April in april

At the cafe

The air conditioning is on, and there are tourists multiplying outside the Harajuku entrance to Meiji Jingu¹. They are taking photos of each other and of themselves, posed with hands on their hips, arms around the shoulders of the person next to them, or hanging languidly at their sides. Smiles might read: I am here, in Japan, right now. A prolonged glance from a tourist next to me on the terrace makes me aware of myself. I wonder what my hair is doing. She doesn’t look away when I notice, and continues to stare at me intently. Maybe she’s wondering where I’m from, and if I’m a tourist too. 

a Conversation at the cafe

Mizuho and I talked about what it’s like to be in a state of sustained busyness. We wondered how to keep creativity alive. “Busy-ness,” we agreed, is a threat to curiosity, and yet a necessity to continue paying rent. What was the answer? “Nurie²,” she said. I didn’t know the word in Japanese, and she didn’t know the word in English. We both consulted our phones. Coloring books. 

Photo prints taken Last Year, in “the year of not knowing”

A couple weeks ago, Mr.K, the owner of Rhythm Cafe, returned my photographs and told me to keep the frames. I thanked him for the gift, and carried them with me for the rest of the night. At the next bar, a friend of a friend, who I didn’t know, asked to see them. I held them up. She pointed to the photo of my hand touching the pavement and said, “There is something about this one that makes me sad…when it’s held this way. But this way…” She then turned the frame upside down, “...This way looks hopeful. It’s a completely different feeling.” I thanked her, then hid the frames under a table for safekeeping. 

Which one do you think she felt was hopeful? Which one was sad?

Away messages

The guilt of not responding right away, especially to messages that mean a lot—that make your whole day—is eminent. Apparently my mom has been having phone trouble. Her friends, (and I), have been asking her if she’s reading our texts. She hadn’t received any of them, and was unaware that there was a lag in communication. To solve the problem, she turned off her phone, then turned it back on again. All the messages came flooding in, one after the other. “Oh,” she said, then, “I was just enjoying the quiet.” 

What is April in April?

It’s the roses blooming in the park again. Getting wet with rain. Pink petals from above are now resting on the green leaves below. April inside april is how last year lives inside today. It’s how you are here, and how you are not. How I knew you,