Tom The Trainman And A Bear

Tom is a homebody who rarely steps outside. His profession as an AI

programmer enables him to work from home, allowing him to evade social

interactions—the scenario he fervently avoids. As a confident

introvert, Tom finds comfort in his solitude.

Tom considers himself to be the quintessential "Homebody" and wears

that label with pride. Interestingly, in the Far East, an IT

enthusiast, often referred to as a "nerd," might be called a

"Trainman." Originating from a Japanese movie, this term is well-known

in countries such as Japan, Taiwan, and Hong Kong, where people are

familiar with the traits and personalities that characterize a typical

Trainman.

Tom the Trainman exhibits a significant aversion to social

interactions, which is deeply rooted in his discomfort with forming

connections. This reluctance may stem from past negative experiences

that have led him to adopt a cautious approach to relationships.

Alternatively, it could reflect a deep-seated yearning for autonomy

and control over his life. The mere presence of others often leaves

him feeling fatigued. Their company disrupts his inner peace, making

interactions distinctly unnatural. He treasures the solitude of his

humble abode located 10 kilometers from the frenetic city. This

location serves as more than a refuge from chaos; it symbolizes a

deliberate choice to embrace a quieter, simpler lifestyle away from

the complexities of social life.

Tom's flourishing garden serves as a quiet companion—the radiant hues

of fiery red roses, golden marigolds, and pure white lilies stand out

against a carpet of lush, emerald-green grass, creating a visual

symphony of tranquility. The large refrigerator, stocked with enough

supplies to sustain him for weeks, symbolizes his commitment to

self-sufficiency.

His daily habits meticulously sustain his isolation: online grocery

deliveries minimize face-to-face interactions, and he has refined the

art of brief exchanges, compressing door-to-door encounters into a

quick "hi" and a fleeting nod of gratitude before hastily retreating

inside. Every facet of his lifestyle subtly reinforces a singular

truth—his steadfast yearning for solitude. Yet, as the days on, a

quiet question lingers: does his isolated haven fulfill him, or does

it echo with unspoken longings for connection?

One serene day, Tom decides to set up a small round table and a chair

in his garden, a spot dappled with sunlight filtering through the

leaves of an old oak tree. With a freshly brewed pot of jasmine tea,

exuding its gentle floral aroma, and a blueberry cheesecake boasting

its rich, buttery crust from his stocked fridge, he settles in to

immerse himself in the tranquil embrace of nature. Carefully slicing a

piece of cheesecake, its creamy texture yielding perfectly to the

knife, he takes a deliberate bite, savoring not just the burst of

tangy sweetness but also the rare and almost surreal peace enveloping

him.

The absurdly peaceful moment seems extraordinary because the garden

feels like its own little universe, hushed and untouched by the

world's usual chaos. The soft rustle of leaves, the distant chirping

of sparrows, and the perfume of blossoming roses add layers to the

serenity. Under the open sky, as he sips his tea and gazes at the

clouds lazily drifting like weightless dreams, his mind is blissfully

blank. He cherishes this rare bubble of tranquility, only occasionally

wondering if he should add "recluse of the year" to his CV.

Just as Tom is about to take another slice of cheesecake, he hears an

unexpected sound—the heavy thud of footsteps. Startled, he freezes

mid-bite like a deer caught in headlights and turns to see an enormous

brown bear casually pushing open the little garden gate and strolling

in like it owns the place. The bear stops, sniffs the air like a

connoisseur at a cheese tasting, and zeros in on the blueberry

cheesecake resting on Tom's table, its eyes lighting up as if it had

just found buried treasure. "Great Scott," Tom mutters, "a bear who’s

clearly a dessert enthusiast!"

Breaking the silence, Tom sighs and mutters, "Oh bloody heck! You do

look starving." Without hesitation—but with the resigned air of a

waiter at an overbooked restaurant—he picks up another slice of

cheesecake from the table and slides it gently toward the bear. The

bear sniffs it like a food critic and then devours it with the

enthusiasm of a contestant in a pie-eating contest. Its eyes

practically sparkle with delight, and Tom deadpans, "Shall I bring the

wine list, too?" But the bear isn’t finished.

Still hungry, it shifts its gaze back to Tom with an expectant

expression. Tom feels a shiver run down his spine. "Alright, alright,"

he stammers nervously. While he treasures his peaceful solitude,

confronting a ravenous bear isn’t part of his usual routine. He rises

from his chair and retreats into his house, making a beeline for his

oversized fridge, the pride of his reclusive lifestyle. Opening it in

a mild panic, he grabs anything he can find—meats, cakes, vegetables,

rice, and even a little pasta. Oh, plus the forever yummy Chinese

leftovers that Tom brought home after dining in a Chinese restaurant

in Chinatown... half a year ago. Yosh~~~~~~

With an armful of food, Tom returns to the garden and lays the

offerings on a patch of grass. The bear, clearly delighted, takes a

seat and starts feasting with enthusiasm. It devours everything piece

by piece while Tom maintains a cautious distance, observing this

surreal banquet unfold. When the feast concludes, the bear casts a

grateful glance at Tom as if to convey its appreciation before ambling

back toward the garden gate. It nudges the gate open once more, this

time to depart, and wanders off into the depths of the forest...not

exactly a forest, perhaps... alrighty, it is just a brush bush... but

who knows? For God's sake, Tom has never been to a forest, so he

doesn't know...

But that isn’t the last Tom sees of the bear. The next day, and the

day after that, the bear returns. At first, Tom is frightened by its

recurring visits, his heart racing each time he spots the massive

creature. Yet, as the days pass, he begins to notice the bear's calm

and almost predictable demeanor. Slowly, his fear transforms into a

sense of responsibility. He starts laying out food on the grass every

time the bear arrives, not just to appease it but because he feels an

unexpected connection. He even catches himself eagerly glancing

towards the woods, secretly looking forward to its visits, which have

now become a curious and comforting rhythm in his days.

Over time, something curious happens. Tom becomes friendly and caring

toward the bear. He begins to observe the bear’s preferences—blueberry

cheesecake, fresh vegetables, tender meats, and honey—and buys these,

especially for his now-regular guest. The bear seems happy with Tom’s

thoughtful gestures, wagging its tail slightly as it eats.

One day, as Tom and the bear are enjoying the food together in the

garden, something surprising happens. The bear suddenly stands up on

its hind legs and makes a 360-degree turn, spinning around gracefully

despite its large frame. Tom is so startled by the unexpected move

that he can’t help but laugh out loud. It’s the first time in a long

while that Tom feels genuinely amused.

As their strange companionship grows, the bear starts to spin like a

ballet girl after every meal, which causes Tom to burst into laughter

each time. The bear twirls with unexpected grace, like a furry

ballerina who just discovered center stage. However, it occasionally

spins too enthusiastically, wobbling off balance and plopping onto the

grass in a spectacular heap. Tom finds this particularly hilarious,

doubling over with laughter as he claps in delight. "What an

extraordinary entertainer you are!" he exclaims, tears of joy

streaming down his face.

One day, an unexpected knock on the door interrupts Tom’s tranquil

routine. He hesitates for a moment before reluctantly opening the

door. Standing there is a man in his forties, dressed in an eccentric

outfit that looks like it belongs to a French noble from a hundred

years ago. Tom stares at the stranger, dumbfounded. "What on earth..."

he mutters under his breath.

The stranger bows deeply and introduces himself. "Hello, I am Kenny

Wasgehytki. I lead a circus." Confusion mingled with a flicker of

disbelief flashed across Tom's face before he blurted out, "Hi Kenny,

I’m Tom. Is there anything I can help with?" Kenny explains with a

warm smile, "Yes, you can help. As I mentioned, I run and lead a

circus. The issue is that a bear escaped recently, and your neighbor

mentioned spotting a bear in your garden."

Tom’s jaw drops. "What?!" He glares at Kenny, his anger boiling over.

"Oh, I see now! That's why the bear spins and dances!" Tom, fuming,

continues, "So you're capturing animals just to make money!" Kenny,

unfazed, takes out his iPhone and shows Tom photos of the circus

performances. In one, a bear spins and twirls under bright lights as

spectators cheer. "Every animal has a price tag," Kenny says

matter-of-factly. "An escaped animal represents a loss of money for

me. So I want to bring back my bear."

Suddenly, a familiar heavy thud interrupts their argument. Both men

turn to see the bear strolling cautiously into the garden. But this

time, something is different. The bear freezes as soon as it spots

Kenny. Its ears flatten, and it looks nervous and scared. Instead of

heading to the table for the cheesecake remnants, the bear backs away,

retreating into a corner of the garden. It sits down stiffly on the

grass, trembling, its wide eyes darting between the two men.

Tom’s heart breaks at the sight. "Oh bloody hell," he groans, "it’s

like watching a soap opera, but with a bear!" He turns toward Kenny,

his eyes blazing with rage. "Look at what you’ve done! It’s like

seeing my uptight aunt when someone touches her porcelain

plates—terrified! The bear doesn’t want to go back to your circus, you

menace." Kenny smirks. "It’s just conditioning. You know, like how

dogs instinctively hate vacuum cleaners. Nothing personal; it’s

business."

"You’re not taking it anywhere," Tom growls, his voice steady but his

legs rooted firmly in place as though bracing against an impending

storm. His arms spread protectively in front of the bear, shielding it

from Kenny's advance. The bear presses itself further into the corner,

trembling violently, its fur brushing the wall. Kenny narrows his

eyes, his sharp gaze flicking between Tom and the quivering animal. "I

suggest you help me catch the bear, or I’ll call the police and claim

you’ve stolen my property."

For the first time in his life, Tom feels a deep connection with

someone—or, well, something. "No!" he yells, suddenly channeling the

resolve of an action movie hero right before the third-act showdown.

He punches Kenny, who staggers back, completely shocked—a rare moment

when "the nerd" lands a hit. But then reality hits back harder. Tom’s

years of reclusive cheesecake-eating have done little for his upper

body strength, and Kenny easily overpowers him. "Well, that escalated

quickly," Tom groans while flat on his back.

Beaten and bloodied, Tom collapses onto the ground, near

unconsciousness. Through swollen eyes, he watches helplessly as Kenny

strides toward the trembling bear. The bear doesn’t resist as Kenny

loops the rope around its neck. "I’ll need to tranquilize it," Kenny

mutters coldly, pulling out a syringe. Tom tries to move and tries to

scream, but his battered body betrays him. He can only watch in horror

as Kenny injects the bear, which soon falls limp and motionless.

Kenny drags the unconscious bear out of the garden, leaving Tom lying

in the dirt. Tears stream down Tom’s face as he thinks about the

photos on Kenny’s phone—the bright circus lights, the cheering crowds,

and the animals reduced to mere spectacles for profit. He imagines the

bear, his gentle companion, subjected to a life of suffering and

exploitation once again.

Tom spends the next three days trapped in his room. He cries in the

dark, consumed by heartbreak. He doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink, and

doesn’t sleep. The events replay in his mind in an endless loop—the

bear’s fear, Kenny’s smirk, his helplessness. "I’m a coward," he

whispers into the darkness. "A loser." Never in his life has he

despised himself more.

On the fourth day, Tom’s despair transforms into resolve. He pulls

himself together to stand, his body still aching from the fight. He

splashes water on his face, looks at his pale reflection in the

mirror, and mutters, "That bear trusted me. I won’t let it suffer."

Tom actively steps out of the safety of his house without any

procrastination. Shaky but determined, he closes the door behind him

and ventures into the streets. His heart pounds as he moves through

the bustling city, surrounded by strangers, but he keeps pushing

forward. He heads straight to the nearest police station.

Inside, he sits across from a police officer, meeting his gaze

directly. He tells the officer everything—the bear, the circus, and

Kenny’s cruel treatment of the animals. Words pour out of him in a way

they never have before, his voice steady with purpose. "Please," he

pleads, "help me save the bear." The officer listens patiently, then

sighs. "Calm down, calm down, young man," he says. "Well, you see,

alcohol isn’t necessarily a good thing. But we still have licensing

for alcohol bars. Just like that, the circus has a license to operate.

It’s within the bounds of the law." Tom’s jaw drops again. "What? This

is insane and unfair and not justice!" Tom exclaims, his face turning

red. His indignation boils over as he slams his fists on the desk. The

officer shakes his head sympathetically but firmly. "I understand your

feelings, but the law is the law."

Leaving the police station, Tom is sad and frustrated. He drops his

head, devastated. That night, Tom sits in front of his computer. He

starts searching for other possible ways to save the bear from the

circus. After hours of searching, Google offers him some potential

leads: "Advocacy" and "Justice Review." Tom lights a cigarette. "In

the past, I thought 'loving a pet' was insane. You like a pet, you

like a cat, you like a dog, but not loving it," he recalled. But now,

Tom knows that maybe he did love the bear, like loving a human

companion.

Now, Tom is busy with "Advocacy" and "Justice Review." He sends

awkward emails like "Hi, my name is Tom, and I recently befriended a

stray bear..." and continues to learn the hard way that starting

sentences like this invites every flavor of skepticism. He is building

a website to tell the world about this absurd yet heartfelt journey,

adding sections like "Top 10 Cheesecake Recipes Loved by Bears."

Surprisingly, the story gains traction, and Tom gets connected with

NGOs that not only share his love for animals but also send him a

complimentary guide titled "Advocacy for Dummies." What a wonderful

and practical support!

Tom is no longer in solitude. Tom is no longer a homebody.

Tom is no longer only a Trainman.