That night, it did turn red. Red like a chain of smoked salmon roe. We left, humming the original song I wrote, "Ashita No Yume" (Tomorrow's Dream), sung like an anthem. We felt an energy rising within, a victory before its time had come. The unfolding of a great journey ahead. It was like watching a sentimental Japanese television series, or an amped up anime - the passion of youth, or something like that. Something that I would usually watch happen to someone else, but yet it was so close, intimate, the Soul churning in my chest, and at the same time, all around. It was a fresh feeling: though not the first time I had felt it in Japan. It was always present. Stepping onto the land itself, dreams came true before you could see it. Miracles occurred as routine. People connected, sparks ignited fires. But somehow there in the darkness, the silence, and the solitude our convictions were heightened, and reality was of no object. The trees lit from below in pale greenish white stood in rows, stoic, enigmas, like hooded cultists observing a ritual in which we composed the center.
Afterwards, I did help him record a song entitled "Kataomoi" (Unrequited Love). A wall hung full of glossy YUI CDs watched and gave its blessing while we knelt on the ground. Outside the room beyond shut sliding screen doors were the sounds of his father typing. The guitar and the Macbook sounded tinny and thin. In the windows, the sun began to set. I told him I had his back and would add a few guitar licks and program a drum track. I'm not sure what happened after he had burned the CD, printed off a makeshift inkjet cover, and handed it off, but I still have a copy of the file. It reminds me every now and then that their producer also has a copy of my amateur home-recorded EP in that signature blue-green CD sleeve, and that two hundred and fifty people around the world held a piece of my soul. I wonder what happens to music when it's in someone else's hands.
Our other friend also ended up clearing up his work permit issues not too long later and returned to Japan as a student of Waseda. I envied some of them - many of my friends, officially, without shame, live their lives - and dreams - in Japan. Fast food beef bowls, karage(1), and izakayas(2). Vending machines and smart cards. Late night drunken trains and Family Marts. J-pop around every corner, coloured hair, vacuum-packed crowds flooding scramble intersections, festival fireworks over Sumida and live street music on Fridays. V signs in group pictures. "Ne", "Yabai", "Maji" and "Kawaii". Cramped one-room apartments, melancholy, and baito(3).
Many of them were at Waseda University. Waseda, which was also home to Haruki Murakami, no doubt my greatest influence as a writer now, was also home to me, because it was home to my friends. Friends who became family, who offered the warmest of smiles, introduced their friends, and welcomed me into their circles. Friend after friend went out of their way to take me along for adventures, friends who I also took on adventures and poured my passions to. Friends who spoke heart to heart, and shared moments, soul to soul. I still see photos on Facebook, every night. I remember those opportunities waiting for me, a life full of vibrancy, the potential I had glimpsed. But I remain a sea away. Three years later, will I return to Cosmo Clock 21 with my promise fulfilled?
It has been difficult to organize photos, or to put into words the experience over my three months in Japan. Nothing can describe it, done with justice. Not even the photos, not the videos. I lived a life not as an English teacher, nor as a naive tourist or a solo backpacker, not as a local-born Japanese, nor as an exchange student, not as a business man or a industry professional - I was there, as a full-time dreamer.
A large part of Japan remains unseen - the current that runs through its culture, its history, its entertainment, its people and its visitors. People who are familiar with Japan or are drawn to Japan, carry that same unique spark. Every person I had met in Japan, were connected by something metaphysical, something beyond what we can comprehend. Yet, perhaps it is only truly visible from the eyes of a foreigner. Such things, I may never be able to capture in full.
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1. Japanese deep-fried meat - usually chicken.
2. Drinking establishments, a common kind of Japanese bar/grill/hang out location after work or school hours
3. Part-time jobs
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(Attached Photo is a collage of some pictures - more to come. Right click on computer for larger image URL. Attached Video is my home-recorded staple track of my old EP, "明日の夢", "Ashita No Yume", "Tomorrow's Dream", written for Japan after the tsunami. The song has been a wonderful experience, and was shared online. The EP is now with fans, readers, fellow musicians, friends, family, producers, Japanese musicians and onwards, around the world. It remains an important turning point in my life and a fond memory of a younger me - though I cringe sometimes.)
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Nights In TOKYO (A Travel Memoir)
Non-FictionA combination of a novel, a memoir and a travelogue, both fiction and non-fiction, a globe-trotting adventure full of sentiment, music, low budgets, trains, encounters and lifestyle, the author confronts his memories - and the miracles - on the page...
