it seems like eons ago that i visited japan. something about the country and the people made me feel at home despite an utterly vast language barrier and myriad differences in customs. at the risk of sounding a little too romantic, i quite regularly think to the few mornings i spent quietly drinking green tea, eating japanese versions of cinnamon rolls, and writing in my journal at a small coffee shop in shinjuku. half a world away from all that is familiar to me and i found myself contented beyond expectation. a week was not nearly enough time to get to know this immense place; i wanted more time to find quiet corners on the map and learn more about the people there. time, or lack thereof, brought me home and now today, i am left feeling so humbled in the face of what has happened there. the striking contrast between the amazing engineering of the massive buildings in downtown tokyo against the sheer destruction along the coast mirrors their culture, to a certain extent, at least from my viewpoint as an outsider. there is mind-numbing hustle and bustle everywhere you look - but it almost seems choreographed because it is done nearly silently on subways and streets; people move to and from work, cars crowd streets, bullet trains tear across the landscape. humanity creeps into everything, it seems. but then, there are the little corners, the places hidden behind walls, where there is immense silence and beauty. there's a reverence for the natural world that goes against all the concrete surrounding everything. people walk slowly, admiring gardens and architecture, offering prayers. children eat bento boxed lunches. striking contrasts. somehow it took up part of my heart while i was there, and tonight i think about japan and wish her people peace.
it seems like eons ago that i visited japan. something about the country and the people made me feel at home despite an utterly vast language barrier and myriad differences in customs. at the risk of sounding a little too romantic, i quite regularly think to the few mornings i spent quietly drinking green tea, eating japanese versions of cinnamon rolls, and writing in my journal at a small coffee shop in shinjuku. half a world away from all that is familiar to me and i found myself contented beyond expectation. a week was not nearly enough time to get to know this immense place; i wanted more time to find quiet corners on the map and learn more about the people there. time, or lack thereof, brought me home and now today, i am left feeling so humbled in the face of what has happened there. the striking contrast between the amazing engineering of the massive buildings in downtown tokyo against the sheer destruction along the coast mirrors their culture, to a certain extent, at least from my viewpoint as an outsider. there is mind-numbing hustle and bustle everywhere you look - but it almost seems choreographed because it is done nearly silently on subways and streets; people move to and from work, cars crowd streets, bullet trains tear across the landscape. humanity creeps into everything, it seems. but then, there are the little corners, the places hidden behind walls, where there is immense silence and beauty. there's a reverence for the natural world that goes against all the concrete surrounding everything. people walk slowly, admiring gardens and architecture, offering prayers. children eat bento boxed lunches. striking contrasts. somehow it took up part of my heart while i was there, and tonight i think about japan and wish her people peace.
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