What do you know of my heart? What do you know of anything but your own suffering? For weeks, Marianne, I’ve had this pressing on me without being at liberty to speak of it to a single creature. It was forced on me by the very person whose prior claims ruined all my hope. I have endured her exaltations again and again whilst knowing myself to be divided from Edward forever. Believe me, Marianne, had I not been bound to silence I could have provided proof enough of a broken heart, even for you.

Jane Austen, “Sense and Sensibility”

16 November 2023

• 10:50-11:10 Shin Okubo station to Ueno station local train (Yamanote line)
• Rome, the Eternal City: Masterpieces from the Capitoline Museums’ Collection exhibition at the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Art (1h)
• 13:14-13:22 Ueno station to Nihombashi station local train (Ginza line), 13:26-13:30 transfer to Takebashi station (Tozai line)
• The rotating collection of MOMAT (Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo) (45m)
• 15:55-16:05 Takebashi station to Takadanobaba station local train (Tozai line)
• 18:00-22:00 shift at the café

Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Art

I started my day with a return to the hotteok stand. Always nice to talk to the Korean auntie (and this time to her friend from Jeju island as well).

The plan for today was to see two temporary exhibitions before my shift at 18:00. With my schedule filling up, today might be my only chance at making it to them.

In high school, during a trip to Rome, my family and I had stood outside the Capitoline Museums seen the she-wolf nursing Remus and Romulus sculpture, but hadn’t entered. Now, I would correct that mistake.

I entered the exhibition and came face to face with a replica of the same sculpture.

There were countless portraits, quite idealistic, more Greek than Roman. I liked many pieces, such as Wounded Bitch by Sopater – a figura serpentinata of an injured dog.

Then my jaw dropped when I beheld that even the Capitoline Venus was on display. Its third time being removed from the museum in history.

A shocking loan that has me starstruck. Her slight crouch and hands barely covering her private parts, thereby drawing even more attention to her nakedness; her hairstyle, braids resting on the top of her head like a bow; her averted gaze. Her nose and mouth were almost wrinkled in distaste, curled up in protest, a slight crease between her eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” I imagined her thinking, while staring into her empty eyes. An ancient attack on the male gaze.

All of this suggested she had just been caught in the nude and was beginning to react in protest to that. The sculptor had picked the initial moment – beginning to cover herself, to frown. The unplanned, natural response.

A true shame that picture-taking was forbidden.

The exhibition continued with Byzantine mosaics and paintings of the city of Rome. I learned that in 1750, after the picture gallery in the Capitoline had opened, Pope Benedict XIV had established a drawing class commonly known as the Nude Academy, where male nude models could be roughly sketched free of charge. Oh, to have lived in Rome at that time.

Funnily enough, the exhibition’s shop sold pasta, olive oil, and Italian spreads such as tomato, olive, and pesto.

A temporary exhibition called Ueno Artist Project 2023: Picturing and Touching was free with my ticket. It featured six artists who had dedicated decades to a single subject matter. Drawings of mushrooms and wildflowers; bird caving; photos of thoroughbreds; woodblock prints of cows; and paintings of gorillas with medieval gold background.

Ueno Park was as busy as usual when I’d left, with beginnings of kouyou. So were the grounds around the imperial palace, right next to my next museum.

Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo

The Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo was probably my favourite in Japan. My first visit to it in the spring had me dazzled and running out of time. A return to the rotating collection was in order.

Fourth Floor: Late Meiji to Early Showa (1900-1940)

Flaming Grass by Kawabata Ryushi (1930)- Gorgeous folding paper with gold leaves against a midnight blue background.

Mulberry apicking by Ota Kijiro (1916) was a nice example of pointillism.

Plus, the usual onslaught of Westerners such as Cezanne, Braque, Klee, Pollock, Bacon, etc.

Third Floor: Early to Mid Showa (1940-1960)

I liked the Melancholic landscape paintings by Higashiyama Kaii and the monochromatic Plum and Maples Trees by Azami Takako (2009).

Second Floor: Late Showa to Present (1970-)

Homage to the forest I by Kim Myung-Sook (1994)- a chilling depiction of a forest at night.

Those were the artworks that spoke to me. Overall, the fall collection was a bit of a letdown.

I returned to the cafe 1.5 hours before my shift, so late lunch was kitsune udon in Hanamaru next door.

Tonight’s customers included an ojiisan who had visited North Korea no less than ten times; and a polyglot ojiisan who spoke twenty languages, including a few sentences in Hebrew.

After my shift, I went over to the Toshimaen guy’s apartment. Cheap white wine and pringles with his hilariously bitchy roommate. Another meal I hadn’t had since Israel. We finally got around to finishing the comedy movie from last time as well.

Today’s highlights: the Roman exhibition; cheap white wine and pringles.

17 November 2023

• 13:00-17:00, 18:00-22:00 shift at the café

An Israeli Shift at the Café

I woke with my left elbow and thigh hurting every time I bent them. A few days after the archery, they’d become sore.

Friday was a double shift for me. The first slot featured only 2-3 customers. The owner was preparing tonight’s dinner, which included hummus.

I died of excitement. It wasn’t real hummus – very little lemon and tahini, plus the addition of cumin, which I’d never heard of before. But I still cherished it, not to mention the fact that the owner had made it.

The second slot was the usual Friday night party. I met a 27-years-old Japanese athlete a bit taller than me. He was quite tall and wide, to be honest, with a playful, round face.

After laying eyes on the 26-years-old Belgian volunteer, who was almost my height, he could not shut up about her.

“We’re both tall, so we if get married and make babies, they’ll be huge,” he said.

The three of us chatted throughout the party. He had a flirtatious, prankster personality. The topic of karaoke came up, and I discovered he was a total Swiftie, with all her albums on his phone. His favourite song was an old, obscure one about her mom, known only to diehard fans.

“Wait – that’s my favourite song, too!” the Belgian exclaimed in shock.

So many Swifties in Japan.

I made plans to go out with her and Alejandro after the party to ni chome. They would join me after checking out a Latin club in Kabukicho with the other volunteers.

After the shift, I left the building and started walking by myself to Shinjuku, when the athlete joined me. He wanted to go out to an izakaya before his last train to Chiba.

It was too late for the Belgian to join us. I wanted to get dressed and go out, feeling optimistic about clubbing with friends for a change. At the same time, he seemed itching for an izakaya, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

We went to a cheap and busy chain by Takadanobaba station.

“You’re also into her, are you?” he asked. “That makes us rivals.”

“In that case, I’d lose!” I said.

He ordered plum soda and chicken skin yakitori for us before I managed to protest. It was good. I had a lot of fun with him. Even when he went on and on about her.

After an hour, he took the train back, while I walked to the share house to change.

A Heterosexual Night Out in Shinjuku Ni-chome

The volunteers were already in ni-chome. They hadn’t entered the club in Kabukicho. A little after midnight, I was the last to join them.  

They were dancing in a rather sparse club with underwhelming music, because it was free. Everyone was in attendance, including some of the regular customers. It was my first time with a friend in ni-chome since the Dutch girl had joined me late at night on April 29. I’d grown used to people asking why I was alone.

We danced for a while. Two new couples immediately formed. Ironically enough, boy-and-girl pairings, in a queer neighbourhood.

Must be easy to live in a straight world.

At 1:00, I took them to my usual club for some proper crowdedness and music.

It was horrendous. The DJ played crappy songs, while people were pushing each other almost intentionally, dancing by taking too much space and shoving those in their vicinity. I’d never been pushed so much and encountered such a glaring lack of awareness or care toward others.

I was with the Belgian girl the entire night. The couples sometimes danced with us, but mostly did their own thing. Alejandro was busy doing the same. I learned that she’d started seeing a customer from the café. Straight people could just encounter each other in real life in non-designated spaces.

At 2:00, we left. The club was that bad. I showed her around ni-chome, her first time in this neighborhood, which I’d known like the back of my hand.

After half an hour, we returned. The funny, American-frat-boy-acting Japanese guy from last week’s party and his quiet friend joined us.

The club was a bit less crowded. A creepy middle aged man groped me and the frat boy. He walked around the dance floor touching everyone’s crotches.

At 3:00, we watched a go-go show. Then the music shifted directions.

Bangers. The four of us danced on a stage by ourselves. Finally, a good clubbing experience. I didn’t talk to anyone but my friends. But I felt good having an experience like this for a change.

At 4:30, we left, even though I could keep going. I was neither tired, nor disappointed.

Today’s highlights: my first hummus in 9.5 months; izakaya with the athlete; ni-chome with the volunteers.

18 November 2023

• 15:00-18:00 shift at the café

A Relationship Counseling Shift at the Café

I woke at 12:00 and spent two hours in bed, exhausted. My three-hour shift in the afternoon was the usual affair: a fun conversation with another volunteer (the endearing Swedish girl who had recently begun her one year working holiday in Japan) and advanced regulars I was already recognizing.

“What do you do when your boyfriend stops responding to you?” one of the regular Japanese girls asked us out of nowhere. The boyfriend had reconnected with his ex, and started ghosting her.

“You throw him away,” the Swedish said, and gestured taking out the trash. “Bye!”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Just like that?”

“Yeah,” she said in earnest. “He sounds like trash.”

“But what if she misses him?”

She shrugged. The Japanese customer did miss him, and did think he was trash.

“You can just do that?” I asked, incredulous. “You don’t get attached?”

I filled them in on my history of interpersonal struggles.

“Wow,” the Swedish laughed. “Sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”

“I’m this close to buying a gun,” I joked.

The truth was, I was this close to sending a text. I’d been holding myself from reaching out to various people. I wanted to reconnect with those I’d grown close to on this trip, and hadn’t heard from since.

The Swedish girl didn’t have a problem saying goodbye to friends and lovers she’d had a falling-out with, however, as if nothing had transpired between them.

In this baffling moment, the owner came and asked me to move to a first timer beginners’ table. Our conversation was awkward and stiff.

A Successful Date

After my shift, I met a Chinese guy who was attending the school in Takadanobaba I’d been in touch with.

He had a short, spiky hair, and thin glasses. A tad taller than me. We strolled around Kanda River, me freezing in my samue. His English and Japanese were both too limited for us to exchange more than very basic sentences.

He seemed quite shy. And nervous. He preferred attending class and hitting the gym to going out.

Our evening together was nonetheless enjoyable, by the end of which he was already making plans for next time.

“See you tomorrow,” he said when it was time to go, to my surprise. “Sayonara.”

I began to shiver. Back in the share house, my elbow was hurting so much, that changing clothes made me squeal in pain. After two months of the tip of the orthodontic retainer behind my upper row of teeth sometimes coming off and me trying to stick it back to the glue, half of the retainer was now loose. My teeth were hurting as if they were moving. I felt like I was developing a fever.

Then my sister reminded me than painkillers were a thing.

A Lonely Night Out in Shinjuku Ni-chome

Stomach full of medicine and sushi with fermented soybeans, I ran down Meiji Avenue to ni-chome. It was 21:30; the club I was going to would double the entry fee at 22:00. “Bad Idea, Right?” by Olivia Rodrigo was blasting in my ears.

Haven't heard from you in a couple of months
But I'm out right now and I'm all fucked up
And you're callin' my phone and you're all alone
And I'm sensing some undertone

And I'm right here with all my friends
But you're sending me your new address
And I know we're done, I know we're through
But, God, when I look at you

My brain goes "Ah"
Can't hear my thoughts
I should probably, probably not

I shouldn’t go out tonight, I thought while jogging. But tonight was my last chance to do so. In a few days, I would leave Tokyo.

“Seeing you tonight,” Rodrigo sang in my ear, “it’s a bad idea, right?”

It was.

“Seeing you tonight,” she repeated, “it’s a bad idea, right?”

Yes.

“Seeing you tonight –”

Not a good night to do what I was about to, but –

“Fuck it, it’s fine.”

I continued walking toward ni-chome.

“Yes, I know that he’s my ex, but can’t two people reconnect?”

As I was approaching the club, I realized I didn’t even feel the need to go out. I wanted to reconnect with someone faraway instead. Tonight being my last chance to party was the only reason why I’d taken painkillers and forced myself out of bed.

Four hours of dancing ensued. Lots of interactions in that timeframe. What was going on tonight? I was usually by myself.

The Filipino man from last week was constantly hitting on me, even though I was trying to politely reject his advances. It was way too pushy – over ten or fifteen attempts – and I wondered if this was this how girls felt.

There were others as well. I wasn’t sure why. Especially when I wasn’t feeling well.

The painkillers alleviated my weakness, but my elbow was hurting too much to move my arm. I thought about reconnecting, reconnecting, and bad ideas.

It was a bad idea. Right?

I mustered up the courage and hit on people instead. As always, those I wanted didn’t want me.

At some point, I wondered how come Koreans always went out in large groups of friends. How did they know so many queer guys? I was jealous of their friendship and effortless vibe.

At 3:00, I left. Pangs and pining accompanied me back to the share house.

Today’s highlights: the river date; clubbing with a painful elbow.

19 November 2023

• 13:00-18:00 shift at the café

Last Shift at the Café

I woke late after a night of clubbing, ate Shin-Okubo takeout for breakfast, and ran to the café for my shift. The usual drill.

This Sunday was less busy than usual. I spent three hours chatting to a bright 18-year-old Japanese guy who was majoring in English and Japanese linguistics. His English was nigh fluent, and he was both nervous and excited by the prospect of doing a few weeks of exchange school in the UK next year.

At 24, I was in the same shoes as his. We also knew a lot of touristic information about Japan, and listed all 47 prefectures and where we’d visited.

“I’m proud of Japanese people,” he said. I hadn’t met a local as knowledgeable as him about Japanese food, geography, and attractions. He was hungry for information, determined to speak English as fluently and naturally as possible (including acquiring a British accent), despite never flying abroad.

I saw a lot of myself in him. In the end, I suggested exchanging contact details. Not for the first time on this trip, I didn’t get a “yes” for an answer. He avoided and said he’d come back to the café to continue his practice.

Yet this was my last shift.

I hadn’t expected to stay at the café for a mere fortnight. But there might be a job opportunity for me in Kyoto. And next week would be peak kouyou. After Sakura in early April, this would be the perfect time to return there.

Still, I’d grown too fond of the café to not lament my departure. It was an easy volunteering experience – sometimes dull, sometimes engrossing. I enjoyed meeting so many people, making new friends, and bonding with the volunteers. Especially after our group outing to ni-chome.

Moreover, I wanted to give the kind owner a full month, like the other volunteers. So I truly hoped to return, talk to locals, befriend volunteers, and stay in a share house, in the most perfect location.

The last two hours of my shift were so uneventful, that I spent them chatting to a 24-years-old British volunteer from Bristol. One of the volunteers I hadn’t gotten around to having a full conversation with. It flowed so well, that I felt even worse about leaving.

Long-distance relationships was our main topic. He’d been in Japan since January on a working holiday. Traveling for this long, one learned a thing or two about geography. It brought people together, and broke them apart.

We returned to the share house after our shift.

After texting me last night, the Takadanobaba guy wasn’t answering my texts. Why had he gone from making plans yesterday to ghosting me?

Angry and confused, I spent the evening writing instead. A frustrating déjà vu overtook me. On my first day with Cowboy, he’d also talked about the next time. The next day, he’d avoided me (at first).

Alejandro and an Italian-Argentinian volunteer returned. We talked shit about our dating lives over cheap dinner (nattou with plain onigiri, my usual starving artist meal. I savoured every bite). More guys returned. Everyone hung out in the dirty and small share house. It felt good to be a part of this.

Today’s highlights: the most enjoyable last shift; nattou with rice; hanging out at the share house with the guys.

20 November 2023

A French-Israeli Date

The plan for today was food.

First, lunch at an Israeli restaurant in Shibuya, with the Disney guy I’d gone out with to the Harry Potter café. It was a tiny restaurant featuring only counter seats. Mizrahi music and English rock; empty bottles of Maccabee beer for decoration; Hamsa and Moroccan mosaic plates hung on the walls; names of Japanese patrons written in Hebrew, with the occasional Arabic and Korean.

I ate a pita with hummus, falafel, tahini, and a salad. It was 100% exactly the same as in Israel.  

“How is it?” the owner, a fifty-something Israeli man who’d moved to Tokyo thirty years ago, asked.

“You’ve made my life,” I said with relish.

Complimentary dessert was a mint tea (the usual one in Israel) and chocolate.

I chatted with the owner after. His hometown was so close to mine, that he’d walk to the nature reserve close to my house as a child, the same one I’d hiked to on a regular basis.

He was opening a new branch and looking for a part-time employee. I told him I was leaving for Kyoto to talk to an Israeli man with a large tourism company there. The restaurant owner said he knew who this person was.

Upon hearing about my predicament, he refused payment.

Turned out the Disney guy had already paid for both of us while I was chatting with the owner.

After a complimentary shot of arak (strong, popular spirit in Israel made of anise), the Disney guy and I went to a French café for soft cream (roasted matcha with slices of orange!) and latte.

“Are you looking for love?” he asked at some point. “I’ve never had a relationship,” he confessed.

We were sort of in the same boat.

The topic of places I’d visited in Japan triggered another question.

“Do you always go by yourself?”

Museums, movies, cafés – he didn’t go without a friend.

“Don’t you have a best friend?” he asked.

“I used to,” I said. I didn’t mind going to an exhibition alone. On the contrary, I enjoyed solo travel.

“Do you need a hug?” he asked.

I thought he was making a bigger deal out of this than me. But I appreciated him nonetheless. He piqued my interest.

Then I noticed him replying to messages on a couple of dating apps.

It wasn’t the first time someone had done this in my presence, especially after making plans with me for the next time, and bringing up the topic of love and relationships.

I wrote the following in my private journal about my last day with Cowboy.

After a perfect road trip together, we returned to Sapporo, and he said some very sad sentences.

“I can see you all over my apartment…”

At 18:30, I was driving the rental car in Susukino.

“You’re leaving me,” he said, sitting in the passenger seat.

A minute later, I noticed him texting someone on a dating app.

I was so disappointed. Especially after he’d rightfully pointed out a few days ago that it was rude of me to text a friend on Instagram in his presence and bring up ex-lovers.

I didn’t mind that he was talking to others, even though I hadn’t. But why next to me, after expressing such sadness?

20 October 2023

Our last dinner followed this. The food was barely touched. We both cried.

That moment in the car hadn’t left my head. And now, with the Disney guy, it happened again.

Seeing other people – understandable.

Not enjoying your date, and thinking about someone else – been there.

Enjoying it and hinting at a future together, while using dating apps in your date’s presence –

Never.

The Disney guy did it so many times, that at some point, I looked away whenever he was using his phone.

Another frustrating déjà vu.

In the evening, it was time for me to go to dinner with Saki (my best friend in Tokyo, whom I hadn’t seen in forever). The Disney guy wanted me to cancel and stay with him.

“But I need my coat…” I said, my last chance at getting it before leaving Tokyo.

“You can choose any choice you want,” he said in English.

“What do you mean?” I asked, not understanding his English.

Saki was already on his way with my winter coat I’d left in his apartment back in April. The Disney guy suggested I met him briefly to get the coat, and then made up an excuse.

“I’ve never done that,” I said.

“Me neither,” he confessed.

I would’ve considered cancelling if he hadn’t done what he had.

Besides, I’d missed Saki.

Prime Sushi and Friendship

We went to a branch of Toriton in Tokyo, in Ikebukuro station. Christmas trees everywhere. His friend had taken me to Toriton in Sapporo: the best sushi I’d had. Time to recreate it.

It was the most fun I’d had with a friend in ages.

Sometimes, a good friend was all one could need. We talked and laughed, talked and laughed. He’d been working days and nights, even on weekends. That explained why he’d been too busy.

We ordered too much for me to keep track of. My first eel sushi, for example. Some kind of ground fish that looked like intestines. There was also a sushi with cream cheese, just like the improper sushi in Israel.

“Today is an Israeli cuisine day,” I laughed.

We ordered expensive sushi without keeping track of the price. Toriton was already as high-end as sushi in Israel. But for both of us, it was a special dinner.

He insisted on paying in the end. Lucky I had some bills to shove in his hand.

Fight with Cowboy

I returned to the share house and went to sleep at midnight, when Cowboy sent me a long message.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard of a story that when you give a child an apple each day, they’ll love you. And someday you stopped giving them the apple, they’ll cry and hate you.

“Reading your articles really makes me feel the same way, I couldn’t help laughing actually. All you can see and care is your own issues, you don’t care about what’s happening with other people’s life. While I’m busy working, loosing sleep and diet, all I see is you being the big pick-me brat. I lost 5kg in four days if you even care.

“Yeah, one of us is constantly seeing and talking to new people, and we both know that’s not me. I’ve told you that I don’t open to people easily not like you finding soul mates one right after another. I’m just really happy that you’re out of my life at this point, cause you really don’t know how to love and care someone and I do need a shoulder to rely on. I really hope you’re doing well and get your life together someday soon.”

Seeing a message from him, and then reading it, was a rollercoaster. My heart was hammering.

It took me half an hour to formulate a response.

“I noticed that I’d gotten a message from you,” I wrote, “and my heart skipped a beat. Then I read everything, and my excitement waned. It’s going to sound absurd, but I’m glad you didn’t mince words with me. Now I know how you feel.

“I think about you all the time. Every day, I stop myself from texting you and asking how you’ve been. Because you told me you might fall in love tomorrow and never respond to me again. So I reckoned you weren’t interested in hearing from me.

“I’d asked you out because I wanted to be a shoulder for you even when in another city. You not wanting an LTR was completely understandable. But when I said you were the only person I could trust, your response made it sound like I couldn’t even do that. The person I’d felt closest to and thought about the most. This, I couldn’t fathom.

“It hurt me even more when you’d dropped it as if it was nothing. So I forced myself to drop it as well.

“Hearing how you appreciate our distance – I can’t echo that. I feel bad for the way things are, and apologize for what I’ve made you feel.

“It’s funny, but I kind of feel the same way. I needed your shoulder, and thought you didn’t care. I care about you even when it doesn’t seem like it.”

Alejandro had fallen asleep with an Italian dubbing of the Simpsons playing on his iPad. I couldn’t find the remote for the rainbow party lights that snaked around our ceiling. Our room remained colorfully bright.

“We’re not on the same page, I don’t want to say anything more to hurt your feelings, it’s been fun, thank you and wish you well,” Cowboy texted.

Tears streamed down my face. I wanted to resolve this mess. I would apologize again and again. He, on the other hand, was withholding himself from further scathe.

“I’ll never forget you,” I wrote. “I wish you all the best.”

My head began to ache. This almost never happened. The last time was in early July.

I lay in bed at 2:00 and read our conversation again and again. Rainbow lights and the Simpsons yelling in Italian. I wondered if my response was inept, and if he genuinely thought that I didn’t care. I wanted to hear about his day and his troubles at work, help him through this hard time and more to come. Why had he lost so much weight?

Through thick and thin. Just as he’d done for me. Perhaps this wasn’t clear.

A platonic incident from Korea resurfaced in my head.

At 22:00, we returned to the hostel. I thought tonight would be the night I went to bed early. But then I met another French guy, a software engineer who worked 3 times a week remotely for 2.5 years now, traveling the world. The three of us chatted outside on the street, before bidding each other good night at 23:00.

Then I called my best friend from home.

After not speaking for several weeks, our conversation quickly turned from “how have you been” to accusing each other of growing apart. We both said harsh things. Sitting on the doorstep to the hostel, it went on like this for an hour and a half.

The wall I’d felt near the French guy wasn’t comparable to my phone call at present. I explained my emotions without trying to embellish the situation. Even though I stood behind my words, I apologized again and again for the way they made her feel. She did not return the sentiment.

After dozens of apologies and expressions of regret for how things between us had become, I asked her if she was sorry as well.

She snorted with laughter.

The idea that she might have been in the wrong was that absurd to her.

“Your reaction is telling me everything I need to know,” I said in the end, and hung up.

I went to bed at 1:00, knowing full well I’d just gone through another friendship breakup, this one after nine years. I was more angry than sad.

“Enough for You” (19 May 2023)

For nine years, my former best friend had yelled at me, blamed me, without apologizing for her behavior. Sometimes I was wrong. But sometimes she was as well.

The last straw for me was how, during my trip, she had criticized me, fought me whenever I would call to say hello, and then ghosted me, all while secretly reading my blog and my hardships without messaging me once, as if she was a stranger.

Now, Cowboy found me laughable as well.

Maybe I was absurd. Maybe the two of them had a point?

Or maybe two people couldn’t reconnect.

Regardless, it was too late to make any additions to my message.

A verse from the poem I’d written him on our last day together came to mind next.

And I know I’ll pay for it
This unforgettable ride
Oh, to be a skeleton in your closet
Would be worth the dust

Writing someone a poem was the most intimate act I was capable of. He hadn’t mentioned it once.

A final moment from Korea repeated itself.

I cried myself to sleep. If memory served me right, the last time this happened, I was 19.

“New Lows” (27 July 2023)

Today’s highlights: the Israeli restaurant with the Disney guy; roasted matcha and orange ice cream; and the best sushi in the world with Saki.

21 November 2023

• 21:10-5:00 Shinjuku Station (Busta Shinjuku bus terminal) to Kyoto station night bus

Farewell to Cowboy and Tokyo

I couldn’t bear to do anything today. Neither eat, nor drink. I couldn’t even get out of bed.

“I’m just really happy that you’re out of my life at this point,” I could hear Cowboy saying. “You really don’t know how to love and care.”

So I wrote and wrote, while recalling moments from this trip.

En route to the digital detox ryokan:

As the bullet train rushed north, the weather turned sour. From sunny to cloudy and foggy. Raindrops splattered on the window, and the temperature dropped. I watched the window grow cold as if a dementor was touching it, like in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I felt as if one was hovering right next to me.

Making friends and growing close to people who walked out on me: this was the pattern that had dominated my social life since middle school. Over the years, whenever a new connection bloomed, I’d assumed it would break that pattern.

Something must be deeply, fundamentally wrong with me, for this to happen over and over again. I didn’t know what. But I had to find out.

“Farewell Civilization, Yet Again” (19 August 2023)

After my goal in returning to that ryokan had failed:

I recalled what I’d written in my post from August 19^th, before returning to the ryokan. If people repeatedly shunned from me – if people who had once texted me on a daily basis, who’d bought me presents and inquired about our next encounter, who had promised to stay in my life, ignored me – then there must be something irreparably wrong with me. I sat on the floor inside Sendai station for five hours, until my night bus, and confronted the no-longer-deniable notion… that I was the problem.

And so, for all the wrong reasons, Sendai station had become almost a mythical place for me. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever like to set foot in it again.

But what exactly was wrong with me? Where had I erred? There had to be something in my modus operandi that I was blind to. What was the reason I couldn’t get to him? What was the reason people spurned me? What was the reason for all these interpersonal struggles?

What was the reason.

“The Last Straw” (29 August 2023)

Finally, a week later, Finally, feeling lonely and helpless in Tokyo:

Why was I trying so incessantly? What force was I to blame for my stupidity? And why was I going through all these tribulations? They weren’t teaching me any valuable lessons. They weren’t hurting for a reason, or rather, a good one at that.

I could fathom neither cause, nor justification. Either I was too jejune to discern one, or it never existed to begin with… only blackness, nothingness, absence… not cruelty, but indifference… lack of thought.

I felt as small as a speck of dust inside the train. If I didn’t have influence over anyone – if my presence in their once-in-a-lifetime existence was as ephemeral as a leaf in winter – why did they pose such an impact on me?

“Hold up,” I wanted to say to this planet, before it continuing revolving without me able to understand it.

Chasing it nonetheless, sanguine that a few meters from now I would find an answer, I’d only been making a fool out of myself. I’d kept waiting for people to apologize and change, while they didn’t even think of me.

Why did I bother.

I no longer wished to trust people. To open up to them. I did not find it rewarding.

“The Final Spark” (5 September 2023)

Fast forward to November 21. I thought a lot about what had changed since then and what hadn’t. Had I resolved my flaws?

Rereading my former posts, it struck me how much I’d been using the first person. This was a journal about my perhaps experiences, so perhaps it made sense. When around other people, I’d striven to focus more on their problems instead.

Perhaps this impression was only in my head.

I knew Cowboy was angry at me for leaving Sapporo. He’d done everything for me, and I’d taken a ferry away.

The way I saw it, my alternatives were non-existent. There was no job for me in Hokkaido.

Still, I had learned two lessons since meeting him in September.

First: distance can ruin everything.

Even some friends and people around me were losing all the roses they’d picked on their trip.

Second: opening up to people can be rewarding.

Cowboy had never lied to me. He was brutally honest. Our present was a gift.

“A man does not recover from such devotion of the heart to such a woman,” Jane Austen had written in Persuasion. “He ought not; he does not.”

I didn’t want to move on, and knew I wouldn’t be able to.

“You forgive, you forget, but you never let it go,” Taylor Swift sang in Bad Blood.

Was this what dating amounted to? Memories you couldn’t stop replaying, and took with you to the next person?

It would be double-dealing of me to do so. It would also be treacherous of me to not. 

I popped by the cafe to say goodbye and dragged my suitcase to Shinjuku station, for a night bus to Kyoto. After getting lost inside Shinjuku station, I found the bus terminal. Then the Takadanobaba guy texted me back.

I left Tokyo resolute to trust again.

As I moved on to the next leg of my trip with the increasing luggage I’d been accumulating, it hit me: there was no way for me to discard this baggage.

Today’s highlight: organizing my thoughts by writing.