Met up with an old chum tonight – a guy I’ve known since high school. Let’s call him “Dusty.” A guy frequently in between Vancouver and Tokyo.
Loves Japan. In his words, ‘Tokyo is a playground.’ In his mind, nothing here can live up to good old Edo. I guess I can see where he’s coming from.
Tokyo life: where the beer is always flowing, and the karaoke bars and boxes are always open.
Tokyo, where there’s no need to worry about getting home after getting drunk - even if Japan is zero-tolerance for impaired driving. “関係ない,” as they say. The trains are always running – and when they aren’t you can just crash at the station, or even better: at a net cafe.
The Kirin Bridge in Tokyo is where all roads in Japan lead to. Which means plenty of sweet, open,
oooooooooopeeeeennn highway to cruise on your bike – motorized or otherwise.
Amusement parks and game centres and maid cafes and historical monuments and people, people, PEOPLE! Lovely, awesome, friendly people! Everywhere you go!
…what am I missing?
I get this strange feeling when Dusty and I go on about like this. It feels as if – the more we talk, less I can keep up my grin.
Kinda like there’s a sinkhole forming someplace in my chest, and all the little bits and constitute and form my smile are running off into it.
Dusty is the opposite. He comes back from a prolonged trip to Japan. He comes home and feels out of whack. He feels listless and uninspired. He yearns, he craves going back. He’s always looking for a new reason to go.
I come home to Canada and I’m pretty, yeah… pretty good not to get back to my lovely Nippon.
Don’t get me wrong, I really do like Japan but…
But something calls me back to Vancouver……… why can’t I relate to all the other Japan-infatuated out there?