Photo credit: Jseagull

I was excited for the Umineko Half Marathon in Hachinohe mid-way through May, but a combination of a cold and lack of training had me a little worried that perhaps this would be the first race I would have to bow out of. But, hah! I said. I’ve felt this way before, and I’ve crushed all those puny kilometers (in this case, crush means that I finished, barely). I’m not scared of the distance any more either – 21 kilometers?! Child’s play! I figured as long as I went slowly I’d be fine.

It was a gorgeous race too; the course ran by the famed Kabushima Shrine on the water, surrounded by umineko seagulls, and then proceeded down a coastal road, with the sea and the wind a few meters away to the left. I don’t mind running when I’m surrounded by a beautiful coastal vista, you know? So I knew I would be alright if I just took it slow. Besides, with all the seagulls flying around, you didn’t want to stand in one place for too long, if you know I mean.

So I ran slowly but surely. So slowly, in fact, that I ended up running out of time around the 18km mark. Three kilometers left to go! Three! That’s like…a mile. That’s it. They couldn’t just let me go? It wasn’t even that I was any slower than running Sendai last year – I think they were just actually enforcing the time limit. So I had to take the bus back, sweaty and upset and gross. It kind of sucked, and I was pretty humbled by my first non-finish. I know I’m not a fast runner, and I don’t think I’ll ever be. I just wasn’t too cool about being the slowest runner. And it just really burned that I didn’t get to finish. However slow I lumber along, I pride myself on always lumbering past that finish line.

But I regrouped – even if I had made a poor showing, my friend had run his best half marathon ever, which is pretty awesome. That’s the joy of running – the only person you’re competing against is yourself. Everyone else is just smiles and encouragement. (The other joy would be those fleeting glimpses of the Most Beautiful Man). Running is a pretty cool way to spend your time, as long as you don’t go down the rabbit hole and post a status update after every single practice run. (“YEAH! I ran 2 kilometers in 20 minutes tonight!”)

The only person beating myself up for not finishing was myself. I realized that I hadn’t really failed at running before, but that’s because I haven’t really let myself fail. I’ve made such a slow progression in distance because I don’t want to have to give up halfway. But it’s gotta happen once in a while – failing, I mean. In fact, getting upset about it would just prevent me from trying again – it would be a defense against the pain of failing, of growth. This is getting pretty deep for a blog about running, but hating myself for running 18 kilometers on a beautiful course is just plain dumb. I mean, so what? Am I going to give up on running now? Ridiculous. That was a thought I actually had, too, for a few seconds on the bus. That’s how ridiculous I am, as a human.

So, yesterday, I ran a 10k, and though I was humbled by my recent defeat in Hachinohe, I knew I could use this to get back on the proverbial horse. It was a course I’d run before, it was a distance that I was very comfortable with, and I was feeling damn good. And I ended up shaving ten seconds off my best 10k time. I may yet fail again, but that’s just another opportunity to grow. I guess you just have to lose against yourself time and again.

And, anyway. Even if you reached a state of perfection, you’d have no where else to go but down.

One chilly night after English conversation club was over, I was off to meet Satoru for a drink when I noticed I had a missed call. It was from Y-kun. My heart fluttered just a tiny bit. Huh. I hadn’t seen him in a while. I hadn’t seen most of those boys in a while. I pulled my jacket tightly around me and called him back as I walked into town.

“Hey, Amanda, how are you?”

“I’m fine, how about you? Are things busy in Miyako?”

“Yeah, same as ever,” he replied. “So, actually, Junya and Sasaken and I are meeting in Morioka this weekend.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we’re planning on going on a trip together for Golden Week, so we wanted to meet and hash out the details.”

“Whoah, are you going outside the country?”

“Haha, no. Just outside the prefecture. But I figured since we were going to be in town that we should call you along too.”

“Little old me?”

“Yeah, are you free?”

I paused, for all the reasons and excuses you’d expect me to pause. Deep breath. Heart pounding, I said, “Yeah, I’m free. When are you meeting?”

***

I went for a run on that Saturday to to figure myself out.

You know you’re probably doing something stupid when the Coquette is in your head saying, “Girl, bye!!” I don’t think anyone who knows me thinks it’s a brilliant idea for me to be hanging out with Junya, least of all myself. I know I’ve said that I’m over him, and I honestly believe that I am – I don’t think about him, I don’t refer to him in conversation, I don’t see him. We’re quite amicably nothing to each other. But I wanted to make sure that I didn’t reawaken anything dormant inside of me either. I didn’t think any big drama would be happening, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to open that can of worms for myself.

For all of the writing I’ve done about myself, I still wasn’t sure if I was deluding myself.

Then again, I hadn’t seen these guys in forever, and I really do miss the camaraderie we had when they still worked at the prefectural office. Being the same age and figuring out life together. Drinking together. Fucking up together. Experiencing the disaster together. I have a connection with those friends that I haven’t been able to replicate, and I doubt I ever will be able to. I miss that. My life is more compartmentalized into “work” and “play” nowadays, but I miss when just coming to work and seeing my friends made it feel like I wasn’t really working at all.

I’ll always be fond of Junya. There’s always going to be a place in my heart for him. But I’ve been madly in love with someone else for quite some time now, and it’s both the most awesome thing and the least dramatic thing in the world. And I feel like I’ve figured out what love really is – what it’s like when someone returns it. And for however much I “loved” Junya, I would never go back to a relationship where basically I was giving him everything for nothing in return. I know the difference now.

Even writing this all feels strange. There was a time in my life where I never imagined Junya would become a *footnote in my life, but he has. And I’m completely nonchalant about it too. Heck, even writing this out feels strange. So there shouldn’t be anything keeping me back from seeing my friends every once in a while.

And, it was March. It was so close to the 2 year anniversary of the disaster. There was a part of me that just wanted to be with them, these people who had been there with me.

***

Just as I’d hoped, our night out was largely uneventful.

I met them at a restaurant in town – the three of them had already started, with beers and Korean food strewn about the table. I ordered a beer myself and we had a toast. Good work everybody, and otsukaresama.

Everyone’s doing well, but they’ve still got about 1-2 more years out in the coastal offices before being transferred again. Y-kun’s girlfriend managed to get hired by the prefecture, he mentioned, grinning from ear to ear. “I think by the end of this year,” he said, raising his pinky finger, “I’m going to marry her.”

Sasaken was still going to fancy cafes and posting about it on Twitter, and Junya grumbled about everyone was on the Facebook and the Twitter now. “I keep feeling like I have to join it now. It’s all everyone talks about! I mean, do people really want to know what I had for dinner?”

“You don’t have to use it that way,” I said.

“Yeah, Amanda uses it in like waves,” said Y-kun. “Sometimes she’ll post a lot, and then you won’t see her for a while.”

“Yeah, I get tired of it,” I said. “But you can’t just stop using it. It would be like retiring from society.”

“So,” Junya furrowed his brow, “that means that I’ve retired from society?”

“Well,” I smiled. “You never joined society in the first place.”

“True that,” he smiled.

After some more food had come, Junya and Sasaken started talking about going to singles parties in town, and how there was never anybody cool there. I said suddenly, “Well, I’ve never been to one, but I can’t go now.”

“Why not?” asked Y-kun.

“I mean,” I sputtered, “I have a boyfriend!”

There it was, the Announcement. They didn’t know?? I had told K-kun such a long time ago, and he has such a big mouth (a man after my own heart) that I figured everyone must know by now. It appeared that my strategy had failed. (Are you telling me you don’t think about me when I’m not around?!)

“When did this happen!?” Y-kun asked.

“What? I mean…I told you!” I said. “I told you guys before, didn’t I? Like around when Rory left.”

“Oh yeah…” he said. “But you didn’t say you were dating; just that you had met a cool guy. I just figured..”

“You knew about this?” said Junya.

Apparently, it was quite a surprise that I actually managed to find someone.

They were very kind and asked me all about Satoru, and I was glad to oblige. I know no one likes a girl who gushes about her boyfriend, but I guess…I just wanted them to know I was happy. And yeah, I won’t lie: I wanted Junya to know I was officially over him too. I ain’t above that. But I wanted them to know that I found someone nice, because I knew they’d be happy about it.

They’re my douki, after all.

“I finally found some0ne,” I smiled, looking at Junya.

A little less than two years ago, I sat across from him as he described the woman he was probably going to marry. And now, two years later, I sat across from him, telling him about the man I was probably going to marry.

Life is just so ridiculous, you know?

It’s pretty awesome, in a way.

***

After that, we spent the night drinking and karaoke-ing and strolling about the town. It just felt natural. I know that nights like this won’t be happening very often – at the very least, I’m not sure how much we’ll actually be able to meet after CIR is over for me. We’re all on the precipice of the next steps in our lives, and there’s no reason to be holding back over a couple of great memories.

But it was nice to see them. That’s all I really needed.

I remember a time when I thought that a Morioka without him was grey and monotone. But now there’s a huge screen installed on the main street, flashing with color and light and music, illuminating the whole city. And we stayed up all night in that city, eating ramen at 3am, just like there had never been any time between us.

But there had been. And as we said goodbye at the corner, them off to their hotel, I hopped in a taxi that sped off out of the dimly lit heart of the city. And I didn’t look back.

This year I can tell I’m a bit stronger of a runner. This weekend I was running on a course of my own design, planning to go up the mountain road behind my apartment and then over to a pond to the north of the city and back. 17km on hills, flat trails, and roads. Girl, yeah! You can do this! You certainly have nothing else to do today!

Incidentally, there are occasional bear sightings within Iwate, which is why you have to carry a bell with you when you go hiking, to alert them of your presence so they don’t eat you (?). I’ve run this mountain course before, which is surrounded by houses and business and a zoo (!) so there’s enough human civilization around to limit bear maulings. But I always wonder while I am wandering – dude, what if I did get eaten by a bear? People would just be like, that girl was a dang idiot.

So I’m running the first like, kilometer of my course. I’m part way up the hill, running through a forested road, and I come out by a rickety old business and a small farmfield. Nothing out of the ordinary. All of a sudden I see a grey shadow moving about 50 feet to my right, and I stopped short. CRAP what the hell is that-

It wasn’t big enough to be a bear so I thought it might be even worse – a wild boar. But no, it was just one of these guys:

Photo: wikipedia

It was a kamoshika, or Japanese serow. It’s kind like a deer or a goat, ie., a herbivore ie., phew. Pretty much harmless. It stopped padding along as soon as I did, and we both stared at each other for a good minute. Uh okay. I’m just going to walk slowly up the road out of sight… I stepped gingerly forward, making my way up the road, and keeping eye contact with the kamoshika. Her eyes followed mine as she watched me walk up the path and she stayed in that spot until I couldn’t see her any longer.

And that was the extent of my encounter with nature this time around. I won’t lie, it was pretty beautiful. I had a moment there, locking eyes with this majestic beast – but seriously, that is some Princess Mononoke-type shit right there.

Well, Ashitaka is from Michinoku, no?

“There’s no way I’m just gonna sit around with my heart broken.”

東日本大震災。Higashi Nihon Daishinsai.

The Great East Japan Earthquake and Tsunami.

I write those words often when I translate, in either language. Iwate Prefecture still sends out letters, produces reconstruction chronicles, thanks the world for its support during such a tragedy. Every time, it’s like a mantra: Higashi Nihon Daishinsai. Great East Japan Earthquake and Tsunami. Tohoku Disaster. Iwate’s Reconstruction. 未曾有な大震災から半年、1年、2年。これからの復興。

I write these terrible words, and I don’t think about the meaning behind those letters, behind those strokes. They’re just words to me, to all of us, if we don’t think about what they really mean.

How else could I live?

Just like September 11th, the Twin Towers, the terrorist attacks. I said those words, I heard those words so many times that I got used to them. I got used to them, and then I could distance myself from them. The words lost their power as I decoupled their sounds from the memories. I didn’t forget. But I could compartmentalize it away so that I could move on.

It’s so selfish. But time keeps flowing onwards, and you either let yourself flow with it, or you get stuck and drown.

“[I'll keep trying] until the day when I can laugh like hell again.”

Then something reminds me. Because I didn’t forget. I could never forget. And as that horrible day and that horrible month and that horrible year come back to me, the tears well up.

All I can do is sit there, and remember, until it passes. And vow to do more…but there’s nothing more to be done.

Two years feels like so much time, and yet, the memories remain etched in stone.

“I’m gonna take all this mud and dirt and make it a memory.”

All pictures taken from the Fukkou no Noroshi (A Beacon of Rebirth) Photo Project, completed a few weeks after the disaster. 

Photo: Izumi-green.co.jp

「　　　　聞こえますか

兵庫県西宮市　　松浦　末子

買い物してもらっても　　　ありがとう

電球替えてもらっても　　　ありがとう

毎日こんなに沢山のありがとうが　　あったなんて

二人でいる時は　　　　　　何もかもが当り前で

お互い言えなかった　　　　ありがとう

今　夜空の星に言います　　ありがとう　　　　」

Can You Hear It?

Even when you did the shopping

“Thank you.”

Even when you changed a lightbulb

“Thank you.”

Even though everyday there were so many things I should have thanked you for

When we were together

It just seemed so obvious

And we never said it

“Thank you.”

Now I look at the stars in the midnight sky and say,

“Thank you.”

by Matsuura Sueko (Nishinomiya, Hyogo Prefecture)

Adventures in Tokyo with E!

(E, as in the person, not the drug)

(for anyone who was wondering)

I am an absolute crazy person about knitting right now. I really am on my way to being a “knitter” – hoarding balls of yarn, casting on five projects at a time, obsessing over different stitch options, making yarn out of stray dog hair, etc. Luckily, my apartment is too small to hoard yarn so I have to contain it to this adorable wicker container I bought. Yeah, I bought a wicker container, and then got really excited about containers and then thought about actually cleaning and organizing my living space in disarray. THEN I got to work and cleaned out my whole desk, with some parts that hadn’t been touched since I got here. There was a big tray of floppy discs wedged in the back, to give you an idea of the last time it was cleaned out. I’m writing down organizing systems on stray pieces of paper. WHAT’S GOING ON?

Occasional cooking and cleaning → sudden urgent need to start Pinterest → taking up knitting → obsession with organizing and cleaning → ? (Beyonce level of perfection?)

I joined pinterest like a year ago tho

Anyway, there really isn’t much to write home about. I had a wicked temper tantrum last night when I ran to catch up with a bus, thought he was going to stop for me, and then the bus rolled off just as I got to the door. I was so angry that I dropped the f-bomb and kicked the concrete bus stop post. I had just finished a work out so steam literally was coming out of my ears. Then I proceeded to delete a long email I had been working on by accident, and got home and almost ruined my lace project when stitches started slipping off the needle. I just had to give up and go to bed early.

It’s stupid, because I have nothing to be stressed about (and to beat you to it, it’s not that time of the month either). I think it’s my annual February Freakout. A lot of things broil up and bubble up before the month of February is done.

①It’s been winter for three months now
②The lack of sunlight and the chore of trudging to the gym twice or more times a week
③Ice, ice, everywhere, so I can’t bike or run anywhere. So I have to take a bus.
④The fact that I ALWAYS have to wait a half hour for a bus that’s completely crowded, and there’s always a woman who elbows me, and the old people who rush to get in front yet take the most time to get anywhere, and it always takes me twice or even three times as long to get home

= a lot less solitude.

I know it’s all very much First-World Problems, but for however much I enjoy being around people, I’m an introvert in that I need time alone to recharge. I just get irritable and hateful without it. Unfortunately, I don’t think that will change, but I do understand that I have limits and I have to have those days where I do nothing and I don’t talk to people and I ignore my phone. I get less of that time in the winter, and that’s how the February Freakout happens. Last year I started crying after I slipped for the 1000th time on the incredibly icy path home. I think I spent all of February 2011 being mad at T-san. It’s just not a good month.

And that’s why I over-scheduled every weekend this month!!  …sigh. BUT I am going to Tokyo this weekend so I’ll get to knit on the shinkansen :)

Photo credit: Reuters/Yuriko Nakao

I couldn’t remember a time I had slept so little on a plane back home.

I had taken the night bus to Tokyo again, thinking it would tire me enough to force me asleep in the dry confined space of the airplane, but I slept in the dry confined space of the bus instead. The plane was full of young Japanese cosmetology students (judging from their hair and attire), American service men and women, and young families with young babies. Just like most flights home to America during Christmas. I had ridden enough now to know.

I snuggled into the soft, black scarf Satoru had given me for my (our) birthday, and busied myself with movies I didn’t want to watch. (Not surprising coming from a reality tv show lover like myself but: Katy Perry’s Part of Me is actually entertaining.)

Mom was waiting for me in Philadelphia, with my stepdad and stepbrother. We drove home, the familiar grey skies of winter in the tri-state area above us. Mom had work that night, so she went to bed early. I had a drink with my stepbrother to get myself sleepy, and we talked about gun control rather diplomatically until I was ready for bed. I slept for 11 hours.

The next night I woke up at 3 in the morning and never got back to bed.

***

My jet lag was horrendous this time around. I was having trouble until a few days before I left to go back to Japan. One night, I watched Food Network for maybe nine hours to pass the time. You cannot believe how much time you can waste by watching the Food Network. I don’t miss American food as much as I miss American food preparation tv. And you know what else? I watched the Real Housewives too. Yeah, all of them. And even a bit of the Kardashians. I’m not ashamed. Trashy television programming fills a void in me that Japanese television does not. It fills a void.

I also spent a lot of time surfing the internet, playing my DS, sifting through old sketchbooks I kept in high school. It’s always funny to look through the period of my life where I was drawing “American Otaku” – my unfinished webcomic about a girl who studies abroad in Japan. It’s pretty weird how accurate my high school self was in creating an older version of myself. “Larissa” bounded through the pages, surrounded by her Japanese boyfriend, wearing running shorts. I hadn’t intended at the time to become like Larissa – I didn’t even think I would ever go to Japan. But I became a Japanese-speaking jogger with a Japanese boyfriend, while the little artist girl faded away into nothingness.

It’s amazing how quiet the world is at that time of night. Night owls stay up to 1 or 2; early birds wake up at 6 or so. Those hours in the middle are quiet enough to remind you of your mortality.

I spent a lot of time thinking. No angst or confusion – just thinking, I suppose. This Christmas, I think I feel a bit more settled than I have ever felt before. Like I’ve closed more doors and decided on a path – and every year those doors grow more numerous. I feel happy. Perhaps I just feel happy for now, and perhaps someday I’ll regret choices I’ve made. Perhaps I won’t. Perhaps it was the first Christmas when I realized that this – this ephemeral journey that I make home once or twice a year -is the way it’s probably going to be, from here on out.

One night, my stepdad and stepbrother got into a huge fight over nothing in particular. It was one of those fights that break out when you’re spending all your time with someone you normally don’t spend much time with. I am fairly experienced in those types of fights myself. I stayed out of it, retreating to my mother’s room where we watched tv and discussed things in hushed tones. It would be alright, of course. It’s normal to fight with your family, especially during the holidays. But I had a rather narcissistic thought about it a little while later, in the dead of the night.

I don’t really have fights like that with anyone in my family anymore. And I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The two of them, however, made up the next day while I was sleeping.

***
My grandmother moved to a seniors apartment complex a few months after my grandfather passed away, but we went and picked her up so she could spend Christmas with us. Her voice was still raspy, but better than when I last saw her, when she could barely speak. She seemed happy to see me, but she spent most of the time sitting back and observing us, not participating, only answering in short sentences. It didn’t really bother me either; her grieving over her late husband is not really about me, or my sister, or even about my mother. When you’re 92, how do you come out on the other side of grief? Is it just a waiting game?

All I could do was be with her. It’s too selfish to ask anything more of her when I’m not around in the first place.

She was already awake by the time I woke up on Christmas morning, sitting in bed and reading. We went downstairs together where my mother was preparing coffee, and waited for my siblings to get up. I sat in the living room with her and she gazed at the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. The dog padded in and out of the room, her old joints creaking with every step; she seemed to be looking for something or someone that wasn’t there. With the sounds of Christmas music faintly in the background, I put my hand over her’s, her skin wrinkled and incredibly soft. She always had such soft hands. She smiled at me, her eyes a little dull.

Christmas was a lot quieter this year.

***
I set up my webcam so that the Christmas tree lights were twinkling behind me. Perfect, I thought. This lighting is going to up my cuteness factor by 300%.

Satoru skyped me late at night Japan-time, around 10 p.m. on New Year’s Eve. It was still morning for me, and I was headed to a party with my college roommate that night, but I wanted to be “with” him for New Year’s, the most important holiday the Japanese celebrate. He spoke with me in his room at his parents house, but the rest of his family was downstairs, watching traditional t.v. specials (think Dick Clark’s Ryan Seacrest’s Rockin New Years Eve, but, like, indoors and Japanese subtitles). He brought up his young nephew, who was only about four.

“Hey!” I said. “Do you remember me? It’s Amanda. Right now, I’m in America. Look, there’s my Christmas tree.”

He ducked his head down into Satoru’s arm. “What, are you getting all shy now?” Satoru laughed. “He was running around like a maniac earlier.” The tiny nephew peered again at the screen, not quite sure of what was going on.

Satoru brought the laptop downstairs so I could say hello to his family (here we are, the 21st century!). It was kind of nice to be a part of things, even from so far away. His brother got a real kick out of getting to use Skype, and his mother popped her head in on the far corner of the laptop. I only had a sleeping, old dog to share the screen with, but it felt right.

As I was about to say goodbye, Satoru’s nephew jumped on the couch and shouted, “Amanda is so cute! Amanda is so cute!”

Yes! I thought. Someone noticed my strategy.

***

A few days later, I got into my sister’s car, or at least I tried. The front seat was covered with half empty water bottles. The back seat had even more. “Whoah.”

“Sorry, just push them anywhere. I don’t care where they go.”

“Why don’t you through these out?!” I said as I maneuvered into the seat.

“I don’t know…” she said listlessly. “I always mean to, but I forget.”

“This is like, hoarder-type shit, V,” I said. “You are a hoarder.”

We drove to her apartment and went to the small karate dojo near her house where they were holding “piloxxing” (pilates+boxing) classes. We went out for wings (!!) afterwards, and when we came home I cleaned up all the dishes that had been languishing in the sink since the family came over for dinner a few days previously. I smiled smugly, standing there with arms soaked in soap suds. I was certainly a very good older sister. Maybe it would make up for all those times when we were kids when I would smack her and claim she was the one who hit me.

I asked her later if she had spoken to our other grandmother, the one we don’t talk to very often at all, for many reasons. She hadn’t, and confessed that she felt rather anxious whenever the subject came up. I felt anxious myself. No one likes to admit they’re not close with a member of their own family. There were a lot more difficulties in that relationship than the one with our maternal grandmother, mainly from things that happened over a decade ago, when my sister and I were teens and our parents were divorcing. It’s such a long time ago now, but certain feelings stick with you – sticking for so long that you forget why exactly you feel that way in the first place.

I haven’t seen her in years, and only speak to her about once a year. It’s not where I’d like to be, it’s not where my father would like us to be, but it always seemed like a tremendous boulder in front of us that was easier just not to think about.

But I’ve lost touch with so many people.

After I got home from my sister’s, I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about it – how I had lost touch with not only her but a lot of other people. I don’t talk to friends as much as I should. A lot of it is a time issue – how can I keep up with people when they’re asleep while I’m awake? A lot of it is out of sight, out of mind, for me. I spend a lot of energy keeping up with friends who live five minutes away from me. I’ve also got a tendency to withdraw socially when I’m feeling stress. I always feel so busy (I always make myself too busy..?) But it just feels like excuses. I could be better, at all that. I should be better.

The thing is, feeling upset with how I’ve been neglectful with relationships doesn’t change anything about those relationships.

I picked up the phone later that night, and dialed my paternal grandmother’s phone number. I wasn’t sure what to expect – surprise? anger? annoyance? indifference? – but I certainly didn’t expect to hear joy in her voice. “I’m just so glad you called,” she kept repeating.

“I’m glad I did, too,” I said.

We spoke for about two hours, about everything and about nothing at all really. Then I told my sister to call her too.

***

On the way back to Japan, I lost the black scarf Satoru had given me.

I had kept it close to me the entire time, wearing it daily in America, and always hanging it up gingerly so it wouldn’t become wrinkled. “It’s Vivienne Westwood, you know,” I said smugly to everyone. Nobody really cared about my self-satisfaction at being the kind of girl who now got designer scarfs for her birthday. Well, I was rather obnoxious about it.

On the train back between the airport and the station, I took it off because I was hot, and rested it on the hook in front of me. Then I walked of the train without it. I finally remembered just as I got on the train back for Morioka, groping around my neck that suddenly felt really cold. It was gone, and so quickly too.

I was so heartbroken over that scarf that I started crying in the bathroom.

When I arrived at the station, Satoru was waiting for me in his car, parked on the icy road in front. I had tears in my eyes, thinking about how disappointed I was that I lost the first birthday gift he had ever given me. What kind of person does that? But as soon as I saw him and gave him a huge hug, I gulped down my tears and tried to put it out of my mind. It was just a thing – it was just stuff. Those connections I have with my family and my friends are things that matter most to me. Maybe in some way that scarf represented Satoru to me, but he was right in front of me. He was here, warm in my arms. He wasn’t going away.

I had to be better about treasuring the connections that were separated by an ocean and a continent. Because if I lost those I’d lose something very vital to myself.

We only have so much time on this earth. Those hours in between reminded me of it.

Photo credit: Freeimageslive/christmashat