Day 1.
Everything, everywhere, all at once. A movie that melted me while I boarded the AC1 flight, en route to Haneda Airport.
In the vast expanse of possibilities, choices that could lead us to entirely different paths - say you can access whichever versions of you that you could’ve been, would you have chosen to be where you are right now?
Would it have haunted you to know you’ve been making the wrong life choices all along?
My conclusion from the movie was that there is no such thing as a wrong choice. If we learn to cherish the things that exists in our little speck of time, everything eventually falls into place.
So perhaps this two-month solo trip to Japan isn’t an escape, but a quest for new perspectives from another world that is neither better or worse - just different. When I return, I’ll know I’ve chosen to cherish something uniquely my own.
“Shinjuku ikimasu wa doudeska?”
The first few japanese word that exited my mouth went towards a random lady queuing at the airport train station. After months of sporadic Japanese study, my vocabulary and grammar were shaky at best. But this lady, she understood me. That to me was all that mattered. To be understood.
The sound of wheels vibrate through the clean concrete. After a transit at Shinagawa Eki, hopping off the blue Keiko line and onto the Yamanote line, through the busy Shinjuku station, I finally arrived at my first stop: Kabukicho, Japan’s famed red light district.
I’ve booked a two-month stay in a sharehouse in the city of Toda, just an hour from central Tokyo. But with timing misalignment, Kabukicho would have to accommodate me for two nights. To experience a wild night on the first day of a solo trip, if anything, was not a concern for a single guy on his 20s.
I checked in Hotel Gracery, where I’ll be staying. It was a decent hotel with its iconic Godzilla-san peeking over its building. The thrill of standing in that snug hotel room, gazing down at the vibrant street below, was an exhilarating feel I haven’t had in a while. Traveling.
As an East Asian who’s lived in both Southeast Asia and the West, always a minority, being surrounded by a sea of familiar faces felt strangely comforting. In a world nothing like mine, where city scapes form a chaotic urban jungle of panels left and right, I found a surprising sense of belonging.
I do have my concerns. A few months ago, I was struck by Ryo Tatsuki’s manga that went viral - a prophecy that a major earthquake and tsunami would happen on July this year. That was why I chose to go in early August. Also why I booked my sharehouse in Toda, far from the coast. Also why I considered preparing a will months in advance. As a peace of mind, but at the same time, to make peace with death gave me more of a reason to live life freely.
Day 2.
Summer in Japan was just as warned - hot and sticky. Yet, after training all through winter for my marathon this upcoming October, I’ve grown to appreciate the sensation of humid sweat. I love the sticky feeling of droplets surfacing from beneath the skin.
“Sunblock o arimasu ka?” “Koko wa supotsu o tsukete ii desuka?”
I wielded words off my arsenal to a cashier lady at a drug store that morning on my way to the climbing gym.
Just 500 Yen for a first time session at Noborock Shinjuku, my first bouldering session in Japan. It has the same familiar vibe as climbing gyms everywhere else.
At a corner, was a cluster of Japanese friends, and on another was a big Western-looking man who I assumed spoke english. To my surprise, he wasn’t a native English speaker but a Frenchman named Mateo who was studying Japanese. With a mix of his broken english and my own broken Japanese, we diplomatically exchanged thoughts on bouldering, learning japanese, and local delights like GoGo Curry, which I had after the climb.
Every runner knows the best way to talk to strangers is at a run club. That night, my legs carried me to Yoyogi Park where a local run club, 080Tokyo, gathered every week at 6pm. An army of eighty showed up, overwhelmingly twenty-something and predominantly East Asian but still the most internationally diverse running group I’ve seen.
Someone tapped my shoulders. ‘Sumimasen,’ followed with a jungle of words beyond my level. To what soon became my default way of surrendering, I responded ‘Sumimasen.. eigo wo hanashimaska?’. She was looking for a locker to drop her bag and just so happened to ask the most knowledgeable-looking guy on his second day in japan.
Acknowledging the first-timers, the euphoric organizers prompted our self-introductions at the center of the crowd, followed by a group stretch before the run. We headed towards the illuminating streets of Harajuku, through the glamorous shopping streets and past the humongous Tokyo Dome.
A ‘Konichiwa’ and a ‘Where are you from?’ kicked off conversations with strangers who shared little with my usual reality but in many ways, mirrored it. Owen, a Chinese-Indonesian techie, just like me. Except he had become a citizen of Australia and now working in Tokyo. Camilo, a Canadian working remotely, just like me. Except he worked for a VR gaming company through a working holiday visa and fate paired him with his girlfriend on his flight here.
Just as I learned their stories, I learned mine. How we can be so similar yet so differently shaped, like apples and oranges. In a cosmic fruit basket amongst the 7 billion other kinds of fruits unique to themselves.
‘Omataseshimasta!’ repeatedly called out as we snaked through two rows and high-fived against the adjacent like it was the closing of a gruelling match. I asked Camilo what that meant and how I’ve heard someone said it after a meal.
“You must be mistaken. They probably said ‘Gochisoshimasta’ meaning thanks for the meal. Omatasaeshimasta is a phrase used to pay respect for someone’s hard work”. Ah! Similar yet so different.
I rushed back to the hotel thinking I had work that night just to realize that it was thanksgiving holiday in Canada. Thankful for that, I celebrated to sleep as the nightlife carried on just outside the hotel window.
Day 3
By 8 a.m., Kabukicho exuded an energy between chaos and calm. As if a battle has just ended and civilians were getting ready to move on with their day. Breaking through the silence, was the sound of wheels rolling against the ground as I dragged my luggage once again towards the station.
I’m headed towards Toda, a city by the Saitama prefecture. Navigating the transit system for the first time takes the same observation and deduction skills as breaking through an escape room. Notice every clue you can find.
Platform numbers occasionally show up on Google Maps, yet not all trains in that platform would take you to the destination. I would peek into the overhead screen inside the train to identify the stops or at the very least where it’s headed and compare it against what it say on Google maps.
I’m used to the heat growing up in Indonesia, but the 10 a.m. heat when I arrived at Toda was no joke and caught me off guard. After all, the experience I expected was eating a yakitori, not to be one!
While my chest gradually submerges the shirt with a patch of its sweat and my skin feels the burning sensation, I briskly dragged my luggage down the pavement towards a Family Mart and got myself an umbrella and a cold lemonade to aid my travel.
Before long, I set eyes on the building I’ve only seen on the website since months prior. A modest five-storey sharehouse lined with ceramic tiles over its exterior. The cool air conditioning breath as I entered the building breathed a new life onto me.
Shoes swapped for one of the anonymous slippers in the rack, it was a wide cozy living room just past the entrance. I could see the gym, the huge kitchen, a study room. ‘Steven-san?’ The women calling out to me was a staff that I had scheduled for appointment today. I smiled back.
She spoke decent English and my Japanese isn’t, so we spoke in English. The cheerful busy-looking lady then guided me through the lockers, the shoe box, shared spaces, shower rooms, my room, along with the labyrintine house rules. She handed papers of more rules and then a few more for me to sign.
Before long, I was once again immersed in the solitude of my new spacious empty room. The fridge in my room was surprisingly silent. The sun shot its warmth beautifully onto the ceramic floor. The bed had perfect stiffness. I let it embrace me as I fall into a nap, knowing full well that I’ll have to work tonight until the morning sun rises again.
Day 4
Given I had worked until 5 a.m, being up at 12 p.m. was way too early. Yet my body was swelling with excitement, making it impossible to fall back asleep. I shot out of bed, brushed my teeth, grabbed my performative tote, greeted my hallmate “Konnichiwa,” and was just about ready to head out when I was bombarded with notifications on my phone. I got paged.
I ran back to my laptop to spend the next hour verifying that the infrastructure issue was being worked on by a team upstream and that it would make its way to recovery.
Eventually, I also made my way to Jimbocho, Tokyo’s renowned book district. Book cafes and old publishing shops spread throughout the blocks. Bookshelves stretch invitingly through alleyways, offering a delightful escape for any passerby. I saw two japanese boys in their early 20s sharing a book and a laugh. Although most of the books were in Japanese, the comfort of the scene transcended language and culture.
Another gem tucked in the neighborhood was a two-floor bookstore brimmed with tons of international books. Several dozen titles on Indonesian chronicles, many unfamiliar to me, and other rich hard-to-find collections. It was the kind of place where one could easily lose track of time, immersed in journeys through different places, time, and ideas.
Jimbocho naturally fueled my aspiration to one day read Japanese. When that day arrives, I’ll return and read through words I couldn’t this time around.
Walking from Jimbocho to Ginza seems ambitious after realizing the scale of the map I was following. Soon, the sun sets as I passed the Imperial Palace along with many runners that circled around it. Ginza’s skyscrapers and glamorous streets oozes a strong vibe of affluence. I glanced at the map once more and found myself standing outside my destination - an ASICS flagship store.
Like many of my recommendations, Tiktok was where I learned about this crowded store. The store offered shoes, clothing gear and locker rentals for 2000 yen ($20). After some translation issues, the staff finally caught on and got me in the locker waiting list. I selected my pair of ASICS Superblast and a set of running clothes while waiting for people to come back from their run, slightly anxious that I would be late for work that night.
As soon as the staff called me, I hurried to the locker room, changed, and set off for several rounds around the Imperial Palace.
Enthusiastic runners of varying ages paced around the perimeter of the palace while the bright city lights shined upon us that night. Humidity fiercely wringers every bit of sweat from the body and 10km later, I headed back towards the store for a well-deserved rejuvenating shower.
Day 5
I was frolicking around my new neighborhood when I saw a class of students in their uniforms walking home. There was something inherently peaceful about that scene. Was I longing for childhood and the simplicity of life in that tranquil town? I wonder what mundane conversations those kids might have at their dinner tables today. After all, today was a new experience for all of us.
Back at the sharehouse, a group of international friends were cooking in the kitchen, and I seized the opportunity to get to know them. Thomas, from the UK, was here on a working holiday visa and aspired to work as a bartender. Beside him silently stood his Japanese partner, Sherry. Niel, from Italy, was a language student currently engrossed in his role as the head chef for the night. Each person was bringing their own unique story to this melting pot.
Day 6
I awoke on a wet misty afternoon, my mind still foggy from the previous day’s work. I scanned the room for various objects littered around the floor and table. A space that had been clean days ago now transformed into a landscape of chaos demanding reset.
Navigating Japan’s trash disposal system presented an unexpected challenge. For a country so convenient, the inconvenience of this system seems intentional and I’m all for it. To wash trash before sorting it into the correct bin is an act of care for the aftermath of consumption. I pondered as I stood in front of the confusing poster pinned to the board on the living room wall. PET bottles became my favorite type of garbage. Burnables perhaps meant compostables? Non-burnables are washed non-compostables? What if I don’t wash them?
While enjoying the warmth of Japan’s advanced toilet seat technology, I consulted TikTok for some place recommendations (jap: osusume). I’ve set my sights on Itabashi for my next adventure.
By now, the sun had shine through the quiet street of Itabashi and I saw the cafe stood. A lovely old couple glanced at me as I entered. The old man in his sixties was stationed in the kitchen, surrounded by a bar where his wife also standing. Both observed me kindly as I shyly raise an index finger and said, “Ichi nin kudasai”.
I settled into a wooden seat at a corner table. Nearby, a teenage couple was on a date, while two middle aged women chattered and laughed by the window. A man in his early thirties was at the center table, savoring the bite of his pancake. Shortly, the old woman handed me a menu. I managed to decipher the katakana. “Me-ron-So-da-fu-ru-to” and “Pankeki”. I called her again and ordered just that.
Amidst the women’s chatter and the couple’s quiet conversation, a soothing piano playlist by Hiromi played in the background. The melody was vaguely familiar, prompting me to look it up on Shazam. It was “Blackbird,” filling the air and through the gaps of thought and conversation. Suddenly, an antique telephone on a small table rang.
The old woman approached with a plate of thick two-stacked round pancakes, served hot with a jar of maple syrup. Alongside was a peculiar green soda drink with an ice cream float. The drink was unexpectedly delightful, making me wonder why soda and ice cream hadn’t garnered the same popularity as ramen and anime. The pancakes were unlike anything I’d ever tasted. Elegant and magical. As though frozen in time when a beautiful afternoon meal was all that mattered.
This was cafe Pinocchio. Ran by a lovely couple, they had been serving fresh pancakes and good vibes for more than half a century, long before my existence. But in a slice of time, I, who could’ve been anywhere else, was there. Savouring it all.
After finishing my meal, the woman guided me to the cash register. From behind the counter, the old man asked, “Where are you from?” “Indonesia” I replied. He was Delightfully surprised and pointed at a Balinese painting on the wall behind where I’ve sat, sharing that they had visited. “Ryoko?” I asked and they hai-ed me with a smile. I pulled out my card and awkwardly tried to speak in the language more familiar to them, I asked “Kado de daijobu desuka?” As I tapped my card, she inquired my purpose in japan. ‘Ryoko. Nihongo wa benkyoshiteimasu’. I was language maxxing. ‘Muzukashi ne. Ganbatte!’ she encouraged. I smiled, bowed, and muttered “gochisousama,” leaving with the feeling that I would think of them for a long time.
If there was any reason to continue learning japanese, this was enough. A kind old lady, whom I barely knew, placed her trust in me and encouraged me to persevere. It had been too long since I last interacted with someone of their age, and the encounter made me miss my grandparents a whole lot.
Day 7
Water festival sounds fun, I thought as I scrolled through the online list of activities in Tokyo today. Underestimating how huge Tokyo was and getting lost through a labyrinth of transits, my commute finally ended with the heat at kiba park where the festival was that Saturday.
The park was enormous, with a multitude of gatherings and activities unfolding simultaneously. it was hard to pinpoint which one was the festival.
By the time I arrived, the event was near its end, but I caught glimpses of children frolicking with an artillery of water guns and balloons, food trucks selling shaved ice and sandwiches, and small tent booths showcasing various goods. I did not miss much. After all I couldn’t quite picture myself tossing water balloons at children anyway. Still, I had to admit, the idea of cooling down with a splasy of water was enticing under this relentless heat.
I surrendered to a cup of Kakigori (shaved ice) that afternoon. A first of many. Initially sceptical, I wondered “Why would I spend so much on ice with syrup on top?” Then everything changed as soon as the refreshing sensation of cold ice melts in my mouth, like a temporary companion sharing in the summer heat.
A suspension bridge stood majestically in the middle of the park, further highlighting the park’s expansive size.
At one end of the park was a museum of contemporary art. The modern architecture was inviting, and I enjoyed exploring the exterior. However, with only minutes left until closing, visiting the exhibition would have to wait for another day. Perhaps next time, I thought.
Beyond the museum lay a peaceful but rather quiet ambiance of Koto city.
As I strolled along the perimeter of Reigan-ji Temple, I took a moment to admire a statue of Jizo, a Bodhisattva in Japanese Buddhism, dating back to 1717 and is designated a cultural property.
Directly opposite the temple, a chic matcha pancake shop caught my appetite but the owner rejected my presence as soon as I stepped inside because they had closed for the day. Perhaps next time, I thought.
Continuing my walk down the street, I slurped my way through a delicious bowl of tunakotsu ramen at a one man shop called Yuji Ramen Tokyo.
With the streets growing dark, shops shuttering for the night, and a night that felt young, I took a transit to the crowded and touristy Shibuya. A whole different tokyo, alive with energy and neon lights.
After buying an over-the-counter med for my corn toes, I shuffled further through the crowd, internally debating my dinner options and contemplating whether I felt brave enough to venture into a maid cafe alone. I somehow talked myself out of it and landed on a wait line for delicious bowl of katsudon at a small shop called Tarekotsu. My order was taken in the line and the feast was ready as soon as a seat became available.
