I told myself I'd write a blog post when I came back from Japan

I went back to Japan recently. The first time in four years, after two bouts of COVID, a long-term relationship and break-up, buying and then (soon) selling a house. Which is a lot to say in one sentence. Weird to think, four years later. My life has has so much happen, but at the same time it feels like nothing at all. When I moved to Japan I was 24, no idea what I was doing with my life. Everything was open. So many possibilities. I was a different person, but that person is still me.

Going back to Japan was at once an overload of sensory experience, and a comforting homecoming. Looking at all the hydrangea that I immortalised on my body, drinking by the river in Kyoto, taking the stupid Ginza Uniqlo mirror pic. Whenever someone asks me about how Japan was I say 'Oh my god it was amazing, I really struggled boarding the plane back home'. Which is true, but there is so much more to it. Doors were opened, doors were closed. I have no desire to go back to Maibara again. I looked up how to get at working holiday visa and play out my dream of living in Kyoto.


アジサイ (hydrangea) at a temple in Fukuoka

But is that a good idea, to move back, when I know how much Japan hurt me? You've seen the posts. I always think of Japan as a lover, an on-and-off again relationship. When I'm away too long, I romanticise it; being there will make me feel whole. But when I'm there I feel othered, suffocated, they just can't say what they truly think. Even if now, I can understand it a little bit better. This idea may be related to many relationships ending when I go to Japan. And my serious problem with romanticising and fantasying. 

I love Japan, I love smoking cigarettes in the tiny smoking room at Torikizoku, I love staring out the train longingly listening to a new playlist as I go on my monthly holiday, I love getting excited then disgusted at the new seasonal strong zero flavour. I love going to Uniqlo, and I love choosing when my package from Amazon will be delivered by Kurokeno. I love sitting in my apartment all alone journalling thinking about 'Who am I?' I love seeing one of my favourite artists for free at a market in Nagoya. Japan gives me so much that this tiny country, New Zealand, so far removed from the rest of the world can give me. 


Out the window of Tokyo-Kyoto shinkansen

Then there's the part of my brain, the cool girl. 'You're such a weeb for being so obsessed with Japan. You're not unique, so many people love Japan. Stop being such a tortured artist. Just live a normal life in New Zealand. Be the most alt-y friend in an Auckland friend group and live in New Lynn and get excited about your monthly costco shop'. 

But I can't do that. Is it my desire to be different, to one day tell people stories about my life and seem interesting? But also who cares, I know nobody cares, because eventually the stories of Japan get old and people are more interested in why I'm selling my house and interest rates and the upcoming election. Why can't we just all be tortured artists together? Romanticise life, watch the leaves change colour, notice as the piwakawaka come back and nest in the tree near your house. Think about the temperature in Kyoto and what my life would be like if I was just reckless and went back. 


I could be a ヤンキー (yankee - a Japanese youth delinquent)

But here I am, 29, still no idea what I am doing with my life. Maybe I move overseas again, delete the safety of right now and just wander. I, like probably so many other people, worry about getting older. The pressures of society, the pressure of my ovaries, kind of. What is life?

Places change, people change, but they can still remain the same, the same in your heart. They can provide the freshness, the clarity. Not that I have any clarity of course, just that I know that right now isn't right, and Japan didn't teach me that. But oh Japan I want you back. 

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