When I was 22 years old, I was working in a jazz bar.

The bar was located in Akasaka, an entertainment area in CBD Tokyo.

The owner of the bar was a 60-year-old guy from a wealthy family.

He would play piano and drums and sang old jazz classics while I was tending a bar.

The main customers were mostly middle-aged businessmen. From a superficial perspective, they all looked successful. They were lawyers, bankers, pharmaceutical representatives and C-suite executives. Sometimes politicians and celebrities came to the bar too.

Among the regular customers, there was this woman. I don’t remember her real name, but she was called Yoko.

I remember her because she was really good at singing.

“When I fall in love”, “Smile”, “The Man I Love”… those are the songs she liked to sing.

When she started singing, other customers would stop talking, and listened to her.

I liked her, but I was afraid of talking to her. She looked pride. And I knew I am not good at dealing with pride women. They tend to have much higher standards than most men.

“How old are you?” She asked me one day.

“I’m 22,” I answered, wondering what her intention was.

Age is a very tricky topic, especially when you were talking with a woman at a certain age.

“So young,” she exhaled smoke and looked at me from head to toe.

Not knowing what to say, I smiled ambiguously and looked at the glass.

“I’m gonna be 40 next month.” She said as if she was talking to herself.

“May I say… ‘Happy Birthday’?” I said hesitantly.

She looked a little surprised but then smiled.

“Yeah, of course.”

“May your upcoming year filled with joy and happiness,” I said.

“Thank you.” She smiled. She had such a gorgeous smile.

“Could I get a glass of water?” She asked me. “Without ice, please.”

“Sure,” I gave her water. She took small pills from her purse and swallowed them. Her manicured nail designs were very elegant and elaborated.

“Is it okay for you to drink and take pills?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Probably not. But I can’t live without both of them,” she said in a kind of cynical way. And it was the last time I saw her.

“Do you remember Yoko?”

A few weeks later, after closing the bar, the owner asked me.

“Yes, the lady who sings very well.”

“You have a good memory. She’s…,“ he hesitated a moment and continued. “She has passed away a few days ago.”

I was shocked.

“She took her own life.” The owner said before I asked him why.

“Oh, no…” I didn’t know what to say.

“I met her parents yesterday. They were distraught. Did you know that she was medicated for her depression?”

“No,” Only then I realised what those tablets she was taking were for.

“Did she say something to you when she was here the last time? I was too busy taking care of other customers to talk with her.” The owner asked me. I have never seen him being so sad.

“No,” I said. “Just… everyday things. She said she will be turning 40 soon.”

“I see.” He sighed. “There was no note. Her parents were so depressed. I’ve been known them for long. It’s really sad to see them being distraught.”

“I’m very sorry.” Not knowing what to say, I murmured a conventional phrase.

“I knew she has been troubled by the idea of aging. She has once told me that she doesn’t want to be 40 years old. But I thought she was just making a self-deprecating joke. I believed she will eventually be okay, even though she was not living the best days of her life. I could have talked to her that night. But I didn’t.” His voice was shaking.

“She was too young.”