In the cycle of nature there is no such thing as victory or defeat: there is only movement.
The winter struggles to reign supreme, but, in the end, is obliged to accept spring’s victory, which brings with it flowers and happiness.
The summer would like to make its warm days last for ever, because it believes that warmth is good for the earth, but, finally, it has to accept the arrival of autumn, which will allow the earth to rest.
~ Paulo Coelho (Manuscript Found in Accra)
6th August 2023, a plane landed in Haneda Airport having departed London Heathrow the day before and I disembarked ready for a new life and a new job.
Now the weather has cycled back to what it was when I got off that plane. I have lived all the seasons. Leaves have fallen, the ground has frozen over, and grass, flowers, and cicadas have all re-emerged. And I have changed.
After a stagnation of four years, where I was going nowhere, my life has resumed with a flourish.
So even though the weather and smells and sounds remind me of last year, I know that I am changed for the better through all I’ve been through and done this year.
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いつか真冬At some point in the middle of winter.
I walked in the snow for two hours listening to a podcast. I thought it was cold enough for the tears running down my cheeks to freeze, but I was too warm. My core was too warm. I walked across the train tracks by my station. It is deserted, everyone had long hurried into warmth glowing golden. Snow fell, noisy in the silence; everything else was muffled and distant. When I returned home, I was cold and my trousers wet but that restless thing in my chest had settled into something achingly small and hopeful.
盆踊りBon Odori.
A wash of orange lit by the canopy of lanterns stretching out above. Food stands were lounging around the perimeter, the smell of takoyaki and yakisoba lingering in the air. People innumerable were slowly moving in a hypnotic circle, following the dance troupes demonstrating the dance up on the stage. The boom of the taiko drums reverberated in my chest, making my heart beat for me. We got pulled up onto the stage, I was in my koi-fish yukata, and we lose ourselves in the rhythmic pattern of the dance. I looked out at the innumerable crowd of people, all of us joined as one in movement, and I was part of something again.
野沢温泉 Nozawa Onsen.
Christmas Day. I skied for the first time. It was all pumping adrenaline, aching shins, fear of dying, and all-consuming wonder at the stunning surroundings. We slipped into a hot onsen afterwards, easing the tension of our muscles, bare breasted amongst the snow, idle conversation starting and stopping. While eating the best Italian I’ve had in Japan the night before, I had slipped out of the restaurant to call my family preparing for le Réveillon. It was a sharp cold and my breath fogged up and up towards the star-studded sky. I was so far from home.
しまなみ海道 Shimanami Kaido.
After a night bus where anti-nausea medicine knocked me out, we got on our rental bikes and cycle out into the heat. Despite being by the sea, there was little wind and the water was still. I was covered in sweat to a degree I had never been before. I downed drink after drink, stopping at conbinis, cafés, and vending machines along the cycling route, and never needed to pee. The smell of heat baking the tarmac, and trees, and bugs, was inescapable. I saw a hummingbird. The coastline was beautiful and the bridges were hell. I loved it but almost got stranded in the middle of nowhere waiting for a bus that I wasn’t certain would ever show up. But it did.
姫路 Himeji.
The castle dominated the town, watching over from its elevated vantage point. The 商店街 was deserted, long and stretching out far with an elderly man on his bike. My parents and I refused to look at the castle too much because then we’d have nothing to do the next day. We found an empty restaurant and settle in, we ate really good duck shabu shabu. As we left, the chef greeted us speeding by on his bike coming back from somewhere. Amongst the three days of exploring Himeji castle and Engyoji temple on Mt. Shosha, I was able to share with my parents how different my life was now. I like to think they were relieved and proud of me.
花火 Fireworks.
July and August are peak season for fireworks here, not November and December like it is in the UK. We went to multiple fireworks throughout the year. Chofu fireworks where we could sit on the ground and stare up at the display. Sumidagawa Fireworks where we got really good views of trees and buildings and not much else. And Itabashi Fireworks where the Japanese people overcame a police barrier to get access to the bank to an unobstructed view of the fireworks. In all cases phones stopped getting reception because even the smaller displays in the biggest city of the world attracted hundreds of thousands of people.
Despite often harrowing experiences to try to meet up with friends and be able to see them, there has always been a stillness within me when I watch fireworks, a meditation of sorts. Their explosive nature conflicting with their beauty. Or perhaps because of their anger, they are beautiful. A form of witchcraft, perhaps.
広島 Hiroshima.
In the morning, we went to a tiny café owned by a sweet elderly couple. My friend’s knees reached his ears. We were the only ones there and our omelette sandwiches and iced coffee were made fresh. It was a nice quiet moment before visiting the Peace Memorial Museum and 原爆ドーム, where sorrow and collective grief spread between the visitors and it was difficult to hold back tears. The contrast between our sombre morning and visiting the castle and watching a kagura performance in the afternoon was stark. A city where tragic history lurks but time goes on.
日光 Nikko.
An elderly couple own a café/pottery/woodcarving shop by Lake Chuzenji. They handed out woven wicker baskets to shoppers holding blue-glazed mugs in their hands and wrapped up purchases with tenderness and care. They were utterly oblivious to the hurry some of the travellers had thrumming through their bodies. Here was a place to move slowly, with purpose but prudence.
Further away, there was a viewpoint at the top of a mountain, looking out across at a lake suspended in the sky, cradled by mountains, an extinct volcano presiding over it. Though they tried, the mountains and hills couldn’t contain the water and it gushed over the edge, spilling down sheer cliff face. The wind whipped at our faces, untying our hair with rough caresses. Behind us was a valley and the Kanto plains stretching out long and far. The trees were a burst of colour, but ahead no leaf remained on the trees. Winter was slowly spreading down from the mountains, towards the sea.
箱根 Hakone.
Mt. Fuji watched over us as the sun slipped down turning the trees into liquid gold. We had taken the pirate ship across Lake Ashinoko and the mountain had slipped up behind us, silent. If not for eyes, we wouldn’t have known it was there. We walked up the Old Tokaido way and I remembered a time, two years prior, when fog had settled heavy over everything that we could see with dewy clarity now. Looking out towards the shrine gate on the opposite side of the bay, we watched Mt. Fuji slip into a silhouette in the rapidly falling night.
The stars in the night sky were as silent Mt. Fuji, still and shining. I happened to look up when in the onsen, and they were there. I raised an arm out of the water and watched steam evaporate from my skin to intertwine with the stars. On a long walk back along a road that felt more like a slip road leading to the motorway than a pedestrian route, I chanced a look up and they were still there, bright. Orion’s belt, and the Pleiades and the Big Dipper. All there. Like home but not quite, everything a little shifted.
江ノ島 Enoshima.
The last vestiges of summer remained, standing strong against the incoming autumn. In a small restaurant that we had to wait forty-five minutes to enter, I ate teeny tiny little fish on rice. As long as I didn’t stare into their little eyes, it was delicious. It was a beautiful day, a little windy, and the walk over to the caves was stunning. On a clearer day, I would have been able to see Mt Fuji, but instead haze and clouds filled the horizon. In the caves, I was handed a little candle with a paper cover to explore further with a gold koi fish printed on it. It didn’t really light the way forward but the experience made up for the impracticality. On our way home, we hiked up our skirts to wade out to sea. I smelt sea salt all the way back to Tokyo.
誕生日 Birthday.
Reclaiming my birthday for myself. Celebrating exactly how I wanted to celebrate it without external pressure. Then facing my friends’ ire about it. And feeling loved because of their outrage.
神奈川県 Kanagawa prefecture.
Days trips to the beach. I have always sustained a healthy fear of the sea. Screeching about a layer of seaweed covering the seabed, I refused to put my feet down and instead treaded water even in the very shallow areas. We splashed and sploshed and talked in a little circle further out to sea. Gossiping has always been more fun in the sea. Things kept trying to eat me or sting me. A pervert of a jellyfish tentacle stung me on the breast. I had weird tan lines this summer; an uneven burn on my legs and the white marks of two plasters I’d put over mosquito bites. I’m still finding sand in all my things to this day, including: a pen, my headphones, my purse, my phone, and clothes that I never wore to the beach. I love swimming about so even though all the beaches here are too sandy for a sand magnet like me, I will always keep going.
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And then there’s the hundreds of moments with friends. Meeting up after work for a drink, a meal, to watch a film. Movie nights with more talking than watching the film. Gossiping. Chaotic nights out until the first train starts running once more. And being there for each other. There are the ephemeral friends, who only last a few weeks or months, before our paths divert – always bittersweet but the memories remain untainted. And the true friends, who are there for me and allow me to be there for them.
And there are the other trips I haven’t mentioned, countless hours talking with others, getting to know each other, and laughing together. Bars, clubs, restaurants. Food, alcohol, and gossip. The biggest city in the world doesn’t always feel that big. It’s just right. There’s always something to do: alone or with friends.
Work isn’t good. I don’t enjoy my workplace. But I like living here, at least for now. At least for another year. After that, I’ll need to move on, maybe, discover somewhere new. I’m good at moving. Transplanting my life and settling somewhere else.
This coming year, I shall try to make more time for my hobbies: swimming, writing, knitting etc. and try new ones: goldsmithing, ceramics, crochet. And spend time with friends and try to remain open to new experiences, new people, and new opportunities.
Here’s to another year, let’s hope it’s a good one.
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“Ustedes los jóvenes están en la edad exacta de la desesperación. Yo nunca me sentí más acabado y viejo que a los veintitantos. Decía ‘ya se me pasó la vida y no hice nada’. Pero estoy aquí para decirles que no: tienen un chingo de tiempo”
~ Guillermo Del Toro
Justine Russell 