Solosopher & Solosophy

Disclaimer: Any resemblance to real-life persons or events
is coincidental. The author maintains that this is just a story despite drawing from real-world inspirations.

A man whose family is urging him to marry decides that
before his next birthday, he would try to resolve his romantic lingerings. He is not sure whether or not he wants to marry the bride chosen for him, or if he will devote himself to a celibate priesthood. Needing to explore how he feels completely, he goes to Japan to consult with his best friend, and after some reflection, steels himself for what awaits in Osaka. He is going to meet with the girl who captured his heart all those years ago, and hopefully come to a conclusion about love and life.

Chapter 1

My phone alerts me to a new message. A Tinder message. Selfie too. Not a new match, but a new message from the girl last week. I quickly glance, out of habit more than interest. Dating was not something I wanted to think about right now, not ever since dinner with my parents last night. I think back to the conversation, the surprise and the silent sense of alarm it gave me. Still gives me. Seeing that I was lost in my own ambivalence, Oscar looks over from his mobile game. Stick Wars, now with Unlimited Zombies to shoot down. It wasn’t a surprise; Oscar studied politics and was very informed about global situations, especially the more explosively charged ones. He was similarly interested in military history. In a different time, he would have made a fearsome battle commander. Right now, he was using his analytical skills to strategically determine how much clothing this girl wasn’t wearing.

“She’s cute. And if I’m reading this right, she’s definitely wild in the sack- you gonna go for it?” Oscar steady tone was always to point, and not in a bad way, as he didn’t believe in pretension or playing what he refers to as “pointless games”. We have often debated the significance of ‘the dance’ employed in social interactions, but he is a man true to his nature and very straightforward. Though some of his ex girlfriends have expressed annoyance with it, I wouldn’t have it any other way. A man who is true to himself is someone you can make accurate assessments with, and ever since my best friend moved away, I have come to rely on his strangely blunt finesse.

“Hmmm, I’ve met her! She’s very interesting, planning on doing her masters in nano-organic robotics, or something like that. But as I haven’t clicked on it, I haven’t seen the message yet, so I’ll play it cool for now.”

The truth was, while this girl and I did have some very deep conversations, when we met up something was missing. A spark of some sort. As usual. It wasn’t for lack of physical temptation either. Jennifer, or Jiggy as she liked to be called, had short-ish red hair, still long enough to be tied back when need arose, a pretty face framed by a fringe that suggested a carefree spirit, and emerald green eyes that suggested mischief. Her slim figure still had plenty of curves in all the right places (which would have been a crime to neglect mentioning), garnished by tattoos that might have implied a less technically savvy mind. But her passion for robotics only enhanced her appeal, on paper anyway. Oscar finishes his tactical reconnaissance and returns to defending against an endless horde of the undead. Casually, almost too casually, he asks me,

“So, Thomas, I’m guessing this isn’t the one either?”

Silence fills the room, punctuated rather than disturbed by the occasional clicks coming from his mobile game. Though we do not speak, the silence is a comfortable one between us. It was not uncommon for us to spend maybe 30-40 minutes at a time immersed in our own phones before resuming the conversation. I am a man of many words and wit and prose, in contrast to my friend, but now I was stricken silent. As usual, Oscar hits the nail on the head. I begin to relate the conversation my parents and I held over dinner last night.

We met for dinner at Father’s restaurant. He was the Head Chef there, and normally worked until late night, but I figured that he was probably taking his dinner break with us. I have to admit that I was nervous, as my parents don’t normally meet, not since they divorced last year. I felt a trace amount of dread at the news being health related. Yet a part of me was relieved to see them. Maybe I was just happy that they were being civil in public, less bickering and angry looks at one another, or worse. Father was a man of few word, but mother could talk from sunrise until sunset (according to father). She is clearly where I get my talkative genes. However, I immediately sensed something was off once they begun mentioning how old I was getting.

“My dearest son, you are turning 29 in 2 weeks. At this point it’s time to start thinking about settling down. Your father and I want to know, do you have anyone special in your life?”

I did not answer immediately. It was hard to explain. But to continue my silence would be very unfilial of me.

“I do not currently have a girlfriend.”

“Well, it just so happens that a friend of mine saw a picture of you, and she recommended her niece to me. I saw her photo, and spoke to her over the phone. She’s younger by about 4 years, but very mature, and a lovely temperament. We think she will make a proper match for you, my handsome, clever boy! What do you say?”

I admit, despite my calm mask, a shock went through my body. Marriage!? And an arranged one at that! I try to gather my thoughts, as I joke nervously.

“Mother, do you owe these people money or something? Am I to be sold off to pay a debt? If that’s the issue then tell me! We can work out a payment plan, right? Hahah!”

At this point my father clears his throat, sobering my attitude. Father has a husky voice from smoking so much, brimming with authority, one I recall from childhood as stern yet not unkind.

“Son, you are nearly thirty, and we haven’t seen you with a steady partner since you were 20. I don’t completely agree with your mother’s method, but I wish to see you happily married, and finally have grandchildren.”

“But you and mother already have grandchildren! Big Sister has given you two lovely granddaughters, who visit all the time too. So why do I have to get married so soon?” My mother interjects at this point,

“Son, my eldest son, I have loved you the most of all my children, though a mother should not ought to have favourites. From the moment you were born I knew you would be special! It would give us great joy to see you married at last with the right girl. And believe me when I say that if I didn’t think this girl was good enough for you, I wouldn’t recommend her. In fact, I have been arranging with my friend, who lives in Germany, to bring her and her family here to meet with you! They’ll be here in a month. Officially it’s to see extended family, but her mother seems very keen on the idea. Couldn’t you meet with them, and give her a chance?

Again, I am silent as I consider the options. I could not explain everything to my parents, about why I had not had a steady partner in almost a decade. But that is a conversation no child wants to have with their parents. So instead, I level with them by announcing something that I had entertained all those years ago, and had seriously considered for the last 6 months.

“Actually, father, mother, I do not know how to tell you this… but I am making plans to join a priesthood. To become a practicing ascetic. I want to focus on spirituality and enlightenment over marriage and children. Please do not think your son ungrateful, it is simply a calling that I do not believe right to ignore. Naturally, a marriage is out of the question along this path.”

At this point I felt a twinge of guilt as my mother’s enthusiasm visibly diminished. There was truth in this though; as a child I would often spend time with grandfather in the makeshift temple father constructed in the backyard. Complete with altar, kneeling cushions and a seemingly endless supply of candles and incense. I learned of Buddhist mantras, abstained from meat long after he passed away, and regularly studied scriptures of different religions as the years went by. Happy, simple times, for I was a boy drawn to the idea of deities and the endless pursuit of self cultivation. Even when I hit puberty, and discovered girls (as well as fried chicken), I’ve always been deeply interested in spirituality and philosophy. Owing to a lack of romantic connection with females, I had been considering just throwing in the towel, and devoting myself to a less complicated pathway.

Father recovered first. “Well, there is a certain nobility in that, though I am very sorry to hear it. Your children would have been born with my family name, but I think our ancestors would understand. Still, you sound as if you have doubts. Very well, I propose this: if you still feel this way after you turn 29, we will support you in your calling, and thank the heavens you have brothers. But if you are not prepared to commit by then, you will meet with this girl, and if she is acceptable we will start planning your betrothal. Is that understood?

My father was never a man to mince words, and by his solid, defined tones I understood the message clearly. If I could not get on with my life, my parents would ‘help’ me do so. This conversation was over, for now at least. I had bought myself 2 weeks of time, but after that, who knew what my future held?

“Sweet Jesus!” I thought Oscar had verbally recoiled from my revelations, but no, it was just him trying to stand. His knee was acting up again. This man was a Man’s man, and born to fight, which he did regularly at mixed martial arts training or amateur competitions. I think we’re all waiting for the day he makes it to the professional league; there’ll be waves, guaranteed.

‘Don’t scare me like that Oscar! You know how much effort I put into your recovery. Nursing you back to ‘health’ isn’t easy you know.” I smile, as Oscar merely shrugs off my concern.

“If you could take a look at the knee again before I go, that’d be good. So, your parents are saying get married or stop having fun. Hmm, basically just stop having fun… Is she hot at least? If so, it sounds better than not having sex again.”

“Hah! I don’t know what she looks like, but my mum insists she’s very pretty. I’ve a better proposition- you should consider the priesthood too, we could make exemplary holy men!”

“You know, I have thought about it, or something similar, like joining the military long term. Life’s less complicated without women and children I suppose.”

“There is no life without women my friend. You just have to learn to live with them!” I am feeling almost normal as my mocking/teasing banter continues. Oscar gets back to the point.

“So what are you going to do?”

I sigh, and shrug. He sits back down and I start to inspect Oscar’s knee. The ligaments were all tense, while the knee cap was looser than ideal for a human, but after some kneading the inner tension was being massaged along. I do take pride in my massage skills, something that’s always been a big hit with the ladies. As part of my exploration into the spiritual nature of the world I became very interested with internal energy flow, and had taken a course in Chinese Tui Na, or point pressure massage therapy. It usually takes months or even years to build up the focused hand strength, at least if you don’t want them cramping within 5 minutes. Didn’t finish it, but I daresay I have very strong fingers, and an artist’s compulsion to finish working on each “canvas”.

“How does that feel Oscar? Any stiffness?”

“A bit better. Definitely less painful, anyway. Any way could we speed up the process? I have another fight in a month.”

“Well, I keep telling you that your body isn’t made to take such punishment. I’m surprised you’re not getting off on the pain somehow! Maybe focus on more flexibility.”

“Ok, thanks. I should probably get going now.”

Oscar had come by for dinner, and it was now nearly 10pm. I accompany him outside, where we take a moment to gaze at the night sky. The night air is cool, something which helps clear my thoughts a little. I wish him a safe return home as he drives away, and make my way back inside. Marriage, or celibacy? I’m torn between a sense of filial duty, and enlightenment (or at the very least, the pursuit of it). Maybe this situation is typical of someone seeking spiritualism, and all the while still using dating apps… Pacing up and down, I notice that further musings had not gained me any new insights, and instead lost me 2 hours. I needed to be somewhere early tomorrow, so I decided to go to bed. As a great philosopher once said, “F*ck it.” Okay, I’m paraphrasing, but I’m certain that all philosophers have said something along those lines, at least once in their lives.

Chapter 2

The seminar room was reasonably packed, a testament to the time-tested appeal of “refreshments provided”. I pause, swallowing to alleviate my parched mouth. A combination of jitters, and 10 minutes of talking. The audience is comprised mostly of older citizens, with a sparse patch of the typical hippy crowd, and even the occasional suit, likely business folk seeking something to use at their annual workplace retreat. I continue where I left off,

“Let us think about the origin of the word ‘defile’. Just saying it induces a strong imagery. One of something being violated, molested even, and hence it is considered wrong. Even the word sounds evil, and is in fact an anagram of ‘evil’. Vile. Defile. We all think we know what it means, to taint, to somehow diminish the purity of something. Yet, I ask you ladies and gentlemen, what do we get when we want the opposite? If something dehumanizes you, you seek to be humanized. So if I don’t want it defiled, then I suppose I could say I want it filed? And the word file now has a different connotation, one of neatness and order. Thus by that reasoning to defile is inherently bad because it doesn’t fit into what structured society considers to be correct! Now, once we see it in this light, we might feel sorry for the word, mightn’t we? After all, it’s not the word’s fault that our human minds are prone to seeking rationale and patterns. It makes sense because it makes sense? How paradoxical does that sound? For this reason we must ask ourselves, what is the nature of the world? Is it order, or chaos, or a mix of both? This is what led to the first Gothic literature, the premise that our neat and ordered lives are actually unnaturally so, and behind the veneer of politeness and rules, there is a maelstrom of chaos waiting to ensue. A sort of social hypocrisy, if you will. Now, rather than draw attention to the Victorians (several chuckles reverberate throughout the audience) I want us to focus on an ideology where Chaos is considered natural, and Order, at least how humans see it, is unnatural. I am talking about Taoism, specifically the concept of Wu Wei. Often translated as meaning “no action”, it is actually closer to considering it a form of ‘non-interference’. Imagine living life without having to micromanage it! Think about it, and then realize that by thinking about it, you’ve lost it. However, by not thinking about it, you will have retained it. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the state of mind that is often referred to as Zen, and I hope you all find yours. Thank you.”

The audience claps and I take a bow. As I return to my seat on the panel, along with the other guest speakers, the host takes my place at the lectern.

“Let’s give another round of applause to our last guest speaker, Mr Thomas Tom!”

The audience complies, though they are a patch work of enthusiasm. Sitting for 2 hours through 7 guest speakers talk about Mindfulness was ironically dull, though I suppose most people would only be here if they wanted to be. Still, it was exciting enough for me, if only because I was not a regular at these affairs. I normally get invited to a handful every month, but being asked to present was rare, so naturally I was keen to engage my audience.

“As with the other guest speakers, Mr Tom will now answer some questions. Yes?” A few hands had gone up, it seemed that there was no need for plants. Although it seemed a shady practice, there were club members planted in the audience, and their use was quite ethical. Often they were used to reiterate key points for the audience’s benefit, or save a guest speaker from the embarrassment of an uninterested crowd. I sip on some water, to hydrate myself after the 15 minutes spent orating, as I wait. An older man, slightly overweight, with thin spectacles that framed light eyes addresses me.

“Mr Tom I-”

“Please, just ‘Tom’ will do, ‘Mr Tom’ makes me feel so old!”. As I interject I smile broadly, as a means to encourage the audience. The man is visibly more relaxed, it appears as though my mannerism was successful.

“Very well, Tom (chuckles litter the room)- as I was saying, I noticed that your speech contained a lot of elements touching on tangential comprehension. I just want to know, was this deliberately done, so as to deconstruct the notion of learning as linear?” I am impressed by this obvious academic, not everyone can follow my talks from start to finish while keeping their bearings. It is less to do with bamboozling my audience, and more to do with having layering my points. I take a moment to compose myself, before answering.  

“There’s a lot I want to discuss about that, but time is pressing so I will try to be brief. I’m glad you noticed the structure of my oration, and yes, the structure is deliberate. There’s a concept I always use to explain the limitations of linear thinking, which often stumps clever folks who lack mental diversity. Such people, for all their intelligence, can have their though processes reduced to a straight line, but could you imagine trying to understand a circle with just straight lines? The mathematical expression of tangent is what I use to highlight tangential thinking, and that to explain a lot of metaphysics one needs to accept that not everyone can imagine a circle when they are used to thinking in straight lines. Phew, that was a mouthful! I hope I answered your question?” The gentleman nods repeatedly, and I daresay even approvingly, before responding with,

“ One last thing, I just want to know if you’ve heard of a philosopher by the name of Alan Watts? He might be a bit old for you to recall, but your rhetoric is so similar to him that I just had to ask if his works are an inspiration to you?”

“Yes, I know Alan Watts, he is one of my favourite modern philosophers! I was particularly fascinated by the way he would often broach different topics to get the same point across, yet it always seemed as if he offered a different perspective on that one point each time. Thank you, being compared to him is great praise indeed!” I incline my head towards the man, who returns it and sits down. Another question, this time from a young brunette girl in her early to mid 20’s.

“Could you clear something up for me? You mentioned before that to defile is considered evil mainly because humans like things to be neat and orderly, yet what about women being defiled historically? I’m not saying you condone it, but how can rape and sexual violence be considered natural when we are discussing mindfulness?”

This question manages to rouse the interest of the crowd. Maybe this woman was trying to off balance me, and maybe she was genuinely curious. I wasn’t worried.

“Firstly, let me thank you for not accusing me of condoning rape. For the record, I don’t. But to the point, let me see if I understand your question. I used the term ‘defile’ only to demonstrate a point, that humans like things to be organized to varying degrees. However, when used in the way you’ve applied, the act of defiling a woman is about sexual exploitation. Something that did, does, and unfortunately probably will continue. Is it something instinctual, like several social psychologists have postulated? Is it a question of violence, or sex? Let us ask ourselves, is sex natural? Of course it is, otherwise we wouldn’t be here! In the past there were double standards abound for men and women concerning sexual etiquette, and the restrictions imposed were supposedly to protect women, or control them, for the more cynical minded. Rather than prohibit it, classic Taoism encouraged sexual freedom, if only because they didn’t over think it like most polite societies would. It might surprise you that the earliest Taoist texts on spirituality had a section which could give the Karma Sutra a run for its money! But on the topic, a woman who had been defiled sexually was often so because she had sex in a way that her society didn’t permit. And that is the crux of it all, for society is a structure designed to be orderly and ordered, whereas Zen doesn’t try to be ordered. It just happens to be. At times. If you are looking at it from a certain angle. That is true mindfulness, being aware naturally without doing so forcibly.” She continues her line of questioning,

“Does that mean we should just accept things the way they are, without introspecting how we feel about it?”

“Reflection is essentially introspection, just less judgmental! I’m grateful you asked this, as I didn’t cover much on Wu Wei specifically today. It does not mean giving up control, rather it is understanding that no one has complete control, and going along with the unimpeded flow is the best way to get to where you are. Naturally if you are on fire you put out the flames, but you can imagine how clumsy it would be to panic and over-think each step. Someone who understands acceptance would simply put out the flames the best way they could. Stop, drop, and roll, or jump into a water body. Does that answer your question? If not, I’ll be delighted to speak to you in person afterwards.” I give a smile, which I was glad to see returned, and continue with a few more questions from a few more people, though none as loaded as hers.

After the Q. and A. our host thanked everyone, and we made our way out. I saw the same brunette waiting in the parking lot outside. Mildly surprising, but not unwelcome. She had an intelligent questioning gaze, and sharp features, but she her smile softens them. I respond first.

“Hello. I take it that I failed to satisfy your curiosity back there?”

“Actually, I’m just waiting for my ride. You were really good up there! Especially at the end. I sort of enjoy putting deep thinkers on the spot, they usually don’t respond well to spontaneity.”

“Oh, is that the impression you got? Forgive me for misleading you, I’m not a deep thinker in the slightest! Probably why I wasn’t fazed.” She smiles, amused perhaps by my playful tones, or perhaps just being polite. It was hard to get a read on this girl, her demeanor switched from aloof to curious every few seconds.

“Well, it was fun to see a philosopher type not afraid to mention sex. You must be the youngest one up there?”

“Actually the 3^rd speaker was younger than me, he’s 27. I’m 28, turning 29 pretty soon. I can understand why you’d think he’s older though, I still have hair on my head, but not my face!”

We laugh at this, though to be honest I have secretly always wanted to grow a beard. Oscar tells me that I’m lucky, it’s an annoying maintenance, and itchy too. I resume the conversation thread.

“Actually, I felt that I could have done better. I was up late last night and after the rush of giving the speech I’m feeling it. I realise that being tired for a mindfulness speech is sorta ironic, but overall, thanks for liking it.”

“It’s cool, did you drive? You should probably grab a coffee. You don’t wanna crash in your car afterall.”

“Hah! Do you mean fall asleep or cause an accident?

“Yes.” She laughs, a light laughter that reminded me of wind chimes. Subtly but unmistakably teasing wind chimes. Then she smirks, the little minx. Clearly a person who liked power plays. That was fine, I could play along.

“So, you probably saved my life. I insist on repaying you! Maybe with a cup of lifesaving coffee? You may need more than one though. I’m not an interesting conversationalist.”

“Sure, though, I’ll be the judge of that. I know a great place farther down the street. Best lattes this part of the city.”

“Really? I’ll hold you to that. Um wait, what about your ride?”

“You are my ride”. Wow. This girl really knows what she wants and isn’t shy about getting it. That’s cool, or she’s a subtle bitch. I guess I’ll find out.

We make general conversation until we get to the location. Barely 10 minutes. I park and we make our way to this café that supposedly boasts the best lattes around. I actually did a one day barista introductory course, though I usually prefer teas. Clueless as I was, Pierre, the teacher, was very patient and clearly an artisan of his craft. He was French, and realistic in his expectations. In warning us that most Italian coffee connoisseurs are borderline snobs, he also reminded everybody that good coffee was an expression of the heart, and ugly hearts would ruin otherwise beautiful coffee. Monsieur Pierre St. Claire was able to impart his respect for coffee on to myself, admittedly an elitist when it came to teas. I recalled what I had learned that sunny afternoon in his studio, and began to make assessments unto this cafe. At first I not impressed, as there were open and exposed glass canisters. Filled with Robusta beans, which is famous for bitter black coffee, though I could distinguish the occasional Arabica bean. Pierre had taught us that fresh beans were essential, and while he didn’t shun Robusta, Arabica beans were superior by far. This entire place seemed a little hipster to me, a mix of post modern with just enough sensibility to be considered artistic, but it seemed to be tailored for this girl’s personality. Speaking of which,

“Hey, this is kind of weird, but who do I have the pleasure of sitting with? I just realised I never asked your name!”

“Took you long enough. It’s Becky. And I forgive you!” She gives a short laugh, which only underlines the regal, almost challenging attitude she presented to the world. It’s cute, especially as her petite figure gave the impression of a much more subdued personality. We order the lattes, and as I observe the baristas work I softened my initial impression. The beans on display were only for display, thankfully, and the beans used in the espresso machines were a light brown, not covered by shiny film, the tell tale sign of older beans. More importantly, the staff all adhered to good hygiene practices, and didn’t leave wiping cloths on random parts of the work station. Pierre would be pleased. I relate this to Becky, who nods with mild curiosity, and replies,

“I just like the taste here. You know, like you said in the seminar, don’t over think otherwise you’ll lose the rhythm?”

“You have a good memory. What made you come to the seminar in the first place? You seem very clever, but not the type to look for inner peace, which is 90% of the usual crowd.”

“You’re right, I am very clever! It was the part about Zen actually. I’ve always been into Japanese culture, you know, anime, J-pop, and food of course! After finishing my degree in Japanese I even lived in Japan for a year- teaching English to middle school kids.”

Upon hearing this I immediately felt a sense of danger, the kind that prey animals develop when specific predators may be about. But this was ridiculous! She was half my size and I certainly didn’t feel inferior to her, intellectually speaking. I realize however, that out of all the guest speakers, I was the only one who was Asian. Still, I maintain my poker face.

“That sounds amazing. My best friend moved to Japan last month, with his girlfriend. They are having a great time while adjusting, apparently it’s very different to the West over there?”

“Oh yeah, it’s completely different, but I loved it! Speaking of which, you aren’t Japanese are you? ‘Tom’ wouldn’t be, but I can’t seem to place where you’re from… maybe Chinese, possibly farther south?”

“You wouldn’t be the first. No, I’m a locally grown Asian, so it can be hard to tell. I think I may have a trace amount of Japanese on my father’s side, but it’s not worth mentioning. I’m mainly Chinese, though if you have to include my nationalistic leanings I would be Pro-British as well. Long Live the Imperial Monarchy! That being said… Hajime mashite Becky-san, yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”

Her eyes lit up as I switched to Japanese, and she responds in turn.

“Sugoi, nihon-go ga wakarimasu ka?! (Awesome, you understand Japanese?)” Her enthusiasm is curbed somewhat when I shake my head.

“No, but I am also immensely fond of the culture. Plus my best friend and I have a bet going on that when he returns from Japan in 2 years we would try to speak the language together. I’m learning a little bit at a time, mostly words and phrases, the occasional grammar video. His girlfriend doesn’t speak much, but she works at an international school so it’s not too bad I suppose.”

“Oh yeah, but that’s still pretty cool. I miss speaking Japanese everyday, but I binge watch their shows all the time so I hear it often enough. My boyfriend isn’t that interested in the language, so it’s a bit of a drag. He loves the culture, that’s something.” I take a moment to process this.

“You have a boyfriend? I mean, that’s fine, but I kinda thought we were flirting here! Hah, was I mistaken?”

At this point she looks over to me seriously, and I see that her eyes are actually looking directly into mine. A scan attack? I don’t look away, but lean closer, meeting her gaze. We break away from our psychic battle, the tension dissipating slowly, as she responds,

“We are. It’s harmless fun, in my opinion at least. But when I saw you, I sort of got the impression that you weren’t available? Almost as if you enjoy the hunt but you don’t take any trophies. Like, looking at it more carefully now I don’t think you have a girlfriend, and you’re mostly likely straight, considering all the times you were stealing glances at my boobs.” It was true that Becky did have a very full cleavage (despite her size) but I was playfully indignant all the same.

“I did no such thing! And even if I did, you’re clearly the type of person who likes the attention. I would go so far as to say, a borderline exhibitionist?”

“You see? You’re deflecting and getting defensive! So you must be hiding something. I’m pretty good at this you know.” She starts laughing, and I join in. It was hard not to, considering we had just met, yet openly started profiling each other. As the mirth fizzles, she looks at me more seriously again.

“Well, is it true? Do you have someone? Or maybe, someone has you?”

I look away at this point, for this random girl was close to something I had tried to seal away for the last 6 years. But considering everything that was happening in my life, especially what had to happen within the month, I responded frankly.

“You are indeed perceptive. But it’s not easy to talk about this, especially as I’m trying to forget. I did meet someone, a long time ago, and even though we didn’t date or anything close, she had a big impact on my life. But lately, I feel like I just want to stop trying to find romance, and settle into a peaceful spiritual lifestyle, as a priest or something. Or a monk, though I like having hair, worldly possessions not withstanding. Does this make any sense to you?”

She takes a moment to consider what I’ve told her, and wrinkles her nose as if to visibly indicate mental processing. “Erm, I think so. Basically, you’re hung up on this one girl, and she was so amazing that you don’t think anyone else is good enough for you, so you are running away to avoid the issue. That’s it right?” Ouch, this girl could cut with her words!

“It’s not that no one else is good enough. I meet lots of girls. Really now, lower your eye brows young lady! But each time, I don’t feel the same spark, or connection, you know? I thought after she left I would get over her, but…”

“But you haven’t. So… you’re just running away from how you feel. Where did she go anyway?”

“She became a lawyer and works in Japan now. She’s half Japanese so I guess it’s not surprising.”

“O M G, she’s Japanese? Why didn’t you say so!? Of course, in that case you can’t give up on her!”

“Really?” I stare in mild shock. Becky tilts her head, and squints at me for a second, before going back to normal.

“No. Though she does sound really cool. Especially if you’ve been into her all this time, when she isn’t even around.”

“Yeah, she was… beautiful, in every sense of the word.” And I meant that. I do recall a saying that when a man calls a woman pretty, he means her face; when he calls her hot, he means her body; when he says she’s beautiful, he means her soul. Its prose was punctured somewhat by the assertion that regardless of any compliment, he still just wants to sleep with her.

“Did you get plastic surgery or something?”

“What?” I was thrown off course by the question, not knowing what she meant. Plastic surgery, was this some new age hipster slang?

“Well, you seem smart, and you dress pretty slick.” I was wearing an all black outfit comprised of trousers, a short sleeved black silk shirt tucked in, and my favourite black blazer. What did this have to do with anything, my face seemed to convey. She continued.

“You also seem fit, broad shoulders, and I find your personality quirky, but charming. So I figured that maybe you had plastic surgery since you’ve met her, coz I think you’re pretty attractive now. Not as handsome as my boyfriend, but nothing to hide up in a tower.”

“Thank you, I do think that I am a notch above Quasimodo!” We laugh. I am flattered. Despite what my mother says, I do not consider myself good looking. Passable most days, but nothing special. I am told I have deeply soulful eyes and delicate cheek bones, plus in the right light I have a nice smile, but photos are very hit and miss for me. Not that it should matter, as an enlightened individual should care less about physical appearance and more about the reflection of their soul. Something that Becky agreed with, but also mentioned that it was different for girls, which I conceded. I’m not an impractical spiritualist after all. I answer her question.

‘No surgery, honestly. Though I have cleaned up my look since I met her. She made me more self conscious of my appearance, so if you like what you see then it’s partially thanks to her. I was a mess the first time I met her too, wild greasy hair, shabby chic clothes and I was sun burnt with blood shot eyes from my summer job in the countryside. Women find that hot, right?”

“Wow, no wonder she left!” She laughs again, though I do not think unkindly. “It’s good then, she left a positive impact on you. So, do you still talk to her, or were you more of the stalker type? I have been getting trace amounts of creepy vibes from you.”

“Don’t joke about that! It hits too close to home.” Despite my seemingly wounded tones, I smile to indicate that I was only teasing. “Every now and then. I haven’t for a while, but I think she’s doing okay, even though she works heaps. We hung out quite a bit, with mutual friends mostly, but by the time I wanted to tell her how I felt, she got an offer that she couldn’t pass up. I don’t blame her, none of her friends do, but I always regretted not saying it to her face.”

My teasing demeanor fades away as I recall that time 6 years ago, when I found out she was leaving for good.

We were all at a group party, an end of year celebration for post exams. A few of our friends were already slightly buzzed from drinks, but mostly the atmosphere was one of relief. Another semester down, and we were all happy to express our gratitude for the upcoming holiday break. As the general chatter broke off into separate groups, one mostly composed of the girls were discussing holiday plans. She was talking to her best friends, Louise and Toby.

“Wow, you’re going to Japan! That’s awesome! When do you get back?”

“Well, I’m seeing my mother there, but I got offered a job working in Osaka. It’s not for a few months, but I think I’m definitely going to take it…”

“What? You’re leaving me??? You can’t leave me! I thought we were study buddies!”

“We are Louise! But, this is something I’ve always wanted to do, in a city I’ve always wanted to live in. We’ll keep in touch, and you have to visit me if you go there, okay?!”

“I still can’t believe you’re going, I’m going to miss you so much!!!”

“I’m going to miss you all too!”

I tune out of the conversation as I process everything. Later, as everything settles, some people leave, others stay behind, and I find a chance to sit next to her, just the two of us.

“Hey, you look sleepy! Time to go home?”

“Hey Tom! (No one ever called me Thomas in this group, which has always bugged me a little) Nah, I’m okay, it’s just been a big day. Did you hear? I’m going to be working in Japan!”

“I did! And congratulations! It must be very exciting, but maybe a little daunting too?”

“A little, this is a new chapter of my life after all. But I’ve been there, and I love Japan! So yeah.”

“When do you leave? You’re seeing family there too right?”

“Yeah, my mother, and my cute little brother! I can’t wait to act all like a big sister to him, even though he’s taller than me now. I’m flying out in 2 days.”

“2 days… that’s so soon! You’ll have a lot of friends who’ll miss you. Maybe we can visit you, once you get settled in?”

“Sure! I’ll take you all around town, show you the sights. And the restaurants too, all the food is really nice!”

“Uh oh, maybe we won’t recognize you by then.”

“Huh, why?”

“Because you’ll be rounder! Hahah!” She laughs and shoves me playfully,

“Hah, you’re so weird Tom!”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t… I’ll miss you Naomi.”

“Aww, thank you! Oh, I have to go, my group is heading back to our apartment. Bye!” She gives me a quick hug, and I watch her leave through the doors. And although I didn’t think of it at the time, out of my life. I sat as time slowed to a standstill, and whisper “Goodbye.”

“Is there a bug in your coffee?” Becky was watching me curiously as I reminisce about the past.

“No, this conversation is just making me think about stuff I haven’t in forever.”

“Hmmm, can I ask you something, Thomas?” I indicate my willingness, and she continues, “When was your last serious relationship? Or even, when was the last time you had any kind of sex? Like, anything.”

“That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”

“Hey, I thought you said sex was natural!”

“Sex IS natural, but that doesn’t mean I bring it up everywhere. Besides, our society is over saturated with sexual obsession, and there are certain pursuits which are more fulfilling. I’m more interested in those. How come no one asks each other when their last epiphany was? Epiphanies are essentially spiritual orgasms you know.” I am back to my mocking, playful self. Becky looks intrigued.

“Hmm, I’ll have to look into that then.” She’s clearly not shy about her own sexuality. “But that’s not what I was getting at. When was the last time you had intimate relations with a woman? Not even sex, just something meaningful.”

The question stumps me. I have a habit of briefly entertaining the idea of dating, and I do meet several potential lovers each season. But I have never once made it to the point when it could be considered dating or romantically intimate. Deep conversations with my most recent girl were mostly about the nature of artificial simulations versus reality. Not on a relationship, though I sensed that she might be pushing for one. Actually, it was like that with most of the girls I ‘date’. A lot of fun teasing, deep conversations, but when it came down to being intimate in body or the heart I always lose interest. Sigh, I was essentially a playa, but with a social interest in women rather than a physical one. Don’t hate the Game, the playa’s all to blame on this one. She continues,

“A while huh? You must have really been into this girl. Maybe this is a little personal, but why didn’t you ever try to date her while she was here?”

“Mostly because she didn’t find me attractive, but I don’t know. The time just never seemed right. I knew she wasn’t interested in me that way, and maybe it’s my fault for coming off as an eccentric back then. Then I was struggling to come to terms with it, and when I did ask her if she wanted to go on a date, she got herself a boyfriend. They didn’t last long though. Finally, when I wanted to tell her, you know, tell her how I really felt about her, she gets pulled away to another country and I didn’t want to make the transition messy for her. So yeah, I guess I blew my chances before I knew what was happening. And I’m talking about this to a complete stranger! No offense. This was not how I expected my day to go.”

“Well if she’s not into you maybe you should just move on? I’ve liked people before, and when they didn’t feel the same way I stopped losing sleep over them. Yeah, it hurts, but that’s life, you know?” What she said made sense, but it wasn’t new to me.

“I’ve thought about it. Actually, when she left, I shaved my head and dove into piles and piles of religious texts, philosophical treatises, anything that might help me deal with the grief of her absence. It made me a lot better at my spiritual studies, so I welcomed the new found motivation. But over time I came to accept that this was the way I felt. Then my best friend gets an associate professorship at this university in Tokyo, and now he’s there too! It’s kinda depressing if you think about it. Japan has a track record of taking away those closest to me.”

“Why didn’t you just get drunk? Like, a lot! It’s a great way to purge. Both your body, and your feelings.”

“I don’t believe in that, it’s an abuse of the body. I’m not against others drinking responsibly, but I’ve downed a bottle of whiskey and would have gagged if not for the coca cola. I don’t get drunk in the typical sense anyway, so alcohol really isn’t my thing. Drugs either, just in case you get any ideas.”

“Okay, but you’re missing out on quite the trip. I learn a lot about myself when I have a girls night out, and wake up with a hang over. It’s like you said, we need to embrace the chaos that is life.”

“Hmmm, maybe you’re right… oh damn, it’s almost 1pm! We’ve been here almost an hour, no wonder the staff keeps giving us dirty looks, we’re occupying a 4 person table and all the business they got from us were 2 lattes! I have to head back to meet up with a friend for lunch. Um, thanks for listening Becky, do you need a ride anywhere?”

“No, I’m good, I’m just trying to decide which muffin to get; I swear I’d stuff them all in my mouth but I don’t want to overeat. I’ve got baseball practice in an hour anyway, and the field is quite close, so I’ll walk there afterwards.”

“Wait, you do baseball? That’s very impressive, I didn’t think you were the type of person who liked spo- hold up. Do you only like it because the Japanese are into it?”

“At first, yeah. I learned to play a bit while I was in Japan. But I actually like it now. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t imagine myself as a less talented Eri Yoshida from time to time.”

“…I don’t know who she is, sorry.”

“She plays for the Toshida Golden Braves. And she was the first girl drafted into a men’s baseball team, in 2008, at 16 as well.”

“Wow! She. Sounds. Awesome! I’ll try to remember her name for Google later. Okay, nice to meet you, ma ta ne (see you later)!

‘Ja ne (see you), I hope you find what you’re missing. Or who!” I smile at her parting shot, and make my way back to the counter. I ask them to send her their most tempting platter of dessert muffins, knowing she was likely unable to resist trying a few immediately. She looks surprised as it arrives, and glances to me as I make my way out. I send her a look that suggests I am challenging her resolve. She may have thought she was winning our game of social politics, but I wanted to keep things interesting.

Chapter 3

As I drive to meet Oscar at the restaurant, I kept mulling over a new possibility. Becky mentioned she learned more about herself when she tripped out. Maybe I could learn something about myself if I took a trip too. I needed to speak with Victor, my best friend, and a man who’s known me for the last 12 years. Not on the phone, or via Skype, but in person. And while I’m seeing my best friend, in Japan, I suppose it would be a waste not to see another old friend as well. But first things first, lunch with Oscar.

It was good to see my straightforward and dependable friend after the previous conversation. Lunch was casual, at a fast food place famous for their fried chicken. The setting was almost the complete opposite from what Becky and I shared prior, but I liked fast food and its lack of pretentious trappings. Despite franchises like McDonald’s trying to gentrify their presentation, the idea of just casually hanging out while enjoying fried goodness was something that struck a chord in me. Childhood subliminal advertising, perhaps? We’ll know in 20 years when my body can no longer process the junk, but my mind is telling me to eat it anyway. I quickly spot him in a booth near the back, and alert him to my presence.

“Hey man, sorry for the delay! I just had coffee with this super intense chick I met at the mindfulness seminar.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” I tell Oscar all about Becky, and her mental scanning. He listens with some mild interest, sniggers when I mention my parting gift, and then I remember why we were here.

“Oh that’s right, you’ve been on weight control for a month! How was the weigh in?”

“Good. I made it.”

“Then let’s order a feast and get some meat back on your frame!”

“Okay.”

We order a massive bucket with a bunch of sides, and do not make conversation until Oscar’s had his fill. My poor friend had been on a restrictive diet for the last month, in order to cut weight for his match. Fighters often tried to shed as much excess water and fat as possible before a weigh in, thus qualifying them to compete in a lighter weight category. Of course, after checking in their weight, they were free to consume as much as they liked. Thus most fighters were actually heavier than what their bouts would normally permit, but it’s something everybody does.

Watching him tear through the chicken pieces was disturbingly magnificent, as a pile of bones grew steadily bigger. Halfway through, he slows down the feeding frenzy, allowing his stomach and metabolism to adjust. I pour him a cup of soda, and he nods his thanks as he drains the entire vessel. I refill it. He sips, as though he has had enough for now.

“So, how’s your condition buddy? Did you see your opponent at the weigh in?”

“Yep, he’s shorter, but bulky. Like a walking tree stump. I think I can take him. What about that café girl from earlier? You meeting her again?”

“Hah, I believe you when you say you can take him. Hopefully the match won’t go into a decision this time. I didn’t grab her contact details, but I think I have enough to go on if I wanted to find her again. Favourite café, baseball club in the area… I sound like a stalker, don’t I?”

“I dunno. She didn’t seem to care. But you said she was good at reading you?”

“In my defense, I scanned her pretty good as well. I was more alarmed by the possibility that she was targeting me for being Asian. Though maybe I should give her the benefit of the doubt, and not jump to conclusions?”

“Eh, if it attracts girls just use it.” Oscar had a point, and to be honest this wasn’t the first girl who expressed an interest in me for my genetics, but she was definitely the most vivacious. Yellow fever runs both ways I suppose.

“There are ethical issues posed with that my friend. For one, she has a boyfriend. But I also value her opinions more if we weren’t involved with each other, do you get what I mean?”

“You don’t want to bang her?”

“She’s cute, and sexy in smart way. But no, I don’t want to have a relationship with her.”

“You sure you’re not gay? You haven’t really dated anyone for as far as I can remember. I’ve dated 3 people in the time I’ve know you, not counting casual flings.” Oscar and I have known each other for 6 years, and what he said was true; we met right after Naomi left for Japan. I think back to that night.

We had bonded over a late night McDonald’s brawl, when 2 guys, drunk and barely out of high school, had gotten into a heated argument with the staff over the ice cream machine being broken. When the staff refused to give them free food they starting knocking over the counter displays and threatening the staff. Maybe it had worked before, somewhere else. The only staff at the counter was 2 teenage girls and a motherly woman who I assumed was the manager, and perhaps the boys thought they could get what they wanted with enough intimidation.

Tonight was not their lucky night, as Oscar happened to be on shift, though out of sight. I was about to get up and intervene when, in a flash, Oscar made his way from the drive through booth and pinned one guy against the wall. When his friend tried to punch Oscar from behind I saw a powerfully executed back-kick knock him to the ground. Oscar’s attention was divided as the weasel faced young man he had grabbed was yelling a stream of abuse, a cacophony of whines and squeals. Meanwhile his friend got up; he was intoxicated, which perhaps lessened the kick’s pain, and the leg’s power had been diffused due to Oscar grabbing the other guy. Just as he was about to try charge at him I decide to intercept the would-be assailant, before spinning him onto his chest and pinning him onto the ground. He was breathing, but did not stir after that. Despite the dangers of sounding like a stereotype, I knew a little kung fu, and was stronger than most people realised. While I normally resolved issues with words instead of force, this bully gave me the perfect opportunity to vent some of the pent up feelings. The next part was almost funny, as Oscar’s guy repeatedly tried to head butt him. Oscar proceeded to demonstrate a real head butt, and after a thud the foolish fellow collapsed. Both of us were reeling from the adrenaline, but things were calmer now. Oscar nodded to me,

“Thanks, but I could have handled it.” His voice is deep and steady, but showed appreciation.

“Oh, I believe you. That back kick was superb, considering the position. I was more surprised the other guy didn’t stay down.” I was exhilarated from the rush, so sounded out of breath.

Soon after this the police arrive and an ambulance had been called too. The paramedics seemed pleased to see that there was no blood, and the boys were taken off somewhere; I didn’t pay them further attention. Oscar and the staff were cleaning up and I joined in as much as they allowed me to. We chatted, and I discovered that Oscar was 20, studied politics at the local university, and was heavily involved in mixed martial arts. He learned that I was 23, and a philosopher at heart. Since then we have hung out frequently, becoming fast friends. Maybe it was what we shared on that night, or maybe it was the fact that our different personalities complemented each other, with him being a stoic and I enjoying prose. Regardless, we got along smoothly, and when Victor left for Japan, he became my most regular companion.

“Gay? I wish! If I were gay then all my problems would be solved. But no, I suffer from a sexual abnormality, one so shocking and bizarre that it must be kept hidden from the public at all costs.”

“Stop! I don’t want to know.” We laugh, as he finishes the Simpsons quote.

“You know, Oscar, I’m not against giving up meat to join the priesthood. But I have to admit, chicken is one tasty bird.”

“I couldn’t do it. Meat is life. Literally.”

“The spirit is willing, but the flesh is too tempting huh?”

“Exactly. And I’m not just talking about food either.”

We continue with the meal, determined to finish everything on the table. I like chicken, but I love fries. Too much starch for Oscar’s taste, but that is perfect as between the both of us we consume the entire table’s worth of food.

“Sweet Jesus, I’m stuffed,” Oscar tells me as slouches into his seat.

“Going home soon? The fight’s tomorrow morning, right?”

“Yeah, I’m going to take a nap, then do some light training.”

“Just watch that knee, you don’t want to bust anything right before the match. How are your hands?”

“They’re pretty good, actually. The left one is doing a lot better, which makes me more confident.” Oscar was a southpaw, despite being right handed. Not unusual, apparently.

We make our way out. Slowly the food begins to draw blood away from our brains and into our stomachs. Maybe I should take a nap too. The caffeine was running out, but the afternoon was young, and I needed to make travel plans.

Chapter 4

“Come on you lazy bastard, pick up,” I say, as if my best friend could hear me. It’s evening, and I have been busy organizing flights. I had a reason to wait until this time, as I needed to contact Victor, and he was usually busy until the evenings. Apparently the Japanese working hours are simply too damn high. It rings a few times, and a woman answers.

“Hey Thomas! Nice of you to call, what’s up?”

“Maggy, my dearest, it’s been too long! How’s the weather? Cold right?”

“Oh yeah, we’ve had a lot of snow lately, it’s like a winter wonderland over here. Hang on, let’s switch to video call.” There’s a brief disruption as we both fumble with the touch screen on our phones, and then I see her. Margaret, or Maggy as I called her, had porcelain white skin lightly dusted with freckles, and mid length auburn hair currently tied up in a ponytail. She was classically beautiful, with clean features and a crinkled smile often reserved for the childish antics of her boyfriend and his best friend. Her eyes were amazingly faceted, like sapphires, though depending on the light they also resembled emeralds. I’d compare her to Audrey Hepburn, if she wasn’t so down to earth. The three of us were all the same age, I being slightly older by a month, but she was the matriarchal figure who had to tolerate our nostalgic goofiness.

“Is Vik around? He normally finishes and comes back around this time doesn’t he?”

“He’s just taking a bath right now, but he’ll be done soon. Oh, he’s coming out. Sigh, with only a towel on…” Maggy’s disapproval could not curb the enthusiasm of the new figure who entered the screen. A brilliant toothy smile appeared, enhanced by his richly brown skin, which contrasted his partner’s. My best friend of 12 years took the phone and lifted it up, forming a downwards view, as if to behold my image on his phone.

“Thomas!”

“Vik!”

“Guys! He’s going to catch a cold!” Maggy’s concern echoed through the speakers, though it did little to curb our elation. All the same I knew that she was right, my friend was prone to chills and I was not sure how heated their apartment was.

“Yes, Miss Fitzwilliams!” She was right, I thought, as I playfully act like a sheepish schoolboy caught passing notes in class. I respect her position as a teacher, but that did not mean I was above teasing her about it. Vik can be heard frantically drying himself off properly, the sounds of a blow dryer adds a rushed ambience as we continue speaking.

“So, Thomas, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know, just critiquing the human condition. I gave a small talk to a mindfulness seminar earlier today actually, so that was cool.”

“Wow, nice! How’s that girl you were seeing, Ashley? The one who did classical Chinese dancing.”

“Oh, Hailey? No, I haven’t spoken to her in months. She wanted to focus on her dancing, so I figured she wasn’t that into me. But fear not, I am still sampling the delights of bachelordom. Plus there’s always internet porn, can’t go wrong there can I?”

“Hmmm,” Maggy smiles because, despite having to be stricter as a teacher these days, she’s still someone I consider one of the guys. “Yes, I’m sure that you don’t spend too much time on that part of the web, do you?”

“Uhhh…. No. But when I do, please know that I am properly ashamed of myself!” We have a good laugh at the implications of my tone. Vik returns, now fully dressed in a green and blue sweater.

“Are we talking about porn? Is Thomas into some really kinky stuff now?!” Spontaneously I decide to simulate oral sex with the camera, my mouth a chasm that grows larger and smaller and I rock my head backwards and forwards. Vik sees this and copies me, which we all have a good time laughing about it as the video shakes. Maggy regains her composure first, unsurprisingly.

“Are you two done?!”

“Thanks Maggy, you are a saint to put up with us. Actually, now that you’re both here I can tell you some good news: I’ll be visiting real soon!” Vik and Maggy gasp, as I tell them I was visiting in a few days.

“No way, that’s amazing! Well, you can stay with us, we have a spare futon you can sleep on. Although, how long are you staying?”

“Actually Maggy, that’s the thing, I’m training and busing my way from Tokyo all the way to Osaka. A few major stops in-between. I’d hate to make you feel unspecial, but there’s plenty of other people I’m seeing too. However, you guys are the first! As I’m only there for a week, we could spend Sunday together, before I leave on Monday morning.”

“What!? A week only, and you’re only seeing me for a day? Come on man, doesn’t our friendship deserve more!?” Vik was noticeably disappointed. I try to appease him.

“A week is all I can spare, I have to get back in time for my birthday. There’s something heavy going on.”

Sensing that the mood was changing to a more somber one, Maggy tactfully excuses herself so that Vik and I can have our privacy. While we do enjoy juvenile fun and heaps of nostalgia, Vik and I have stayed friends for over a decade. The only way that would be possible is if we actually grew as individuals, while accepting the other. As we matured into adulthood he has been my most trusted confidante. Our platonic love would put most married couples to shame, though Maggy has never seemed threatened by it. It’s one of the reasons Vik told me he knew that she was the one for him, and I agreed; there was never a finer woman for my best friend. If getting his PhD didn’t destroy them I doubt anything short of cheating could (I didn’t count).

“So, bro, what’s up? Even for you, coming to Japan on a moment’s notice isn’t normal.” He is serious now, matching my expression. I tell him about the conversation with my parents, all about my fears and indecision concerning life, and I even mention what Becky said to me earlier. He then addresses something which I have told few people about: my unresolved feelings.

“So you’re finally going to see Naomi.”

“Yes. I want to see her again. I still have to let her know I’m coming, but I’ll do it after this.” I laugh nervously, trying to cover my insecurities. Vik had met her, of course, and had been a willing source of support through the roughest parts of my loneliness and dejection.

“How do you know she’s still even in Osaka?”

“We talk online, every now and then. I think I’m the only one of her old group who still does.”

“Yeak okay, obviously you haven’t forgotten her, but, I mean, what do you hope to accomplish?”

“I want to know how I feel about her now. Maybe things have changed, and when I see her, talk to her again after all this time, maybe it will make it easier to let go. Or who knows, maybe deep down I’m hoping she’ll feel differently about me, but honestly, that scares me more! I don’t know what kind of relationship we could have, since I don’t want to make her change her life for me, and I may even be a priest, or getting married, in another month. It’s fine, and a part of me wants to do it, finally, but it just feels like everything is moving so fast and I can’t tap into my centre of balance… it’s like being a teen again, hah!”

“Woah, it’s weird hearing you be so vulnerable. I mean, look, you’re clearly head over heels for Naomi. Yet you don’t know wh- hang on, yes baby?!” Maggy had said something indiscernible in the background, and Vik was asking her to repeat herself. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate, but I do like it when they bicker at times, almost like an old married couple. I find it cute, heartwarming even.

“Okay, sorry Thomas, I gotta cut this short. Maggy’s prepared a late dinner, was waiting for me to get home, and you know what she’s like when she’s hungry.” I nod knowingly.

“God’s speed. Put her on and I’ll say bye together!” Another moment of scuffling as he makes his way to their dining room. The sound of sliding doors can be heard, which I figured is to save on heating. I put on a cheery disposition.

“Sorry for holding you up Maggy! Enjoy dinner, I’ll see you both by the end of the week!”

“Thanks for calling Thomas, can’t wait to see you!”

“Bye bye, love you Vik!” I admit, I like to think Maggy gets jealous when we openly display our affection, but realistically a part of her probably likes it.

“Oyasumi (goodnight), love you Thomas!”

The screen goes dark, I am disconnected by phone as well as my emotions. Taking a deep breath, I open Facebook messenger, and scroll through my contacts until I find her. The last message we exchanged was a few months ago, when she told me about her trek up Mt Fuji. She had gone on a special group in the middle of the night so that they would arrive in time to see the sun rise. It sounded majestic, and the photos proved so.

Thomas: Hey Naomi, I hope you are doing well and looking after yourself. I’m going to Japan to see my best friend soon. I fly out in a few days, arriving on Sunday in Tokyo. I’ll be traveling through several cities and I’m in Osaka on Friday/Saturday. If you have time wanna meet up?

Although our conversations usually consisted of delays between responses, I must have gotten lucky this time: I saw her typing a message a few seconds after I sent mine.

Naomi: Are you really comingggg?

            I’m free, I think, lol.

            Let’s meet up ??

Thomas: Awesome let’s have lunch together! You can show me your favourite place hahah.

Naomi: hahaha, too many. But we’ll figure it out closer to then, okay??

Thomas: Sure, no problem lol. Goodnight Naomi!

Naomi: Can’t wait, byeee!

The relief I felt was indescribable. She seemed please that I was coming to see her. It was if no time had passed whatsoever since I saw her in person. Feeling my head clear a little, I drop into bed, and try to settle into oblivion.

Chapter 5

Singapore’s Changi Airport was a place I had been to a handful of times before. I read that it was an ideal location for international stopovers, and that the country ran like clockwork. My friends who lived there enlightened me to the other aspect of this city-sized country: fines, and queues. Chewing gum was illegal too, though it was a soft contraband which I had occasionally picked out from the crowds whilst visiting said friends a few years ago. I was on a stopover, flying out to Narita airport in 3 hours. My luggage was also surprisingly light, for all I had was my cabin luggage, a small suitcase filled with creature comforts Vik and Maggy had requested, and a gift for Naomi. I traveled light because the true bulk of cargo was carried in my heart.

The whole planning process was a surprisingly smooth one. Explaining my intentions to the flight agent, Jerry, I discovered that Japan didn’t require tourist visas for the length I was staying, and while I traveled across Honshu, the main island, I could get a JR (Japan Rail) pass; the JR pass was something visitors to the country could apply for, a one week pass to ride any of the trains. It cost several hundred dollars, but considering the amount of traveling in store it would actually save me around the same amount. I had to admit, I was looking forward to the Winter season once I arrived. My fashion sense was geared towards colder climates, and I had a good deal of natural resistance to such weather too. Of course, right now, in Singapore, I was lucky to be indoors with air conditioning, something anyone who has visited the area will agree with. Not that the country got particularly hot, compared to home, but the humidity resulted in a dense syrupy air that took some getting used to.

“Thomas!” I am alerted to a young man with prominent features. As he approached, I recognized who had called out to me.

“Jake, is that really you? You cut your hair!” It was an old friend of mine. He was much younger than me, about 8 years if I recall correctly.

“Yes, your number one disciple is here, it must be fate!” I laugh at our in-joke,

‘It’s a wonder to see you here, of all places! And I told you already, I’m not good enough to be anyone’s master, least of all a talented young man such as yourself.”

I smile fondly, recalling when this energetic young man and I became acquainted. A few years ago I had given a speech at the university about the nature of oneness in Tao; also known as the monad or henosis in Western philosophy. I addressed my own views on the topic, about the nature of Mind, Body, and Spirit, and how it was essential to work towards bridging the gap between these three. The idea was that, in time, Thought, Action, and Feelings would occur not so independently, but as a single true expression of Self.

Afterwards I spoke to Jake, who practiced aikido, one of Japan’s joint manipulation styles. His pursuit of lore relevant to Ai Ki, the principle of universal love overcoming resistance, was impressive, and had led him to my little talk in the first place. In addition, he took his training seriously, and augmented it with detailed historical research about Japanese martial arts. My particular speech, though unintentional, pointed him to some interesting new directions. Over time, and many discussions, he had come to gain some perspective and insight based on my philosophical views. Calling me ‘Master’ was based on a pun on my own twitter account ‘SureFoolShiFu’, but also a sign of his appreciation. I was touched though I always told him that he was too good to be my disciple. He continues his greeting,

“It’s good to see you again Thomas! Are you heading to Japan too?” Taking a closer look at him, I notice that he is wearing thick clothing, a sturdy looking parka on top of the trousers and sweater. I look at myself in comparison. I decided to wear my classic look, not a business suit, but black trousers, top, and my iconic black long coat. Along with a scarf, and my glasses, I didn’t seem out of place for Japan at all.

“Yes, good guess! Tokyo?” He nods, and explains that he had trained diligently in aikido for the past few years. Now he would be traveling to stay with Yoseikan Dojo in Shizuoka province. This practice was common enough with old-school styles too, and as a live-in student he would be expected to help the instructors with administration, maintenance, and basically anything requested of him, in addition to frequent training. Such students would normally have to find work to support themselves, but Jake explained that he was only there for an intensive month, and his family had funded him as a gift. He then asks me what I’m doing in Japan.

“Oh, I’m seeing friends. It’s my birthday soon, and I figured that I may as well usher in the final year of my 20’s in style!”

“Hah, that’s awesome! You should come visit me in Shizuoka, I think the instructors there will be happy to see you in action!”

“You must be joking, I don’t even do Aikido! Hahah, come on, we’ve got time before the flight, let’s grab a snack somewhere.”

We wander through the airport, which is essentially a small city’s smaller city. There are plenty of duty-free items for sale, and the entire place had been upgraded since I last visited, with a new food court as well as a butterfly exhibit. Walking into the later reminded us of Singapore’s climate, and we quickly exited on account of being too over dressed. Eventually it was time to board, and we mentally prepare ourselves for a seven-hour flight.

Chapter 6

We make it to Narita Airport, safe and sound. The arrivals sector was very futuristic (from my humble perspective), with the most efficient check out system I’ve ever been processed by. There was even an infections gate that scanned body temperature, to weed out any viral threats coming into Japan. I head out, cleared by each stop point, though at the declarations gate the officer was particularly interested in why I had so many chocolates. A gift, I explained, and he smiled knowingly. Surprisingly good grasp of English by the airport staff too, though I guess it’s to be expected.

Jake, being a tall and sinewy young man who didn’t come off the airplane as fresh as I did (my body being shorter and having more biological padding). I see Vik, and Maggy waiting for me, dressed very snugly, and our reunion created warmth that contrasted with the weather.

“Thomas! ThomasThomasThomas! I can’t believe it, you’re finally here!” My best friend and I embrace with emotional depth that as only two straight men can achieve. Maggy watches on, clearly amused at our display. Vik continues, “Well, it took us more than 10 years, but we can finally say we’ve met up in another country!”

“Yes… though the wait was long, surely I was worth it? Team Panda is back! Hahahah!” Team Panda was our trio’s nickname, coined by the literary pundit yours truly. To think that an animal could exist as simultaneously Black, White, and Asian!

“Awww, even your laugh is the same! No one laughs like that here! Hey, is that your friend?”

I introduce Jake to the group, and he is welcomed warmly. Maybe Maggy felt a kindred spirit in another Caucasian, especially as her time was now predominantly spent with people who weren’t. It was less a question of race and more about sociological identity. I, who grew up as an Asian in a Caucasian environment, could understand if that was the case. Although, come to think of it, Maggy’s circle of friends was remarkably diverse, so it could be that I was just over thinking it.

Jake was scheduled to rendezvous with a group of aikido practitioners later. But until then, he was invited to join us, and there was a look of pure delight on his face as Maggy informed him we were visiting a Samurai Museum in Tokyo. We make our way to the airport train station, where Jake and I spend a few minutes to collect our JR passes. Then we follow our guides to the correct tracks; I would have gotten lost if it had not been for them.

It was magical to walk out and see the pure white snow covering the landscape, though the streets and footpaths were mostly clear. I don’t know if it was the accumulated fatigue, or just the Tokyo rhythm, but Victor and Margaret walked at double the pace Jake and I did. I had to actively speed up, otherwise my body would slow down considerably. I wasn’t tired though, that much I was certain of. Power naps on the flights over here helped, but I was now in Tokyo! The crisp cold air cleared my head, and I was heading out with old friends to an actual samurai museum. I felt like I was in a movie set, with all the different sights, and smells and sounds, all around, surrounding me as I breathed in the city air. Even traffic lights played a beat to let people cross the streets! I was in Japan, and I was loving the experience.

It became clear to us soon that the JR pass was not an all access pass. On the subway, the officer on duty kindly pointed out that subways were not trains, and we fiddled with the ticket machines for a moment before seeing a button that read ‘English Menu’. That made things easier, but we still took a moment to work out how fares were paid. Yen is not a bad currency, but I have to point out that its fondness for coins made for a jingle-jangle transition (there were 3 or 4 types of notes, and double the variety of coins).

Other things that became apparent, as I drank in the sights, were a seemingly endless amount of convenience store (Konbinni as they are known), and the vending machines. These common place features permeated the landscape but grew endearing overtime. It could have been the novelty of seeing them for the first time, or maybe I simply biased from the neural cocktail my brain was swimming in; I felt as if I were a kid again, with unchecked wonder and unashamed joy. I smiled at everything and everyone. Many folks were wearing white face masks, yet more often than not I saw my smile being returned, albeit more conservatively. The masks were common place in Japan, as Vik and Maggy explained. In addition to filtering the air they served to act as protection from the elements in winter, something that didn’t occur to me due to my cold weather resistance. I wondered, how could anyone want to dilute these refreshing blasts entering their lungs?

For this reason I was mildly disappointed when we traversed the labyrinth that was public transportation lines, as another surprise was in store; the seats were heated here! Even I, who preferred cool temperatures, could appreciate the thoughtfulness and comforting nature of this innovation. Everywhere I looked around, the people were composed and orderly, the streets were all clean and I sensed that everyone here understood the value of individual contribution towards a better society. Okay, I’m done giving oral to Japan. I have to use a bathroom, so I excuse myself once we arrive in Shinjuku.

I take back what I said, about praising Japan, because even the toilets here are a masterpiece! Clean, definitely did not feel as if it were used by many people prior, like a high class hooker. Forgive me, that was uncalled for. How dare I compare this marvel to a prostitute?! I would pay to use a toilet like this, and even though I am a little intimidated by the extra functions, a helpful sign was able to show me all the basics. A few years ago I became a casual foodie, but rather than post on Instagram (which I only did a handful of times) I decided to review restaurants, and added my own unique twist: the score I gave included a bathroom review section. Nothing tasteless, just a score given to cleanliness, décor and overall impression. There were many soul crushing disappointments, and I feel as if many did not do their restaurant justice. However there were some fabulous bathroom concepts as well; one seafood restaurant had an aquarium in theirs! So I suppose my opinions on the Japanese bathroom had slightly more weight, but it’s hard to feel superior when I think about how hardworking the toilets here are. The seats were automatically warmed, and the walls showed not a trace of dilapidation, something unfathomable at a western train station bathroom. I wonder how much it would cost to buy one? I make a mental note to ask Vik and Maggy later.

It is a short walk to the samurai museum. I picked up very quickly that walking was an integral part of the daily commute, and maybe this was how my friends had gotten so proficient at it. Maggy was definitely not a slouch, but when we hung out back home she and Vik took a more casual stroll. Here, without even trying, their slowest setting seemed brisk by comparison. The architecture of Japan had more personality that I was used to. Small shops with a classic look somehow complement the skyscrapers and multi platform shopping areas. It was still early, about 11am, and my friends ask us if we are hungry.

“I’m not, how about you Jake?” He shakes his head before responding.

“Nah, I’m still a little full from the airline food.” Maggy then looks at her phone, checking the tours offered.

“It says here that the next tour is at 11:30am, and lasts until 1pm. Are you sure you’re okay waiting?” Jake and I both nod, more interested in the building before us than food.

The Samurai museum was two storeys high, in a more traditional building style with sliding wooden frame doors. There was even a full set of red samurai armour located at the front door! I marveled at how small the ancient Japanese were, until I realised that the armour only went up to the knees, and once you account for the rest of the legs, their height was more or less normal. We walk in, and see a small crowd gathered near reception. Maggy, always practical, goes to buy our tickets instead of gawking at the displays. In our defense, there’s a certain psychology involved with boys and swords, so we can’t be blamed for our distraction. Plus, as Jake pointed out, many of the displays were actual sets and not replicas. Amazing, I was standing right next to something that many had probably fought, even died in, and was now being exhibited for tourists hundreds of years later. An attractive young lady with red highlights in her hair motions for the group to gather. She is our tour guide, and spoke good English despite an accent; we are composed of westerners as well as Asians (likely not Japanese however), with Vik being the only black guy in the crowd.

“Hello everybody! Welcome to the Tokyo Samurai Museum. My name is (she gives it to us, though I can’t recall it), but you can just call me Mio!” Her bright and cute demeanor brought smiles on all our faces, and we soon discovered that she was good at her job. As we explore the ground level we become conscious of space, as the exhibits here were located on either side of an indoor pebbled pathway. Many of us did not know if it were appropriate to step onto to the gravelly floor just off the path, but everyone managed to settled into a good spot as we listen to her speak. Mio explained that samurai were the nobility class of warriors, and revealed that the armour we saw being exhibited belonged to the richest and most powerful of their time. I am familiar with Japanese history, having studied the Sengoku era until the Meiji period specifically, but it was wonderful to be reminded of names I had not needed to remember after passing exams. A brochure allowed even the unlearned to keep up as she mentioned dates and historical figures, namely Nobunaga, Tokugawa, and Hideoyoshi.

Mio was funny without being overtly so. She explained that Nobunaga was a great warlord who almost succeeded in unifying Japan, but he was “a mean boss”, so his subordinates killed him before he could. We learned that such armours were meant as political statements as well. One set used bear skin from China to demonstrate the fact that his family could afford bear skin from China. I was curious about the ornate, almost peacocking features on the helmets. Mio explained that the ancient Japanese were shorter, owing to less meat in their diet, so many leaders aimed to make themselves more intimidating with large helmet displays. Their partially shaven heads was to account for how hot the splendid armours became, and it goes without saying that they got heavy too, after a day on the battlefield. Our attention was then directed to a large mural painting, depicting a famous scene: the battle of Sekigahara in the 16^th century. Our guide once again charmed us with her funny description of the scene.

“As you are seeing, this is the battle of Sekigahara, which took place in Osaka. Just a replica though, the real one is in Osaka castle. Osaka used to be the old capital of Japan, until the Tokugawa Shogunate established itself in Edo, in 1603. In this corner you can see the men fleeing from the battle, having lost. In the corner, there are several men in various stages of seppuku, ritual suicide. Death by disembowelment was actually slow and painful, so that’s why you also see men with swords ready to decapitate those who commit seppuku. Now, why are there so many clouds in the picture? Simple, the artist who drew it was lazy and didn’t care anymore.” We all have a good laugh at that. An American man (or Canadian, I couldn’t tell) proceeded to ask if this was the same battle in the opening of the movie ‘Musashi’. Any fan of Japanese swordsman would immediately recognize that name: Minamoto Mushashi was a legendary swordsman, though Jake had explained much curious back story to me about the soldier who wanted to be a general, not a duelist. True to form, my knowledgeable friend interjects,

“Actually, this may not have been where Musashi was during Sekigahara. There was another battle being fought at the same time, in the area, so sources can’t say one way or another.”

The crowd, and guide in particular, are taken by his contribution. Taking advantage of the discussion topic, Mio explains that to us that Musashi was a great fighter, but distinctly not a samurai, who were of established lineage. We head to the second floor, and are asked to remove our shoes before entering. There are pigeon holes to store them along a wall, and of course, there is more armour here too. Mio continues her tour. We see a collection of different weaponry, such as swords, a bow that was bigger than her, and even old guns. She explains that Japan has 2 distinct swords, the tachi and the katana. To reiterate the point she made earlier about Musashi’s prowess, she also mentioned that it took decent strength to wield one effectively, yet the legendary swordsman used 2 in combat, forming the prototype of dual wielding. Thus, it could be concluded that the man was very strong as well as skilled, all the more inflating his status in popular culture.

“You see that the armour here is a little different. Why? The answer is behind us: guns. Old armours downstairs were designed for arrows and blades. But trading with the Portuguese introduced firearms to Japan, and once guns became common in battle, the armour was changed to reflect this.”

We move to a different section now, and it becomes clear that time was moving forwards a few hundred years. We see that the Tokugawa administration sealed off Japan until the 1850’s, when US Commodore Perry’s arrival forced Japan into reconsidering its closed door policy. Then the Civil war of the Imperialists, who wanted to open Japan to the world, and the Shogunate, which aimed to keep things as they were, erupted, resulting in the end of the Edo Period and the start of the Meiji era in 1868. We see the impact of western civilisation, and to my delight I also see uniforms of the Shinsengumi, special police force of the Tokugawa Shogunate. I do not practice Japanese martial arts, much less their swordsmanship, but since I discovered the group I was fascinated by the idea of the Shinsengumi, particularly Captain Hajime Saito and his iconic frontal strike technique. I’m glad that anime depictions show him as a ruggedly handsome man; historical sources indicate otherwise, and I felt that if someone couldn’t be attractive in life then at least there’s some comfort in posthumously being so.

The tour is coming to an end, but we are all offered a chance to wear different costumes for photo opportunities. I jump at the chance to put on the outer robes of a shinsengumi uniform, complete with headband too. Ah, I suppose wish fulfillment was not so bad. Vik and Maggy put on a beautiful set of brocade robes, a brilliant flowing vermillion for Maggy, and a handsome dark set for Vik. The attire matched them, and I swear, they seemed to generate their own little bubble as I took their picture. A picture perfect moment.

My own photos are nothing impressive, as usual, but I also try the samurai helmet and face mask. To our surprise, and amusement, they fit me perfectly, facial structure and all. Poor Jake, the helmet kept slipping over his eyes when he tried it on, though he didn’t seem to mind. It was mentioned earlier that Darth Vader’s look was based on samurai armour, and I was able to imagine how intimidating we would look to those who did not know us. Jake and Mio had struck up a conversation, mostly about his own knowledge of Japanese history. I smile inwardly- Jake has a fondness for pretty women. Mio may be a little older than him, but that could be a good thing; dating a slightly older woman was very educational, I’ve heard. Suddenly Jake is excited by something she said, and Mio repeats it for the four of us.

“In about 20 minutes we have a live samurai demonstration, in the room next door. It is open to the public, would you like to come along?” We are all very eager, and wait downstairs for the event to start. To pass the time we look at the gift shop, and explore the various wares. It was really more of a gift room, as there were no doors: like a box with one side missing. Swords, and other samurai memorabilia for sale are lined against the wall, along with keychains and other novelties. I noticed a selection of coin purses, which reminded me of the handful I had been storing in my pockets. Jake is immersed in the small book collection in the corner while I consider buying myself a replica men-gu, the facemask I had tried on earlier. It was a good replica, as in 30 000 Yen good. Too good for me. I wander back to Vik and Maggy, just outside of the shop entrance.

“Are you doing okay, Thomas? You must be feeling hungry by now.” Maggy expresses concern at how thin my face seems, but I assure her that it was no big deal to wait until we were done here.

“Well, the entire demo only takes half an hour apparently, and there’re lots of really nice places all around here.”

“Thanks Maggy, what would we do without you?” My playful tones convince her that I am doing alright, and we all chat about everything we’ve seen so far, until it is time to head back upstairs for the exhibit. It is cramped, but there are floor cushions which take up about half the room. We take a seat in the back corner. Unlike most of the audience, Jake and I are kneeling instead of sitting cross legged; he does so because he knows it is the Japanese way, and I do it because my legs go numb otherwise. The room thickens as more people arrive, and we begin to squish closer, maximizing every inch of space. A small group of elderly Japanese men gather at the back, next to me. Typically polite, they excuse themselves, as if they were intruding upon my space.

“Ah, sumemasen (pardon me)!” an older man with full head of hair flecked with grey sits down next to me.

“Mo, daijoubu (it’s fine),” I smile in reply. He then mentions something to me, but as I did not speak Japanese I could only apologise with the few broken phrases I knew.

“Ah, gomen, watashi iie Nihon-jin desu. Wakaranai! (The grammar is all wrong, but it translates to something along the lines of: Sorry, I not Japanese, I don’t understand!).” He looks mildly surprised, but considering how I was dressed and sitting, it might have been my fault. Then he laughs, and replies in clear English,

“No problem.” I laugh as well, the awkwardness dissipating as our friendliness bridged the language gap. A side door opens, and the crowd hushes expectantly. To everyone’s surprise, 2 toddlers wander through, followed by their parents. The older gentlemen next to me exclaims,

“Ah, samurai!” Everyone bursts into laughter, as the presenter plays along. He is a round but sturdy looking, about my age, and presents in English for the benefit of the crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, just to be clear, these toddlers will not be fighting for us today!” Another chorus of laughter runs through the crowd. The door opens again, and this time it is obviously the samurai. We clap, and the man looks on solemnly for a moment, before turning and heading back out. We are stunned, until the presenter tells us that maybe he would come back if we cheered louder, which we do. The samurai pops his head and smiles, clearly playing his roles perfectly. I recall that this type of slapstick was very popular during the mid 20^th century in Japan, as well as South East Asia, so I did not find it particularly strange to see it on display now.

It was soon apparent that this man was not just an actor: I could see how fluid and practical his transitions were as he began to take several poses with his katana. We watched in awe as he drew, slashed and almost parried the air around him while demonstrating his skill. Then, a golden opportunity arrived. The presenter asked for 2 volunteers, and Jake immediately placed his hand up. I also motioned for him to be chosen, hoping to increase the chance of his selection. I think it helped, as Jake was picked, alongside a light cocoa skinned girl, maybe of Indian heritage. They were introduced to the basic method of drawing a sword from the scabbard, and the difference in skill was immediately apparent to all watching, especially the samurai demonstrator; Jake had clearly not been slacking off in his training. In one instance of downward slashing, I saw the blade warp slightly under the force. Jake got a little carried away when the two volunteers were asked to Ki-ai (shout while exhaling). It was powerful, and even caused one of the small boys from earlier to start crying! But everyone had a good laugh, clapping enthusiastically.

When it was all over Jake asked for a photo while striking a pose with the man. The presenter translated questions from the audience, explaining that this man came from a school which was famous for their moves being incorporated in movie choreography. No wonder, those moves were all authentic and you couldn’t just stage that genuine factor.

We leave the museum in good spirits, and with good appetite. The question was where to eat? The streets were paved with different restaurants and dining establishments. At last we decided on ramen noodles, and entered a place Vik had tried before. Some doors in Japan were semi-automatic- you pressed a button to trigger them, rather than rely on a sensor. This feature had resulted in me almost stepping into the door, or ripping them off the hinges. Thankfully, I had enough wit about me to realize how it worked without looking too much like a lost foreigner.

A delicious hearty aroma of broth and other snacks washed over us, and fortunately located a booth for 4 people after putting in our order. The system was essentially a touch screen menu that also allowed you to pay with cash. Something one has to get used to Japan is that a lot of transactions are cash based. This particular establishment didn’t take notes greater than 5000 yen, but our total meal of 4 ramen bowls, 2 plates of karaage (fried chicken) and a side of gyoza (fried dumplings) was barely 4000 yen. I open my wallet in a flash and pull out a 5000 note, despite the protests of my guides. I may be a guest in their country, but I know how to show a token of gratitude. Maggy and Vik had insisted on covering the Museum, so it was only fair.

Taking a seat, I am delighted to see iced water for our consumption. Even though it was chilly outside, it appeared as if the Japanese agreed with my taste for cold water when enjoying hot meals. I drink gratefully, for I had not realised how dehydrated I had become. The dishes arrive soon after we sit down, and I am once again impressed with the efficiency. I remove the pork rasher from my bowl, and give it to Vik, who is an avid lover of meat. I sift through the broth, and the steam coyly makes my mouth water. Taking the spoon I sample the soup, a rich and subtle blend of stocks and seasonings. Slightly salty, slightly sweet, entirely appealing and welcome to my empty stomach. The noodles were cooked well, not too soft but with just the right amount of chewiness that makes for a satisfying experience. Along with the gentle bursts of flavour from the mushrooms and bamboo shoots, my first ramen in Japan lived up to the hype.

The fried chicken was different to what I expected. The karaage I’ve tried were typically small pieces of crunchy goodness, but these were the size of fillets. Vik explained to me that this place was atypical, as the karaage at virtually every other restaurant was what I had experienced before. Flavour-wise it was succulent and as tasty as any I’ve had, with a rounded dose of seasoning in the crumb coating. I didn’t try the gyoza dumplings, but they looked fresh, and I could imagine the delicately stuffed fillings would have been a treat if I had more of an appetite. Vik asks,

“So, Thomas, how is it? Good?” I’m chewing, my mouth is full of noodles, so I nod vigorously. I swallow, and then reply properly.

“Yeah, it’s great, thanks for taking me here. Is this place a franchise or just a stand alone shop?”

“Er, I think it’s a franchise, there’s quite a few of them here. But there are also plenty of family restaurants here, and they aren’t in a rush to faze them out. Maybe the business is good, from tourists as well as locals. The work hours are pretty full on, so most single people aren’t up to cooking much if they work a corporate job.”

That remark made me think of Naomi. Was she overworked? Did she look after herself? I knew she was capable but still! Was she eating and sleeping properly? Did she have anyone to look after her if she fell ill? Was I a bad friend for not knowing???

“Oh yeah. That’s convenient I suppose. Oh, I recall that medication is really controlled here. As requested, I have played your drug mule, and gotten you a few things.”

“Thanks Thomas, it was sure nice of you to risk Japanese prison for me. You definitely dodged being someone’s bitch for sure!”

“Hah, I see you clearly need your meds, in prison I am no one’s bitch!” We joke around, knowing full well that I did nothing illegal. I had brought over a small amount of anti-histamines and a box of over the counter analgesics. All declared at the airport, so there wasn’t anything shady about it. I tease him, switching to my playful demeanor.

“It is a shame that you are so weak as to need them. I came to Japan with the clothes on my back, and my everyday carry bag. All the suitcase stuff is yours.” Vik plays along.

“Yes, but unfortunately I don’t quite have your ‘insulation’. I’m sure that if I had such ‘ample reserves’ I would not need extra clothing either!”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I went to the gym everyday in the week before coming here! I even got my six-pack back. I wanted to look good for my xuang di!”

“I bet you wanted to look good for someone!”

We laugh again, though mine was partially out of embarrassment. Vik and I had no secrets, for the most part. He knew how important Naomi was to me, and thankfully didn’t continue that line of conversation. We finish eating and make our way out. An American tourist asks us for change; he only has a 10 000 yen note and couldn’t buy ramen due to the currency cap on the machines. Vik deftly swaps him two 5000 yen notes, and the guy was now able to purchase a good meal. Instead he goes outside to buy cigarettes from the vending machine. I suppose he was going to eat after a smoke. I also considered buying some cigarettes, but Vik told me that it was cheaper at an actual shop, so we continue along our journey. I don’t smoke, but I liked the idea of carrying a pack. The next stop, Edo Castle!

Edo Castle was closed. Funnily enough, it was open every other day except today. That’s timing for you. But we make the most of a good situation, and walk around the moat for a while. Even in this season, there were plenty of joggers, and a whole team of runners in blue tracksuits. After that we make our way to Akihabara, a district famous for anime as well as pop-culture. There were robot maid cafés, school girls handing out flyers (they were dressed as school girls), plenty of shopping, and lots of anime based advertising, even on the buildings! Jake had to leave us soon, he was meeting up with a group heading to Shizuoka, Kanagawa, in about an hour. I tease him about getting a massage from one of the many parlours we pass by. He says that he doesn’t want to be seedy on the first day he arrives, but I also point out that here, massage parlours were likely to be just massage parlours, and there was even a sign with an express disclaimer, “Our clothes stay on!”

I found it funny, and then looked around more carefully to see whether or not I could detect any forms of exploitation. Maggy had explained to me that at certain times at night there were female exclusive trains, to prevent unsolicited groping from perverts, which I found shocking as it reminded me of the darker side each society possessed. Still, as I couldn’t detect anything shady going on, I decided to just enjoy the sights at face value.

We enter a store that catches our eye, and I found myself looking at a simple dark blue and white yukata. I used to think that kimonos were for girls while yukatas were for guys, but I now know that they are styles of clothes which cater for both men and women. Jake finds a pair of geta, wooden shoes, that he fell in love with, though they cost about 5000 yen. My yukata was about 4000, once tax was factored in. With my limited grasp on the local language I was able to interact with the elerly service lady, who explained which sizes I would probably need, considering my build.

In this country, prices do not automatically include tax, and I was glad to be proficient with mental maths, which allowed me to calculate costs more accurately. Maggy found herself a beautifully crafted wooden jewelry box, which she allowed me to pay for. Foreigners visiting Japan were granted tax exempt status for purchases over 5000 yen. I was pleased. I was glad to do something for a friend, and this only sweetened the deal for us. The shop staff knew a little English, though at this place the staff also spoke Mandarin. I found it comforting as I understood more of that than Japanese. However we only converse in English. It’s an unwritten rule in retail that the customer and the staff would only be understood when they were addressed, allowing the illusion of privacy when multilingualism was a factor. At least, when I worked in retail that was what I had come to learn, though it was over 10 years ago. As we leave, I hand Maggy her item.

“Thanks Thomas, let me pay you back.”

“No, I insist, you’ve been a wonderful tour guide! It’s the least I can do.” She smiles, and accepts my gift, knowing me too well to bother arguing.

Jake takes his leave from our group, and separates from us at the station as we head to different platforms. I wish him well.

“Good luck over there! I’ll come by on Wednesday to see how you do! Send me the address and everything later! Stay warm, don’t catch a chill!”

“Yes Master!” Jake leaves us and I watch him disappear around the corner. Vik and Maggy lead me to the platform that headed to Zushi. It isn’t a long ride, and we are silent on the way back, letting the day wash over us as we process my debut in Japan.

Chapter 7

We made it Zushi station, and proceed to walk to a place Vik highly recommended; I was going to try my first Okonomiyaki in Japan. We make our way to a family owned business about 3 floors high, not that far from the Station. Owing to the time, rush over was over and we found a table quite easily. Okonokiyaki is essentially a savoury pancake, translated as “things you like, grilled”. There’s meat and stir-fry vegetables, mixed together with a sauce and cooked to a crispy perfection. As an added bonus, we get to flip it ourselves with the spatulas provided. It was good, I was especially fond of the texture, and the zesty carrots were a choice complement to the cabbage’s mild flavour.

Afterwards we also partake of yakisoba, a stir fry dish comprised of buckwheat noodles. I enjoy this immensely as well, turning over the noodles periodically, before threading strands of steaming hot noodles into my mouth. Vik orders a beer, Maggy and I just stick with water. The food was good, and the staff were all friendly, familiar even. As Vik had visited quite a few times before he was quite comfortable with the young man who served us, the owner’s son, and assured him that the food was ‘honto oishii’ (very tasty). I realize too that Vik’s grasp on Japanese was understandably better than mine. He did live here. In addition to studying from a conversational phrase book, I had listened to various chat room conversations off Youtube to get a feel for everyday spoken Japanese. It helped, but only on an intuitive level, and I was far from having any real conversations in Japanese. Vik wasn’t fluent yet either, and I occasionally picked up on terms he wasn’t familiar with, but he did most of the ordering as I filed away notes for later: in 2 years, when he returned and we had our fluency contest, I would not be so easily defeated.

“Are you full Thomas?” Maggy checks in on me, as I am quiet. It usually prompted some sort of alarm in those I knew, if I stayed silent too long. Being introspective is not out of my character, but most people assume that my extrovert side is the dominant one; it’s half and half, though I am not quite sure if I qualify as an ambivert. I nod, and indicate that I would like to purchase some rice wine spirits before we head home. Paying our bill, and respects to the owners, we make our way to find the closest Konbinni: Family Mart.

Vik explains that the chain was one of the leading ones in Japan, along with 7-11 and Lawsons, and as it was my first time in one I took great delight in perusing the wares. Another friend of mine had lived in Japan for a year teaching English, similar to what Becky did, and he explained that a lot of single men still didn’t know how to cook properly as they were waiting for wives to do it for them, hence the popularity of instant meals at Konbinnis. And I saw that it wasn’t cheap take out either, but a wholesome assortment of sandwiches, sushi, riceballs, and ready to microwave noodle/rice dishes, as well as assorted hot foods like chips, fried chicken and local delights. There was even an option to heat your food, for customers who wanted to consume it right away. Being greeted whenever I walked into a store was also something I was getting used to, and I was taken back when even this convenience store treated me with such attention. I am tempted to get a bunch of potato chips and sweets, out of impulse, but I only end up getting a 750 mL bottle of Sake. I would come to regret it, but I decided not to get any soda to help with the taste, deciding that I wanted to experience it undiluted while Vik and I talked.

Walking back to their home was another pedestrian wonder. Though they didn’t live too far away, the fact that this would be our final trek of the day seemed to weight down to our steps, almost as if the momentum was running out. It was only 9pm, but that was still over 14 hours since we have been up; I since my arrival at the airport, and they for meeting me there as early as they did. Maybe it was why I felt as if I was being transported to another world, especially once we reached the tunnel. Wind traveled through at a different speed inside, and the sounds of our footsteps added an ethereal overtone. Our voices echo off the walls as we continue to chat about their home, which was small but held a homely feel, so I should feel comfortable. Exiting the tunnel we travel up a small slope; I should mention the architecture here was again different to anything I had seen, though that could just be because it was already dark by now. We make a left, and within a couple of meters we arrive at the end of our destination: their flat. Our time to wind down from the day was finally here.

It is cold indoors, though I expect that it would get warm soon enough. Vik takes a shower while Maggy gives me a tour of the place, and together we unroll the futon mattress, which wasn’t too thick, but definitely not thin. Once Vik is out he helps us find covers and blankets; I would be sleeping at the base of their own mattress. I should mention that they didn’t have a bed, which Vik was glad about as he wanted to experience classic Japanese living conditions. I can only assume that when Maggy moved in (she was busy sorting some affairs before joining her partner) she demanded that they get a thicker mattress, and hence I was sleeping on Vik’s old one. That is what I assumed, for I did not question it.

My friends had given me a grand tour of parts of Tokyo, and now welcomed me into their home, and even provided a bed for me. I wasn’t sure how to say it, but I was touched at how they welcomed me so easily. I told Vik before I came here that I needed to see him, and talk face to face, and he accepted without further questioning. He truly was my xuang di, a brother that I chose, a man who I might eventually kill but would never betray.

I joking say that I would be under the sake oath, using alcohol to act as covenant between us to ensure we were honest- that applied more to me than he, for he was a man with little to hide, while I am someone comprised of secrets and numerous interpretations. He takes out a sake set he has kept for occasions such as this. Maggy puts on headphones in the next room, to give us privacy as we talk.

“Vik xuang di, we are here in a strange land, but far from strangers. I will pour you a toast to show you my esteem. To begin, take your cup into your hand, and I will fill it.” I open the bottle I had bought, and fill his clay vessel. He takes the bottle once I am done, and does the same for me. The first pour of sake should always be to one’s guests, and the guests should receive it with their cup in hand. After that, the rules were more relaxed. We toast each other, arms linked, and drink the sake in one gulp. I fight the urge to wretch, and I snarl silently as the alcohol makes its way down my throat, into my stomach. Vik makes a face, but finishes the cup.

“Thomas, I should have warned you, convenience stores aren’t known for vintage drinks. This stuff is so rough!”

“It’s alright, I don’t drink for the taste, though I regret not getting coke now! You don’t have to continue.” The taste was on my breath, despite only one cup. I couldn’t put my friend through any more, though I planned to finish what I had started.

“Well I’ll drink with you, but I’ll use the sake I have in the fridge!” he ducks out of the room temporarily while I refill my cup. He comes back with a bottle about the same size as mine, but just over half filled. I drink another cup, and take a moment to recover from the revulsion. I could feel it burning in my stomach, like a fire, or a glowing coal. Vik is more moderate and sips his cup. He then proceeds to ask me,

“Why did you really come to Japan, Thomas? I know you want to be here, but I can also tell that I’m not the only reason.”

“Sigh… I’m here to gain some perspective. Part of that involves you, right here and now, but I know another part of that is Naomi. I have to see her again, because I haven’t stopped loving her, not once in the past 6 years. So I think it will help me understand what direction to take next.”

“Forgive me, but that’s bullshit.” Stunned, I look up, directly at my best friend. Surely he wasn’t drunk already? He continues,

“You make it out as if seeing her again will solve some great riddle you’ve struggled with for the last 6 years. But let’s talk about who you’ve been for the last 6 years! What kind of direction could she give you that you haven’t come to by yourself?”

“Hey, I may be head over heels for her, but I haven’t been wasting my life waiting for her or anything! I’m doing what I want, exploring all kinds of different enigmas about the human condition. I’ve worked in all kinds of industries to better understand life and living. Seen and experienced so many different things! I even act as a mentor to talented young individuals… surely that’s not nothing?

“Look, Thomas, do you remember what happened to you after you broke up with your first girlfriend Laura? You were so sure of your future together that after she dumped you… you sorta went off the deep end.”

“Come on, let’s not bring Laura into this, okay!? I loved her, emphasis on loved, but she’s now happily married, a mother, and running her family’s business. Besides, what I feel for Naomi is on a whole different level.”

“Is it? Is it really?!” Vik inquires with a look that desperately seeks to make me understand something that should be obvious, except it wasn’t.

I don’t even notice it, but I have gone through several cups of sake at this point and my head is spinning, slightly. This was unusual, I didn’t normally get this way even with whiskey, why would sake have this affect? I look Vik in the eye, determined to defend my stance.

“Yes, it is what I believe. And if you weren’t my xuang di, I wouldn’t even try to explain the way I feel about her to you. I need your honesty, but I don’t need to be fixed.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that you get super self destructive when dealing with unrequited love. When Laura left you I was there to help you mend, so I have some right to mention her, don’t I?”

“Yes, yes… I have no secrets from you… but why is this even relevant?”

“When your high school girlfriend decided that she didn’t want a future with you do you recall what happened?”

‘… I started to branch out, do different things, I got my act together instead of being such an uxorious boyfriend. So what?” I play it cool, but my voice wobbles, betraying me.

“What does ‘uxorious’ mean? Never mind, that’s not the whole truth, and you know it! You swore to never date again, and then drove yourself almost to death by working 3 jobs, and doing a double degree! I watched you lose so much weight, become so gaunt and sickly… It hurt, man, especially when you kept getting those nosebleeds! That’s what happened to my cheerful, vibrant friend from highschool, the same guy who was a role model, and always made others feel better by listening to their problems. Don’t you see? You’re so used to putting other peoples’ happiness about your own that you didn’t want to admit how badly you could be hurt!”

“I can admit it now! But that all changed, and part of that was when I became friends with Naomi. I still remember every moment of that initial meeting. She was like an angel, an angel in a yellow top and a denim short skirt, and flip flops. Meanwhile I was bloodshot and sun burnt from staring at the sky all weekend at my countryside job. Wearing the most horrible clothes I had because I didn’t have time to do any laundry. That was her first impression of me! It makes me cringe to this day…But I changed after we became friends, starting eating better, gave up unreasonable shifts, and even starting proper hygiene again. In fact, when Naomi joked about how my hair was greasy, I started to condition it, and started wearing more fashionable clothes too. And I still get lots of attention from girls, so I’m doing fine, aren’t I?

“But not from HER. And that’s my whole point! Everything you did to impress her only made you seem weirder, and you know I love you but, for the love of God you have to let the crazy out a little bit at a time man!” Vik wasn’t shouting, but he was emphasising each syllable slowly, as if to get it through my skull. I drink another cup, cursing the taste. The bottle still had a third of that foul substance left.

“So what, if she doesn’t feel the same way? Even if she doesn’t want to date me, she’s an awesome person, I’m quite glad to be friends. I admire her, in the same way I admire you, xuang di! Living away from home, making progress through your career with a wonderful woman by your side? I’m not even jealous, that’s how much I care about you!”

“Thanks Thomas!” Maggy communicated behind the closed screen of the room next door, indicating that if she could hear us the neighbours probably could too. The content didn’t matter, they most likely didn’t have a sufficient grasp on English to understand us, but noise was a problem all the same. Vik had told me stories about the non-confrontational nature of people here, and he had previously received polite notes asking him to keep it down. The Japanese do love their quietness. I lower my voice.

“Do you have something to help wash out this taste? Anything?” He proceeds to get me a carton of grapefruit juice. The drink tried its best, but I could barely taste it after the sake. Vik continues,

“I’m flattered, as the praise comes from a very smart and capable man. But ask yourself, what kind of life do you lead nowadays? Why do you think your parents are trying to get you to marry? It’s because your life is aimless! Don’t deny it, Thomas. You apply for jobs that are beneath you, refusing to get paid for any of the seminars or private teaching, even refusing offers to do regular speeches or promotions… is it because you still don’t believe in material wealth? No girl can live up to the impossible standards you’ve set, because to qualify- to even stand a chance they’d have to be Naomi. In the end you’d rather not have any intimacy with any girl, that’s the impression I get.” He pauses as his words sink in, and continues,

“You have real potential, real talent, but instead I see you wasting it because deep down you don’t want to move forward with your life. Other people see you as this almost invulnerable, inhuman being, but I know you as the kid from high school who shared his books with me when I started my first day. You’re hurting, even if you say otherwise, and it’s hurting me to see you like this after all this time.” I look down, a little ashamed by what he says, but I refuse to be cowed for long.

“Are you asking me to do better for you? You’ve never understood how much I have to sacrifice to keep the peace… Am I selfish to hold on to my feelings? Just once, I want to do something selfish without having to feel guilty about it!”

“You’ve never seemed to understand, Thomas, that I want you to do better for YOU! I accept you unconditionally, and I want you to know that you’re worth it…”

“I acknowledge your love! I drink you another toast!” And I drain the remainder of the bottle, struggling afterwards to hold it together, to keep everything inside. I understood now what had happened- the emotional imbalance caused by this conversation has sapped my internal strength, and without my convictions I was a sitting duck for the alcohol. I wasn’t actually drunk, but I was definitely out of my element, unsure how my normally controlled body would react.

“I toast you, my brother from another mother!” He also drains his bottle. It was a milestone for us, we never drank together back home, as I usually abstained, but tonight we had drank more sake than he had ever tried in his life. I am touched by this realization.

“The truth is… I came to Japan to say goodbye, to you and Naomi, just in case I entered a secluded priesthood somewhere. I’m choosing to do it now, because I feel my mortality, xuang di- I’m losing more hair everyday, and my eyesight is starting to get worse, so I just wanted to see you both, and be remembered as a young man… Do you think our bond can survive that? I have to see Naomi again. I mean, I’m in Japan, how could I not? And when I see her, and tell her how I feel- that I love her… I’ll make my peace with everything. This chapter of my life is closing, so I wanted to give the ending a just- do it justice… Errrrughyp.”

My body had decided that as it couldn’t suppress the alcohol, it would simply jettison it. In 3 consecutive waves I unleash the contents of dinner onto their rug and table. To my shame, Vik had to help me to the shower to clean up, and he found a spare set of clothes I used for sleeping, the only other set I brought, for me to change into. I miserably stay in the shower, letting the hot water wash over my body, trying to remove the stain of shame that hung over me as I rinse vomit off my clothes. I suppose Becky was right, you learn more about yourself when you purge, and I continue to expel several smaller loads into the bathroom. As it washed down the drain I feel my head spinning less, and I decide to get out before I wasted anymore of their hot water.

I poke my head, bashfully, into the room where my crime took place. They had done a remarkable job, the only tell tale sign being a light stain on the previously all white rug. But the two, kindly and concerned, usher me in, and do not berate me in the slightest. They give me water to drink, and tuck me into bed, where I quickly drifted off into a dreamless sleep. I felt… less alone. That was my final thought before giving in to complete oblivion.

Chapter 8

I awaken, not sure what time it was, but not hung over, I think. I didn’t have a headache, I could see normally, and suffered no loss of equilibrium when I tried to stand up. Vik was already up in the next room. I join him.

“Ohayo (Goodmorning),” I whisper, so as to not awake Maggy. He asks me how I’m doing, and once assured that I am fine he explains that he is heading out to give a lecture at the university. It is only 7am, but he is due at 9, so is heading out for breakfast and the bus stop. I accompany him, deciding that I could easily retrace my steps back to their home, and Vik gives me the keycard that will allow me entrance if Maggy is still asleep. He informs me that Maggy had taken a sick day in order to make sure I was alright. I felt bad, I had inconvenienced my hosts, but Vik explains that after the night we had Maggy would appreciate some time to recharge too.

We make our way back through the tunnel, it lost none of the charm from last night. At this hour, there were even school children making their way to various institutes, and a lot more road traffic too. In the open we could use our normal volume to speak, which seemed to bring me back from my alternate reality state. Soon we cross the tracks and are outside Zushi station. Vik has to wait for a bus, but in the 30 minutes before that we have breakfast. Or, he ate breakfast, while I had a black tea, not trusting my stomach with solids yet. Between bites of his eggs and toast, he continues last night’s discussion.

“So what are you going to do? Marriage is a big deal, but are you seriously able to give up secular life?” I shrug, and respond.

“No meat, no wine, no women. I spend all day reading, writing, doing simple chores to strengthen my character, and pursuing self cultivation. Not the worst life imaginable.”

“Yeah, but I dunno, it seems like a waste with your personality. At least you won’t molest any kids, right?”

“All things worth doing require some kind of sacrifice. Isn’t that the law of equivalent exchange?”

“Hah that’s pretty dark man! I remember Full Metal Alchemist, though I don’t watch much anime anymore. No time! Speaking of which, let’s say you do get married, what do you do?”

“Well, I would need to get a regular job, or win the lottery. I live just fine right now, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for my wife, or any kids we have. Regardless of what I do, I will be a responsible and dutiful husband, and ensure she is treated with every comfort I can afford, I suppose.” If I did get married I would have to make sure my wife was looked after properly. But there was always the chance that she wouldn’t care for me, and I would be off the hook, at least until mother found another candidate. I decide to leave it for now, it was something to worry about after I left Japan and returned home.

“What about love? Could you love her while still loving Naomi?”

“I don’t see what love has to do with anything. This is marriage, and one arranged by my parents. A partnership that will only work if both people are prepared to work for it, regardless of how they feel. My parents made theirs work for a long time after they fell out of love, simply because of the kids. So yeah, as long as she isn’t a psycho bitch, I think I could grow in love, even if I don’t fall in it.”

“Man, sometimes I am reminded that we come from very different worlds! You’ve always been hung up on duty and honour to family.”

“Hah! And you’ve always been fond of spouting dangerous new age ideas that threaten social collapse! Individuality? Freedom of expression? What about the greater good!?” I am being playful as usual.

“There can’t be a greater good if there isn’t lesser good my friend.”

“Lesser goods work in the short term; they don’t guarantee a better future. Not in the way being future oriented can.”

“There’s still no guarantee though!”

“No, there are no guarantees in life, but I feel more comfortable knowing I tried to make a difference in a way I can justify.”

We laugh, and decide to end our little debate as Vik’s bus makes its way to the terminal. We leave the diner, and embrace each other, maybe for the last time.

“Don’t you dare disappear on me, Thomas!” he jokingly threatens.

“I’ve said my goodbyes to you, just in case I do. I can’t promise anything, xuang di.”

‘Man you are so annoying, I should poke you in the eyes!” We both laugh at the false venom in his tone, knowing that it could be the last time we banter like this in person. He gets on the bus, as I stand and watch him disappear from view. Then I get to work.

I head to the Family Mart, which seemed much closer in the daylight. Vik had told me that there was still some of my mess on the rug, which I am determined to help clean up. I find a whole pack of antibacterial wipes to aid me on my redemption. I also pick up some eggs and bread, which I am reluctant to admit took longer than I care to mention. In Japan eggs were white shelled, and the bread was not like large western loaves, but smaller and sliced thicker. That made it harder for me to immediately locate them in the store. I also pick up a bottle of coke to help me recover from the sake, and a bag of chips, just because I liked potato chips. It was easy enough to make my way back to their home from there, and Margaret was up, having just finished breakfast.

“Hey Maggy, I hope my snoring didn’t keep you up!” She gives me a gentle smile, and nods her thanks as I hand her the bread and eggs: Vik told me that they were running low. I waste no time in helping her pack up the spare futon, and while she helps me plan my next destination I get on my knees and begin thoroughly combing through the rug, occasionally fascinated at the undigested food bits I found, namely carrot and cabbage. I guess I should chew for longer. Once the solids had been removed I begin to repeatedly go over the area in general with my sanitary wipes. I have worked as a cleaner before, both in the domestic and public sectors, so I was not afraid of getting my hands dirty. There’s always a sense of satisfaction in leaving a place better than you found it, and I knew enough about different types of cleaning to handle most contaminations. In this case I wanted to remove the solid particles, preventing any chance that I would rub them into surface, and then apply the wipes in different directions, depending on the grain of the rug. It wasn’t a perfect job, seeing as I was working without my usual gear, but fortunately there wasn’t any odour to worry about either.

I finish to the best of my ability, though still feel unsatisfied. They might decide to burn that rug, once I left. I sit down to glass of coke and pop open my potato chips. Maggy shows me the laptop, with my path laid out on Google Maps.

“Thanks Thomas, here’s the directions to Fujiyama. I’m jealous, you’re staying at the Mt Fuji Premium resort, on the mountain base!”

“I know! The tour guide got me a nice last minute deal. I think I’ll try to sneak up the mountain, as the pathways are closed around this time of year. Too many deaths. Not that I have anything to worry about, I’m immortal!” Maggy smiles, humoring my antics.

“Just look after yourself, okay? You know that Vik and I worry about you. There’s a lot of people who would be sad if something happened to you here.” I have the good grace to not spoil her sincerity with any flippant remarks. She really was a wonderful person, like a sister to me. I finish my drink, wash the glass, and collect my gear: packing did not take long. We head to the door, and hug quickly.

“I’d better go, I’m already behind schedule. Thanks for everything Maggy. I love you.” She pats me on the back.

“Yeah yeah, me too.” We laugh, and part ways. She collects the mail, while I wave farewell and continue my journey.

I’m not going to lie, I had been relying on my friends for public transportation cues ever since I arrived, and without them I was spending longer between stations, and bus terminals. Thankfully I was capable of asking for directions, and the transportation officers knew enough English to guide me on my way. 5 hours later, my behind was sore from the buses and trains, but I had made it to Kawaguchiko Station, the closest to Mt Fuji. It was breathtaking to observe the landscape, so many mountainous ranges! It would probably be something the locals are used to, but I came from a less topographic place, so the wonder of seeing mountains reminded me of Bilbo Baggins, and his longing for them in Tolkien’s ‘The Lord of the Rings”.

I wander around the bus terminal, which was really more a parking lot with bus shelters. The Fuji Premium Resort, like most hotels in the area, offered a free shuttle bus to their establishment. It wasn’t due for another 20 minutes though, so I float through the tourist centre and the transport station. Kawaguchiko station is located at a town, but my resort was isolated further up at the mountain base, surrounded by woodlands. Apparently there were deer, but not bears, which used to be here long ago but were now only found up North in areas like Hokkaido. I entertain the notion of meeting a bear, but decide that it wasn’t worth it- what if my jacket got damaged?

The time passes quickly enough, though 2 other shuttle buses had arrived from different hotels, and those false starts almost caused me to miss my actual shuttle from resigned indifference. Fortunately the driver called me by name, and along with 3 other passengers we make our way to the resort. While I was the only one waiting at this depot, I realised that the shuttle service had 3 other stops to ensure guests from all parts of Japan had transport to their destination. As I was the last one, we were all grateful to be able to reach it soon.

Driving in Japan was curious, and I did not know how they interpreted certain signals or even lights. The roads were small, maybe only slightly larger than a single lane from home, but everyone was efficient and managed to easily transverse them. Every time I saw oncoming traffic I had an instinctual, fearful flash of a sideward collision, but the mathematical principle of parallel lines held, and I soon grew accustomed to it.

We reach arrive a little after 5pm, and the check in is a smooth transition. The resort was not a typical hotel, more like a villa. All the rooms were located on the 2^nd floor in the same multi-storey building. The ground floor was reception and the gift shop, filled with typical knick-knacks and specialty items exclusive to Mt Fuji. One floor below was a basement filled with an anime library and games room/arcade. Levels 3 and 4 were the “Top of the Forest” Buffet Restaurants, Dinner and Breakfast respectively. There was a sports facility next door, and an onsen, or hot spring, located about 5 minutes walk away. I get settled in my room, which unsurprisingly at this point has a vending machine just outside. I swear, I’m going to miss seeing them when I return home.

I return to the reception, who informs me that dinner would be on in an hour, and that I could access their laundry at the building adjacent. I was wearing my black tracksuit underneath my trench coat, which I had fortunately taken off before drinking with Vik. As I proceed to use their Laundromat I ready myself for the smell. The laundry room was easy to find, and the lone security guard patrolling the corridors of that building indicated it was 24 hour. My clothes from the previous night were very damp, but aside from that they weren’t smelly at all. To add to my good fortune, I discover that laundry powder was free, and the washer and dryer only cost 200 and 100 yen respectively. Amazing value, and the machines looked quite new too!

Once that was settled I realise that the next hour and a half would be spent here, so I explore my immediate surroundings. Would you believe it, there was a small arcade here as well, and I spend the next 30 minutes blowing 1000 yen on the claw skill tester. As a fisherman would say, I almost caught a huge one, but I let it go last minute. Translation: I did not catch anything. Eventually my laundry was complete, and I made my way back to my room, before heading up to floor 3 for dinner. It cost 5000 yen, but I suppose a premium buffet would be about that much. It’s not like there were any other restaurants here, though the resort did offer take out pizza for guests who wanted something other than a buffet. Essentially, there wasn’t much competition when it came to their food.

I am greeted as I walk out of the elevator, and the young lady asks for my room number to send the bill. Then I seated in an exquisitely furnished dining lounge. There is an immediate ambience about this place, as I begin to relax and take in my surroundings. Beautiful dining music plays softly, while the dimly lit tabled areas give a gentle impression of privacy, almost as if to say that each guest was special here, that there was no need to rush the meal. Enjoy yourself, however you please. I help myself to ice water, and a glass of chilled oolong tea, before strolling through the buffet selections. I’m not sure if they had done so deliberately, but the colour coordination of the various dishes made for an attractive display. This buffet was a combination of Japanese/Chinese inspired meals, Mediterranean dishes, and an assortment of a salad options. I start with a platter of rice, tempura fish, teriyaki stir fry vegetables, and miso soup. Once I had finished with that I help myself to baked potato, and macaroni, both cooked in at least 3 different types of cheese, yet not heavy at all! The restaurant also gave complimentary crab legs, each the size of a child’s arm, as well as a platter of medium-cooked, chilled beef slices, with wedges that came with a delicately spiced aioli/gorgonzola dip. I enjoyed the beef and potato wedges, but avoided the crab legs, as I have a mild shellfish allergy I did not want to trigger this evening. My final platter consisted of rice and soup, to balance out the richness of what I had consumed. Ah, if only I could take Vik and Maggy here, they would have enjoyed this immensely, being partial to fine food, and of course my good company. When I’m not throwing up on their furniture.

I sit for a moment, to digest both food and thoughts for tomorrow. It was my intention to wander through the woods, until I arrived closer to the base. Mt Fuji was normally traversed from one of the lower mountain ridges, which one could reach by taking a bus to Mt Fuji Subaru Line 5^th Station. Quite a mouthful, but maybe in Japanese it rolled off the tongue more smoothly. The trek was an established one, and even had several rest points where mountaineers could purchase oxygen tanks and other supplies. However, such established pathways to the mountain top were closed during this season, especially with the recent snowfall. This did not deter me; I’ve gone skiing before, back in my home country.

On the second day of that holiday I grew ambitious, and armed with only a basic lesson I tried one of the more difficult slopes. The result was a spectacular failure, as I lost control almost immediately, falling over at such speeds that my skis were wrenched from my feet, and I proceeded to roughly tumble for several hundred meters before slowing down. For a moment, I lay still, before taking a sudden, long breath, and picked myself out from the snow. I was shaking, adrenaline coursing through my system, but otherwise unharmed and mostly glad to be alone. Naomi and Louise were on this trip as well, along with some other friends, and needless to say my pride could be injured more easily than my body. I had trekked back up the slope, gasping to breathe due to the altitude, and was lucky to recover most of my gear, though sadly I only ever found one of my gloves. Is it not saddening to think that a pair was now separated forever? I still have that one glove, though stopped wearing any afterwards, having discovered that my circulation was good enough to handle sub-zero temperatures. My skiing abilities improved dramatically after that confronting experience, and I could handle harder slopes by the end of the trip.

Still, I would not be skiing down Mt Fuji, I would simply scale it with sheer force of will.  I take a break from my mental trepidations, and decide to enjoy dessert before the place packed away for the night. I chose some fresh fruit, grapes in particular, and a cup of layered cheesecake. A few cakes beckoned, but I was full now, and only partook of one cube, a caramel with cream. Along with some hot tea, it was the idyllic way to end a sumptuous dinner. I knew that I could sleep well tonight, but before that, there was one more feature to try: the onsen. After a long day, a hot springs soak would be welcome.

I make my way down stairs and see the friendly woman from before. After asking about the onsen, she tells me it is 1000 yen for a session, which I consider a bargain. As I was walking away, however, she motions for me to return, and says that as the onsen closed in an hour she would hand me an extra voucher to use tomorrow, free of charge. Touched by her generosity I bow my thanks, and try to find my way to the lodge that housed the hot spring. It was not too far, and though the pathways had some confusing twists (in the dark anyway), the signs were sufficient to get me there. I punch in the numbers on my voucher, and the door slides open, for me to be greeted by an elderly woman. She explains that the men’s section was to my left, as mixed bathing was not allowed at this particular onsen. I make my way to a wood lined changing room, equipped with a bathroom and several lockers to house our clothes.

Nudity was required, which I had not been aware of, but I am already here so why not. It was a little nerve wracking however, as there were 3 other people also going in, 2 elderly and 1 about my age. I strip down, a little hesitantly at first, as I had not been naked with anyone for a long time; Vik has a key to my house and before he left the country he would often drop by unannounced, hence close calls on several occasions. Seeing how boldly the old men walked about, I decided to just engage in the moment, finding my zen, and was soon able to ease myself into the quiet rhythm of the place. At least it was warm here, shrinkage is not flattering for most guys. As I down to my underwear I see my reflection, and despite sounding vain I liked what the active locomotion in Japan had done for me.

As I mentioned to Vik earlier, I had been intensely training in the week before I arrived, telling myself that it was to get in shape for the traveling. I saw clearly shaped muscles all long my pectorals, something that enhanced my broad frame, and true to my word I did have a basic six pack, though the diet here had added extra definition to them. I found a surprising lack of fat in the food here, even with fried dishes! Feeling more confident, I finish undressing and head to the showering stations opposite the large rectangular tub. The correct position was to sit or kneel, and one thoroughly used soaps and shampoos to rinse off any impurities off the body. I enjoy the lather, as they had provided products containing sesame oil for hair and royal jelly in the body cleansers. I almost forgot that I was here to use a hot springs, so pleasant was it to shower here.

Once I am finished I climb into the tub, taking care not to let my little cloth mix with the water, as it was considered improper. Instead, I fold it into a square and place it on my head. Jake had mentioned that there was usually a screen of Mt Fuji in many of the onsen in Japan, but all this place had were tall glass window panes, and a door that led outside. As we were at the base of Mt Fuji, maybe it was a statement? In that case I really enjoyed how subtle the Japanese could be! I soak for a while, trying to meditate. In my state I try to compose a poem to reflect my journey.

An Atheist tries to believe in God,

A flower with thorns, waiting to be picked.

Confusion reflects the sleeping mind,

 Still waters reflect the truest self.

Where to find, forgotten treasure lost,

Preserved amidst the Winter frost?

I open my eyes, aware that I have zoned out, maybe for 20 minutes, and am now quite overheated. I make my way out, slowly, my body extra sensitive and woozy from the heat I’m emanating. I am not cooked, merely dizzy. A water dispenser helps me rehydrate, as I drink several cups in quick succession. Feeling my strength return, I breath deeply, and feel it traveling through my body, reorienting me. All the rest of the patrons had left, and as I make my way out I see the old lady at the counter was absent, probably taking care of the women’s section. I walk out into the darkness, the cool air a refreshing change of temperature. Returning to my room, I collapse into bed, and immediately drift into a dreamless asleep.

Chapter 9

I went to bed at about 11pm, and when I awoke the blinds prevented me from immediately knowing what time it was. It was 6:12am, and I was happy to have awoken at this time. Putting on my long black jacket I set off to explore the grounds. There was some light already, but the true sunrise was due in about 15 minutes, so I wanted to be awake when the full rays cast themselves over the resort. A few people are already up, mostly a Chinese team of students who worse red parka jackets. Pretty soon, the full majesty of solar radiation illuminated the area, perhaps enhanced by the white, reflective snow. I was watching the sun rise, in the land of the rising sun!

It’s not breakfast time until another hour, so I amuse myself in the basement arcade. I put in 100 yen in a pachinko machine, though it is a virtual one without the charming metal balls falling through the pins. I am unable to read the instructions, and so start pushing buttons and twisting the knob at random intervals, basically whenever the screen started more flashing lights and sounds. It quickly became dull, as I could not follow the storyline (yes, the game had a storyline incorporating pachinko as some form of space battle) but then I was delighted as the entire machine began flashing, and I saw that my credits had changed. I put in 100 Yen, which gave me 100 shots, and on the 26^th I had apparently hit a jackpot. The numbers kept climbing higher and higher, until it reach over 2000, at which point I press random buttons to try and collect my prize. No money fell out, but I did receive a bronze token with 777 on it. I am done with the game now, despite have 56 credits left, and take my token upstairs. The staff at reception aren’t sure what the token is for, and one accompanies me back downstairs to read the instructions. He determines that it is a token for more points. I decide to keep it, as a lucky charm, rather than cash it in or continue playing. It was breakfast time anyway.

Did you know there’s a reason that this place is called the Fuji Premium Resort? You can see the mountain almost up close, especially on the highest floor, where breakfast is conducted. I am equally impressed at the spread as it was not only delightfully varied but also arranged in the most appealing aesthetic. Colourful too. I saw little square slices of bread in green, black, and white; green tea, charcoal, and normal break respectively. And a platter of croissants, which I could not resist taking 4 or 5 at once (they were mini croissants, the size of my palm). Of course, in keeping with the theme of local cuisine, I also help myself to rice porridge, which I eat with dried seafood flakes and wakame seaweed. How hearty this breakfast was, especially after I discovered the tray of potato nuggets! I am in good spirits, and have a decent appetite despite last night’s feast. I would need it as if I wanted to make it to the mountain top I would need my strength, but I am careful to not overly eat, as I didn’t want to worry about a bathroom on the way there and back. Well, maybe just another platter of croissants, and juice, surely that would be fine.

I am still wearing my tracksuit, which I had brought along specifically to climb Mt Fuji. I decide to not take my jacket or scarf; the lighter I traveled the better. In fact, I only take my phone, my room keycard, and a small glass vial that fit easily in a side pocket. It’s 10:30am now, and I head out past the complex to scale this famous mountain.

It began simply enough, as I made my way into the forest, away from the resort. The forests looked as if they began to clear, but I knew that it was a deceptive openness. With sufficient snow fall the trees are buried, and I was actually making my way on top of the branches right now. It is tricky, but I managed to work out a system of testing my weight as I treaded towards the mountain. The view was breathtaking, and not only because the physical efforts made it harder to breath. Even as I was accustoming my breathing patterns to the conditions, I could not fail to marvel at the sight. Once I reached a bit farther up the trees began to reappear more densely, and my footing becomes relatively surer.

Navigation was less of a problem as my idea was to make it directly up the mountain as much as possible. I was no mountaineer, but I was determined, and whenever relevant I simply scaled the less impressive terrain to go straight up, rather than a zig zag weave. It was tiring, and soon I had to rely more and more on the paths of least resistant. Gravity was stubborn mistress. Occasionally I slip as I make my way higher, and most of the bruising I currently sustained was from losing my footing, or grasp. One time I had to try to brace myself, and end up scraping my knee on a branch hidden just beneath the snow. As I encountered the rockier parts of the mountains I regretted not having some form of gloves, although in general I prefer the sensitivity that my uncovered fingers offered.

Despite all the discomforts, I was enjoying myself. The air, the smells, and even the light were different here, cleaner and spiritually uplifting. To be honest, the reason I wanted to make it to the top was to see things from her perspective. Naomi had been there at the peak, and although I doubt I could identify the exact spot in her photo, I wanted to experience standing in her position, as if it would give me insight into her mind. Maybe it was my way of compensating for the distance between us; how strange that despite being physically closer to her than I had been in years (yet still so far away), this mountain was reminding me, more than ever, of the uncertainty which obscured my true feelings. I was in love with her, had stayed in love all this time. Often, I thought that perhaps what I was doing was unhealthy, that maybe I was addicted to the idea of loving someone unobtainable. Courtly Love, as it was known in classic literature. Yet what I said to Vik was true! We definitely qualified as real friends, in spite, or maybe because, of how I felt. We were people who could express honest opinions to each other (with the exception of my feelings), and who had shared experiences. I enjoyed it when I made her laugh or learned more about who she was, and we genuinely cared about each other’s well being. Yes, she was very attractive, but she was also adventurous, kind, refined and cultured, with a work ethic second to none, and a zest for life that was infectious. I do not think it is surprising to fall in love with such a person. I want to think I am a better person for having known her.

What did she think when she witnessed the sky and the realm beneath her that day? I can only guess, for my phone beeps. It is about 4pm, I have been on my side adventure for over 5 hours. My phone had been fully charged when I left in the morning, but the cold, along with the stupid fact that my GPS had been left on, resulted in only 15% of battery remaining. 14%, it was fading fast. According to the app, I had about a quarter of the mountain left before I hit the approximate peak, but I also knew that I was not in a direct path to my hotel, and being stranded on a mountain that was supposed to be off limits did not appeal to me. I knew that my journey could not go any further, unless I entertained suicide by exposure, which I did not. Resignedly, I take out the tiny empty glass bottle, and fill it with the whitest patch of snow I can find. I wanted to take snow/water from the peak back with me as a souvenir, but this would have to suffice. I do what I can to reduce battery drain from my phone, and periodically turn the GPS on and off to check my position as I return to the hotel, slightly dejected but also kind of glad I was being responsible. By my standards anyway.

The time is 7:26pm, and I see the outline of the resort in the dark, the lights are twinkling, beckoning me back after a long day. I am too tired for a buffet dinner, but that’s alright, I needed a change of pace. When I get to the reception it is closer to 9pm. A man with glasses, the same one who helped me with pachinko earlier in the day, assists me in ordering a pizza, I choose basic margarita for 2000 yen, and head to my room to shower before it arrives.

I am exhausted, mentally as well as physically. Soon after I stepped out of the bathroom, refreshed from my shower, there’s a knock on my door- the pizza arrives. It smells good, with a sharp aroma of cheese, maybe parmesan. After wolfing down a few bites, I am aware of my thirst and quickly go outside to the vending machine. One coke wasn’t enough, so I grab a lemonade as well. My trek was more challenging than I had imagined, as I observe myself in the mirror. Quite a bit of bruising covered one side now, all of which was covered by the bath robe provided by the hotel. It was why the delivery man wasn’t alarmed, though I suppose they would respect my privacy here. Most of the blood around my right thigh and knees had been washed away from the shower, and the superficial wounds would dry soon. Hands were scraped, but not too badly.

My phone and tracksuit was actually still in one piece, and I am grateful that my fondness of black clothing camouflaged the dried blood. I reflect about what had happened since I left for my climb, and consider what I could have done differently if I were to try again. Before long I can feel my eyelids getting heavy, and I settle into bed, my spirit faintly bitter about the disappointment. I was at Fuji, and I had failed to reach the peak. Maybe I was ashamed of my cowardice, for I felt relief when my phone gave me a reason to come back down. Or it could be that I felt cheated at not being able to reach the peak. Whatever it was, I soon stopped thinking about it as I closed my eyes and feel my mind dimming.

Chapter 10

Initially greeted by a stiff and sore body, I stay in bed past the allotted breakfast time. I am not hungry, so do not mind, but I was surprised at a piece of good fortune: the bruised swellings from yesterday had gone down overnight, and while still sporting patches of discoloration, I felt fine. After rousing myself out of bed and doing a quick physical I check my recharged phone and learn it is about 10am. Check out was in an hour, and as I had little packing to do I simply put on my normal attire and pass the time in the gift shop. The check out procedure was simple, and was mainly concerned with any unpaid bills: for me it was a breakfast and dinner buffet, and last night’s pizza, which in total amounted to 8000 yen. I understand now that while the room wasn’t especially expensive, staying multiple nights with multiple buffets could quickly become so. Thank you, Fuji Premium Resort, you certainly lived up to your name.

The shuttle bus arrives at 11:00am, and I find that it is full of other passengers too. The term shuttle bus is a bit of a misnomer, for it was more a van, and on this instance there was a young lady who had gave me a smile that could be interpreted as friendlier than politeness required. I smile, charmed, and am about to attempt conversation with my paltry Japanese, though I suppose she may have been Chinese. Timing was not on my side, as a whole of team of red jackets suddenly make their way from inside the building and begin to board the vehicle. The moment was swept away, and becomes part of the realm of what could have been. Once we reach Kawaguchiko station everyone bar the girl disembarks, and I suppose that if we did have anything to say each other it would have wait until our paths crossed again. At Kawaguchiko I purchase a bus ticket to Mishima, where after 3 hours I would be riding the train again. Not just any train, but a Shinkansen bullet train, the fastest rail in Japan. It would take me to Shizuoka station, where I could rendezvous with Jake.

I make it to Mishima by early mid-afternoon, and am excited to see it lightly snowing! The JR office had a small queue, but I am processed quickly enough and get myself a reserved seat on the next shinkansen to Shizuoka, arriving in just over 10 minutes. This is my first time riding a bullet, and I was curious as to what was in store. I wasn’t expecting the Concorde, but it went without saying that it had to be fast! As I bide time on the platform I see a little kiosk, selling not only food but all manner of news agency wares too. Did I mention that the Japanese are so organized, even their trash is separated into different categories? I am used to ‘waste’ and ‘recycling’ where I’m from, but here I was paying extra attention to where I disposed of ‘paper/cardboard’, food waste’, ‘metals’ and ‘other waste’: this was a country which prided itself on thoroughness!

I prepare to board the now approaching train, and could distinguish it immediately. It was sleek looking, and I was mildly impressed at a particular design feature that muffled the displaced air as it came to a stop. The inside reminded me of a more spacious airplane’s, with lanes that featured overhead space for luggage storage, and even a few passengers in deep sleep. A bathroom was located on one of the carriages (I was in compartment 3). I settled into a comfortable chair, by public transport standards anyway, and before long we are bound for Shizuoka. In mere seconds, I can feel the momentum as the train kicks off, and while it was not exactly unpleasant, I was glad to have an empty stomach.

After arriving in good time, and mentally noting that in future I must take advantage of the Shinkansen more often, I decide that it is time for lunch, and I knew just the place: McDonalds! I take a picture of the place once the google maps lead me here, and proceed to order. This place did not have an English menu, and I assume it was because it saw less tourism. Still, they had an illustrated menu which I was able to point at as politely as possible. I have been to many McDonalds in my time, and this was my first one in Japan. My fillet-o-fish burger is good, but I was in love with the fries, which came super-sized! All in all pretty decent, and as the meal only cost about 600 yen I was tempted to order more, but ultimately decide against it. It was time to head to my destination, a flat that Jake was staying in while he trained here.

Walking there took some time, maybe 40 minutes according to my phone, but the air was good and I took interest in the change in architecture. This place held a different appeal to Tokyo, less advertising, almost unassumingly inviting. Before I knew it, I was already there, and knock. After a bit of fumbling, Jake opened it to greet me, coughing, with an ashen face and slumped posture. What had happened to him?!

“Woah, you don’t look too good, let’s shut this door!” We make our way inside, and head to his room, where he collapses on the bed. He has an actual bed, not a futon, but I suppose his family wanted him to be as comfortable as possible while staying here. I quickly check his pulse, feeling that the beat was rapid and weakened, not good news. He had a slight temperature, and though I suppose as I was outside and he had been inside, he may have just been keeping warm. The complexion was pale, and his breathing was raspy. He quietly explains that his throat is sore. Tokyo had given him a chill, and he had been recovering since yesterday. We had not been in contact since parting ways at the train station, but his symptoms had worsened yesterday. When I asked him if he had any taken any medicines he mentioned that all he could find at the convenience store were lozenges, and I see a half empty pack lying on the bedside desk. Of course, I think to myself, the sale of medications was controlled here, and over the counter pain relief medicines weren’t readily available, even at certain pharmacies. He begins to grow distressed, as he explains to me that the initial training session was in 7 hours. His voice is flat and dejected as he continues,

“I’m weak. That’s what they’re going to think. And they’re right… I came all the way to Japan, and I get sick the moment I arrive. I’ve disgraced myself…” His self berating words are interrupted as he get ups, clears his throat, and spits out some of mucus. He drops back into bed, and shivers, exhausted by the effort it took to walk to his bathroom. I try to reassure him.

“You’re being too hard on yourself, getting ill is to be expected if you are exposed to cold conditions. Plus, you’re a thin guy, less insulation. They’ll be other training sessions once you’re better…”

It breaks my heart to see the look of anguish on his face, and his eyes grow misty. His voice is now thick with emotion, not just mucus lining the walls of his throat.

“Tonight the head instructor, Washizu-sensei, is coming to welcome us personally. He won’t be back for another month, and this will be his first impression of me! But I can’t train like this, I can barely stand. I’m sorry, you came here, and I’ve let you down too Thomas, after getting you to help me write an introduction letter…”

I try to reassure him that he had done no such thing. Introduction letter? I was confused. Getting up, I go to boil water, and prepare some tea. At the Fuji Premium resort guests had been given free samples of green tea, and at the risk of sounding cheap I had grabbed more than a few packets before leaving. It came in handy now, as I prepare a cup, and blow, eventually cooling it enough for Jake to drink. He does so slowly, but finishes the cup. Then I remember, months back Jake had asked me if I knew anyone who could help him translate a letter into Japanese, which I had passed along to Naomi. I didn’t read the letter, so I didn’t realize it was for this trip. Hearing his self-disappointment made me think of Naomi, and how I regretted not making a better impression when we first met. I decide on a course of action.

“Jake, where are the door keys?”

“Uh… on the kitchen table, why?”

“You’re going to make it there tonight, with some luck, but I need to get some things to make that happen.”

Taking his door keys, I head out check my phone. The closest yakkyoku, or chemist, was barely 10 minutes away. I immediately head there, wonder if it was actually a pharmacy (it was a small room, without aisles of products like I am used to seeing). The staff there, one young and one middle aged, greet me in the manner I have grown accustomed to here, and I try to confirm if this was the place.

“Konichiwa, kore was yakkyoku desuka (Hello, is this the pharmacy)?” They quickly assure me that it is. I steady myself for the next part.

“Watashi no tomodachi wa kibun ga yokuarimasen. Anata wa itamidome (My friend sick, do you have paracetamol)?” I say it unsteadily, copying it from the app on my phone. They understand enough, though my butchered pronunciation had obscured some of the request. I show them what is written on my phone, and they immediately understand. To my relief, the older one speaks a little English, and explains that they do not have it, but gave me directions for another place that did. I decide that I do not have time, as I want to return to Jake as soon as possible. With the help of my phone and gestures I then ask if they have cold medicine. They do, and I buy a bottle of white pills. The pharmacist from before explains that I need to give him 3 pills at a time, every couple of hours, preferably with food. This was acceptable, and I give a bow to demonstrate my gratitude for their help as I pay for the bottle.

The next stop was a Konbinni, a Lawson’s. I grab some face hygiene masks, and an assortment of soup based meals, as well as a box of sushi. Then I make it back to Jake’s. Overall my whole journey only took about 40 minutes.

I check on him, nothing much had changed. I prepare a glass of water, and rouse him from the bed, bringing a few items with me. He takes 3 of the white pills, with water, and 2 pieces of sushi: I determined he did not have an appetite for anything more, otherwise would have prepared one of the boxed meals. He lies back down, eyes closed, and I see that his lips are dry. In the bathroom I find some small hand towels, and using the water I had boiled previously, which was still quite hot, I prepare a lightly damp warm towel, with which I dab against his lips, and gently wipe his forehead, to help break the fever. He sleeps soundly, as I stay by the bedside. I occasionally hum some tunes which I hoped sounded soothing, as well as continuing to remoisten his lips a few times every hour. I gradually hear his breathing relax, and in about 3 hours he awakes, face less grimaced. I proceed to feed him another 3 pills, and heat up a ramen from the convenience store. He doesn’t finish it, but was able to eat about half the bowl, which was a good sign. I put him back to sleep, briefly stroking his back and continuing to hum a few tunes that randomly came to mind. I was feeling tired now, and I drift into a nap on the carpet.

Chapter 11

I hear movement, which jolts me from my nap. Jake was up, and needed to use the bathroom. He walked more steadily that his last bathroom visit earlier. I have collected myself by the time he exits, and I give him another check up. Complexion was now rosy, though the red rimmed eyes indicated a bit of fever. His pulse was steadier too, stronger and less shallow/rapid. I ask him about how he is feeling, and he sounds more like the Jake I remember. There is still a thickness to his voice, but he sounds better and less raspy. I’m no doctor but I could say with some confidence that he was on the road to recovery. He agreed, and said that he wanted to try going to the dojo. It was only around 6pm, and we could make it there in about 20 minutes. The location of Yoseikan Dojo was in Suruga, Mukoshikiji to be precise. I still don’t know how to read the maps here, so I can’t say if any of those were roads or suburbs, but there was a bus that went past the area, and a short walk would take us there. I express my concerns about him training, mostly as a reconsideration rather than discouragement. But his now bright eyes had their fire restored, as he tells me with the utmost conviction, “I can do this.”

The trip was mostly uneventful. He dons the face mask I bought earlier, which helps to preserve his strength and ward off the cold air. We had a slight hiccough as we try to take the bus, our first time in Japan. I didn’t realize that everyone had to enter at the back section and either swipe their transit card or take a ticket. I felt bad about holding up these folks probably coming home from a long day, but the bus driver, a petit lady, does her best as I try to communicate the location we are heading to. She also looks blankly as I show her my coins; we find out when we are about to disembark that people paid for their fares at the end, which actually makes more sense to me. I pay the 230 yen require. Poor Jake made another mistake when he throws in a handful of 100 yen pieces all at once, not realizing that exact change was the norm. She looks alarmed, and takes out a 1000 yen note to put into a separate feed, which I learn converts notes to coins. After giving Jake his change we express our thanks, and make it to the dojo, almost walking past it in the dark.

It is next to a café, which closes as we approach. I suppose business was slow tonight, or maybe it just closed early? Sitting in the dark, we wait for the place to open. Soon we are joined by 3 others, Jake’s group from Tokyo who had also come here to train. Unlike Jake they were studying or working here, so had come from other commitments. They are introduced to me as Gary, Jim and Bryan. They are Caucasian, and greet me in Japanese, but we all laugh when I explain that I was not from here, or even an Aikido-ka (practitioner of aikido). Jake proudly mentions that I was his spiritual teacher, which I quickly refute as just undue flattery, explaining that while I did a little kung fu it was for spiritual purposes only. They are all easy going, and are quite excited to be meeting Washizu-sensei, a celebrated master who did international seminars, wrote a few books, and also had an instructional video in circulation. We wonder where everyone was, as it was 5 minutes to 7pm. A black van then pulls by the dojo and reverses in, where a stout looking man with a shaved head comes out to greet us. A large boy, maybe 19 or 20, steps out of the van too, a little shy at the sight of us. The older man doesn’t speak much English, but was unfazed at seeing a bunch of westerners at his dojo’s door step. He ushers us inside, out of the cold. Jake explained that he wasn’t Washizu-sensei, but clearly someone quite high up on the administrative chain.

After we are inside I see a well furbished dojo. We all remove our shoes, and I am told that it is also polite to bow as a sign of respect when stepping on to the main area, where the floors were lined with a type of impact matting. A few brazier style heaters (electric) are placed around the corners closest to the main entrance, and turned on. Jake and his guys go to get changed.

The man and boy from earlier start to warm up with falling and rolling drills, and soon there is tumbling about. I am sitting on a wicker couch neat the entrance. Before long other people come by and join in. One girl (the lone female of the evening) invites me to join in, but I explain clumsily that I did not know aikido, and upon hearing my broken Japanese she switches to clear English. We have a small conversation while she is warming herself (I am sitting next to one of the heaters). I praise her English, but in typical Japanese fashion she modestly shakes her head and claims it was not good, which I try to reassure otherwise.

“Moto boku no nihongo ga umakatara (I wish my Japanese was better),” which makes her smile, and I am glad I was able to communicate it well enough to be understood. She then excuses herself to go change, and I found it funny to see that her training robes, gi, made her look twice as stocky; I noticed before that she was very slim, an observation which was contrasted by her uniform. As she began practicing with the others I notice that she fell softly too, though Jake explains later that he heard she had broken ribs which weren’t completely healed yet. These people never cease to amaze me, and I am resolved to adopt some of their work ethics once I returned home.

When Washizu arrives he begins to loosen up by the entrance. He is small, with thinning hair, but there was an unmistakable albeit casual authority in his stride, and his eyes are shrewd and clever. I notice that he walks solidly, yet not heavily, the sign of a well grounded man, and his breath control was sublime, a sign of inner self mastery. Jake’s group immediately come to greet him, addressing him as Washizu-sama, the suffix ‘sama’ was an honorific denoting high importance. Jake hands over an envelope which carried the introduction letter Naomi translated, and cash, which is normal to present as a gift to the school. I count maybe 20 or 30 thousand yen, which I hoped was from the entire group, not Jake alone! Washizu-sama reads the letter, and his friendly face turns into surprise as he says something to an older man, involving the term “Jan de Jong”. This older man, whose name was Kozin, spoke English very well, in an older style tinged with a slight British flavour, maybe even Received Pronunciation.

The English language contains many variations, not just owing to how it integrated within foreign cultures, but also within the nation itself. Cockney was common in movies, but Received Pronunciation was the most correct form, and considered high class as it was used by typically wealthy and privileged people. The way one spoke was often viewed as a reflection of class. Something highlighted in the play “Pygmalion” by George Bernard Shaw, who protested speech based discriminations for the inaccurate measure they were. Despite this, I enjoyed employing RP when I needed to make a good formal impression, for exactly the same reasons Shaw said we ought not to.

Kozin explains to us that it was surprising to hear that the group was comprised of students from the Jan De Jong lineage, a Dutch aikido instructor who was well known for trying to experiment with the art while still alive.

The class officially begins now that the head instructor had arrived, and I witness the way body mechanics transcended calculations, and became an expression of pure will. The shaved man who opened the dojo was broad shouldered, and had powerful tripping techniques. Kozin was skilled, but I recall how funny he was by pretending to be injured by various grabs and trips. It helped to put everyone in a relaxed mood. Washizu-sama was amazingly efficient with his movements, and could sweep even the biggest, heaviest people there off their feet with relative ease. When one person tried to escape a grounded arm lock, he simply transitioned his smaller body in order to pin them. After a while of watching them struggle, he would release them, as a fisherman tosses a small fish back into the ocean. I was able to deepen my understanding of physics, specifically energy manipulation, by watching him. The most repeated phrase he used for his students was “Relax (Relakusu)!” He was right, I am able to grasp his strength comes from not forcing it, or imposing his will, but superceding another’s. This could be considered the heart of Aikido, and gave me insights as well into other philosophies I had studied.

At the end of class everybody gathers in a circle to engage in several exercises that help their bodies cope with the change in activity levels, and afterwards everyone starts to grab a broom from a pile of brooms in the right-hand corner. They sweep the matting for a while, brushing debris away, and then everyone sits by the very back of the room. Kozin helps translate as the new guys introduce themselves. I feel that they are cementing the bonds which were forged during practice, the steps to become a family in due time. Photos are taken, and even I am invited to join in, though I did feel it not entirely appropriate. The setting is now more casual.

Mashizu-sama and Kozin are curious about me, an Asian who was friends with a group of westerners, and who came to their dojo but did not join in the aikido session. Jake explains that I did kung fu, and begins to demonstrate a palm strike he had learned (with some guidance from me) against a large sand bag hanging nearby. Mashizu- sama seems impressed, muttering under his breath something I translate as something along the lines of ‘good power’. Kozin asks me which style I practiced, but owing to my lack of formal lineage I merely give him the style Jake had been learning from me, hakkyokuken, or bajiquan. I am impressed that they know of it, though I suppose a martial artist of their experience would have heard of this style, the eight extremities fist. I do not actually practice it in depth, mainly researching it for power generation, but Jake fell in love with it so I gave him what little I could to experiment with.

After that display, I daresay he was probably better than me now, as I don’t practice martial arts nearly as much as he does. However, Washizu-sama goes to his office, and reappears with a beautiful paper fan, one with kanji inscribed. He explains to me that the words were his handwritten calligraphy and philosophy of martial arts: that through our martial paths friendships could be formed. I am struck with admiration for the simple yet profound message, and thank him as sincerely as I can. It was a powerfully symbolic keepsake, but I decided to give it to Jake as extra encouragement while he stayed here. The other guys were going to head into Shizuoka for dinner but Jake was still recovering, so declined. Kozin offered us a ride home, insisting on it when I asked about a taxi (I didn’t think it wise to expose Jake to the weather after 2 hours of training). We are glad to accept, his black SUV is much nicer than a bus and much cheaper than a taxi, unless you factored in our gratitude, which was immense. We happily chat about many things on the short ride back. Jake gives him some contact details, and I offer my email, just in case anything he needed to contact me. As he drops us off we wave goodbye, and he replies with a small honk of his horn.

“A really nice guy, and so funny too!” Jake’s experience has left him very cheerful, but I notice a gauntness entering his face now that the excitement was over. We go inside, and I prepare tea and noodles, discarding the leftovers from his late lunch. He takes his pills, and eats heartily, finishing the entire meal to my relief. I am enjoying my potato chips and I drink the coke I got from the Lawson’s konbinni earlier. When he is finished he inspects the fan, and is as thrilled as I envisioned. We don’t want to over stimulate him any further, so I suggest we go to bed. I settle on the couch, and am happy to hear snores coming from his room, a peaceful sleep that erased his earlier tortured rest. I drift into sleep, mentally processing what I had seen today. There was something I had to do before going to bed. I take out my phone, and I message Naomi.

Thomas: Hey, I’ll be in Osaka pretty soon! Are you still free to hang out on Friday or Saturday?

I’ve been really lucky in Japan, she replies within the next 10 minutes instead of 10 hours.

Naomi: Cool!

I’m working both days, but Saturday is better, more flexible hours. What time do you wanna meet?

Thomas: Lunch? Can you do 1-2pm?

Naomi: Sure.

Thomas: Wait, I meant meet from 1 or 2pm.

I want to spend more than just an hour with you hahah!

Naomi: Yeah, I figured.

            ‘Flips hairs’ lol!             

            1pm then. Where do you wanna meet?

Thomas: Anywhere is fine, really, I’m in Japan to see my dear friend. Nothing in Osaka can top that! Just as long as we can talk and catch up.

Naomi: Let’s go to the Yodobashi. 8F, dining level.

Thomas: Awesome, where’s that?

Naomi: There’s a few around, but one is near Umeda jr. I can meet you there from the 7-11?

Thomas: See you then. Goodnight Naomi!

Naomi: [Sends a gif of a dancing bear]

I don’t know what to make of the dancing bear, but I am more focused on the conversation leading up to it. It was happening, a time and place had been set aside, and we would see each other in a few days. I am almost too excited to fall asleep, but I recall Washizu’s words, and I do my best to relax. Sleep eventually does come to me, but in that time I had overanalyzed the situation. What would seeing her again be like? Would it feel like old times, or would conversation be made awkward by the years apart? Did she suspect why I had come to see her? Could I go through with telling her my true feelings? And most puzzling of all, what did the bear mean???

Chapter 12

I get up before Jake, and use the bathroom. Checking my phone in the dim light, I am surprised that it is already past 8am. Come to think of it, the curtains everywhere I’ve been in Japan have been unusually effective in keeping out sunlight. Maybe they realised that darkness was better for deeper sleep (which is better for you), or maybe it was the thoroughness of their interior decorators. It was really comfortable, and I almost felt like it turned the home into one’s own private pocket dimension. Unless your neighbours were really loud, and I feel another twinge of regret for Vik and Maggy’s place, not only for the rug but the noise we made. Hopefully the surrounding houses would let it go, as it was just the one evening.

Jake can be heard getting out of bed. He staggers out of the room, stretching and yawning at the same time. A quick look at his complexion told me he had slept well; there was colour back in his cheeks and a much more vigorous stride in his walk. I greet him.

“Ohayo (Mornin’)!”

“Ohayo gozaimasu (good morning) Thomas!”

“You look good, let me check your vitals after you freshen up!” He was a stickler for hygiene, and went through his morning cleansing ritual. When he does come out I ask him to sit on the couch and steady his breathing. There was still a slight disturbance in his lungs, nothing like pneumonia but still a slight concern. His temperature was down, the throat no longer felt dry or sore, and his heart was good, though I detected that there was a residual weakness under the stronger rhythm. He would be fine, with more rest. I ask him if he is hungry, as recovering took the body a lot of energy, and as slim toned man he didn’t have ample reserve to rely on.

“Yes, I know a great udon place around here actually, I insist on taking you there!” His jovial nature had returned, and I am all too pleased to see he has an appetite. I wait for him to change clothes, as I was already in my standard attire, and we head out.

This morning wasn’t sunny, though the pale light here was probably also a reflection of Shizuoka’s fishing industry: we relatively close to the harbour from Jake’s. A quaint little shop is where Jake escorts me, and inside we are greeted before taking a seat by the street window. I am intrigued by a picture in the menu, and order tofu udon. Jake orders a beef udon. We refresh ourselves with chilled water and make simple conversation until the food arrives. Two giant bowls, each the size of a medium wok, are brought to us, and my suspicions are confirmed: the tofu was a thin slice, and fried, but slightly larger than the size of my hand. And Vik has compared my hands to garden trowels. Jake’s meal was a standard udon, though the beef looked almost delicate in the huge bowl, as they were lightly fried and cut into thin strips. It smelled delicious, and we both prepare to separate the bamboo chopsticks they gave us.

“Itadakimasu!” we said in unison. The phrase is uttered at the beginning of a meal, but I had not seen it much since I arrived in Tokyo, so I haven’t been doing it. Yet as Jake and I were celebrating the success of last night, we indulge ourselves with a slight bit of cultural assimilation. I taste a spoonful of soup, it was sweeter than a ramen broth; most of the udon I’ve tried was, but there was something in the aroma which hinted at a savouriness I had yet to identify. I tear off a piece of my tofu’s corner, and find it sweet, the taste possibly augmented by the soup. The noodles were good, not too soft, and we spend the next few minutes occupied with slurping and chewing.

“Thank you Thomas, I think I would have died if it hadn’t been for you yesterday.”

“Please, you were barely incapacitated, though I am glad you recovered enough to go. They all seemed very impressive, and I hope you get to train at max power soon.”

“Yeah, last night I don’t think they were impressed by me, compared to Gary, Jim and Bryan. I was probably too nervous too, Washizu kept telling me to relax but I was tensing on instinct!”

“Oh yeah, he was saying that to everyone though hahah! I think you did well, and you have the videos I took with your phone to prove it. In fact, I heard them mention that you had good power! I suppose you watched them last night instead of going to bed straightway, like I suggested?” I raise my brows in mock sternness, but smile which robs the expression of any weight.

“A little, heh. But I will review them properly later. Speaking of which, what are you doing today?”

“Well, my plan was to go and visit the grave of Tokugawa Ieyasu, it’s located at a shrine which is not too far by bus. But I also really want to head to Kyoto, as I have to check into my Osaka hotel tonight, and Kyoto is on the way to Osaka.”

“Can I come to Kyoto with you?” The question took me by surprise, but then again, Jake didn’t have to study or work here, like the other training buddies, so it made sense that he had free time. Still, I had my reservations.

“In Kyoto I plan to travel up to the top of Fushimi Inari Taisha, the famous vermillion gates shrine of the god Inari. It’s 223 meters above sea level. You just recovered, so I don’t know if your lungs can handle it. But we can go visit Tokugagwa’s shrine together?”

“Nah, I already went there. Let’s go up and conquer the mountain!” He coughs while declaring this, which only stresses my earlier point. But if he felt like it why not? The elderly make it up Mt Inari frequently, and even now, I was certain he was healthier than a senior citizen. Hang on, maybe Japanese senior citizens were fitter than their western counterparts? He looks at me to give him my blessing.

“Hmmm… okay, but you keep taking that medicine. Speaking of which, I wish we brought it with us for you to take now.”

“No problems, I brought it with me!” He gulps it down with water. Jake was young but thorough, I couldn’t fault him that, so I relinquish any remaining hesitations and we return to him apartment to get my belongings. One would not normally bring their luggage to a mountain top, but I would not be returning to Shizuoka, and my luggage was extremely light for a winter vacation. It would be no trouble to carry everything to the mountain top with me.

We then take a bus to the JR station, before catching a bullet to Kyoto. It doesn’t take more than 2 hours, and from there it is only a short connection to get to the Inari shrine, on the Nara line. The train was packed, and I was apologetic when we are forced to wedge ourselves against a group of young girls. I am pleased for Jake though, I like to think he was enjoying being squished up against young ladies, but he looks uncomfortable, almost as if he doesn’t want to be mistaken for a pervert. Another good thing about the ride was being in the front compartment, as I get to see the conductor work. Our train was something out of picture book, an older model, and lime green too! Even the pace felt scenic, as it went at a decent speed without the zooming sensations of a modern train.

Once we get there, I am able to appreciate the magnitude of Kyoto’s, and possibly Japan’s, most iconic shrine. There were tourists as far as the eye could see, and outside the station, across the road, lays the entrance to the shrine grounds. Fushimi Inari Taisha was dedicated to Inari, who was the god of the harvest, prosperity and by association, fertility. It has over 10 000 torii gates, which look like the mathematical symbol Pi (Pythagoras). Apparently that number is growing because businesses pay for more to be added, as a symbol of good luck. The vermillion colour was said to ward off bad luck, and I immediately felt a strong, if somewhat commercialised, spiritual connection to this place. Maybe it was the gates themselves, which are said to bridge the natural and supernatural worlds, or the fact that everything here was so very Japanese, but I am drawn to the place and couldn’t wait to explore.

Jake and I wander through the crowds, and I am fascinated at the number of people dressed in traditional robes, a colourful pink and blue with flowers for the girls, dark blue or brown robes for the guys. They were even sporting the traditional sandals with white socks! I take a picture of one particularly beautiful couple who indulge me, before I realize that these people don’t work here, they were probably just tourists who hired the costumes as a bonus element to the visit.

One of the most memorable features for me was the honouring rite and purification rituals. Since my childhood I have always held a deep reverence for the rituals involved in spiritual and religious ceremonies. Here, I could practice the Shinto rituals I had researched. The correct ways to pay respect at the shrines was to lowly bow twice, claps your hands twice, and spend a moment in reflection, or making a wish, before bowing once more. Then you can shake the bells which hang off ropes, and make a donation too if you so wished. I suppose the gods here understand the nature of greasing the wheels, or maybe a donation represented sincerity and commitment to one’s desires. Regardless, as a novelty, I had all my coins in my pocket, to be doled out as we made our way up the mountain.

The base, as previously mentioned, was where the majority of the souvenir shops were located. There was even a section where fortunes could be read using a form of numerology, but they did not offer English translations so I didn’t bother. I was sorely tempted to buy myself a fox mask, but couldn’t find one that would fit me properly. Unlike the samurai helmet and mask, it appears I did not get lucky here. There were statues of foxes, or kitsune if I used the Japanese word, EVERYWHERE. Foxes are sacred to Inari, who employs them as messengers and servants. I wondered if I could see any here, as we made our way through to the pathways that led up to the peak. A Shinto priest, in a brilliant white robe and black hat, is conducting a ceremony with other acolytes, and we observe for a moment before passing on.

Jake was annoyed that the crowds prevented him from taking some ideal photos, but they noticeably thinned as we got progressively higher. Still plenty of traffic, but now they were spaced out more pleasantly, and added to the scenery rather than drew attention from it. There was a man and someone who could have been his girlfriend: I found it funny as he was clearly tired and couldn’t be bothered making a decent pace, while in contrast she was energetic and went on ahead of him, often calling on him to pick up the pace. He sighed, and imperceptibly increased his rate, the steps clearly too much.

I see different resting points along the track, which gave a space for less fit travelers to sit and breathe. There were also some tea houses/restaurants open on the path, and unsurprisingly there were plenty of vending machines around here too. I’m glad that if we were in want of a drink they were readily available here. Shops sold iconic wares, such as green tea products, candles, as well as charms and fortunes. One could even buy a miniature torii gate as a memento of their trip.

I have to say that the air is amazingly clear and pure. The resting spaces had shrines too; in fact numerous shrines were available along the track, and many had a purification fountain. This was something I could not resist, and I frequently stopped to conduct the ritual. Jake was curious, and asked me what it was for, so I get him to do it too. We take a ladle with our right hands, and fill it with water from the basin, pouring it over left hands, before switching hands and repeating the process. Then we take the ladle in our right hands again, and tip some water into our left hands, to carry the water to our mouths. It is improper to touch the ladle with our mouths, and probably unhygienic considering the millions of people who visit here each year. Rinsing our mouths with the chilled, refreshing waters we spit into a lower tray/basin, before returning the ladles to their resting spot. I feel better with each purification, as if I was unburdening my spirit as well as washing it out. Jake is much more interested in the surroundings.

About half way up the mountain we see a fork, and take the right hand side. Not too far ahead, the path opens into a clearing, another resting spot, but this one overlooks the city of Kyoto. Jake is doing fine, he had his filter mask back on but other than that was looking as vigorous as anyone did going up a mountain. Neither of us needed to stop, but we do, just to drink in the spectacular view from this vantage point. I also engage in another purification ritual, though Jake declines as the waters are a little cold for him. We continue our way up, occasionally stopping to read information and history signs that can be found at some of the shrines. At last, we made it to the top of the mountain.

The original shrine to Inari, simple and mostly a collection of stone monuments surrounding an altar. It was not architecturally impressing, compared to the newer temple shrines at the base, but it literally represented hundreds of years of history, which gave it a certain gravitas. There was even a record of past emperors who had visited this place and given it their blessing, while being blessed by the priests in turn. Jake explores the area, and found a cat that he attempts to follow, to take a picture of. I have almost run out of coins on the journey here, but I saved my last one, a 500 yen piece, to offer as I approach the altar, and I kneel to pray. Initiating a few breathing exercises, I gather my thoughts, and try to commune with the local deity.

 I am not a follower of Shinto, though perhaps you will look favourably upon me due to the years I spent promoting Zen. I am in Japan, and this place has revitalized me. I do not feel so washed out and faded, I am emboldened, but also slightly afraid of seeing my friend. She and I will reunite after years apart. Though we have corresponded in that time, I am here because I feel a great, tremulous, need to see her, to make sense of how I feel. I don’t have many people to talk to about my thoughts, being a private man who hides under bravado. Many people come to me for counsel, yet my best friend is no longer in my life and I felt a little lost without him.

Actually, it was similar to how I felt when she, the one I’m seeing soon, left all those years ago.

Am I too dependent on others for self worth? This is probably not in your forte, but the truth is, I just wanted to make it out as if I was undertaking a pilgrimage, and your shrine ended up being the one I reflected upon. Hopefully you can act as a catalyst for the actualization and validation of how my inner feelings. Oh wait, am I suppose to make a wish or something now? I just paid my respects at the lesser shrines below, but I guess up here I should ask for something…

I consider many things, including asking for Inari to help Naomi accept my feelings if she could. Or maybe I could just ask for world peace? Eventually I do make my request, one that has more to do with my own convictions than belief in Inari’s power.

I wish that Naomi is happy and in good health for as long as she can be, that she prospers in her career, and one day finds a man befitting her to start a wonderful family with, if that’s what she wants? Oh, and also, maybe I should ask for Jake a girlfriend? A cool and pretty girl he could enjoy hanging out with regularly. Also, when I return home, let me find my Zen after all this is over?

Arigatou gozaimasu (thank you very much)!

I asked for 3 things, but I don’t want to treat the shrine like a genie or anything like that, it was just nice to vent my thoughts. I bow low, and maintain my position for a time. When I open my eyes I see that Jake has returned and is watching me. I smile, and ask him if he is done chasing cats, to which he nods. I take in the view one last time, and indicate we should return to the mountain base.

“Then let’s go back down!”

He didn’t find that cat, and we didn’t see any foxes either. But there was more wildlife as we went down the other side of the mountain, such as koi fish in ponds, birds feeding on grains, and even a sign warning any night time visitors that boars had been seen in the area! Also, to everyone’s delight (we were now seeing the pedestrian traffic thicken once more) there were more cats around this part of the mountain. There were speckled cats, white and brown cats, even a black cat that looked at us thoughtfully before disappearing into the forest area. Jake also sees a bundle of kittens which are huddled together in the most adorable fashion, possibly to keep warm. He tries to alert this to a group of pretty girls dressed in kimonos, but they only politely stare. Once we are walking away, we hear a delighted squeal as the girls found the kitten cluster, and we hear a joyous utterance of “Neko-chan (Kitty cat)!” Jake is disappointed, as I suppose he wanted to curry favour with the girls, so I teach him a phrase from my book: ‘gai koku jin dakara’.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means ‘Is it because I’m a foreigner?’ It might come in handy!”

He memorises this phrase which clearly resonates within him. He repeats it slowly, to get a feel for it.

“Gai koku jin dakara?”

“Nah, I just think the girls weren’t used to hearing you speak Japanese, maybe next time you should just say ‘neko’ and point.”

“Next time I’ll respond with ‘gai koku jin dakara’.” We laugh, he is no longer hung up about what happened, and we make our way down.

Near the base of this mountain side we see more Buddhist shrines, as opposed to Shinto ones. There is a golden statue of Kannon, or Guan Yin, the goddess of mercy. I am familiar with her, thanks to my grandfather’s Buddhist heritage and my childhood years spent playing in the shed. I stop to pay my respects, in a Buddhist fashion rather than a Shinto one. An attractive woman in her mid 20’s asks me, in clear English, if I could help her take a photo. She was using a traditional film roll camera, and I do my best to get a clear shot. She thanks me very formally, and I sensed that we could have talked more, maybe over a drink. But I was too subdued from the journey to flirt, so I only smile, and wish her a good day. Eventually we make it to the start of our journey, the marketplace. Jake considers a few wares, but as I could not find an appropriate mask I do not buy anything, the experience being sufficient. We head back to Kyoto.

Chapter 13

The day was giving way to night, and we had skipped lunch. But Jake was a connoisseur, or at least he had a more discerning palate. When I suggest we just eat at the train station he dismissed the idea, and we begin a hunger induced walk around the area. His instincts were right on the money, as the moment we step out of Kyoto station we find a massive Buddhist temple, something reminiscent of the Shaolin temple, with huge gates and a lotus fountain display in the front. He teases me,

“And you wanted to stay in the train station!”

I am too taken back by the scope of this temple to respond, so I could only concur by nodding.

We continue to explore Kyoto, and after an hour of walking, Jake settles our sights on an upscale looking restaurant. I am quite hungry now, so I agree to it. Even though I would have eaten anywhere, I had to admit that this place had a very appetizing aroma. It boasted a luxuriously modest décor that I found very pleasing to admire while we looked at the menu. Jake and I were seated next to 2 Korean girls, who eye us with some interest. I smile and greet them with “Anasayo (Hello)” which makes them giggle, before turning back to their meal, though I notice them looking at us, specifically Jake, on occasion. By a strange coincidence, both of our tables required an English menu, and seeing that put me at ease. This place was foreigner friendly.

We soon learn from the manager, who served us personally, that this place was well known for their sukiyaki, which is a form of clay pot cuisine. Unlike steamboat clay pot, where the raw food is cooked in a soup, sukiyaki involved cooking the raw food in a fermented sauce. I am also delighted to see that we were cooking on coals, and not an electric grill. It made the whole experience more authentic.

I also order a rice dish, as well as fries, which arrive on a little platter with aioli sauce. It was crunchy, and the aioli was light without being bland. Jake declines more than one fry, as he is a man of taste. The rice dish came with a little clay teapot, and I discover that this is for the rice to be submerged. It is called Ochazuke, meaning to ‘submerge in tea’. The manager explains that though it is ochazuke, here the tea was replaced with dashi broth, a very light soup that made for a more savoury substitute.  Very interesting concept, I have heard of a tea that uses roasted rice grains, but this was my first encounter with rice that was eaten in a tea broth. Or whatever dashi was. It was light, yet filling to a degree, and fragrant too.

Our sukiyaki platter arrives: pork, onions, mushrooms, tofu, and a heap of green shallots. I take over the cooking process, so that Jake could focus on eating. He found it surprising that we cooked our own food, but enjoyed the experience all the same. I do not eat pork, but I dip the tofu and vegetable into the egg and yam sauce respectively, which I find adds some diversity to the flavours. To both of our surprise, we enjoy eating the shallots, which were tender and sweet after being cooked in the sauce.

Seeing that we were nearly done, the two Korean girls lean forwards to get our attention. They had it, and soon we were making conversation. One of them has curly hair, medium length hair, and wears glasses; her English is better than her friend’s, who has long straight hair, dyed reddish brown, which framed her delicate porcelain features. Jake and I say hello, and we discuss the meal.

They were surprised to hear that it was our first time eating sukiyaki, and said we did a pretty decent job. I jokingly explain that the only reason for that was because we were watching them, and copying what they did. They find this funny, though Kimi, the one with glasses, had to explain it for her friend Soo Jung. I ask them if they were on holiday, and they explain that they were students at Kyoto University, and lived around there. They didn’t speak Japanese especially well yet, so had been using the limited English Kimi knew in order to get by. We smile understandably, being in the same position. When they asked if we were on holiday I said I was, but my friend was staying in Skizuoka for a month to train in aikido. It turns out that Soo Jung did hapkido, which is a Korean martial art that also focused on joint locks, though included more strikes. Soo Jung then says in accented English

“But hapkido aikido are, um, same same?” I think I sensed Jake falling for this girl the moment he heard she did a martial art, which was great as she was pretty, but I didn’t want looks to be the only factor. He has told me otherwise on separate occasions but I’m certain he would change his mind after exploring dating. I decide to do my best to play wingman, and in that moment I could almost feel a sense of camaraderie in Kimi, who seemed more laid back than Soo Jung, though it could be due to the communication barrier.

Jake and I had decided to get crepes afterwards, and I ask if the girls would like to join us, which they accept. We ask for the cheque, thank the manager for the meal at his lovely establishment, and we make our way to dessert place Jake saw before. It was quiet, with only a single girl in a black café uniform at the counter, and she was in the middle of cleaning machines. Upon our arrival she switches between that and greeting us, doing it so seamlessly that I seriously thought she was expecting our group, and had gotten bored in the process of waiting. Jake insists on covering everyone, and I allow him to cover me so as to make the girls more comfortable in accepting too.

We get a strawberry crepe for him, a Nutella and banana crepe for me, and the girls each get a chocolate crepe. I was surprised to find that the crepes come wrapped up much a like an ice cream cone, but it is normal for Kimi and Soo Jung so I observe their technique. I almost eat the paper it is wrapped in, and do tear a pierce off with my teeth, but we all find it funny as I play around. I am hoping my antics serve to make Jake look better, and I do think that Soo Jung is interested in him. Once the two of them get over their shyness (or language barrier) I think they might be able to connect better. Thinking about what we saw on the walk before dinner, and I recall the ideal location to unwind.

“Hey, let’s go to the arcade!”

This arcade was located around the corner, upstairs. As in, the stairs just lead from the entrance outside to the second floor. After a quick scouting tour, Jake sees a fighting game console, at the same time Soo Jung did. Inserting 100 yen (50 per person) she takes a seat with him as they begin to play. I watch for a bit, before leaving to get some change, and returning with 1000 Yen worth of coins for them to continue playing. She was good, and nearly won the first game. She was also competitive, and insisted on a rematch. Kimi and I leave them to it, and we wander through the place with casual interest. Kimi breaks our comfortable silence first.

“You are a good friend.” I smile, and she continues.

“My friend thought Jake was cute, she told me. But when you spoke Korean to us we were worried you heard us.” I remember the giggle from earlier, so that was why.

“Rest assured, I only know that one word, how to say hello! I’m glad you speak English so well, otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to enjoy ourselves tonight.” She smiles but insists her English isn’t good. Maybe I was too westernized, the Asian standard of ‘good’ wasn’t what I expected. Kimi continues,

“How old are you guys?”

“I’m turning 29 in a few days. Jake is turning 21 this year I think. And how about you ladies? You said university before, so I assume 21, 22?”

“Close! Soo Jung and I are 23 this year, but I am still 22. Wow, you are now 29? I can believe, but think maybe about 25.”

“You’re too kind. I’m still 28, though I’m not a young man for much longer! Does Soo Jung like younger men? Jake is very mature.” She purses her lips, and tilts her glasses to think, then smiles

“We find out soon!” We laugh at this, and is about to say something, but Jake and Soo Jung approach us. Soo Jung raises her brows and says something to Kimi in Korean, to which Kimi blushes and says something in a flustered manner, waving her hands. I look at Jake and ask him,

“Who won?” The girls stop their conversation and Soo Jung smiles, at which Jake smiles too.

“It was a draw,” I nod, impressed, as Jake knew him way inside out of most fighting console games. It was getting late, so we walk the girls to the subway. They are talking more in Korean, so Jake and I have our own conversation. I clarify the outcome of the game.

“Wow, she’s that good to draw with you huh?” He leans in and whispers,

“She’s definitely good, but I let her win in the last one so it would be a draw.” I raise my brows and smirk. So sneaky my young apprentice! The conversation then turns to how he was getting home: Kyoto shinkansen to Shizuoka. Simple and direct. I, on the other hand, would need to take the shinkansen to Shin-Osaka, then take a train to Osaka, before taking a subway to Tanimachiyonchome and walking to my hotel. Still, from Kyoto that wasn’t so bad, and I was arguably going to take the same amount of time as Jake to get home. We make it to the subway, and the girls give each of us a hug. Soo Jung lingers a bit with Jake, and even kisses him on the cheek. Kimi and I have less romantic farewell, but she whispers in my ear,

“Don’t tell your friend, but Soo Jung let him win before.” I start laughing in fits; they were made for each other. I decide against telling Kimi that Jake had done the same, but I couldn’t help occasionally chuckling as we made it to the JR station. Jake is in a daze, and doesn’t respond much to me, I assume that being kissed by a pretty girl does that to anyone. I ensure he makes it to the right platform before we part, and he seems almost himself again.

“Thank you Thomas! This was such an awesome day!” I smile as he boards the train, before saying to myself,

“And to think, I wanted to stay inside the train station…”

I begin to make it to the platform for Shin- Osaka, then Osaka, then to the subway system for Tanimachiyonchome, which was written as a Tanimachi-4-chome (I realised that ‘yon’ denotes ‘4’ in Japanese). From there I wander around, noting that there is a McDonalds nearby, and even a Family Mart on the street corner opposite the hotel. I go in there, to buy myself a packet of potato chips, and some coke, before queuing at reception. I was lucky tonight, apparently the reception at this place, My-Stays Osaka, closed at 10pm, which was about 10 minutes away. I check in, grab my key card, and make my way to the room.

My first impression was: I had a kitchen! My second impression was, wow, this place was bigger than the standard room in a Japanese hotel, even bigger than the room I had at the Fuji Premium resort. I enter, fiddle with the hot water (which has to be activated) and take a shower, ecstatic that this place gave me a free bathrobe! The hot water was a bit temperamental, but eventually I get that sweet spot between freezing and scalding. While waiting for my hair to dry I check my luggage; it was light, for all I carried now were a spare set of clothes, knick knacks I had picked up, and Naomi’s present, which was undamaged despite being dragged throughout Japan and 3 airports. I then carefully store them in the compartment from where it was housed. Soon they would change hands, and my luggage would be as unburdened as my heart. Maybe. Hopefully.

Chapter 14

Getting up at around 11am, I decide that it was time for me to just chill and unwind. The winter conditions did not freeze me, but I had taken some exposure damage from the sun, as well as the dehydrating nature of the cold. I didn’t want to see Naomi tomorrow and look blistered, so I go to the Family Mart to see if I could find any moisturizer. Moments later I walk out with a 30mL tube of goat’s milk skin conditioner. Returning to my hotel, I apply the lotion on my skin, and prepare a moist face towel to cover myself while I meditated in bed.

I was seeing Naomi tomorrow. I had today to try and gather my thoughts, as well as do some sightseeing while I could. My flight was tomorrow, and left at midnight, did that count as tomorrow or the day after? I needed to be at the airport by the late evening tomorrow, so I guess I should say I was flying out tomorrow instead of the day after. I’m rambling. I take a deep breath through the cloth, its moisture makes the air I take in heavy, but that ballast is a good thing for I am forced to breathe out completely in order to clear my lungs.

It was simple in theory: Naomi, I have to tell you that I love you, and I haven’t stopped loving you since before you left. No, that was too blunt. Naomi, I hope this doesn’t change anything, but I love you. That was worse, how the hell is “I love you” not meant to change anything between people? Besides, was I really hoping that nothing would change between us? If I were being honest, a part of me would be happy if she felt the same way, but that would lead to a whole new vein of uncertainties. Better do what I do best- procrastinate. What was there to do here anyway?

The great thing about my hotel? It was within walking distance of one of Osaka’s most renowned tourist attractions: Osaka Castle! The old capital, a historical setting that had lasted to the modern era. I was quite excited to explore, and make my way there.

I put on the clothes that had been with me for almost all of my stay in Japan. I am a little sad to find that I had lost a button on my coat somewhere between here and Tokyo, but at least I didn’t need to stay very warm, and I had my scarf to hide the damage should I need to, though that made me too warm, even outdoors.

There are plenty of people as I make my way through Osaka, particularly around my hotel. I almost feel as if I am in the central business district back home. I pass by a hospital, which Google maps tell me is one used to train nursing students. I cross the road, heading to the nature reserve which is where the castle is situated. There were 3 major parts to the tourist attractions: the castle, the shrine, and the commercial building, Kinzo Storehouse.

The castle itself is located within its own grounds, which are surrounded by a moat. Just opposite the bridge that leads inside the building is a Shinto shrine, where some food stalls are located. An old man sits by the gate, playing a shamisen, a type of Japanese lute, at the entrance to the shrine. I can not help but spend a few minutes listening to the folk tunes which are both uplifting and haunting, an audio anachronism for the tourists who enjoy the music without realizing how it takes them back to the original Osaka castle. I drop a few coins, but I do not head into the shrine area yet, I wanted to explore the castle first.

The fee is only 600 yen for adults, and I gladly pay for a ticket from the machines at the entrance; the ticket was picturesque, with a photo of the castle overlooking the moat. As I approach it, it becomes even more magnificent, a testament to the times when structural integrity and aesthetics were equal partners. The building style was distinctly oriental, and the white walls served to supplement the gold features and edgings. If I apply a liberal dose of artistic license I would say that it was almost like a collection of masts that overlapped in such a way as to inspire a very well ordered wave motif. The stones used were truly hewn from the rocky earth, not the brick work of modern buildings, which seem tame and impotent compared to the simple majesty of Osaka castle. Forgive me, this place is really awe inspiring.

I patiently queue, but I soon realize that there were two lines, one for those who wished to use the elevator, and those who were fine with taking the stairs. The elevator only went from the very top floor, so a lot of people, namely senior citizens, were waiting to go up, and explore the castle as they made their way down. I saw crowds of people, mostly almost all Chinese and Korean, with the exception of school children, who I heard conversing in Japanese. An assorted speck of westerners could occasionally be seen, few and far between: I detected French and Italian, but I’m certain there were more than that there, as I distinctly heard some Scandinavian as I made my way through.

The main floors were filled with a multitude of paintings, statues, and historical recollections. Floors 3 and 4 prohibit photography or filming, but the policy is largely ignored as the tourists frequently take digital souvenirs. Out of ignorance, not disrespect, I’m sure. On one of the higher levels I become interested in a tea house being displayed, noted to be a favourite pastime of Hideoyoshi, the first administrator after Nobunaga’s death. Water fountains could be found in the corners of every other floor, and there were three dimensional screenings of historical events. The attention to detail was impressive, and I wondered if the fight scenes incorporated people like the samurai I saw in Tokyo. But for the most part the reenactments were of dramatic stage nature, portraying very little action sequences even when they did depict armies riding out to war.

On the highest level I find the souvenir shop, with fans and key chains and wrapped gifts much like I saw in the samurai museum. I go outside, sliding open the massive screen door, to take in Osaka from this magnificent view point. Despite the scenery, what I remember most about being up there was a school boy yelling out to his teacher, who was outside, on the ground level.

“SENSEIIII!!!!” He would call out to his teacher repeatedly.

To my shock, his teacher responds, all the way from the ground floor, which pacifies the boy. I find it hilarious, his youthful spirit is infectious. It was time to make my way down, and out, which is quicker than going up. Gravity does play its part in this but I would also attribute the extra speed to a combination of the boy’s antics, and the fact that I had now seen what was on each floor. I go out, and notice a wishing well outside. I drop a coin in, but it was a few seconds before I hear it making impact with the bottom, a soft thunk that resonated from the depths of that dark chasm. I depart, and cross the bridge to explore the other side.

My time in the shrine is spent peacefully, though after Kyoto the main appeal of the place was the melody of that old musician, who played ever a tale of the times long past, and seemed to perform for himself as much as the crowds. I gave him as much as I could afford. A few birds, pigeons and finches, are gathered near the stalls, feeding on the scraps indulgent tourists threw. I went to the next destination, the most modern of the three: the Kinzo building.

Inside the first floor is an entire row of different shops, selling merchandise as well as food. There was even a store that sold powdered green tea items, such as cakes, soaps and candles. And tea of course. I enjoy browsing through the different stores, and am tempted by the weaponry at the Ninja Shop. If Jake was here he would enjoy it on many more levels that I could, but I still think I did a good job of appreciating the wares. How did I know retail was taken seriously in Japan? The staff were dressed in ninja outfits, including the females staff who wore kunoichi outfits. Very tasteful ones, but none the less, a little revealing and very appealing. Jake might argue that it wasn’t authentic, but even he could appreciate the ‘dedication’ on display here. I wanted to send him a picture, but the thought of him happy playing video games with Soo Jung made me reconsider.

There was another store, located at the most left hand side of the main entrance (the ninja store was located to the right just as you walk in). This one sold beautifully crafted coin purses, fans, jewelry, and a variety of plushies. Not too unreasonably priced, though the coin purses were cheaper at the Tokyo Samurai Museum. I wanted to get a set of handkerchiefs, but reconsidered as I had decided to abstain from souvenirs; my yukata was enough. Besides, I needed lunch, it was already close to 4pm.

I decide to stop by the restaurant at the end of the right hand path: octopus balls, or takoyaki! It was a dish enjoyed with friends back home, and I recalled when Oscar and Jake had come along to try it together with me, back home.

The following is a true story, and I must insist on the veracity: a takoyaki ball is served freshly made, with sauced octopus meat inside said ball, and topped with dried flakes, mayonnaise and a drizzle of soy sauce. Now, freshly made equates to steaming on the inside. It was Jake’s first time, as Oscar had tried it before, so he decided to copy Oscar’s example. My stoic friend has a knack for hot foods, be it literal or spicy, and simply puts an entire ball into his mouth, chewing on it and swallowing. I found it odd, but as Oscar didn’t react I assumed that it was because the serving was not as fresh, and had cooled. I was wrong, as Jake proved evident by taking one, biting into it, and convulsing due to the steam that was practically bursting forth from the ball! I quickly grab a serviette from him to spit it out, and he spends the next 15 minutes cooling his mouth with water before he reattempts to eat takoyaki, albeit more cautiously. It is a lesson he has never forgotten, and every time we order the dish he always waits 10 minutes before he’ll even touch it. When I queried Oscar afterwards the man just shrugs, insisting that it wasn’t that hot. I guess years of being hit in the head dulls all the sensations.

I get a platter, as well as some fries and a cup of green tea. At this place customers could adjust the amount of topping, as well as the variety, so I have fun with the soy, mayonnaise, seaweed, and a generous helping of the wafer thin flakes iconic to the dish. My fries are good, crunchier than normal, and I particularly enjoy the thick ketchup that accompanied them. The tea is welcome, as I wanted to wash down the meal. It was remarkable, but the food here contained no unnecessary fats, for I had not felt bloated since I got here. When I returned home I had to start using less salt and oil in my cooking, or I could just move permanently to Japan.

Several moments pass by before I finish indulging my imagination, thinking of what I would do here with Vik and Maggy, and I suppose I could hang out more often with Naomi, though I would probably try to stay close to my xuang di, and she did live several hours away. But what could I do here? I wasn’t qualified for anything, though I could try to teach English. If there was something I prided myself on, it was my literary ability, but being a proper teacher was not something I had ever considered doing, despite the fact that I had taught many people over the years. Deep down, I knew, and always believed that the role was not something I was worthy of until at least another decade of life experiences. The sun sets as I continue to muse, and I know now that it is time for me to go to my next destination- Dotonbori.

Chapter 15

It was a Friday night, and I just wanted to put my mind at ease. I was seeing her tomorrow! I didn’t want to come across as a jittery bundle of nerves, especially as this was our first meeting in years. The boy who met her was prone to nervous enthusiasm, but the man who he had become in 6 years surely could not allow himself to present a similarly bad first impression. So I went off to the clubbing district of Osaka.

Calling it the clubbing district is probably incorrect, I was in the Namba area, I think, and while a lot of the clubs I Googled were situated around there, the most famous tourist attraction was definitely the Dotonbori Canal. Famous for the food culture there. I learned that the Japanese term for the love of food is kuidaore, or ‘buy so much food that you fall into financial ruin’! I chuckle to myself, memorizing that word for later use. The sun is setting, and twilight encroaches. A perfect time, as I would come to discover. I take the subway line closest to my hotel, Tanimachiyonchome, and arrive about 20 minutes later. Osaka was colorful, something that I had discovered on my walk around my hotel neighbourhood, but even so, I was taken back at the illumination that greeted me at Dotonbori!

Street vendors and other establishments seemed to be arranged by a stage director, with a size and visual coordination that drew me in, despite the crowded pedestrian traffic. I see massive signs and billboard that took up an entire side of skyscrapers, and an aesthetic variety of people walking around everywhere. I stand on the bridge, named Ebisubashi, to take in my surroundings, feeding on the ambience. Dotonburi had its origins in an ambitious merchant during the early 1600’s, who pooled his wealth in order to undertake the project. Unfortunately Doton, the businessman with a dream, never lived to see it completed, owing to his death in the Battle of Osaka, but his relations completed the project and named it Dotonbori, or Doton’s Canal, in his honour. Apparently it used to be an entertainment district, which included numerous play houses and theatres, but after World War 2 that aspect fell into decline. Bombings tend to have that effect I suppose. So it was now more famous for the kuidaore culture that I previously mentioned.

I spend maybe 20 minutes there lost in my thoughts, the cool air and neon glow of the surroundings provide a scenic environment for me to roost. I wonder if Naomi ever came here? She loved to try different foods, and her spirit of adventure had always made her very proactive. I see a few couples walking along the bridge, some are holding boxes of various local cuisines, though they do not sample the food as they walk: it is apparently bad manners here to eat while traveling. I would have to ask her why when I saw her, if I remembered or still cared. Would she walk with me on this bridge, not just for sightseeing, but to share an experience? Or maybe it was something she wouldn’t feel comfortable with; I think about all the times she had declined to spend time alone together, back when we did live in the same country.

Maybe she had someone else in her life now, who she did all those couple things with. I’m not sure how I would react to seeing him (if he existed), but I had long accepted that she was far too attractive to stay single, even if people were pining away after her. Not me personally, but I’m fairly certain there were others who felt the same way I did, though perhaps not as strongly, I’d like to think.

Mostly, I worried about whether or not such a man would treat her the way she deserved. I’d like to think that he was tall, handsome, and motivated, someone who could make her laugh as well as challenge her to grow as a person. Could I have been such a man, if I tried? No matter how subjective the criteria, I’m not actually short, but I do recall that Naomi was undoubtedly a bit taller than me. She never flaunted this, and was even a little self conscious of it when I first met her. It seems a petty thing to be so fixated on height, but still, I never felt like a short man in my whole life, until I had met and fallen for her, and experienced what it feels like to be so small as to be beyond notice.

I sigh, this was getting depressing, and I hadn’t come to Japan to feel sorry for myself, had I? I was here to see two incredible people, my best friend, and the girl who I could not stop thinking about for the last few years. It is a Chinese proverb that loving someone gives you courage, while being loved gives you strength. Or was it reversed? It didn’t matter, I tried to draw upon them both for courage and strength, shaking me out of my negative funk. It was time to lose myself in music, flashing lights, and the emotions of people in various states of inebriation: It was time to go clubbing.

The place I found wasn’t far from Dotonbori, but then again, most of the clubs were within walking distance of each other in this district. It seemed to have a reputation for welcoming foreigners. One reviewer even recommended this place as a spot where locals and internationals came to mingle, so my lack of Japanese would not be a problem, I hoped. It did cost several thousand Yen, but I discovered that it had an all-you-can-drink offer included in that price. I liked the idea of value, I hoped they had lots of soda. However it soon became clear to me that this might backfire, as after 20 minutes inside there were quite a few people already pretty drunk. I saw a lot of groping, though no one had reacted badly, and some of the girls seemed to take it as a compliment. Then I saw a clear display of disinterest from a petite Asian girl, and some western guy.

“Hey, come on beautiful! I just wanna know your naaammme!”  This guy was clearly drunk. I don’t want to sound too profiling, but with his frosted blonde tips and heavy accent, he seemed like your garden variety Eurotrash. The girl he was trying to chat up was also trying to ignore him, but he was too drunk, stubborn, or stupid to get the message. Maybe even all three. Despite seeing that he wasn’t getting the message, the girl showed no sign of intimidation, answering him in a polite but icy manner. The music was playing quite a loud beat, so I only realised what she was saying because of the unwanted admirer.

“If you have a boyfriend where is he? I know! How about I keep you company until he gets here! A fine girl like yourself is too pretty to be left alone!” He then attempts to put his arm around her, but she bats him away. I saw a stunned look in his eyes that turns sullen and then dangerous as he slyly leers.

“Oh feisty, I like that! My turn!” She flinches as he looms over her and I see his hands lower behind her, a clear attempt to frisk her.

“Baby, there you are!” I boom cheerfully, catching both of their attention. I reach around the girl, initiating a hug, but keeping my arms, and hands, well on the outside of her body, spinning around and pulling her away from this guy before I enter the gap created. My back is to him, so he can’t see the small smile and wink I give to reassure her that I was only trying to help. I then turn around, and give him a direct look. I’m not taller than him, but he was much scrawnier, and probably only had light, superficial muscles under the shirt, a rich boy with beach muscles? I turn to face him with an even look and clench my mouth and inhale deeply, puffing out my chest. He gets the message, and almost seemed willing to challenge me over her. I glance and tilt my head to the left, and he notices security eyeing him with keen interest. This fight was over before it began, and he had somehow sobred enough to be mindful of their presence

While he slinks away I breathe a sign of relief. I could have taken him, but foreigners shouldn’t get into fights here, even if they didn’t start it. I face the girl, taking a good proper look at her. She was not tall, though by no means the shortest girl in the room. Heels might have been a factor in this though. A rosy complexion added charm to her bright, warm chocolate eyes, delicately crafted cheekbones and dimples that enhanced a pretty face. All underlined by an especially cute smile. Her hair was worn in an upright style, giving an almost regal frame to her innocent features, and her outfit’s motif was “I’m a lady, so you’d better treat me as one!” She looked young, but I knew she had to be at least 20 to be in a Japanese club. I lean forwards to speak without shouting.

“Ojo-san daijoubu desuka?(Are you alright miss?). She gave me a blank stare, then smiles apologetically, her eyes crinkling in a rather fetching manner. She replies with.

“Erm, sorry?” I switch back to English.

“Are you okay?” She quickly respond.

“Oh yes! Sorry, I don’t speak Japanese, only English!” She laughs, relieved when I smile and reply.

“Same, for the most part, but just in case you were Japanese I wanted to get the message across. So you’re okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, thanks again! Erm… just so you know, I do have a boyfriend… so, um,” she seems hesitant to continue the line of conversation, almost as if she didn’t want to embarrass me. I was touched; she clearly had a kind heart, as well as a lot of attention from guys before. Conscientiousness is rarer with attractive people, and I knew some very lovely faces masking disfigured, ugly hearts. I give a short laugh, and reassure her of my intentions.

“I heard, and I’m not surprised.  It’s okay, I’m not looking for anything like that. Though I must say, you are probably the cutest girl here. Your boyfriend is one lucky guy!” She seems visibly more comfortable now, not sensing any ulterior motives in my playful manner.

“He is, and I make sure he doesn’t forget! He should have been here by now, but he lives in Kobe, and messaged me earlier that there was a delay because of ice on the tracks. Apparently the train conductor is apologising heaps. I’ll introduce you once he gets here!”

“Cool! Would you like to get a drink? It is unlimited after all!”

“Hahah, I’m alright, but you go right ahead! Calvin loves beer, but I don’t drink much.” I assume Calvin was the boyfriend. We make our way to the bar counter, and I pick out a very colourful cocktail, which this girl finds amusing. We then make our way to quieter section, away from the DJ, and I introduce myself.

“I’m Thomas, how do you do young lady?”

“I’m Paris, and I am doing very well thank you!” She giggles as I bow and sip the cocktail with my pinky finger held high, imitating high-class tea drinking.

“Parlez vous Francais, Paris (Do you speak French)?” I ask jokingly, but to my surprise she responds in pretty decent French. Much better than me anyhow.

“ Oui! Je parle un petit peu de Francais!” Her smile widens as my brows arch up in surprise.

“Tre bien! Magnifique! I don’t speak much French though, hahah!” She begins to relate to me how she had traveled across Europe, and that she found knowing some French to be very helpful in many of the countries. I question the origin of her name, and she mentioned that her parents thought she would grow up to be beautiful and famous, like the city. I nodded, to show my agreement.

“They were right! Hahah! So are you on holiday here, like me?”

“Oh no, I work for a law firm here! I just started a couple of months ago, but sadly I haven’t picked up much Japanese yet. It’s crazy right?” She begins to tell me about the work hours and the commute, which together made for a mentally and physically draining schedule. Hearing about it made me think of Naomi, and her own work schedule. She never said a word about the hours being such a toll, though I always assumed that she worked hard. I was touched, that she cared enough to not make me feel like a burden, despite coming to see her out of the blue. Like Vik and Maggy, although I suppose it was different for us.

“Oh, I have a friend here in Osaka, a lawyer too. I guess this place is really attractive to the profession! I’m seeing her tomorrow, in fact. Speaking of which, I read somewhere that Saturday is a working day for you people here?”

“Yeah, it is for a lot of people. That’s why I came to the club tonight, I thought it might be quieter as Saturday night tends to be more popular. I’m a little disappointed by this place, but glad I met a new friend!”

“Really, where? Could you introduce me?” I pretend to scout around, looking high and low in an exaggerated manner. She laughs and playfully slaps my shoulder. I feel nothing but pretend to have suffered a devastating blow.

“Oh you! Hey, are you staying here much longer? My boyfriend doesn’t like clubbing, he likes beers though. Why don’t we go to a bar instead? I know this great one that does fried chicken too!”

“What, karaage? I’m in!” She looks delighted that I want to join her. To be honest I had been at this place for about 40 minutes, and while it was alright I wasn’t much of a clubber or a drinker. I heard that this place was a popular spot for tourists and were more accustomed to non-Japanese patrons. It probably was a good place for hook ups, considering all the flirtatious overtures I pretend to not see in the shadows. Paris messages Calvin, who is apparently outside and is happy he doesn’t need to pay the relatively high entrance fee (although depending on alcohol consumption it could be one of the better value clubs). We make our way out, pausing to collect our jackets at the service desk. He is pretty easy to spot, being non Asian, maybe Latino? If her boyfriend is surprised to see me he hides it well, and his overall manner is one of calm, collected, and easy going. I decide to diffuse any territorial instincts that might be lurking underneath the surface.

“This is Calvin? I’m very impressed Paris, you didn’t say he was so handsome! Pleased to meet you buddy, I’m Thomas.” I give a firm handshake, which I pleasantly note he reciprocates. Paris is amused at the situation as Calvin coolness is disarmed, and he warms up to me. She tells him about the unwanted attention back at the club, and holds her close, for his comfort as well as hers.

“But luckily Thomas was passing by and sensed my distress signal! I’m glad to have met him tonight.”

“Likewise! I’m glad you were around Thomas, that club is known for sexually aggressive locals and foreigners, so I was kinda getting anxious when Paris told me she was inside, seeing as how I was stuck on a train. Not that it happens much here, it’s surprisingly rare even in Winter.” I listen to his accent, American, West Coast, maybe even Los Angeles territory. The Latino background made sense, I had a pen pal from California who was Half Japanese and Half Peruvian, spoke English, Japanese and Spanish. She jokingly referred to herself as Chifa, which is a term normally reserved for food (a fusion of Asian/Peruvian at that). She had a normal Western name, but always referred to herself as Aoi Aoi-chan (literally Miss Blue-Blue), which I adopted. Despite a clash in our schedules (she was a nursing student who I guess is now a nurse) we had even managed to Skype a few times, and Calvin’s accent reminded me a lot of hers. Paris then expresses her shock about the club’s reputation, because a coworker had told her that it as a decent club for foreigners. Calvin elaborates.

“For guys it is, considering hooking up is pretty much what they want to do. A lot of the local girls I know tend to avoid it, unless they’re feeling adventurous.”

I learn that he is an English teacher here and had come to Japan roughly the same amount of time ago that Paris did. Unlike her, he had a good grasp of Japanese, which was funny as we found the bar that Paris had mentioned earlier, and upon entering the staff instinctively looked for Paris or me to order. Calvin clearly expresses our desire for some drinks and lots of fried chicken, which speeds up the ordering rate. Two beers pints, one orange and one green, arrive with a glass of lemon tonic water. We toast each other, glasses chinking as I had often seen in shows.

“Kanpai!” Calvin drains almost half of the glass, but I sip on my matcha beer (an infusion using green tea powder), enjoying the froth, which was not too bitter like most beers. The karaage arrived, 3 small platters filled with hot, crunchy lumps of chicken. I can tell Paris enjoys them immensely, as she finishes one platter and moves on to the next while Calvin and I share the third. We have a discussion about life experiences, especially how the two of them met. I had initially pegged Calvin at around 26, while Paris I was assuming to be 22, only because she worked as a lawyer and thus needed to have spent at least 4 years on a degree. She is 23, so no surprises there, but to my astonishment her boyfriend reveals himself to be 33! He definitely had a mature vibe, but the features were dark and handsome, and did not have the tell tale signs of someone in their 30’s. For instance, his hair was thicker than mine, though I must admit I have naturally fine hair. I suppose if he had not shaved I could believe 28- 30, but that clean trimmed face was another credit to his apparent vitality. I try to tactfully broach the subject with him, which he takes in good grace.

“If you asked me months ago what I thought of dating someone 10 years younger, I would probably have said that I wouldn’t. But I also think that age is less about a number, and more about life experiences. For instance, if I had a full time job, but dated someone starting college, that’s a whole life experience apart. But after someone graduates and works, there’s not a huge deal of contrast between their lifestyle and the lifestyle of someone in their 30’s, or even 40’s. I would probably still be working until my 50’s, thanks to my horrible retirement package. Of course, starting your 60’s is the milestone for another life adventure; that’s going to be pretty wide divide if you are dating someone who just entered the work force!” We all nod at the practicality involved, and I think about the “half age plus 7 rule” that guys used to determine if a girl was too young. It works in this case anyway, and the two seemed happy. Seeing the two of them, and how they interacted, I could start to understand why a lot of girls preferred an older man as opposed to a young one, there was just so much more growth involved, for both parties. They ask me what I do and why I was visiting Japan.

“I guess you could call me a philosopher, but I work as a subcontractor doing all types of things. I’d love to get into more detail, but I don’t want to incriminate myself, there’s a lawyer here after all.”  I wink at Paris, who indulges me,

“If you get me more karaage, I would consider you my client, and then I wouldn’t be able to incriminate you!” We laugh at the entire concept, though we do order more karaage, along with French fries (for me), and Calvin orders his 3^rd beer. Paris wasn’t kidding when she said the fried chicken was good. She picks up a piece with her chopsticks, about to bite into it, and then puts it down thoughtfully, as if she has realised something. Looking at me with a questioning gaze, she asks,

“Thomas, I’m sorry if this is a little personal, but you’re not gay are you?”

I smile, this wasn’t the first time I was asked after all. I playfully wink at Calvin, who is amused by my antics. “No,” I reply, clearly humored by this.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

I laugh, another question I’ve heard before. I shake my head, and she continues.

“So, what are you doing on holiday in Japan, at a club? You don’t seem sleazy, and you didn’t want to hang around the club looking for a good time. Instead you left to hang out my boyfriend and me. Maybe… I get the feeling that… did you just break up with someone?”

I’m intrigued, this wasn’t in my usual list of commonly asked questions, but I couldn’t fault the inquisitive lawyer mind frame she was displaying. Realising she may have been rude, she turns wide eyed and pink cheeked, which I find adorable, and starts to apologise. I laugh, to show her I am not offended.

“Actually, to be honest, I did go there trying to forget a few things… I have been into someone, for a while now. I’m in love with them, actually. It’s part of the reason I’m in Japan, I trying to figure out how I feel once I see her again.”

“That sounds so romantic! Is she a nice person?” Paris is openly interested, though I suppose romance is something a lot of women express a natural affinity for.

“She’s probably one of the best people I know. I mentioned her earlier, she’s the lawyer friend I’m seeing tomorrow. Smart, driven, funny, gorgeous, and very kind, but enough about me, she’s pretty cool too!” She smiles, and the earlier tension is noticeably diffused. I continue,

“Maybe I was in that club because I wanted to stop thinking so much. I really wasn’t there for a hook up. I swear! I just like to absorb the culture at such scenes, it’s kind of… calming, do you know what I mean?” She nods while musing over my words, maintaining eye contact.

“Sorta, yeah! After a long day I just want to unwind and live in the moment. Do you have a photo of her? Could I see what she looks like?”

“Sure, let me bring one up on Facebook. I don’t really keep photos on my phone.” I laugh, but I also begin to feel a sense of trepidation, which I dismiss as nerves. I brush it aside from mind, and I find a decent photo of the two of us. “Here she is, didn’t I tell you she was beautiful?”

Paris watches keenly as I show her Naomi, then I see her fawn like brown eyes widen in shock, a small gasp slips from her now covered mouth. Clearly the picture was better that I thought, and Paris was obviously in awe. So why was my heart thudding so loudly!? Paris says something in an audible whisper. I feel a rush to my head, pupils dilating, as she looks directly at me again.

“That’s- is her name Naomi? I work with her!”

Chapter 16

I am aware that my breathing has quickened, but I do my best to appear calm, with a glassy smile. Hopefully I hide my shock, as she is open with hers.

“You know Naomi? And you work with her? That’s great!” I keenly focus my gaze on her, reiterating what she had just revealed. Paris nods repeatedly, and then continues to explain.

“Well I don’t work WITH her, she’s much more senior than me. But I see her around the office. Always calm and focused, I really feel motivated working at the same firm. Oh um, one time we were having drinks at an office party and I spoke to her too, she’s really nice, and cool.”

“She’s always been like that, I wasn’t exaggerating before!” I laugh as a sign of relief, which Paris joins in. I sense that we are both slightly reeling from this revelation. Maybe this was a divine sign, meeting her may have been no accident after all. Paris didn’t know much about Naomi’s work schedule or personal life, but she was able to give me an impression of the woman she had become. She grows hesitant about saying something, which turns out to be about Naomi’s current relationship status.

“Erm, I thought she was dating someone… I don’t know who, but won’t that make it difficult for you if you’re still in love with her?” She looks puzzled when I smile gently, and respond,

“It doesn’t matter who she’s dating, as long as they’re treating her well. She’s smart, so I think she did figure out I liked her, but I’m not sure if she knows that I loved her, that I’m still in love with her. I wanted to tell her because this might be the last chance I get before my life changes forever.”

“Oh no, are you dying?!” Paris is so sweet, no wonder she still looks so young- her innocence was keeping age at bay. I don’t think she was naïve either, just not embittered by the world.

“Oh goodness no! I’m quite healthy, and just between us, I think I may likely be immortal! But my circumstances have changed, and soon I may not be in a position to tell her what I’ve been keeping in all these years, either because of my family duty or my spiritual detachments.” I explain to them about my parents and the conversation which triggered all of this, even mentioning parts of the conversation I held with Vik. Calvin says something at last,

“That’s really heavy to lay on you man. But, you act like getting married or removing yourself from society are the only two options. Isn’t there anything else you want to pursue?”

“There might be, but to be honest, I think that subconsciously maybe my friend was right, maybe I am not moving forward with my life because I haven’t dealt with what I’m feeling. Like ghosts who can’t move on, maybe people like me are bound by unresolved feelings. In that case, coming here and making my peace with everything might be the best course of action. The truth is, I don’t know what to do, but I’m hoping that when I return I’ll have some clue.”

“Hey, you’re a poet, and you didn’t even know it!” Paris lightens the mood with wordplay. I couldn’t help but join in.

“I like to rhyme, all the time!” We look at Calvin, who simply grins and states,

“Oranges. Purple.” I take the bait, and reply with,

“Lozenges, Whirlpool!” We laugh as he raises his brows in surprise, and nods approvingly. It as technically not a true rhyme, but we were having silly fun so it didn’t matter. All talk of Naomi gives way as we simply discuss whatever comes to mind, though it might be that they wished to avoid the topic, to spare me any discomfort. We have a good time for another hour, and at that point decided to take our leave. I cover the bill, which the two are slightly taken back by. They insist on paying, I insist on paying, and in the end I accept their coins as repayment: they are more interesting than notes, and I was gathering as much as I could to take back, having donated most of my previous collection to Shinto’s Inari. We walk to the closest subway to get home.

They are heading back to a place called Konoikeshinden: Paris lived around there. I recall that Calvin lived in Kobe, but it was a Friday night, so he might be staying with her, or simply going home after he had walked her back safely. We parts way there, swapping Facebook details to ensure we could keep in touch. I could have taken a subway directly to my area, Tanimachiyonchome, but it was barely a 30 minute walk and I had some restless energy to disperse before I went back home. I take my time in getting back, not caring when I got back. I felt quite safe here, my mood pensive, and the cold was no bother.

Tonight I had met someone who works with Naomi, and unwittingly I confessed how I felt to them. Would she be angry with me? Or would she also find it a bizarre coincidence, and we would laugh about it like old times. Expressing my feelings was very cathartic, in the past 6 days I had spoken more about my unrequited affections than in the past 6 years, and getting it off my chest was already giving me greater perspective. By the time I make it back I feel my mind clearing from the walk. Naomi was my friend, and regardless of what happened tomorrow I wouldn’t dishonour that fact. She’s been a great friend, but I do think that most of that is due to her being a great person, and not because we have anything special. That connection belonged to my xuang di Vik. I think the Japanese term for that is ‘nakama’, or ‘aibo’, although ‘aibo’ might be closer to ‘partners in crime’. But in regards to Naomi, maybe deep down I am putting too much pressure on what friendship means. Maybe I was actually a terrible friend, because I wasn’t able to trust her with how I felt… She had always been sincere with me, yet even now, 6 years later, I’m acting like some pretentious fool. Okay! I’ve decided, tomorrow I will tell her the truth, but I will also not allow it to jeopardize our relationship… Damn it! I need to rethink this, but in the morning, when I’ve slept on it.

Returning to my hotel, I shower as soon as I get the hot water working: I set the temperature for 60 degrees Celsius, and crouch in the tub, letting the hot water wash over me. It soon fills the tub; I always plug up a bath tub if I intend to keep the water on for more than 3minutes, sometimes I feel the urge to sit in a tub as I contemplate my thoughts. Psychologists might attribute it to an urge to recreate the womb environment, the urge to feel safe and protected. They would be right. I needed to sleep, mentally there was a lot to process from today, and I was driving myself crazy trying to think of what to do. As Alan Watts used to say, to understand chaos one must surrender themselves to the dance, and I simply let go as I drift into unconsciousness.

Chapter 17

I awaken at around 6am, climb out of the bathtub, dry myself, then go back to sleep, but in my bed. I reawaken, and discover that it is 10:14am. I should get up, check out was due at 11am.  Today was it. Strangely enough, I awoke with a calm and clarity of mind and heart. It wasn’t that I had any answers, I was simply unintimidated by what uncertainties lay ahead. I moisturize my face, do my best to clean the black coat and scarf I have been wearing since I got to this country, and take out the present I had been carrying in my now spacious luggage case. With it in one hand, and the luggage case in the other, I make my way downstairs to the reception, and leave the hotel within 5 minutes. The weather was pretty sunny, but I was glad that it was still cold; I didn’t want my gift to melt, not after all this time, all of the distance traveled. As I wait at the station to reach Umeda, I catch my reflection. The man I saw looked a little grim, and I reminded myself that today was happy one, and at the very least I could try to enjoy it. Taking a deep breath, mirror me looked a little less somber, with less restrictive body language.

I arrive at Umeda station at about 12:30pm, and decide to explore the area a little. It was a business district, plenty of shops and boutiques too, but everything was inside the skyscrapers and other complexes that lined the streets. Once it becomes 12:50pm I use my phone to look for the 7/11, walking to the underground convenience store. I wait, until 1:10pm, when I get her message.

Naomi: Heyy! I’m here! Where are you?

Thomas: I’m here at the 7/11, Umeda right?

Naomi: Yep. I don’t see you?

Thomas: I don’t see you? Lol. I’ll walk around.

After I circle the place I realize something so stupid that I could have kicked myself.

Thomas: Hey, guess who’s an idiot?

Naomi: You.

            Hahahah!

            Why tho??

Thomas: The subway 7/11 is not the JR 7/11

Naomi: Lol, do you want to meet at Yodobashi instead?

Thomas: Hahah, yeah, I can see it, race you there!

I head into a big building, with ‘YODOBASHI’ in big letters at the front. 8^th floor, dining level. Meet by the elevators. I press buttons, impatient to get there. I curse inwardly. This was not a good start! Finally, one becomes available, and I anxiously punch in the number 8, and the elevator takes a painfully slow pace to get to level 8. I step off, and I’m pleased to see she hadn’t reached here yet. I steady my nerves, quickly give myself a pat down to groom myself, and I wait. After a few minutes I take out my phone, and send her a message.

Thomas: Hey, I think I win.

Naomi: Huh? Why?

Thomas, I made it before you?

Naomi: Lvl 8, Yodobashi, by the elevators?

Thomas: Lvl 8, Yodobashi, by the elevators. Lol.

I scan around, and I determine that there are a separate set of elevators on this floor. Makes sense, this place was huge after all. Still, this was not the impression I wanted to make! I glance around, and then I see her. The Buddha mentions that when you find your soul mate, your heart will not beat faster and you will not become flustered. Instead, you will feel calm in a way that you’ve never previously experienced.

I’m not sure how it was possible but as she was walking towards me, time seemed to slow down in a way I hadn’t experienced in over 6 years. I have a flashback to the first time I saw her, but this wasn’t the girl in the yellow top, denim skirt and sandals: I was being greeted by a young woman who walked in an elegantly confident stride. The light grey long coat she wore matched the blue-grey pants, and her skin, oh I had forgotten until now, was more brilliant than the full moon. Underneath the coat she had a slim fitting dark sweater, which only served to highlight her flowing black hair, cascading past her lovely face. A burgundy scarf complemented her bright red lips, which were smiling at me as her hands waved back and forth in a welcoming manner. Yet amidst all this, it was her eyes that I was most drawn to, the same beautiful eyes which I had looked into all those years ago, and found that they housed an achingly beautiful soul. It was impossible for me to not smile in elation as she approached. She radiated strength, self confidence, and yet also the same down-to-earth attitude from before.

“Hey Tom!” Even her voice, still that of a fun-loving girl, had taken a slightly huskier undertone.

“Hi, Naomi.” My voice is subdued, I take a moment to gather myself. I flash a grin, and try to act like me. “It really has been too long!”

“I know right!” We hug briefly, before exploring the dining options available to us. I didn’t care where we ate, I just insisted she take us to anywhere with food she enjoyed. There was so much I wanted to say, to share with her, to hear about her, but I was in no rush- my feelings had waited almost 7 years, they could wait a little longer. She casually selects a place that does rice dishes, and we’re seated in a booth by the window. We remove our scarves, and she her jacket, but I keep mine on.

“I still can’t believe it, you’re actually here!” She looks at me intently for a moment. I force myself out of my daze.

“I can’t believe it either! You’ve become a beautiful woman.” She laughs, before responding,

“You look different, I’ve never seen you with glasses and short hair before.” I suppose it was true, I had never worn my glasses around Naomi if I could help it, though I didn’t actually need them before unless I wanted to see long distance at night. Even now, I only wore them because I was in Japan, and wanted to have uncompromised visuals of my surroundings. As for my hair, I had cut it before I came here, before I left for Japan. I was going for a look that suggested I was more mature now. It was my turn again,

“Your voice, it’s so professional and confident. This place must agree with you!” She nods, before commenting on how I sound.

“You sound a little different too. Calmer. Less…”

“Less weird?”

“A little, but more like you don’t have 4 or 5 things you want to say at once. It’s nice.” I smile, for there was so much I wanted to say, but somehow, I didn’t need to think about it with her, it just happened. The waitress arrives, and Naomi orders a seafood rice set, while I order an eel rice set. And a serve of French fries of course. While we wait for our meals Naomi prepares some tea: she tears open a power of green tea for each of our cups and pours hot water into the cup. I thank her, and we toast each other. She explains that this place served a rice dish that involved mixing the tea with the rice. I recall it from my sukiyaki experience in Kyoto, and she is slightly impressed when I reveal that I knew of it.

“Oh wow, you know about it?” I relate my time in Kyoto. The meal, anyway.

“Yes, but I’ve only had ochazuke the one time, so I’ll just copy you.”

“I don’t eat it that often, so I need to read the instructions to remember as well.” She then points out the instructions, in English, that are located in the menu stand. I look over briefly, but I wasn’t too interested, not with Naomi sitting in front of me. Sitting here, I was staring at her, I couldn’t help it! It all seemed surreal. She noticed me as she glances over from the menu. Remembering that I did have something to give her, I take the white gift bag I had carried in my luggage since I began my trip. Today, however, it would at last see the light of day. I prepare myself as I take it from under the table.

“My dearest Naomi, please accept this as a token for all the missed Birthdays and Holidays over the years! It has made its way across the seas, from Tokyo to Mt Fuji, up Fushimi Inari in Kyoto, and finally found its way to you in Osaka. I hope you like it.” She seems amused at my proclamations, and thanks me as she accepts the laminated bag.

“Aww, thank you, you really didn’t have to!” She looks inside, and curiously examines the contents. I had searched for chocolates and sweet treats from home, things which would be rarer to find in Japan, and I was fortunate the weather was chilled enough as to preserve them (though I had been careful with my luggage case for that reason). Previously I had considered all manner of gifts for her, until I realised that she could have gotten such things herself if she really wanted them. The thoughtful angle was the way to go, but over the years I wasn’t sure what she was still into, so aside from various sweets I settled for something sweeter: nostalgia. She examines the empty jar of Nutella, with a custom label that spelled her name “Naomi”, and a small towel that featured a little anime character she enjoyed (a blue Totoro).

Over the years I had gifted her with various Totoro themed merchandise, partially as a joke, and partially because she adored them. When she graduated I grew ambitious, and decided that I would make her something unique. I bought materials and spent a few weeks slowly hand sewing a medium sized plushy, until I was able to craft a pretty decent grey Totoro. It was tailored for her, as I had added a graduation cap (also self made) that included a small blessing if she were to ever remove the fabric from the mortarboard, and a set of graduation robes. I found this part trickier, as I had cut the edge in a jagged fashion to represent a ghostly feature; an in-joke from a fan theory that suggested Totoro was actually the grim reaper, and the girls from that iconic movie had died at the start of the film. But I included it to represent the idea of moving on, for the toy to symbolise a guardian spirit (of sorts) while she made a new life elsewhere. Did it sound like a deep concept? It looked disappointingly tacky compared to the rest of the plushy, but at that point I had run out of time, so decided to stick with it instead of making another one. I was skipping for days after she told me she liked it.

Our food arrives, and I have to say that they were served in an exquisite steamer, with the main topping resting on white rice. A dainty little pot for the ochazuke came with the meal, which include an assortment of pickled side vegetables. My French fries arrived on a boat styled platter, but I leave them for now. We eat and talk, between bites, of the old days, and I fill her in on as much information as I could. I tell her about the people we knew, the couples still together, and the ones who were now married with kids. I tell her that Toby was now involved in a lot of local theatre, and Louise was currently working in a lab while trying to find an ideal housemate.

“You know, they asked me to sneak you back with me in my luggage, but I think that as a lawyer you could afford something slightly fancier.” She laughs, it sounds like the peal of bells. Then she relates her work life, which was as busy as I had heard from Paris. I ask her about her non-work life. When she mentions her dating life I am surprised to find that I don’t feel any stabs of pain in my chest, no jealousy or envy: I just wanted to know if they were good to her.

“When I’m not traveling, it’s actually pretty boring. I work, and I sometimes hang out with the office crew, but I don’t have any friends here like our old group. I try dating, with apps, and I meet a few guys, but there’s no one serious. I mean, there’s this one guy, right now, he’s a dental student so his hours are clashing with my work schedule. Plus he’s not replying to my messages, so I don’t really know what we are. How about you? Have you found someone?”

This was a tricky question for me to answer, but I decide to wait before telling Naomi why I had come to Japan. It wasn’t being dishonest, I decide, I will reveal the truth soon.

“Oh, nothing serious, I tried dating apps too, but no one really clicks with me. Actually, that’s kind of why I came to Japan- it’s my birthday soon.”

“Oh yeah, happy birthday! I’ll probably forget, so this is an early one just in case!”

“Thank you! You’ve always been so considerate of me. Yeah, I’m turning 29 in a few days, so I wanted to go somewhere different, look back on the last 10 years before I’m 30.”

“I think that’s great. I traveled to a lot of places, when I can, and I really like experiencing new things. It’s part of the reason I came to Japan, I wanted a life that wouldn’t become a routine. I think that if I hadn’t, I might have gotten married, maybe even have kids by now… but I don’t know if I want that yet, I just really enjoy my life, you know?”

“I do, my parents are urging me to marry, they say I’m getting old. Can you believe that?” I wink, to suggest that I do actually think I am getting old.

“My parents are the same, they want me to settle down and give them grandkids! It’s lucky you picked now to come see me, Tom, if you came next week I would be seeing them and we wouldn’t get to hang out.” She and I look at each other, it was now or never, and I take a leap of faith.

“I still like you.” The words come out, however, I back out last second, by smiling playfully, which robs the words of their impact, so Naomi thinks I am just joking round.

“You’re very sweet Tom. I’m glad you came to see me too.” She smiles, and I reciprocate though I feel massive disappointment. I look away, and Naomi seems to notice that I want to say something. My tone changes and I ask her,

“Haven’t you ever wanted to get married, once you fall in love with the right person?” She looks thoughtful, and thinks for a moment before telling me,

“I’ve never fallen in love before. I wouldn’t know what I want if it happened. But I know that I love being me right now, so I guess it’s just a matter of when it happens.”

Something incredible was happening to me; I thought I was in love with Naomi, but the more we talked, the more it felt like I was falling in love with her all over again. Yet stranger still, I no longer felt like confessing my feelings for her. The way she is now, the way she was when living life to the fullest, she was perfect. That was the person I loved. Telling her how I felt all this time simply wasn’t what she needed to hear. We make more small talk, drink more tea, and then I suggest we leave. There was some shopping she wanted to do, on the 2^nd floor of this multistorey building that seemed to have everything a consumer could want to buy. She looks at my fries, which I haven’t touched, and confirms if I’m truly finished. I act as cheerfully as I can.

“Yes, I’m done. I don’t need those fries. Let’s go.”

We are presented with the bill, which I insist on covering. It was my last day in Japan, and I didn’t need Yen after this, so she relented. We take the elevator to the second floor, and she finds what she needs pretty quickly: a new type of film that produced Polaroid photos by imprinting smart phone images. It was easy to use, all you needed to do was place it over the screen and voila, instant picture (within 20 seconds or so). We take a picture together outside the elevator, while we wait for one to make its way up, and I am amazed that we look so photogenic. Well, she always looked that good, but I liked the way I looked in that photo, despite my face being a little flushed (something that nothing to do with the coat I had kept on during the meal). As we travel to the ground floor she asks me what I want to do now. She seems surprised that I was leaving that evening, as she had been prepared to hang out for the entire Saturday. It was tempting, but I didn’t really have a reason to be here anymore, and I wanted her to have more time in clearing out her office space for that upcoming holiday. The same place Paris worked. A curiosity sparks within, and I make a request.

“Oh, you work around this area right? Can I see your office building before I go?”

“Sure, but you aren’t allowed inside without a security pass, sorry!”

“It’s okay, I just wanna see where you work, where the magic happens!”

“Hahah, you’re still so weird!”

“I guess I am, hahah!”

As we make our way to her office I take note of the surroundings. I suddenly decide I’m not satisfied with to leaving things as they are. I talk to her as we walk through the crowds, their presence helping to mask my anxieties.

“Hey, Naomi, do you wanna play a quick game? It’s called ‘What If?’.” We’ve made it to the office, or at least, the building that housed the office. Naomi indulges me, though I could see she was a little puzzled.

“What if, I might be getting married soon.” She gasps, and reprimands me for not telling her sooner.

“Really?? That’s something you should say at the start of a conversation!”

“Well, I said, ‘might be’! I’m not sure if I want to do that, or join a priesthood somewhere instead.”

“Oh really? You should definitely consider it! Right?” She seems more intrigued now, and I steady myself.

“That’s what the game is for. You see, what if- what if I came to Japan to see the last girl I had feelings for, so I could make sense of how I feel now?” She is looking more confused now, but figures it out. I can’t look at her directly, but try to keep a poker face. Her beautiful eyes widen, and are looking directly at me when she says,

“Me? But that was so long ago! Wasn’t it?” I look at her directly, taking off my frames so she could see the truth in my eyes.

“What if I’m still in love with her? I don’t mind if she doesn’t feel the same. But if she asked, I would go anywhere in the world to see her. I know she doesn’t want that, so it makes me not want it either. I don’t think we only became friends out of me wanting something more, but I want her to know that I don’t regret it, that she was worth it.” I put on a smile. It’s not a far cry from my true feelings, which are turbulent, but also strangely happy that I had said it, at last. Naomi looks at me with a mixture of understanding and sadness as she tells me, gently, kindly,

“Well, Tom, I hope you found what you were looking for.”

“I think I did, thank you for everything. I should go now.”

“It was really great seeing you again Tom!” I don’t trust my voice, but I nod to show her my sentiments were the same. We embrace, and I maintain the hold for a second longer than she does.

“Bye!”

“Bye.” I watch as she enters those glass doors, walking out of sight, and out of my life once more.

The whole experience has left me woozy, and I slowly make my way outside, where I find myself on a bridge overlooking the city. My breathing is irregular and heavy. I lean on the rails for support, doing my best to maintain balance and composure. I am then hit by a sight I will likely never forget, due to the association with this memory. A bright beam of light was emanating from the sunset, which shone gold for a moment, before taking on an orange hue. My strength returns as I try to make sense of what I am feeling.

Naomi’s blossomed into the woman I glimpsed inside her, all those years ago. I came here because I was in love with the Girl, and I wanted to tell her that before moving on. Instead, I fell in love with the Woman, and in doing so, I get a sense of how much I’ve grown in the last 6 years. Love makes fools of us all. Yet a fool who persists in his folly becomes wise, so sayeth William Blake. If I am that fool, then I wonder who is laughing at me? Maybe I should just laugh at myself, for everything that led me here in the first place was what I am confronting again, at the end of my trip.

I made my way to the Umeda train station, and took the connections that would take me to Kansai airport. The image of the setting sun was still on my mind, and I looked at my reflection in the compartment windows. What I saw was a strangely subdued man, eyes somber but no longer as sad. I was glad that the atmosphere in Japan favoured peace and quiet, I wanted tranquility as I processed how I felt.

Calvin, from the previous night, had sent me a message warning of how certain train compartments went to the airport, while the others continued traveling along the countryside. It was not a mistake I would want to make if I needed to be punctual. It did put me in a state of paranoid alertness, but fortunately the entire train went to the airport, and from there it was simply a matter of procedure and waiting times.

Home. I would be home soon, but my brief time in Japan made me rethink the implications of such a word. Was it a place that I was familiar with, a structure of routine, or could it be that home was where I felt the most welcome? Vik and Maggy took me into their home, and made me feel welcome, but while he and I shared a powerful camaraderie, I wasn’t truly at home with just his presence. For that matter, I wouldn’t call what I felt with Naomi being ‘at home’ either. No, what I needed was something that was predominantly Me, but as to what that was, I still had no clue.

My brain was swimming in a neural cocktail, simultaneously sobering my mind and filling my soul with a restless energy. Tomorrow evening I would be back home. Oscar would be waiting for me at the airport, he would take me back to my house, and maybe in-between we would be eating late night fast food… it was hard to imagine that I had only been in Japan for about a week. What would become of Jake and Soo-Jung? It was his first real relationship, but no matter what becomes of it he’ll definitely grow from the experience. Had I been able to do so while I was here?

Now that I am just waiting for my departure flight: it seemed as if I was going back as a different person. They do say traveling broadens the mind, enriches the soul, and puts one’s life into perspective. While I have gained a measure of the latter, I still don’t know if I want to become a celibate priest, or start a family, or maybe neither?

What I can say is that my heart has opened, after remaining closed for so long. I felt, and still feel, a rush of emotions I’ve been suppressing, as well as feelings I’ve since forgotten. I am alive with sensations and the experience is testament of my choice to truly live. Maybe I’m too young to be a sage, to give up everything, and especially to cease feeling the feelings which are part of the journey to enlightenment. I think about Naomi again. I didn’t have to place my life on hold, but I didn’t have to throw away a timeless connection either, did I? Maybe in this life it wasn’t meant to be, and maybe I just arrived at these feelings too early. My soul could wait, whether it is a few years, a decade, even the next life, until the time we would be able to comprehend each other.

In the meantime, life was too short to stay closed off from the world. Off to the next adventure!

I want to explore more connections, those threads that link us to the world where we learn to live and love, laugh and eventually let go. But before that, I want to transcribe my feelings, which culminated in the image of that sunset vivid in my mind.

The Osaka Sunset

What assurances doth Life provide?

Carpe Diem, quam minimum, credula postero.

I sigh.

In the land of the Rising Sun,

I see Osaka’s sun, setting.

In twilight, I fight regrets of which I struggle in forgetting.

Neither Day nor Night,

I seek insights, before Darkness envelops my lonely heart.

Breathe… a gentle breeze reminds me to Breathe…

Long ago there lived a people who loved the Sun, too.

Yet love became obsession, their humanity regressed,

‘Til but macabre yearnings for light was left.

Great beauty, sullied by those prisoners of love who offered their very lives,

Sun worshippers, in love with the idea of Light.

I seek to understand True Love

Which can not be captured, only shared.

All fears and controlling desire,

Pale against that Heavenly Fire.

From where did it come? A quiet mystery.

Maybe it was always here?

Passing each day, never to stay,

and returning somewhere each night.

Her warmth my privilege, not my right.

What does it mean to hope and dream,

when you must relinquish,

 One’s very illumination?

It is as simple as breathing.

The air is all around us. Respiration.

Fill your lungs, then empty…

Resist the folly of keeping it in,

What gives joyous life grows stale in your prison.

In the land of the Rising Sun

Twilight fades and makes way for Night.

I can let go of the light, but I’ll never forget,

  How Beautiful and Bright, the Osaka Sunset.

Epilogue

I barely remember getting home, content with reliving my memories, until I was snapped out of my thoughts by Oscar. It was almost 1am. My friend had been waiting for longer than I had intended owing to a mistake made with the check in lines, as well an issue that arose with the quarantine officers (not me, some people on holiday). I was almost vetted on a “random basis”, but I noticed that once it was revealed I was a local returning home, the whole process because relaxed, casual, and much quicker than some of the other passengers. It was good to be back home.

“Oscar! Sorry for the wait man, I thought I told you when I stopped over in Singapore, come an hour later and avoid the waiting times!” In typical fashion, he just shrugs stoically.

“Eh, I don’t mind. Had nothing better to do.”

I insist we get out of the airport and offer to pay for those exorbitant parking fees we were charged. We do end up stopping at a McDonalds, and although he asks me about the trip I am not really in the mood to go into detail. He doesn’t ask me about Naomi, which I am grateful for because I had only just finished processing our last moments together, my physiological and mental states were almost back to normal, except I still felt as if I was glowing somehow. We finish eating and he takes me home with few words exchanged- I suppose he was tired too, it being as late as it was. But I wasn’t really too tired to make conversation, I was just preoccupied with planning. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was… unstuck? A feeling in-between motivated and inspired: rejuvenated. Yes, I hadn’t felt more recharged since I was a wide eyed youngsters, and this sensation was something my adult self recognised as powerful. Reflecting on my life to this point, the choices made, as well as the directions it was heading, I must admit that Vik had a point about me not pursuing my true ambitions.

We arrive at my house, and I decline Oscar’s help for unpacking- I travelled light, and returned even lighter in every sense of the word. I wish him a safe journey home, and make my way inside to a dusty interior, unpacking, showering, and then retiring to my bed. Ah, spacious sleeping space, the only thing lacking from the Japanese bedroom experience. Laying down, unwinding, I say close my eyes, and think of what I would do now. I think to myself,

Well Thomas, your birthday is coming up soon, an auspicious date to be reborn. Did you find yourself while overseas? Do you have an answer as to who you are meant to be?

I smile, at peace with my resolutions, before settling into my rest. Tomorrow was another day, another opportunity to raise my forgotten dreams from their slumber. I would greet each sunrise as my idealistic comrade, and each sunset a reminder of life’s ephemeral beauty. It’s all I needed to make through each day. Probably.