Japan: My Adventure: Days 1 and 2

I am moving to Japan for a year. Even now, I'm not sure if that statement has settled. While I consider myself reliable and good with commitment, I understand that this will be a busy trip. I still hope to update this blog (I am hoping this turns into something more of a diary; frank, candid, private) frequently, though. Possibly weekly. I am hoping that the distance between me and the people I love will help me speak about things that I normally wouldn't if I had frequent contact with them. I am writing this blog for me. It will give me something to look back on in the years to come. And so, I will include things that are utterly personal. I am hoping for the courage (despite knowing that others will be reading my words) to include everything I experience. If you decide to take this journey with me, I thank you. Don't be offended by the fact that this diary will probably not be written towards you. I am happy to share these things, but they are for me to remember, and for you to find amusement or amazement in, if you so choose. Here goes nothing.

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The flight was long. Or rather, the three flights were long. Detroit to Chicago (I remember joking to Nicole “I could run there.”), Chicago to LAX, LAX to Tokyo. I intentionally didn't sleep the night before I left so I could waste the flight away in hibernation. How proactive I can be. The flight to Tokyo began with sleeplessness, though. I watched Mama, the only film starring Jessica Chastain that I hadn't seen. It was underwhelming. A french film followed. It was french. For the last hour I turned my television to the “flight plan” channel. It was sort of an interactive GPS that showed our altitude, our speed, our distance to Narita. I just stared at the miniature air plane that inched its way to Japan. A thrilling way to spend 60 minutes, I know. But I couldn't bring myself to spend it any other way. The window offered me nothing other than a stale view of the Pacific ocean, and even though I was not nearly as nervous as I should have been, sleep had left me all together.

As Japan came into view, I felt the same. I suppose my prayers for a stress-free journey were being answered, but it made me feel odd. It's funny – we all so desperately wish for lives without stress, but then when we achieve it, life comes off as boring. The coast of Japan wasn't like what I envisioned it to be (I would imagine most countries would instantly defy our expectations.) The skyline was flat. Buildings were sparse and small. What I did notice was how numerous boats peppered the calm ocean. Tankers made up most of them, but I assume the others were mostly fishing boats. It was beautiful. We descended to a height that allowed a proper surveillance of the land and I was instantly enamoured. I got to see the rice fields. While the idea of big cities, bustling traffic, and rhythmic chaos is undeniably appealing to me, the thing I was most excited to see was the countryside. The rice fields. This dream of course spawned from my countless views of Japanese animation legend Hayao Miyazaki's My Neighbour Totoro.

And then we were on the ground. I thought of applauding but then I realized I was probably the only one who thought of doing so. I refrained. A man grabbing his luggage commented on my PlayStation tattoo. We shared a laugh, but it was more than that. It was hugely encouraging, offering a sense of security. We understood each other. (I forgot to mention that I ran into a high-school acquaintance at the Detroit airport. We hadn't seen each other since graduation, and it was so obviously a sign of comfort. Life is full of blessings, and Jessaline, if you are reading this for whatever reason, I wish you nothing but happiness in your life.)

I stepped off the plane. I'm sure there is a word for the hallway that leads you into the airport, but I don't know it. It was here that I began to make observations about the country, and about travel in its entirety. It was eye-opening to realize how desensitized (maybe this is not the proper word) we become to our world. I looked at things I would never look at otherwise. An advertisement for Visa was enthralling. A garbage can was interesting. I studied everything. It demanded it. There is nothing that is more attention-grabbing than difference.

And then my environment. It was quiet. It didn't bother me, or even strike me until I thought about it. It wasn't an uneasy silence, but a peaceful one. I equate airports with bustling noise and stress. Here, everyone was calm, collected, and direct. People rarely spoke. It was hard for me not to think of this as odd. After all, that's not “normal.” Why do we so adamantly fill our lives with noise? I don't know the answer to that, and I am certainly in no position to say which is superior. Even the officers, employees, and inspectors spoke to me in a quiet, reserved hum. They always smiled. Everyone here smiles. “Can I see your passport?” Those words are never said comfortingly, but the women who said them to me made me want to snuggle up with her and tell her all my problems. She thanked me, and asked me to look into a machine's eyes and place my hands at its bottom. It was to take my picture and store my finger prints. It took me three times to do it right. Within a few seconds a plastic card was ejected from the machine. She handed it to me: “check for mistake?” It took me a while to realize I was looking at my Japanese citizen card. Cody Virag, February 18^th, 1993, yeah, yeah, yeah. Everything was fine. I smiled back. “Wow,” was all I could say. She nodded me through.

Maybe I am writing too much. I really do want to remember it all, though. Anyways, I went to the baggage claim where my luggage was already off the conveyer belt and organized alphabetically with everyone else's. That's good service. The air port was virtually empty; no party for my arrival. Once I left the arrivals area and into the main terminal it was much more busy. Despite all the people, the volume was mostly the same. Quiet. Advertisements broke up the silence with their outlandish imagery. Mothers and sons stepped out of the arrivals dock to see their families. They would smile and laugh, but never hug. I saw a father pat his son's back, but that was the most intimate contact I witnessed. (I do not want to judge this behaviour. I hope that while reading this back, I do not sound judgemental. This is just what I saw. I don't like hugs anyway.)

I turned around. Two men, one with a camera, and a women. Smiling. A microphone in my face. “Uhh... hi.”

“Konnichiwa!!!!! You do interview!?”

I stuttered. “I... uh, I don't speak Japanese.” Wait, I could have said that in Japanese.

“We translate, it's okay!” The women waved from behind the man, “she speak English!”

It sounds like you do, too. “Oh, sure!” I didn't even ask questions! That's what I wish I had done, at least so I could watch it later. I still have no idea what the purpose of the interview was. They asked me where I was from, how long I was staying, if it was my first visit. Maybe this is for a news program? But then the questions got odd.

“What are your hobbies!?” It's like they didn't even realize the question is somehow intrusive.

“Uh... video games.” They smiled. The man holding the microphone yelled and pointed at my tattoo of the face buttons on a DualShock controller. “Yeah,” I smiled.

“PlayStation!!” They yelled. They asked me about my cross tattoo. I just held up my necklace, and they smiled, nodded. Next, my tattoo of Horizon. I explained. They were so interested in everything I said. It was genuine. It wasn't like they were interviewing me because their boss asked them to. They weren't just completing a job, they were so, so interested in me. They asked me about making games.

“I'm learning!” I explained more. Self-teaching, making progress. They asked if I had any games I could show them in my luggage. “Not yet, maybe in a few years.” This is great promotion. I told them I was waiting for Jake. They were so enamoured with me, they asked permission to wait around until he came so that they could interview him as well. I said yes, but they ended up leaving before he arrived.

Then I saw him. He was calling me, but I ignored it and ran up to him instead. We hugged, kissed. It was an outlandish greeting considering the country we're in. Some people looked.

It took an hour on the train to get home. It was a beautiful trip through the countryside. I loved it, Jake hated it. A city kid. More rice fields. Once we reached more urbanized areas, the first thing I noticed was how small the streets are. The buildings are placed like Legos: placed almost haphazardly. It's beautiful. Everything here is beautiful.

The train stopped. I got off. It wasn't as busy as I thought it would be. The sidewalk had these weird yellow grooves in them that made rolling my bag really tough. Apparently they are there for the blind. They are everywhere. Straight lines tell them that they are going straight (obviously), and dots tell them that they are nearing an intersection. It's a huge investment into courtesy.

(I am writing this jet-lagged out of my mind. I hope I am not brushing over things. I also feel like I'm using words improperly. Oh well.) We made it to our place. It's a traveller’s house that accommodates roughly 35 people. There's no elevator so we carried all my luggage up four floors. I didn't meet anyone on the way up the stairs, thank God. He showed me to our room. It is small, but clean, and fancy. Cheap doesn't mean low quality here. There was something rolled up in the corner.

“It's another bed,” he explained. Jake hates being crowded, so he'll sleep on the floor. (I asked him if we could sleep together on the first night. I missed him a lot. He agreed, but I woke up to him curled up on the floor. I guess he over-heats.) I unpacked a little bit, but not too much. We are moving to the first floor in a couple weeks. The room is a little bit bigger.

The end of my first day is a little bit foggy. Just like now, I was so tired. My body was used to sleeping at that time, as it is now. We ate at a family diner for like eight bucks. It felt so weird not leaving a tip.

I did some grocery shopping. A litre of milk is 1.50$. A very small carton of grapes is 4$. Overall, food is cheaper here. Imported fruits are the most expensive.

Back in the house I met four of my house-mates. Jamie from Korea (I wish they used their real names), Kerry from Taiwan. I forget the other two. There is a girl from France who seems nice, but closed off. She speaks fluent English, so I hope we get along.

Jake's friend came to visit us. I met her in Toronto (she came to Canada for 4 days... I still can't believe how much of a waste that is.) We talked about learning languages, with Jake translating the entire time. She is a beautiful person.

My first night I experienced one of the oddest dreams ever. Maybe a month or two ago, I remember reading excerpts from a book that were first hand accounts from people who had died, but then came back to life. What struck me was the universal account of their soul being pulled by a force. They could all feel wind against their bodies as they were pulled away from Earth and through the cosmos. Of course, I believe this to be their spiritual journey into the after-life. My first night, I think I might have died. Yes, I am the master of hyperbole, but I experienced the same thing these people spoke of. Never have I had such a dream so vivid, that is for sure. It didn't even feel like a dream. I still remember the wind against my sides. I remember thinking “no! I don't want to be dead.” It wasn't like in the movies where the person has to question it. I knew I was dead. My soul was pulled from me and, like a magnet, was pulled towards another force. I didn't wake up from the dream. Rather it seemed to slowly dissipate, until I was no longer dreaming (or dead), but asleep. I'm sure this is encouraging for my mother.

I am getting really tired. I am in my second day now. We went to Harajuku (a shopping district.) A Buddhist temple proved interesting and mind-expanding. I am rather ignorant when it comes to their beliefs. I wrote a prayer in their prayer box, asking them to direct it to Jesus rather than their deities. Maybe that was a cruel joke. And now I am sitting in McDonalds writing this diary entry. There are many things I forgot to include, so I will do so below in point form.

Things I forgot:

• People take any opportunity they can to sleep. In the park, on the subway. There is no place that is not okay to catch a nap.
• I would say anywhere from 5%-10% of people wear a surgical mask. The air smells fresh and clean to me. I think it's a cultural thing.
• I was asked by many people where my 'house shoes' were. It's usually not okay to walk around in socks. Floors are seen as really dirty, so everyone has a pair of sandals (or something similar) to wear in the house.
• I bought a pair of house shoes for a dollar. They only had size 8 because “that's the normal size.” I found that funny.
• Despite being reserved, everyone is always friendly. Especially people at work (cashiers, etc.) I have yet to encounter a grouchy worker.
• I totally believe in all that “vibe” crap. This city has an overwhelmingly safe vibe. I feel so, so safe here. It's really cool.

There will be more. And I am so excited to find it.