It’s hard to make myself remember why I keep coming back here. There is nothing left for me here – no, nothing. Even the child I gave birth to has settled into this place that I am eager to escape, and without a mutual longing to be free, we cannot be bound. That is something my family is only just learning. Friends, I have none in this place. Perhaps acquaintances, but nothing more. Irritations are the more likely descriptor of most people in the area, by reason of the sheer differences between us.
I still wonder who it is I am. I still struggle to recall my time abroad more clearly, but much of the good days are faint in light of the first week (filled with panic) and the later days (sickness, and disappointment). Sometimes I worry that much of my memories are only a dream; but occasionally reality has stepped in. I’ve said goodbye for good to some special people, but I wonder how many others, my memories of them shadowed, would thrill to see me back again? Are they still there?
I begin to think that maybe half of my “memories” of Japan are dreams. But…the brightest ones, the clearest ones, those I am certain are true. A few nights with dear ones now gone; a few evenings at the pubs; a few strange meetings or just moments of confusion in the clubs… But overall, my memories are this:
A clean, comfortable room that smells of wood and sunshine and comfort. A woman always ready with a laugh at my antics – however strange they were – and words of wisdom for my troubles. A woman I never…really appreciated openly. She probably still thinks I wasn’t fond of her cooking (It was fantastic enough to change my tastes for food; even so far as making my body reject many foods that are not so good for me.) which saddens me. I miss the smell of the house. I miss the wonderful organization (except immediately after school ended each day, when my desk exploded with clutter) and the joy of keeping things clean. She actually was puzzled by how clean things were – I kept them so out of joy, and respect for her. I don’t know if she ever saw the room during one of my creative or working phases (I think she’d have been awfully shocked! Scattered stuff everywhere!) I miss the walking. It was always an adventure, no matter how simple the route. Especially being what I am – there was so much more for me to see! I miss the smells and the food and the fact that there was always a healthy alternative to all of my addictions (though I did smoke throughout my stay, it was my stay that made it easy to quit upon my return).
I still fear to return, though I long for it as well. What if the people I met there didn’t really like me? What if I go back and no one wants to see me? What if I can never have an experience so wonderful? It distresses me, leaves me torn. On the one hand, I long to return, to be in a country that constantly challenges me yet welcomes me if I can meet those challenges. On the other hand, I’m terrified that I couldn’t possibly manage it. And now there is the heart to pull me away – I don’t want to leave him, not yet. I do love him, and while that love would not fade with distance… I adore my cuddles and even these weeks apart make me feel a bit lonely. We shall see how the rest of the summer proceeds.
Still, the question is not “Can I do it?” I know I can, no matter what. There is nothing that could stop me from being back there, though it would not be the same, I would make it just as fulfilling an experience. No, now I have to wonder.
Do I want to?
