i miss japan. not in the way that slowly creeps up and builds to a nagging wistfulness at the back of my mind, although that's happening at a rather alarming rate recently whenever i walk through the grey drab buildings of school, feeling just as colourless and holed in. but this time, it's a full-on, agonizing blast of longing, right in my face, when i met the soka girls for dinner. i miss the cold air. not this dehydrating, germ-infested artificial air-con air. but that genuine chilliness and the scent of tokyo - sharp, clean, with the occasional wafts of yakitori and beer. i miss sakura. i miss the sight of the sakura-lined avenue on the way to school, cotton-candy pink against the bluest spring skies. i miss those times behind our school building, when we scooped up the fallen sakura petals on the ground, like a fluffy pink carpet, and threw them over each other like confetti.
i miss the salad udon at new prince hall. i miss shoveling spoonfuls of wasabi in it and then sniffing excruciatingly away while eating it. i miss small wooden cabin down the hill from campus, where we would run in to, heads bent against the icy wind and hands shoved deep down in our pockets, for the best kimchi steamboat ever.
i miss the ofuro, which was the ultimate therapy for those inexplicable, tangled moods. i miss stepping into the numbingly hot water, surrounded by mist and the tart, clean smell of chlorine, and then holding your breath and going underwater for those blissful few seconds where your mind just shuts off. i miss how it makes me magically clear-headed the moment i step out, and how it makes me fall into the deepest, most dreamless slumber. i miss dragging our futons out into the tatami room during the world cup, and falling asleep with the blasting tv on. i miss sprinting back into the dorm at 10.55pm, and diving into the shower before the 11pm curfew and bathroom closing time. i miss breaking curfew, and tip-toeing on the cold tiled floors along the pitch-black corridor to sneak into the showers, and almost exploding from stifling our nervous giggles as we tried to push images of ghostly hospital-gown girls and frowning dormitory leaders out of our heads.
i miss the drink bar at royal host, where i would spend entire sundays, alternating between rosehip tea and van houten's cocoa. i miss the long conversations i had in those plushy old-school booths and 1950's lighting, with the rain thundering outside.
i miss school, and walking down to the student hall to get chocolate-and-waffle-coated vanilla ice cream, and sitting outside underneath the dappled sunlight, doing nothing. i miss studying kanji words at the cushy seats on the first level of bekka. i miss those lazy, sultry afternoons during JAS classes, where my mind and eyes would involuntarily drift towards the wide expense of green outside the windows.
i miss taking the train to shinjuku, zooming past that familiar, quintessentially japanese landscape so often seen in dramas, the never-ending expanse of little cottages and open roofs and wooden beams, clear streams and mountains. i miss people-watching in the trains - rainbow-coloured afro wigs, handsome suit-clad japanese men with their deep-set eyes and high cheekbones, girls with ethereal complexions and floaty layers, high-school couples with matching handphone straps and blonde hair, cute kids with honey-and-peaches cheeks and straight-cut black bangs. i miss stepping into the maze of streets with its maddening array of neon lights, bleached-hair teenage touters chasing people around, yakuza-like beefy men clad in black suits and ray-bans, muttering into their walkie-talkies. i miss how the scents and sounds of the roads match the bewildering barrage of sights - the cacophony of rapid-fire japanese and techno-pop from the pachinko parlors, the smell of grilled teriyaki meat and cigarettes and alcohol.
i miss them saying 'irrashaimase' without fail every time i enter a store. for hours on end, in their chirpiest, loudest voice, no less. i miss how the toilet cleaners and cab drivers take such transparent pride in their job, always in a neatly-pressed uniform or suit, and delivering the most professional and meticulous service ever.
i miss cycling to and from the train station, stopping at the river to stare in breathless amazement at the spectacular sunset, or the view of stretches of mountains on a clear day. i miss cycling back with friends late at night, and how the entire stretch of road is ours, and we could just sing or scream and no one would hear. i miss how it's already daylight at 4am.
i miss doing things i would never do in singapore. i miss going to shibuya all night, and devouring a hearty breakfast at the nearest ramen stall after stepping out of the club. i miss traveling by myself to osaka, walking back to my seedy hotel alone and past curtained m-18 shops, leather-clad girls handing out flyers and drunk rowdy men, with a certain half-fascinated, half-scared adrenaline. i miss getting gloriously lost, studying my map, stopping to snap pictures of the most random things without asking anyone to wait up, having random conversations with people who stop to talk to me, taking the ferris wheel and watching fireworks over the entire kanto skyline and eating all the matcha ice cream in the world.
i miss the crazy, spinning city, and i miss my quiet rural small-town of hachioji. i miss crazy technology like jet-spray toilet bowls, vending machines at every corner and weird gadgets and contraptions. and i miss traditional japan with its quaint little shrines, awe-inspiring temples and yukata-clad people tottering around in polished wooden clogs.
all that word vomit is just snippets of what i remember, that cannot be fully captured in photographs. all that, plus my entire archive of pictures, suddenly brings an onslaught of memories that are far too vivid, yet suddenly so far away, like it was another world, another life.
for those about to go on exchange, you've been warned. it gives you the most massive withdrawal symptoms. ever.
