I wouldn’t want to live without strong misgivings.

Joseph Heller, “Catch-22”

I may have unintentionally structured my last three posts (To Be Alive, parts 1-3) like Rachmaninoff’s piano concerto no. 2. It’s one of the favourite pieces of music; I can practically hum the whole thing start to finish. Maybe the Koya-san + Kumano Kodo week was my way of paying homage to it.

21 March 2023

• Ride from cabin to Nachi station, 9:00-9:30 Nachi to Shingu train
• Asuka shrine, castle ruins, Kumano Hayatama Taisha (all ~1.5h)
• Kamikura shrine (30m)
• 13:40-14:00 Shingu to Kii-Katsuura train
• Nigiwai-ichiba Market
• 16:15-18:20 Kii-Katsuura to Kii-Tanabe train

Last night, I set an alarm to watch the sunrise, but couldn’t wake up.

After a quick instant noodles breakfast, the owner of the cabin dropped me off at Nachi station. By now, I was used to tiny countryside train stations with no staff or fellow passengers. But this one didn’t even have a ticket machine. I took a numbered ticket while boarding the conductor-less train and paid when getting off in Shingu, just like in a bus.

Inside the train, there were two schoolboys with bikes and fishing rods. If memory served me right, this was their spring break. Fishing was what you did in this area.

Shingu

I met the Swiss guy, and also greeted a few hikers who I recognised from the trail. After consulting the tourist information centre, we decided to head first to Asuka shrine. It was one of those small, neighbourhood shrines that didn’t even have a shop. Nor any other visitors.

There was an equally small museum, which happened to be free today. It housed a nice collection of archaeological items.

Next, the castle ruins. Obviously, no castle. Instead, there was a large prayer hall with more than two hundred tatami mats – a rare sight in Japan. Pretty sure it belonged to the Tenrikyo religion.

It was just us two and the priest, who explained in a low and soothing voice about the building after we took off our shoes and sat on the tatami. We prayed together to the god of the shrine.

We thought about going down back to the city through an adjacent, abandoned building. It was so creepy in broad daylight, that we changed our mind.

Another section of the castle ruins required another climb, and offered very little in return. There wasn’t anything up there, besides a mediocre view.

We walked to our next stop. I enjoyed returning to a place without any tourists, like in Tanabe. Yet the rarity of locals made me reconsider. Abandoned homes and buildings, including a kindergarten; a yard full of discarded motorcycles; an aging population. Shingu was slowly turning into a ghost town.

Hayatama Taisha, the last of Kumano’s three grand shrines, was more like Hongu than Nachi. Nice complex, but overall not much to do. We did witness a wedding, however, which was cool.

Afterwards, we bought strawberry mochi. The fruit inside was so fresh and juicy, that this was probably the best mochi I’d had.

Kamikura Shrine

Final stop in Shingu: Kamikura shrine, which both the owner of the cabin and the tourist centre had recommended. It was small but unique, standing on a boulder on a hill. The way up was paved with five hundred stone steps.

Horror.

More climbing. We left our bags nearby. No way I’d be doing this with weight on my shoulders.

This being Japan, there was little fear of someone stealing them. In fact, I was more worried about being rude and disrespectful to the sacred place than about theft. Throughout this trip, I’d been leaving my belongings unattended in restaurants, trains, stations, benches… Including my valuables sometimes. Everyone was doing it, especially when dining alone.

A few sips of water and half a sandwich for fuel, and the time for the five hundred steps had come. There was a depository of sturdy bamboo sticks at the beginning. Very considerate.

We went up the stairs. I was beginning to perish, when I saw a shrine. I figured it was a small stop on the way to the main one. But no. This was it.

After yesterday, five hundred steps were nothing. 

There was also nothing much to do, other than pray and soak up the view of the ocean and the “city”.

We headed back to the station, stopping at a bakery with amazing scents. I tried rice bread filled with cream. It was good.

The Swiss guy hopped on a bus north to Nagoya, while I on a train south to Katsuura. Yet another goodbye.

It was bittersweet. I had thoroughly enjoyed our time together, and wanted more of it. But I also wanted to spend more time with locals. I’d been hanging out mostly with foreigners in the past month, since coming south. I missed conversing in Japanese. Yet from now on, I’d be going to more touristy places.

I couldn’t use my Kansai Wide Area Pass for the train, because it would go into effect starting tomorrow. They didn’t let me change the date, either. It reminded me of the train system in Israel. Very user-friendly.

So I picked a local train that would depart in a few hours, rather than an earlier, limited express, and walked to Katsuura’s market.

Nigiwai Market

It was more like five stalls inside a small structure in the bay than a market, but famous nonetheless for selling otoro, the best tuna in the world. This was the fatty and most expensive part, taken from underneath the belly (if I remembered correctly). 

It really did melt in my mouth. The fattest tuna I’d had. Like butter. But I was never a fish enthusiast, so two small pieces were enough for me. (Not for my stomach, though.)

I had two hours to kill until the train. On the agenda: decide what to do on my extra day. Options:

• Iga Ueno, a city in the middle-to-north area of Kansai. The birthplace of ninjas, it featured a cool ninja museum. A popular day trip from Osaka.
• Shidoshima, a beautiful island with lots of nature near Okayama and Naoshima, my next destinations.
• Kinosaki Onsen, one of the best Onsen towns in Japan, in the northern tip of the Chugoku region.

The first sounded dope. But I wanted to get closer to my next destinations. The last would’ve been rewarding after a multi-day hike, yet the ryokans there were too expensive. Shodoshima might be it.

I called my hotel in Okayama and asked them to move my reservation up a day. I’d been making lots of phone calls in this trip. They were all costing me money, but helping me nonetheless.

Then I took a foot bath in the bay. There was a famous hotel on its own private island, which the Japanese lady from the old-school ryokan had recommended to me. It boasted a spectacular rotenburo overlooking the ocean. You had to take their ferry, so I wasn’t sure if day visitors were allowed. Also, pricey.

I boarded my slow, local train back to Tanabe. The ride was through the coastline, so the view of the ocean was great. Still, everyone was too sleepy to enjoy it, including myself.

My luggage was waiting for me in my room, a 4.5 tatami (roughly 6 square meters). Enough room for a kotatsu and a futon. I ate a konbini dinner while feverishly writing on the former, and went to bed.

Today’s highlights: praying with the priest inside the enormous tatami hall; eating strawberry mochi.

22 March 2023

• 9:30-11:50 Kii-Tanabe to Shin-Osaka limited express train, 12:00-12:50 Shin-Osaka to Okayama station Shinkansen
• Okayama castle (30m)
• Lunch at a random café (soba and eel)
• Korakuen (1h)

Today I woke up at 8:30. Finally, some sleep!

I got on the train using my Kansai Wide Area Pass, which went into effect today. Then, a conductor examined my ticket and told me this train was reserved-seat only.

Having not reserved a seat in advance – I figured there would be one non-reserved car, like in some Shinkansens – and since it was impossible to reserve a seat inside the train, I had to pay a fine: the full cost of the ride.

This was a limited express train. It waged war on my wallet.

HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THIS TRAIN WOULD BE ALL-RESERVED? Why did I pay so much for this freaking pass if I couldn’t change the date yesterday and use it, AND had to pay for the ride today regardless?

So much money wasted over nothing.

If only they’d let me change the date, and announced the train would be reservation-only before boarding it…

The Japanese countryside still had some catching up to do with the megacities. It was absurd how passes were flimsy pieces of paper, which you could easily lose and not be able to recover at the ticket office. It was time to digitalise them and allow you to change the date through an app. This way, I could’ve purchased a JR Pass online, instead of that stupid regional Kansai Pass. The latter would have lasted me until the 26^th, by which point I would no longer be in Kansai.

Thank you, Japan’s countryside. The only place in the Land of the Rising Sun I would call inefficient. 

I recalled the villages and “cities” from the last few days, which had been turning into ghost towns. Of course the systems in such places were inefficient. Practically no one was living there. No reason to invest in them anymore.

After transferring to a Shinkansen, I arrived at Okayama.

Okayama Castle

First order of business: the tourist information centre. I asked for recommendations beside the garden and the castle.

They blinked at me. There weren’t any.

I inquired about the local specialties. More blinking.

Some tourist information centres in Japan had flooded me with tips and itineraries, while others hadn’t had much to say.

My hotel was a fifteen minute walk from the station. Straight all the way, till the park near the castle. In other words, a perfect location for the city’s cultural hub and (only) two attractions.

Okayama immediately reminded me of Matsumoto. A nice city with a cool vibe, not gray or too urban, like Sendai. Matsumoto had had a mild climate and an emphasis on art; Okayama was hot (22 degrees and clear sky), but had a huge symphony building.

I checked in and headed to the castle. It struck me as a mix of Matsumoto and Osaka’s castles: a black and gold exterior, though on a much smaller scale. The interior was a modernised museum, like Osaka’s.

I was very underwhelmed. The view was disappointing, too. Before COVID, you could at least put on one of the kimonos on display for free.

Half and hour later, I was ravenous. I found a café overlooking the castle and the river. When I asked if there were any meatless options, the entire staff huddled and wondered which dishes contained 動物性 (animals in nature or origin). An unusual request.

The dish I was served was enragingly small for the high price. I devoured it while chatting to British tourists. Then I headed to Kenrokuen, Japan’s second most famous garden (after Kanazawa’s Korakuen), and the reason I’d arrived at Okayama.

Kenroku-en Garden

First on the agenda: food. Specifically, peach ice cream at the garden. Yum.

It was hot and sunny. The next few days would be all cloudy and rainy. I got lucky.

There was a crane aviary, a shrine, rice fields, and a tea plantation. Lots of trees, bonsais, late blooming plums, and budding cherry blossoms. In a week, the latter would probably reach full bloom.

The singing of birds was omnipresent. So were mosquitos. I even saw a sign warning against wasps.

I strolled for one hour at a very leisurely pace, making frequent stops at rest houses and watching ducks swim and dive for food. A full lap of the garden, and I was done.

I returned to my hotel and booked a hostel in Shodoshima for tomorrow. I was in the mood for an island.

Then my mood shifted. I grew bummed about several things, and went to look for coconut cream (to cook black sticky rice pudding at the hostel tomorrow). The grocery store didn’t have any. So I entered a konbini and bought a greasy dish to fill me up, and some fresh vegetables to assuage me. The latter had become my comfort food in Japan. The clerk looked at me funny. I had tears in my eyes.

I went to bed early without finishing my dinner. The only thing that cheered me up at this point was the fact I’d changed my reservation in Okayama to one night only. One hour at a pretty garden wasn’t worth the trip.

Today’s highlight: the garden, by default.

23 March 2023

• 9:55-10:10 Okayama station to Chayamachi station train, 10:15-10:35 Chayamachi to Uno station train, 11:10-12:50 ferry to Tonosho port in Shodoshima 
• Lunch at Ginshiro (olive somen)
• 13:50-15:00 Tonosho ferry terminal to guesthouse bus 
• Check in & plan itinerary
• 16:05-16:15 guesthouse to Sakate ferry terminal bus
• Goishizan, Dounzan temples (1.5h)
• Taxi back to guesthouse

Shodoshima

Today’s weather was the polar opposite of yesterday. Drizzling and foggy, cold and gloomy.

Great. I’d just booked an island stay. 

At least it matched my mood. I arrived to the station fully drenched, and bought a matcha ice cream. By now, a tradition in such weather. 

At the ferry terminal, I saw a sign asking visitors to maintain mask etiquette, out of consideration for the islands’ limited medical infrastructure and aging population. 

The boat to Shodoshima was small, compared to the adjacent one to Naoshima. Yet also half full, even on such a rainy day. The incessant downpour hadn’t pressured me to change my plans, nor had it pressured the other passengers. 

I enjoyed the ferry ride. Israel didn’t have any. I felt that I was crossing nature, as opposed to a city. 

The ferry stopped along the way in Teshima, a contemporary art island. A bit like Naoshima’s little sibling: less to do, not as well-known.

Nearly everyone got off here, much to my surprise. Around ten passengers had remained. All Japanese.

I made a mental note to check Teshima out tomorrow on my way from Shodoshima to Naoshima, if time permitted. 

Six more passengers got off at Teshima’s second port. Those who boarded the ship were all Japanese. 

Docking in Shodoshima lifted my spirits. The weather was still in full winter mode. But every time I’d arrived at a remote and un-touristy location, I’d grown excited to explore it. (Then night would fall, and I would grow lonely and frustrated by the lack of people, attractions, restaurants, and light.) I just needed to ensure I would finish exploring the island at sunset. 

We docked at Tonosho ferry terminal. I had one hour until my bus (which was obviously infrequent). So I went to… the tourist information centre.

It was closed. 

After standing there for two minutes and looking for the opening time, a lady came and opened it for me. She bombarded me with a gazillion pamphlets.

Overall, none of her suggestions titillated me much, due to the rain. The olive tree park would suck in this weather; the soy sauce museum was about to close. 

The only attraction left was Twenty Four Eyes Movie Studio, near my accommodation for the night, where a famous Japanese movie (based on a famous novel) was shot.

I exited the centre with a plan and walked around. Shodoshima was known for its olive trees. The vibe was quite Mediterranean. One port even had Greek signs. 

Light lunch appetizer was olive somen – handmade noodles from olives. This was the only restaurant in Shodoshima that served (and sold) them. Moreover, they were a specialty of the island. Like Sendai’s zunda (sweet edamame paste), I doubted I could find such a meal elsewhere in Japan. 

As I exited the restaurant hungrier than I’d entered it, I noticed it had stopped raining. 

In my month and a half in Japan, I’d seen many rural road signs warning of jumping deer. In Shodoshima, however, the signs depicted boars. 

The cool thing about Shodoshima was that it was the kind of place where you could ask the bus driver to drop you off at your accommodation along the way, even though it wasn’t an official bus stop.

The owner who greeted me nearly gave me a fright. He was the first foreigner I’d seen here. A dope American expat, and quite the traveller, having done Shodoshima’s pilgrimage, Shikoku’s pilgrimage, and Kumano Kodo’s pilgrimages (both the Nakahechi trail and the one to Koya-San, which was so notoriously difficult that barely no one dared pursue it). 

He suggested doing something the tourist center hadn’t even mentioned. Instead of visiting the set of a movie I’d never heard of, and gawking at it without understanding what the fuss was all about, he told me to rent an electric bike (possible only if you had a Japanese phone number, which I did), and cycle up a mountain to unique cave temples with stunning views.

“Hmm,” I said, “I don’t know… I’ve just walked Kumano Kodo…”

“But these temples are pretty unique,” he said.

“Is it as steep as the climb to Nachi?”

“Nah. It is steep, but you’ll be fine.”

He must’ve seen the look of concern on my face, because he added: “What’s the worst that could happen? You’re not gonna die.”

The sun was beginning to come out. It was a sign.

On my way out, I accidentally closed the restroom door on my thumb. In hindsight, that might have also been a sign.

Soy Sauce Village

I hopped on the bus and got off at the nearest port, where there was a bike rental station. It required an app linked to your phone number.

The owner had given me the phone number of a cab company, just in case.

Cycling through town was a 気持ちいい moment, which is what Japanese people exclaimed when they experienced a good sensation. There was a strong scent of soy sauce. This obscure island was the biggest manufacturer of wooden tub soy sauce in Japan – the traditional way of cooking it. 

I noticed a soy shop and stopped for a soy sauce ice cream. It was delicious! 

Nothing like an ice cream on a cold day. 

The Happiest and Scariest Two Hours of My Life, at Goishi-zan and Doun-zan Temples

Then came the big ascent. This mountain was as tall as the island’s central one, which featured a ropeway.

It was so steep, that I had to drag my bike up at times. When I did ride it, it was excruciating, even with the electric assistance. Sweat was dripping down my cheeks. I didn’t see cars, nor a soul.

But the view. The view.

“Wow,” I blurted for the second time this week. Déjà vu.

I was above the fog. Alone on the mountain, drenched in sweat. Panting and smiling at the landscape below me.

A symphony of songbirds. A ferry departing from Sakate port, entering the fog. A sea of green. It was even better than on a clear day. Today’s itinerary worked out in the end. 

“生きています！” I screamed three times. (“I am alive!”)

My voice reverberated all the way down to the sea.

I laughed out loud. To think I was so blue yesterday, that I went to bed on the verge of tears! I recalled it, and burst into sobs.

I thought about going back to Israel and working in a job I’d hate. I thought about office jobs and capitalism and the modern lifestyle, about people and how close-minded they could be, about norms and the difficulty in defying them, in pursuing a career in arts. I thought about the publishing industry and my disappointment in failing to fit into into such a vexing system – about all the systems that controlled us, and didn’t accept me for who I was – and how saving up money was my only way of escaping them, escaping judgment from people, escaping apathy, and reaching this miracle of nature.

At this moment, I’d never felt more free and confined.

This sort of emotional turmoil had been happening too often lately. At least I wasn’t bored.  

I checked out the temple. There was a bowl of black sugar candy inside. Was it for the Buddha, I wondered, or a reward for visitors?

I ate one and took a couple more. I deserved it.

Then I went up the stairs and came fifty centimeters close to a snake. I ran for my life.

A sign that I should leave. It was starting to get late anyway.

I rode the bike to the next temple, featuring an enormous bell and another foggy viewpoint.

“生きています！” I yelled once more.

There was a statue of a Buddha or something in front of me. Sticking out among trees, deep into a cliff.

I was in awe. I had no idea how it had been placed there. But what a feat of art and belief, in such a high, remote, and beautiful location!

Humans could be amazing when they wanted to. There was no limit to what we could do.

At this moment, my faith in our species was restored. It was probably the most memorable spiritual and artistic moment of my life.

I decided to head back down before it got dark. I was laughing as I rode the bike down a slope. 

“Who needs people?” I scoffed. Pure fun.

Then the slope got so steep that I lost control over my bike, and crashed on the road.

My cry of pain echoed down the mountain as loudly as my cry of joy. My palms were bruised and pulsing. I was bleeding from my knee and elbow.

I’d been carrying a first aid kit with me since day one of this trip. After prevailing Kumano Kodo without needing it, I’d taken it out of my bag, thinking it would no longer come in handy.

Blood was streaming down my leg. I wiped it with a wet tissue.

I was lucky. I could’ve broken something. And I was all alone, on top of a mountain, on a small island, a few minutes away from sunset. 

This was right in front of the third temple. A quick glance at it, and I cycled the hell out of there.

The road down was as steep as the road up, which made it all the more dangerous. I nearly crashed three or four additional times. A white-furred, four-legged wild animal had its back toward me as it was running into a bush. Most likely a monkey.

I didn’t think there were bears on this island. Nor did I feel like finding out.

More careful yet paranoid cycling. I passed an abandoned house that was being overtaken by vines and moss. Fog was progressing toward me, until I was nearly engulfed.

“I need people,” I answered myself. I was terrified.

The way down was long and winding. Deserted, obviously. Sometimes I wasn’t sure which way to go. Which freaked me out even more, because I had no time to waste.

If I could see my face at that moment, it probably would’ve blended in with the mist. I felt myself growing as white as a sheet.

I didn’t mind the pain and the bleeding. I just wanted to return to civilisation. 

Ultimately, I did.

Right during sunset. I returned the bike to its station at the port, both aghast and relieved, and called the cab company. Thank God – thank GOD – I had a Japanese phone number. 

Protip: if you visit Japan and go on less trodden paths, BUY A JAPANESE PHONE NUMBER. 

While waiting for the cab, I talked to a local man on a smoking stroll. He lived right nearby. He asked me if I’d had dinner, and if I liked beer. Was he about to invite me over?

I told him I’d already called a cab. So that was it. 

One expensive ride later, I was back at the guesthouse. It was the last minutes of daylight.

I checked out the guesthouse’s private beach, in the hope that the sea would pacify me. Needless to say, it was too cold for a dip. Plus, with my open wounds, there was a risk of infection. Not to mention the occasional hungry clam. The owner told me they had bitten a guest earlier this week.

Instead, I took advantage of the kitchen, cooked black sticky rice pudding for dinner (too hard, since I hadn’t soaked it), and chatted with a German guy and a Norwegian woman, who were staying in the dormitory with me. It was fun to not only be around people again, but cool people as well: to hear their stories, and revel in a cosmopolitan atmosphere.

“Why did I come here for just one night?” I berated myself. They were both staying longer than me. The German guy was doing the 88 shrine/temple pilgrimage. (Yesterday, he had run into a sounder of five boars.)

Shodoshima actually had quite a few attractions that the internet hadn’t told me about. The tourist information centre and the owner mentioned a bunch of enticing places. Staying longer would’ve allowed me to see them, and in better weather.

I went to bed trying to process the events of today.

The two hours I spent in the aftenoon between renting the bicycle and returning it were the most climactic of my life. Fear and freedom amped to the max. I never in a million years would’ve dared to imagine that I would feel this way all at once. Especially after such a turbulent week in Kumano Kodo and Koya-san. Especially because I hadn’t planned on visiting this island to begin with.

But such a combination made this experience the strongest it could’ve been. I couldn’t have been happier that it happened. Even the crash. Even the fear.

Writing all this made me think about my childhood diaries. Specifically, how I’d reached a point where I was comfortable sharing them. Despite my fears.

I was the last person who believed in fate. But the fact that I’d stumbled upon them before going on this trip, and read them for the first time in years – right when I’d made the decision to share more of myself with others through this blog – felt more than coincidental.

I’d never been one of those people who wrote about themselves. Before this blog, I never thought I’d had something to say about myself. My life was boring. I’d always been more interested in exploring other things.

No wonder I’d chosen to break that pattern upon fulfilling one of my dreams. This was the first time I felt there was something noteworthy about my day-to-day.

And maybe a little about my past days, too.

Before re-reading it, I completely forgot what I’d written on my fourteenth birthday (which I posted a few days ago here). For better or worse, it was the tip of the iceberg. I never realised my diaries could tell a story with a beginning, middle, and (a hint of an) end.

Going over them had been engrossing. Not hard, emotionally, for me to do so, even though there were a few that made me cry. Re-living this problematic period of my life during an even more problematic period felt… complicated. But also quite simple and clear. Like I was meant to confront the things I’d repressed, now more than ever. And for once, not hide them.

Throw in the fact that I started listening to Rina Sawayama’s second album at the exact same time all of this had begun in January, without knowing I’d hear her describe what I was experiencing, and… well…

Honestly, there was even more to this list of coincidences, but I’d probably made my point.

So yeah, all these signs had gotten to me. I’d been translating the entries and penning some commentary, which was really fun to do. Like working on a new story. One I could publish without the need for industry approval.

This story would be quite revealing. But I was ready.

How would it feel, to shed the skin you’d covered yourself in for so long? It was almost musty at this point. Like an onion, I’d been peeling more and more layers.

Like this one.

There were certain thoughts and feelings that had always been a part of me, but now, thanks to these diaries, I had proof of their humble beginnings.

For example: I’d always fantasised about the ability to become invisible. I hated the fact that I inhabited a physical form, which others could perceive. I was always self-conscious about the way I looked.

Now, I no longer fantasised about invisibility. I didn’t need to become invisible when I already was. Why else would I start a blog? This trip to Japan was probably an excuse to do something I’d never realised I needed to. This was my only way of “publishing” my writing.

So now, I fantasised about drinking Felix Felicis. In non-Harry Potter terms, this meant possessing luck. Because my entire life felt like a string of mistakes. The body I was born in. The country and culture I was born into. The era I was born in. The dreams I’d had since childhood. The species I was born into.

I’d never felt at home, anywhere, in my life. I never found a community that embraced me wholeheartedly. People on the street sometimes looked at me like I was an alien. Even my own brother and sister, who I’d shared a womb with, gave me that look.

I was the 1%, that one person who never fit in with the other 99. Sometimes I was super proud of this fact. I didn’t want to be like others. I wanted to be unique. I took “normal” for a slur. But life would be so much simpler if I were that slur. Sometimes all I wanted was to be normal, and normal-looking, and act normal, and have a normal career, normal passions, normal friendships, and normal experiences, and a relationship, and a house, and a quiet life, and do everything the vast majority of people did, because then I wouldn’t feel this way.

I rarely read non-fiction. Practically never. (Why would I read about real life, when I hated it so much…?) But there was this one book I loved, called Into the Wild. It was based on the life of someone who had retired from society in his twenties and went to live alone in Alaska. He was so sick of modern civilisation, of people and corruption and things like capitalism, that he escaped to nature.

I did my matriculation exam in film class on the movie adaptation. Even in high school, I’d felt a connection to this story. It was also one of the two novels I’d brought with me to Japan, the other being Death in Venice.

Sometimes I wondered what was stopping me from following this guy’s footsteps. What was so great about society that I put up with it?

Then dark, lonely, and scary moments in the Japanese countryside would refresh my memory. And I would return to civilisation, only to dislike it again on the next day.

That guy from the book – he’d never had any relationships, like me. He was probably not straight, either. He didn’t feel at home in his home. But he died of starvation shortly after making it to Alaska. If that didn’t sum up what life was, I didn’t know what did.

Today’s highlights: eating soy sauce ice cream; the view from the mountain; screaming at the top of my lungs; the impossible, cliff-side sculpture; black sticky rice pudding for dinner with the two guests; and finishing this day alive.

Every song I’d been posting here depicted an aspect of me. Adele’s Million Years Ago had been my anthem for the past two years. But no song would ever surpass this one. Not even if I wrote it myself.