Some years ago, I was walking in Meiji Jingu with some friends and a Indian man came to us and ask “where he could find God” in Japan, since in that shrine there was no god. We told him maybe Kamakura (there’s a huge Buddha there, who knows is god hidden inside?) could be a good idea and as he thank us, he looked me in the eye and said: “You are Japanese” But, no, I am definitely Spanish, I replied… “No, you are Japanese, you were killed in the war, by American soldiers. And now you are back. So welcome home” he said very serious, and he walked away.
A couple of years later someone completely different, in the Amsterdam suburbs, told me exactly the same thing. This time he added I was killed at the beach and how I damned the Emperor as I fell into the sand, since he had me killed instead of letting me be at home enjoying my wife and my child…
Ever since, when I end up in the Aoyama Cemetery in my Tokyo walks, I somehow have a nice, homey feeling. As if I was supposed to be there. And can’t help but wondering where the grave of that soldier could be located.
"I'm from Libya," he said. I don't know what to say. It's as if he'd told me he'd just come from his father's funeral.
The first specialty coffee shop in Ikebukuro and Junkudo (bookstore) resonate.
Editing is interpreting.
The Riddle of Steel.
The man stands motionless in a crush of white-shirted salarymen, as they swarm past him, toward the single escalator.
Rêve de centre commercial-piscine
Birthday walk home