Ah, race of mortal men,

How as a thing of nought

I count ye, though ye live;

For who is there of men

That more of blessing knows, ⁠

Than just a little while

To seem to prosper well,

And, having seemed, to fall?

Sophocles, “Oedipus Rex”

Starting tomorrow, I will post the diary entries written after my fourteenth birthday.

All this writing is sort of taking over my trip. But I can’t resist it. It’s stronger than me.

24 March 2023

• 7:05-7:15 guesthouse to Sakate port bus, 7:40-7:55 Sakate port to Kusakabe port bus, 8:30-8:45 Kusakabe port to Kankakei ropeway bus, 5m ropeway
• Kankakei gorge (1h)
• 5m ropeway down, 10:20-10:35 Kankakei to Kusakabe port bus, 10:36-11:10 Kusakabe port to Tonosho port bus, 11:25-12:30 Tonosho port to Takamatsu ferry, 12:40-13:30 Takamatsu to Naoshima (Miyanoura port) ferry
• 10m bus to Naoshima port, showing up at my hostel for nothing, 10m bus back to Miyanoura
• Chichu art museum (45m)
• Benesse House museum (15m)

Today I woke up at 6:00 to watch the sunrise. As I learned the hard way, the guesthouse’s beach was facing west.

No matter. I didn’t have too much time, anyway. When I’d returned the rental bike yesterday after my accident, I’d forgotten to type the return code. So the app had continued to charge me.

I had to take two buses from the guesthouse to reach Kankakei gorge, the reason I’d come to Shodoshima to begin with. There was one at 7:00 or 12:00.

Stopping at the port necessitated a third bus. I managed to do so and make it to the ropeway around opening time.

Along the way, I broke the zipper of my only hoodie. My right thumb was turning blue after I slammed a door on it yesterday. And the left side of my body was still bleeding.

Per the guesthouse owner’s recommendation, I asked the bus driver for a 1-day free pass; I would be taking quite a few buses today. I didn’t need to go to a ticket office to buy it.

The tourist information centre hadn’t mentioned this pass. It was the kind of stuff you learned from locals.

This early in the morning, I was the only passenger.

On the second bus, it was me and a bunch of elementary school students. I loved their uniform and leather bags (which someone had told me cost around 800 dollars).

On the third bus (to the ropeway), I was alone again.

Kankakei Gorge

Finally, I reached Kankakei – one of Japan’s top three most beautiful gorges. It flaunted rugged, oddly-shaped towers of stones and rocks, formed by volcanic eruptions. Gorgeous (pun intended) in spite of the fog, or should I say by virtue of it: misty and atmospheric.

Ambling from one observation deck to another made me as euphoric as yesterday. The view was striking. Plus, the early hour and people around me calmed my spirits. I knew I’d be safe.

One viewpoint had a throwing hoop game called Kawara Nage. There was also a walking trail to more observatories, but it was so hazy, that I didn’t dare pursue it. 

I ate maple ice cream, adding to my long list of unique flavours I’d been trying in Japan, and bought some soy sauce. I couldn’t leave the biggest manufacturer of traditional soy sauce in Japan without some.

My visit to Kankakei was short but sweet, literally, and I bid Shodoshima a bittersweet farewell. My brief time here was both traumatic and uplifting. I would’ve liked to have stayed here at least one more day. The island struck me as an undiscovered gem.

Ferries from Shodoshima to Naoshima (via Teshima) were annoyingly rare. So I changed at Takamatsu.

Naoshima

Now came the time to explore Naoshima, the famous art island. The first artwork I saw after docking was Kusama’s red pumpkin. That already put me in a good mood.

There were a few outdoor sculptures/installations, as well as a drain with a painting of a Pokémon. I recalled the British girl from Okayama telling me about PokeLids, a series of Pokémon drain art in multiple locations throughout Japan.

I took the bus to Naoshima port in order to leave my luggage at the hostel. No one was there.

I called them on the phone. They didn’t offer to let me in. So I took the bus back to the original port.

My mood shifted into anger. It wasn’t the bus fare; it was the time. Every accommodation I’d been too – a different place almost every day, for the past month and a half – had allowed me to drop off my luggage. Yet now I wasted an hour over nothing.

After storing my luggage in a coin locker (no change of clothes for tomorrow, sadly, I didn’t have room in my backpack), I went to an artistic bathhouse I’d been meaning to visit, to ask if I could enter despite my open wounds. They gave me a bunch of Band-Aids and told me to cover my leg upon my return, so that no one would notice.

Now came the time to officially explore the island. I wanted to rent a regular bike, but the shop owner, slightly alarmed by my cycling injury, recommended an electric one instead. He said there would be some slopes.

This tiny island could probably be circled in an hour on a bike. Nearly everyone was riding them. I cycled through its coastline; the view was stunning. Misty and sunny at the same time.

Chichu Art Museum

First stop: Chichu art museum. A unique building, designed by Tadao Ando, it was completely underground, and relied on natural light to illuminate artworks.

I entered through a corridor reminiscent of a tunnel. My footsteps were echoing. The walls were dark gray, concrete, and cold. Following this passage, photography was prohibited.

The architecture was minimal and austere. The corridors felt cave-like, yet also industrial somehow. Dark and chilling.

Usually museum staff wore black, but here, they wore white. It added to the reverent vibe.

In stark contrast to such rigidness, the museum did not impose a fixed route. Such a feature had always struck me as a double-edged sword: freeing, until I wouldn’t know which way to go, and FOMO would kick in.

The first two exhibitions required visitors to change into slippers. Allegedly to “respect the intentions of the artist and to keep the spaces in optimal condition.” I thought it was a bit silly. Why did I need to take off my shoes to behold Monet’s waterlilies?

I wasn’t that wowed by the paintings, either. There were only five waterlillies, and not very exciting, compared to the ones in the l’Orangerie.

But then I realised how well-lit the room was. Despite the minimal openings in the ceiling. Today was overcast, and still, the gallery felt brighter than the outdoors. I realised how special this structure was, and how the artworks it presented were secondary to its architecture. Even Monet.

To join the line for the James Turrell exhibition, I had to wait at another room, impossibly well-lit. Looking at the transparent ceiling, I could spot the occasional bird flying by.

After a long wait, I entered a dark room with a staircase leading to an aquamarine screen. The other visitors and I went up the stairs and stopped. Then a staff member told us to keep going.

We penetrated the screen, and discovered it was a room awash with light. The hue was slowly changing, and made me feel like I had entered light itself. It was ethereal.

The third and final exhibition was by Walter De Maria. A large hall with gold leaf sculptures and one giant sphere. So quiet, that it reminded me of a cathedral.

Once again, the light was the focal point for me – the brightness of the underground hall, even on a cloudy day, and the way light was reflecting on the sphere.

I left the museum blown-away, and rode the bike to another one. On the way, I saw a tanuki for the first time. It was eating some of the cat food a local lady had been leaving for the island’s feline population.

Benesse House

The long road down to Benesse House museum forbade the use of bikes. I walked and walked and saw that cars were, for some head-scratching reason, granted entry. Maybe it was for “artistic” reasons, like the slippers in Chichu.

I checked out a huge steel arch facing the sea on the way, which amplified the sound of my footsteps when I passed through it.

Then, Benesse House. It was… not what I’d expected. Photos were allowed; I didn’t take any. Fifteen minutes of a grumpy tour, and I was berating myself for wasting my money.

The way I saw it, contemporary art should stimulate your senses, challenge your perception, and transport you to a different world. Chichu did that. Benesse didn’t.

I passed the time talking to a couple of actors from the US, who would be staying in the same area as me. It was getting late; we were probably the last visitors to leave. I recalled yesterday’s mountain incident, and grew nervous.

We took the last shuttle bus from Benesse up to Chichu. Walking would’ve taken 20-30 minutes, and I was determined to check into my hostel before sunset.

At Chichu, I called a cab. As expected, they wouldn’t let me bring my bike. The actors got inside the cab, while I had to resort to a bycicle.

I cycled like a madman on tranquilisers: slowly but anxiously, along a deserted road. It was getting dark, and various animals were making sounds.

A few minutes later, I arrived at a street, and spotted someone getting on a bike. He was an Indian expat, about to leave for work in the area I would be sleeping in. I followed him, grateful for his company and guidance.

After checking in and calming down at the hostel, I asked the owner if the road to the bathhouse was dangerous. He doubted anyone had ever fell from their bike there. But he did say it would be dark.

At that moment, you couldn’t pay me to leave the hostel. I’d had enough of the countryside at night.

I had developed a love/hate relationship with rural Japan. And I decided that no attraction would be worth stepping out at this late hour. If locals stuck to their homes, I would stick to my accommodation.

But the bathhouse. I really wanted to visit it. So I scrapped my plans for tomorrow. Several people had recommended Kurashiki to me (a pretty canal town with pottery shops and a decent art museum), yet the bathhouse spoke to me more.

I asked one of the guests to switch bunks with me, because climbing up the ladder meant bending my knee.

Finally, I went to bed early without eating dinner. How many times had that happened on this trip? I’d lost count.

Today’s highlights: the view from Kankakei gorge; the view from Naoshima’s coastline; Chichu art museum (particularly the Turrell exhibition); and hanging out with the actors.

Stray observations:

• Shodoshima was the only place in Japan where I saw a local talk on the phone in a bus. The driver told him off.
• My favourite word in Japanese had always been ちょっと, because it was so fun to pronounce and useful in many situations. But lately I’d grown fond of how, when asking elderly locals for directions, they would elongate ずっと so much for emphasis, that it would become ずーっと. So funny.
• Speaking of the elderly, talking to them had become a bit daunting. They nearly all slur and speak lighting-fast, unlike younger people. Impossible to understand.

25 March 2023

• 9:13-9:19 Naoshima Port to Tsutsujiso bus
• Yellow pumpkin
• 9:30-9:35 Tsutsujiso to Naoshima Port bus
• Minamidera house (20m)
• Kinza house (20m)
• Walk to Miyanoura port (25m)
• 13:00-13:45 I Love Yu bathhouse
• 13:55-14:05 Naoshima to Uno port ferry, 14:40-15:05 Uno to Chayamachi train, 15:10-15:30 Chayamachi to Okayama train, 15:50-17:00 Okayama to Hiroshima Shinkansen
• 40m walk limp to hotel
• Dinner: okonomiyaki at Okonomimura

Today I returned to the museum area just to see Kusama’s yellow pumpkin. It was worth it.

Naoshima was the kind of place where the bus driver announced the stops instead of an automatic voice. Also, where it wasn’t rare to ride the bus alone.

Back in Honmura (Naoshima port area), the only place where I could buy food before 10:00 was a tiny grocery store. I got a bunch of weird-looking fish cakes, two snacks I’d never seen in konbinis, and one bento.

I could barely finish one fish cake. It was that dense. What was I going to do with five others?

Hungry yet devoid of appetite, I began to explore Honmura’s art house project. This area was known for abandoned structures-turned-installations. On my way to the first one, I ran into the American actors from yesterday.

I ignored the timed entry on my ticket just so I could chat with them. For the umpteenth time on this trip, I found myself saying goodbye to people I longed to spend more time with. Travelling had enabled me to meet a dazzling number of interesting individuals on a daily basis, but also forced me to part ways with them.

Manimi-dera House

The first art house was Minamidera (“south temple”), named after its former structure. It had been converted into a dark room. We were instructed to turn off our phones, so as to not emit any light.

Inside was complete darkness. The guy before me got cold feet and fled outside. Everyone else progressed step by step by feeling the wall with their hand.

After a minute of hesitant treading, we were instructed to sit on a bench. I hit my wounded knee against it, and felt it bleeding.

The room was pitch-black. I couldn’t see anything, nor hear.

Silence.

Then my eyes began adjusting to the dark. Five minutes of blind breathing, and I noticed a faint, gray screen in front of me, as if I was sitting in the back of a movie theater. It reminded me of the hypnosis scene from Get Out, when the protagonist sank into the abyss – down an unconscious rabbit hole, into another world – and saw our world on a faraway screen.

I felt the same way. As if I was inside a chamber on another planet, gazing at our world. This was what Benesse House should’ve done.

Then we were invited to stand up and approach the screen. We all paced cautiously, even though we were told the floor was flat. The screen slowly revealed its depth: not a two-dimensional projection, but a three-dimensional annex, like the apsis of a medieval church. We reached out our hands. A few LEDs emitted a murky light. It was like reaching out into a haze.

I recalled the mist that had engulfed me on the mountain in Shodoshima after my crash. It was eerie and unsettling. We roamed around the chamber like three-dimensional shadows: different creatures in a different realm.

Then our time was up, and we retired from Mordor.

Kinza House

Next, I went to Kinza House. This was the only art house that required a reservation in advance. So far in advance, in fact, that three weeks ago when I’d booked it, there was only one slot left for my time on this island.

The reason: only one person was permitted to enter at a time, for up to fifteen minutes.

I slid open a stone door as tall as a child, and entered a cabin-like structure.

There was a small space I could walk inside, and a low, wooden stall, round like the cut trunk of a tree, to sit on. In front of it was an extremely low and sparse fence, comprised of perfectly distanced metal rectangles. The area beyond it was off-limits.

That area housed various geometrical objects in equal simplicity, minimalism, and precise measurements. Wooden beams; a dark gray, thin sphere in the center. I sat down and observed all this.

“Um,” I thought. “A bunch of minimalist geometrical shapes. Okay…”

I noticed a small, mushroom-like object in the middle, and miniscule glass spheres spread around the floor like dew.

“And those things,” I added. “Fine.”

Everything was the color of earth: the stones, the wood, and the ground-like floor.

The walls were no different. Instead of reaching the ground, they were being held by the lowest, thinnest wooden beams, like tiny branches. The openings on the bottom let both light and sound in. I could hear people talking and cars vrooming in the adjacent streets.

I wondered what I was looking at. Was this art, or a big fuss about nothing? Why was this installation nearly fully booked?

Then it hit me: if I had to ask myself the first question, the answer was probably the latter.

After a minute or so of feeling bummed about wasting time and money on yet another disappointment, it suddenly grew silent. No one was outside. And I felt that I was again transported to another world.

The emphasis on stones and earth made me feel like I was sitting inside a neolithic settlement. The geometric minimalism and perfectly placed objects made me feel like I was in a simulacrum – a meticulously planned version of reality. I noticed that the squashed sphere was actually a concave plate: white on the outside, yet dark on the inside, since there was no light to illuminate it from above. It reminded me of a stereotypical spaceship invading Earth.

I felt that I was inhabiting an ancient and futuristic dwelling at the same time. And I realised the far future might turn out to be not so different from the ancient past.

Then the nearby alleys got loud again. Cacophony from the outside. My bubble was burst.

I was back in the real world, in the present moment, in my life.

My 15 minutes were up. I exited both over- and under-whelmed, irritated and inspired. If I were the artist, I would’ve made the structure sound-proof.

I Love Yu Bathhouse

My final stop in Naoshima was the artistic bathhouse I’d missed yesterday. The bus there would arrive in around thirty minutes. Walking took the same time. So I did the latter. 

The bathhouse was called “I Love Yu” – clever wordplay, since “Yu” meant “hot water” in Japanese.

Before entering, I put band-aids on every open wound on the left side of my body. I probably looked like Frankenstein’s monster.

Luckily, I was alone for the first twenty minutes, having arrived before opening time.

I Love Yu enraptured me. The changing room had old film posters in what looked like Thai. A collage of elephant photos, and a bench that doubled as video art.

Inside the washing area, there was color everywhere. Mosaics and stained glass; colorful soaps, baskets, and taps. The tub itself was adorned by old Japanese artworks and contemporary photography. It overlooked a mural of sealife and a garden with plants.

In the center of the hall, which separated the male and female sections, stood a life-size sculpture of an elephant on a division, because why not. It was illuminated by a stained-glass ceiling. 

Ambient music was being played: sometimes classical, sometimes guitar, sometimes jazz.

Did I like it better than the wooden tub from Nachi? I couldn’t make up my mind. I was literally soaking in art.

Yet two brief dips, and my blood pressure dropped again. My vision grew dark, and I staggered outside. I should think twice before visiting any more indoor baths.

From there, I rushed to pick up my luggage from the coin locker and ride the ferry. It was actually a small passenger boat. The previous ones were all imposing enough to store vehicles. Maybe that was why today’s cruise was the fastest. It took a mere ten minutes.  

Then I paid for a Shinkansen for the first time, instead of using a rail pass. That took a toll. My Kansai Wide Area Pass, still in effect, was useless now.

This might have been my last Shinkansen. They were so state-of-the-art, that I wanted to take them on a regular basis.

Hiroshima

From Hiroshima station, I decided to walk to my hotel, so as to save a buck and traverse the city. It was very big.

Soon enough, I started limping, and regretted my decision.

When I’d returned to the hostel in Shodoshima after my accident, and insisted that my knee was fine, the Norwegian woman had remarked that it would begin hurting in four days. I’d grown befuddled by her fortune. But now I understood her.

Forty long minutes later, I was about to enter my hotel, when I ran into three Israeli tourists who were exiting it. We talked a bunch, and realised we’d be in two different places at the same time next month. Then I sort of invited myself to dinner with them. They were headed to a famous Okonomiyaki spot I’d been wanting to check out.

Hiroshima-style Okonomiyaki was loads better than Osaka-style, in my opinion. Dinner was both delicious and fun.

Yet I began to limp more and more, that I resolved to take it easy tomorrow. I went to bed late, allowing myself to wake without an alarm.

Today’s highlights: Minamidera house; Kinza house; I Love Yu bathhouse; taking the Shinkansen; and eating Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki.

26 March 2023

• Peace memorial park (~2h)
• Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum (1.5h)
• Hiroshima museum of art (1h)
• Early dinner: okonimyaki @ Okonomimura

I woke up at 9:30 and spent two hours in bed. Just like in Hakone and Osaka. So far on this trip, I’d either jumped out of bed super early in a rush to start my day, or lounged about for two hours. There was no in-between.

My hotel was called “Park side” because it was literally by the peace park, where the atomic dome stood. My room was facing the parking lot, but the location was still good.

I headed out to explore the park, armed with a map from the tourist information centre detailing every single monument.

On second thought, “armed” might not be the best word here.

Peace Memorial Park

In the past week, I’d seen cherry blossoms nearly everywhere I’d been to – Wakayama prefecture, Okayama, Naoshima… The south side of this island country was being colored pink.

Hiroshima, however, took it to new heights. The park was full of cherry blossoms, scheduled to reach full bloom tomorrow. People were already doing hanami (flower-watching picnics), despite the overcast weather.

I started my tour of the park with the atomic dome. It was disturbing. Cracked, ashen walls; floor covered in fallen bricks. Moss here and there. The supporting metal beams were still intact.

Even some kanji inscriptions and decorations had endured the bomb. I couldn’t believe all of this had survived. Turns out the dome had subsisted precisely because the bomb’s hypocenter was close to it, 600m into the air. 

It was a miracle to behold, and it also made me wonder how weird it would be to live here and witness it every day. 

I advanced from one monument to another. One of them was a memorial tower, like a geometrically simplified pagoda, with sculptures of doves to symbolise peace.

Actually, there were peace signs everywhere, as well as origami cranes (Japanese people believed that folding a thousand of those could grant wishes). Lots of fountains, lots of flowers – not just Sakura, but tulips and greenery, too. An eternally burning flame.

Peace Memorial Museum

After checking out half of the monuments for one hour (there were around sixty), I felt content moving on to the memorial museum instead. The line was as long as the building itself.

As I was limping inside the exhibition, I realised the pain in my knee was negligible, compared to what had transpired here.

There were pictures and drawings of wounded survivors; preserved clothes and debris. I could take photos or describe them here, but I chose to do neither.

It reminded me of Yad Vashem, except even more horrifying, because here they displayed everything. Even body parts of victims. What shook me the most, however were the testimonies, which described things cameras hadn’t captured and galleries couldn’t show.

Some of those included things I hadn’t known were possible, such as black rain and purple corpses. The radiation from the bomb had broken the laws of nature.

I felt déjà vu. That fateful day, 8:15 on August 6, 1945, seemed like it happened in a different world. Surely such phenomena wasn’t possible in ours. Surely the people responsible for this hadn’t come from ours.

I heard people sniffling up ahead. Once I reached their section, I found myself joining them.

After the museum, I crossed a section of the park with the most cherry trees. It was a sight for sore eyes. So many people having picnics and enjoying their weekend, in the same place where people burned to death years ago! Life went on.

I checked out the Peace Memorial Hall for Atomic Bomb Victims – a brief yet chilling visit – and continued to the city’s art museum.

Hiroshima Museum of Art

There was an excellent temporary exhibition about Picasso. Each room presented a different period of his, with the best explanations I’d seen in a museum about what propelled him to reinvent himself throughout the years. Yet I was also kind of over Picasso by now, having studied about him in uni, and seen his work in too many museums. There were other artists in the world.

Like Osaka’s Museum of Art, the foreign tourists didn’t flock here.

The permanent collection included 20th century Japanese paintings derived from 19th century western movements like realism and Impressionism. Then, a room with works by every important 19th century western artist. I again felt satiated with this selection, and wished more museums had emphasised other artists and periods.

From here, I walked to the castle. Not wanting to repeat the same mistake from Osaka and Okayama, I didn’t enter the renovated interior. I was just curious to see if the castle grounds offered a better hanami spot. They didn’t.

I wandered around the city, bemoaning each painful step. The cherry trees to the east of the peace museum were the best ones. I resolved to return there tomorrow for a picnic.

I’d been craving more okonomiyaki since last night. On the way back to Okonomi-mura, I crossed Hondori, the city’s main shopping arcade. Naturally, I couldn’t resist the smell of a red bean tayaki.

Tonight’s okonomiyaki was so heavy, that I could barely eat two thirds of it. I felt bad for not finishing what I was served. Enough okonomiyaki for a while.

At the hotel’s reception, I was told a day trip to Akiyoshido cave would be too complex without a car, or expensive without a rail pass. This was Japan’s largest limestone cave, and one of the reasons I’d booked a five-night stay in Hiroshima. Bummer.

I’d been in enough caves on this trip, but now I had two empty days on my itinerary. I regretted coming to Hiroshima for so long. Two full days were all that I needed here, rather than four and a half.

Today’s highlights: beholding the atomic dome; the peace memorial museum (although, to be fair, it wasn’t really a “highlight”); and crossing avenues of blooming cherry trees.

27 March 2023

• Hiroshima Orizuru Tower (~30m)
• Hanami

Orizuru Tower

Today I woke up at 10:00 at went out at 12:00. Somehow, the “two hours of lazing around” rule was still in full effect, even though I wasn’t intentionally following it.

I bought an overpriced entry ticket to Orizuru Tower, which overlooked the park. The rooftop observation deck was extremely windy.

Seeing the atomic dome directly from above was harrowing. I recalled how the bomb had exploded 600m above it, and wondered if I was currently at the same height as the hypocentre. (Google told me I wasn’t, but still.) The dome looked even more pathetic from up here – empty and derelict, like the shell of a former building.

One floor below, people were folding crane origamis and throwing them down an origami wall. It was my first time folding an origami, and the result showed. A deformed, radioactive crane.

Instead of taking the stairs or the elevator down, I opted for the 10-floor slide. It was as fun as it sounded.

My First Hanami

Then I went to the park for my first hanami. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom. I leaned against a tree and ate brunch while petals fell around me.

I wish I could say it was magical as it sounded, but the truth was, the weather was cloudy, windy, and cold. Moreover, I felt out of place, being the only one there on their own.

After two hours of writing, I was shivering. I returned to my hotel (a 5-minute walk) for a jacket and a pair of gloves.

Back at the park, I got a Sakura ice cream, and found another hanami spot. The sun came out at 16:00. Finally, the park looked beautiful.

These last few days had taken me out of reality again and again. I visited different worlds and inhabited strange realms. Some were wonderous and riveting; others, dark and frightening. But when I returned to real life and found myself sitting alone under a fully blossomed cherry tree, I longed to escape back to those worlds.

I reflected on all this in Orizuru’s Tower rooftop observation floor, which I returned to in order to take advantage of the clear weather and the steep price. As I looked down at the atomic dome, I realised how much I missed the sombre installations I’d been to. I missed walking around like a shadow and penetrating light. I missed silent cogitation in cutting-edge neolithic cabins. I missed exchanging a few words with strangers and already feeling like I’d known them forever.

Anything was preferable to a boring day like this.

I examined the pictures I’d taken four days ago on Goishi-zan, minutes before my crash. They sent chills down my spine. The frowning Buddha sculpture made my heart race. I couldn’t believe I’d taken those photos. I couldn’t believe I was sitting in a place where an atomic bomb had blown up.

I watched the sun set over the dome (the observation deck was facing west) and recalled the slide from this morning. At this moment, at 28 years old, I felt like I was 14 again. A child who had no friends at times, who wanted to be like other children, yet spent too much time mulling over this to overcome his fears.

Posting his diaries felt like a fitting next step for me.

Today’s highlights: the view of the dome from above; folding origami for the first time; sliding down 10 floors; and eating Sakura ice cream under a fully bloomed Sakura tree.