I started missing Japan before I left this morning, or yesterday morning, or whenever it was. I realized that on the other side of my journey, the cashiers wouldn't bow to me and the bus drivers wouldn't tell me to be careful everytime they stepped on the gas. The change was gradual, with Tokyo's Narita airport serving as the first point of transition- a sign in the toilet had an "x" through one of the words in order to fix the poorly translated grammar; I realized this was the work of a foreigner. A Japanese person would have used two parallel lines, and they wouldn't have done it in the first place. Have I ever seen a mysterious phone number or profanity grace the bathroom walls?
On the other side, in San Francisco, the customs officers barked and the woman took my passport, questioning my operations in Japan. She asked if I had any food or tobacco and I remembered that in my hands I was carrying mochi. "Just the mochi," she vacantly echoed and handed me my papers, "Welcome home." So strange to seen a gun on her waist during this perfunctory homecoming.
It's strange and wonderful to be back, to see all the different people, larger than life in stature and energy. To see facial expressions that don't seem to exist in the Japanese language. Garbage cans everywhere. Overly priced airport bagels that drive a prodigal expat to make extreme decisions in such a time of need. Today has seemed like such a journey with so many jet lagged observations and musings. Looking forward to the next few days.
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