out of the balconie and back to the desk, where my manuscript sat restlessly waiting for me to continue my writing.