I hate Gwen for singing that song
This is my lunch that we bought last night at 7-11 after having a super late dinner. I love that they put the meal’s calorie count on its packaging. Calorie counts are also present at restaurant menus. Imagine the control we get before putting evil food into our mouths. Life will be so much better, no? I told myself that I’d definitely start watching what I eat come Holy Week. Controlled eating in Tokyo is just absurd. But I need to do it because I’ll be staying here for a couple of months. I’m thinking of the Lemon/Maple Syrup Diet. I see you rolling your eyes. Just pray for me, ok?
I ride the train to Akihabara. From Akihabara, I transfer to the Yamanote line. It’s my favorite because it’s the train that goes around central Tokyo. It stops at Shibuya, Shinjuku, Ebisu and Harajuku. On the train, I talk in my mind as my brain translates images in and out of the train like I’m talking to Ivan. My way of releasing this sheer, unending excitement that will explode if not shared.
I smile quietly as I watch a girl draw comics on her notebook.
I get off at Harajuku station. The place where it rained multi-colored candies that choked its streets’ arteries. It’s the only place in the world that knows my name. It calls me. It lures me. It wraps me in jaunty quirkiness and ties the ends like a giant bow. It sings a secret song with only ears like mine could unravel. It’s actually not a place but an experience.
I stay at the smoking area for a while... engulfing the entirety of its space, of its aliveness.
To Omotesando – side streets – Takeshita-dori
I walk like I mean it. With these hi-tops? Why not? Each time I make a step, the ground below gives back unimaginable joy that feels electric.
I go home and eat dinner.