Dead is the civil debate, arise the fascist

There will be a time when there will be no more room for whiteness in the world.  Or perhaps even diversity.  Someday it will be a requirement to conform to the non-binary, multiracial, asexual, multi-sexual, I will fuck anything and be offended by all who do not know me or want to fuck me - and then where will we be?  Probably extinct.  Extinct by our own making, because child bearing and rearing will no longer be kosher.  How dare you, as a woman of modern times, decide to birth and raise children, and how dare you...be a man.  We should all just turn into fluffy feeling organisms that don't know how to communicate, or lurch backwards in fear, to our 'safe spaces' when someone wants to touch us - and I'm not referring to creepy molestation, but simply a hug, or to hold a hand.  And how dare you talk to me, I'm in my safe place!  Verbal assault.  How is this actually a reality?

Words are incapable of assaulting anyone.  They are simply words.  If you don't like them, walk away.  As a legal adult, you have this ability; even children are capable.  You have two legs; use them and flee.  Flee into your safety nets of the no longer outcasts.  Awkward children who grow up to be awkward adults.  Symptoms of divorce and neglect, and lack of parental guidance, lack of discipline.  The 'special' syndrome.  This is slowly becoming our norm, and that, is utterly frightening.  When data and factual information become a thing of the past, when we stop requiring research and analysis, evidence to support ideas, in academia, in politics - we are fucking doomed.  "Idiocracy" was a fairly accurate portrayal of our future, I fear.  Only there will be no average Joe and Jane to save us.  Because we will have shut them up, locked them in dungeons and thrown away the key.  Or, car-bombed them -  like so many radical groups like to threaten upon those they disagree with politically, morally, 'emotionally'.

So don't come crying to the rational minds when you've fucked it all up and everyone has been arrested for some form of hate speech.  After all, we warned you.  Actions have consequences.

A tomato ruins the day

It's amazing how the smallest of experiences can bring a person to tears.  Whether it's stress related, happiness, depression or sadness. 

So I had one of those moments, when I got home from the grocery store.  The day, hell the week, had already been enough of a challenge.  I told myself that eating healthier will make this all better (especially since the household menu lately had been full of cheese and carbs).  There I am, determined, meandering isles of a desolate market, picking out only the most organic of meats and dairy, perusing for frozen vegetables (because it's the fucking desert, don't judge me).  And it hits me that I have...bacon.  At home.  BLTs baby.  BLTs always bring the sweetest joy, the crunch of crispy bacon and fresh lettuce, and the sweet succulence of tomato. 

I have a plan.  I'll buy myself a tomato and make myself a ballin' BLT for dinner the next day!  As I'm checking out with the cashier, she glances glaringly at my shirt and asks suddenly, "Are you a gamer?"

The question, I feel a little on the spot and wondering if there isn't some accusatory agenda.  Then proceeds to inform me about a game that is pretty stellar; her son plays and she rather enjoys watching because it's like a movie.  I smile back delighted that this wasn't a slight after all.  Humans can amaze us often, when we really need it. 

I pay the kind lady, and am on my way home.  Internally, I'm almost jolly.  Problems set aside because tomorrow, oh for tomorrow, there will be BLT in my life. 

When I get home, I hull the large bag of groceries into the kitchen and begin to unwrap the healthy bounty; putting away the top portions, of bakery bread, the frozen veggies, pulling out some cheeses (only the best sharp cheddar and Swiss).  And there, to my utter sadness, sits the tomato.  The single tomato I'd purchased.  It has been mushed on a half gallon of milk.

And then the tears come creeping at the corners of my eyes.  NOT THE TOMATO! 

The Big Green Monster

Relationships are scary and...amazing.  I'm learning so much right now about myself and my partner.  I feel fortunate to have him in my life, and sometimes, I forget those happy feelings and become an uglier version of myself.  The hardest part, perhaps, of getting over our fears/insecurities, is forgiving ourselves for having them.  For accepting them and moving on.  My rage monster, is jealousy.  Where this stems from, I'm still figuring out.  Mostly, I believe, it's abandonment, the fear of being left alone.  Which, I feel, is so silly, because we all die, yes?  And alone never has to mean alone in the sense of this vast universe.  If we are energy beings, we are apart of everything, all the time.  A mass of atoms bouncing around, 'negative' and 'positive' molecules.  We exist as a whole unit.  If only more countries taught this concept to young minds, perhaps many issues that exist today, just wouldn't.  Would there be the same level of greed and jealousy, of hatred for other beings?  I'd like to think not.  If we're told that all beings are connected to each other, to our home planet, to the whole universe, wouldn't that drastically change the global perspective?  Maybe.

It's a world I dream about and sometimes I even fear.  Because it means letting go of so many preconceptions about life and relationships.  It means being open to change.  One of the hardest things, and most rewarding.

Don't be afraid of change.  Don't be afraid of yourself.  Learn, and grow.

With love,
HB

Solving the world's problems one post at a time.

To myself, on my birthday

I feel like birthdays are just a reason to make ourselves look good.  To be fake with people, you know?  It's like, we celebrate holidays because we are incapable of picking up the phone or sending a letter, or text, throughout the rest of the year to tell people, just tell them, how much we care.  Or simply say, 'I was thinking of you'.  And we're programmed to do this, all of us.  Because there isn't enough time, or we have too much going on.  Or whatever.  And perhaps it gets too overwhelming to go through the list of people and say the 'I love you's' or the 'thinking of you'.  But hey, there's always Facebook.  A wonderful calendar reminder, so that we can take 30 seconds to type up a simple, "Happy Birthday, love you!"  "Wishing you the best on your special day!" or some appropriate statement like that.  And we never say, I hope you're happy.  This very statement usually carries undertones of sarcasm when used by people (and why the hell is that?).  When did a simple statement, that should mean so much kindness, and real compassion for another person become some snarling sarcasm?  When did statements and words get so complicated that we rarely ever say what we actually mean?  Why does everything have to be in context?

And we all do it.  We're practically trained to from childhood.  To lie to people, white lies, to make everything easier.  For ourselves mostly, though we will tell ourselves that it's for the sake of others.

Sorry, tangent.

I think birthday's are a selfish joke.  I think I really mean that.  I'm not saying they always are, sometimes people really need that reassurance that they're loved.  Sometimes it's just fun to hang out with people, eat food, and drink and be merry.  I get it, really.  growing up in a household that always celebrated birthdays, and all the holidays; decorations, cake, presents, people, food, all of it.  And everyone was special.  If my mother could, she always threw every child - us and our friends included - a birthday party.  She was the best at it.  Especially when many of those children had useless parents, or abusive, or just tool bag parents who never listened.  She would be there, to feed and nurture and make them feel special, and not alone.  And sometimes, that is just what we need.

But for me, birthdays always feel like the time when I really see just how lack luster my social life is.  People I never talk to in person, people I haven't spoken to in years, post all over my social media page, with wishes of 'happy birthday!'  I may get full sentences, if they're really significant in my life, or perhaps were significant.  It seems to vary as I get older.  Yet all year long, I rarely receive any comments or messages or anything from these people (beyond a select few, for those who may read this someday, you know who you are, and I appreciate you).  So, why do we do it?

I'm guilty of it too.  Even old high school friends or acquaintances; when the notification pops up, I'm all but first to post the famous tagline of the day.  Like it gives some self-gratification, like it makes me a caring person.  I don't know.  It's so, so cheap and easy, isn't it?  Then we wait for another year to make the 'effort' to show our feathers of 'Look at me, I give a shit'.  But do we really?  If we care about people, don't we reach out to them?  Don't we call them or fucking text once in a while?  In this day, where there are so many forms of communication, why is it so hard for people to drop a line sometimes?  Or why do we even bother, then?  Why not just focus on the people around us, everyday.  Why bother just once or twice a year?  If a relationship isn't worth more of your time, is it worth it at all?

Perhaps, I'm a scrooge for feeling any of this, for writing it 'out loud' for all to see.  Or maybe it's a mild sense of depression because I am 29, unemployed, living at my parents house in the 7th circle of hell.  Which doesn't feel like that much to celebrate, honestly.  But hey, I'm alive, right?  I have food and shelter and clothes that aren't too terribly old.  I have a wonderful, supportive partner who will read this and probably hug me and tell me everything's gonna work out.  And maybe, just maybe... those things are the real gift on a birthday.  The rest, is just filler.

Ego in relationships

A meaningless black hole of wounded pride
can set the stage for a mess of lies;
creating arguments for arguments' sake
like a rumbling and endless earthquake.
And we tremble together at the heat
of a moment that skips heavily on repeat;
if only one of us would back down
the other one might just come around.

Leaving whispers of love
on your pillow,
as you slept.
And I wept, for the fears
of my scars,
as they ooze their pitiful woes.

Lots of layers still cover,
a face not
completely discarded,
moving closer and closer
to epiphany.
Will you ever be free of me?

Desert escape

How nice it would be to run. Far and fast, away. In lush green fields or desert mountains. To breath in the freshest air. Taste rain on your tongue. The smells of moist Earth, of tall grass, of creosote bush, so rustic, like fuel, but fresher. No one is around except the rapping footsteps of animals, birds humming, sweet music. The quiet is serene and forgiving. No noisy mouths to question or judge, to ask and ask again. You're so tired. You could rest now, on the soft green, under the palo verde, awaiting, for nothing.

Triple Rainbow Delight

     She couldn't understand why, the thought of that triple rainbow.  She couldn't get it our of her head.  What did it mean?  Probably nothing.  Paranoid personality disorder, she reminded herself.  It was nothing.  A refraction of light in moisture; what's visible to the naked eye.  Glimpses of another world we can't see in plain daylight.  She realized how much time had passed and took back to running.  It's nothing, she whispered.
     In the distance a car crash rings out.  She hears the screech and bang of metal and glass colliding.  Without hesitation, she rushes towards the violent sounds to help.  A woman is crying in a blue sedan, nearly smashed to bits.  She's lucky to be alive, thinks Alicia.  Peering around quickly, she assesses the carnage.  Another car is splayed several feet away.  No movement inside.  Just as she is about to remove her phone from the armband strapped to her left bicep, a truck horn blows behind her and Alicia turns to see the monstrosity.  "Oh god,' she whispers.  'What is that?' horror filled face, Alicia takes in the creature.  It's looming figure moves forward, grabbing bodies and stomping closer.  She looks again at the woman in the sedan.  If she could only get to her.  Alicia rushes over and shouts, "I'll get you out of here!  We have to run!"
     She attempts to open the car door, but it's jammed.  "Can you push it open?" the woman looks at her and frantically shakes her head no.  "Okay," Alicia says, "Gimme a-"
     Alicia is scooped upward by the creatures clawed hand.  She is screaming now.  The creature begins to squeeze, and her breath fades.  Her eyes are closing.  All she can see is the mouth.  It's getting closer.  Then-
     The woman in the sedan screams and cries as the monster passes by.  She stops screaming as she watches it step right beside her car.  It continues down the road.

On Acceptance of Mortality

Death is a monster that lurks

Casting his ominous shadow

He strikes when we least expect;

A ruthless and honest beast

A piece of all of us

The unspoken truth that awaits.

We may cry, and fight against

But his will is strong; it is righteous.

And as our time expires

It becomes clear;

The pain lessens

And acceptance,

Brings peace.

The rabbit hole

There she is now. Floating, falling, faster and faster down the hole. Where does it lead? She wonders. A kind of acceptance, as she allows herself to be taken. Will it hurt? It chose me, she thinks. But I want it to mean something. Perhaps I'm foolish, it's just random. It could've been anyone. It's dark in here. Shadows cast along the sides, but there isn't any light. Then how? She wonders aloud. Why me?

She shouts.

Falling still; it seems endless. How long has she been falling now? It seems like hours, but only minutes, surly. Time is irrelevant, is it not? This could go on forever, but what would that mean, really?  If time is simply a sequence of events, our understanding of how one moves and experiences existence, then her existence, in this hole, is infinite, immeasurable. Or is it?  This fact doesn't satiate her yearning for something.  A sign, even the faintest.  To know that it will come to an end.  To know that she will have the answer.  If she can just proceed a little further, down into the abyss.  She'll 

know why.  

She recalls, many moons ago now, it seems, the moment she understood how meaningless life could be.  Her fascination with the unknown depths of this space that she is now descending upon, grew stronger when it happened.  He didn't deserve to go, so young.  Older than she, certainly, but young in spirit and body still.  He was everything to her.  And yet, when he was gone, she realized that it meant nothing.  Their time together, was but another event, a passing occurrence in a cosmic realm, where there were mysteries of far greater import.  But why then, with such an epiphany, did she still ache at 

the memory?

She doesn't feel anything in this current state. Like her senses are at an extreme calm. She is not alarmed, only very aware of the feeling of...nothing.  And yet, everything. She knows she is falling, that her dress is fluttering ever so slightly with the movement, that air is passing along her skin as she falls faster. But is it really faster? She can see everything. She knows she is falling, but the images perceived are quite clear. And that her body feels nothing, feels not the moving dress or passing air. How is this possible?  Logic is not here.  In this place of possibilities unknown.  The quiet and 

deliberate death.

She knows not how to proceed. The black abyss below. So endless. She's gone this far. If she could just reach out, perhaps she could brace herself. What holds her back? If I reach out my hand, I'll touch a wall. I must, she says. Of course, what if she reaches out, only to discover she feels nothing? Not that it isn't there.  The wall exists, surly. How else are the shadows...?  They dance and laugh 

at her.  

In that moment she recalls the first time she had her finger pricked. The doctor said it would hurt a little. The blood oozed out in a tiny bubble of deep red.  He took her blood into a vile.  'Just running a few tests,' he'd said.  She pouted at the sensation of pain, but then, entranced by the blood on her finger, she felt agitated when the nurse wrapped it with a band-aid.  As soon as she was able to, she would rip off that band-aid and squeeze hard until more blood came.  Not much, of course, as the area had healed.  She stomped her foot and gave a grunt of disapproval.  Startled, she said, 

'Father.'  

When he saw her doing this, he didn't yell, not like her mother would have.  He only inquired about why she was doing it.  She told him, 'I want to make the blood run again.'  'But why,' he would ask.  She paused and bit her lip.  She shook her 

head, uncertain.  

Shortly after, he bought her a microscope and together they observed his blood; a quick prick of the finger and he placed a droplet on a glass slide.  He told her how it worked, blood.  How the body reacted to a wound in attempt to heal.  That it would coagulate, with platelets.  'This way,' he'd said, 'you wouldn't bleed to death.'  She asked him what death meant.  What happened after death?  Her nanna had gone to this place of death when she was just a babe.  She only remembered the cold stare of nanna in her casket.  'Is it like sleep?' she asked him.  'Yes,' he said, 'I suppose it is like a sleep.'  He told her of glorious sleep and the quiet black void 

of nothingness.   

The shadows suddenly disappear and there is a stillness.  She's hanging there.  Now is the time.  'Reach for the wall!' she shouts to herself.  She extends her left arm and braces for what might be or not be.  Nothing!  She can feel nothing!  Her hand keeps reaching, but there isn't anything to grasp.  And then her arms and legs are flailing about and panic strikes her thoughts.  I can't scream!  What would that do, they won't hear me.  I'm so far down!  Why did I go, she thinks.  Her lip pouts, but she won't cry.  She finally halts her moving limbs and closes her eyes.  A few deep breathes, stay calm.  'In the blackness, the great void, there is peace'.

His words.

'Father!' She weeps, remembering his eyes.  How cold they looked, unmoving.  The blood ran down his face and onto the floor.  There was so much blood.  She plead, and told him to coagulate.  But his body wouldn't listen.  Her mother came in soon after.  She looked dismayed, tears forming, whispered a soft and broken,

'no.'

When she opens them, her eyes peer downward.  It's dark, so dark she can't see anything.  In fact, she realizes, all trace of light is gone.  She wills herself to move, to keep moving.  Surly, there is an end.  What's holding her?  Could it be-?  No, that's impossible.  And then she is falling again.  Much faster, so fast that her dress flies nearly above her head, she flails about.
She screams!  

And then. A soft light in the distance, as Lily opens her eyes.  A surface beneath her.  Her hands brush the ground.  She looks up.  He is there.  Is it him?  It must be.  The silhouetted glow of a man she once knew.  So long she has waited to be here.  With him and to know for certainty.  She moves towards this figure.  In her heart she knows.  Without doubt. 

He's safe. 

Reflection

And the walls 

closing in

as she drowns

in her own vast sins

of the father, mother

sister, brother

do they judge her?

or is it her minds' reaction

to, the faction

of masses

how they exist

and she is fixed

on this idea

of self affliction.

Her wounded soul

contorted

based on feelings

uncontrollable

she lies in

a vacant state

at the screen

before her

it's there

stories of

all the others

to her life

she will compare

and sit 

in remorse

and self woe, strikes

to herself she is

the foe

'let it go!' she shouts

internally;

but the truth comes hard

to 

the lonely

minded

trapt in a 

transparent cage

like a maze

her thoughts stream

rapidly by

can she catch one?

no......

not this time.

A thought on real love

It's nice to have someone, some body to see all your insecurities, take them in their hands and kiss them, softly.  To support them with their love and compassion.  Those little quirks that make you, you; often are trouble for most, challenging, annoying.  For the right kind of person, for the person, those things are special - sometimes mildly annoying - but they make you, you.  So that person loves you for all the rough edges, the squiggly lines, all imperfections and insecurities - the whole being that is you.

When you can do the same for that person.....that, my friend, is real, unconditional love.

So you wanna be a writer, eh?  You think you have what it takes?  The diligence to pursue a dream career that may never come to fruition, the drive to continue after endless rejections, the criticism and negative feedback, haunting blocks to the brain that cloud your desires, just to get those last few words out.  What are those words?  They're there, at the tip of your tongue, waiting to be written, spoken in a whisper, through your fingers as you type.  But it's hard to get them out sometimes, see, it's tough to find those words, it's tough to know what to say.  You're your own worst critic, they tell you.  So many of them, family and friends.  Reach for the stars, go for what you want, take your dreams and make them a reality.  You have too many dreams, maybe?  Too many ideas pop in and out all day.  It's like a fucking auction of thoughts, but it's being orated by a goldfish; nonsense, ramblings.  But they do make sense, to you...

So, begin.  Write your blog, like you're doing right now.  Create your story, fill the pages with tales of golden futures.  A place where all the good stuff happens.  The other universe sitting beside you, within you.  It's yours.  So take it.

Playing with stream of consciousness writing, or memories

This is very old, something from several years ago.

My earliest memory: Building a snowman with my sister and brother, my mother standing at the sliding glass door.  I also think I saw Uncle Keith there, but maybe not.  I don’t remember climbing stairs as a babe, but I can imagine what it must have been like.  Seated on my legs, I stair up at the flight of steps, were they covered with carpet, grayish blue maybe?  I put my tiny right hand on the first step, you can see my diaper under my long top, or maybe it’s a dress.  I can’t see myself climbing them beyond that first reach. 

I remember Mary Poppins and Lamb chops and playing with my magnets.  I used to build places and the little dots, the red and blue, were boys and girls.  I remember the boys would always chase the girls, and I always chose one of each to be the main characters.  I’m not sure how I kept them straight but it seems I almost always did.  I think sometimes I would mess them up when mom came by.  Like it was wrong of me to play such a game.  I got embarrassed.  I remember, I think, mine and Carl’s last bath together.  Maybe it was the chicken pox or something.  We had all our toys, well mostly his.  GI Jo and such.  I used to love playing GI Jo and trolls with him.  I always wanted to be like him.  Well, as far as I could.  I always looked up to him.  He was so smart and cool.  Emily had to play my mother, how could I look up to her.  I don’t remember when Dad left I just know he left.  My first memory of a phone conversation with him: I was maybe seven, or maybe it was just after he left.  I didn’t want to use the phone I just wanted to play.  I had just gotten my boots, the boyish kind, Timberlands or something.  I remember how excited I was.  I was trying to tie them maybe when he called and I had to talk to him.  Mom made me even though I said I didn’t feel like it.  It didn’t faze me then.  That my daddy had left.  I just thought how much this conversation had interfered with my playtime.  I remember the car ride with grandma and grandpa.  I fell asleep in grandmas’ lap in the back seat.  It sounds silly but that’s my fondest memory of her.  She was so caring then, she said, “If you’re sleepy just lay down here and go to sleep.” So I did, it was nice.  After that she became the crazy grandma.  My mother told me that she asked a doctor if I had been sexually abused.  I stuck my blanket up my nose; I just thought it felt nice.  Kids stick things up their nose.  I’m not sure it means anything except a strange fixation.  Freud would probably say its normal.  The only thing Freud was good for, he helped us understand child behaviors.  I remember having a crush on Lauren D.’s big brother.  I think he was the second oldest.  He was so cute, I guess.  I was only 8 or 9 so what did I know.  I remember when Lauren wanted to see me naked, or at least be in the room when I changed my clothes.  I thought she was a weirdo then, now I know she was just curious because I was older then her.  She was just curious.  Or maybe she was just kidding around.  I remember the dirt mounds.  We played on them and pretended to be on some kind of adventure.  We were always pretending.  I forget sometimes how imaginative I was.  My sister made me a Barbie extravaganza in our room once.  She took all my Barbie’s and hers and made little sections.  There was a house on our dresser and maybe a beach or something.  I don’t remember all of it, just that it covered our desk and dresser and the floor.  She always takes care of me.  I suppose I somewhat returned the favor with this trip, not sure I ever fully could though.  At some point you know you’re not like other families or that you’re not like other kids.  I thought about things a lot.  Just everyday things.  I seemed like such a quiet kid, people used to tell me.  On the inside it was never quiet.  My mind was always rolling from one subject to another or one idea to the next.  I used to dwell on things a lot.  I guess I still do. 

This is something I wrote back in June 2014.  It feels right, so I'm sharing.

Someone to save me, for a change.  Someone to love and accept me as me, wholeheartedly.  Someone that does not necessarily like all of my quirks, but accepts them as is; and that, when I do something stupid, they don’t roll their eyes and ridicule me.  Or if they do roll their eyes, they do it with a smile and give me a kiss - and I feel that love.  Someone that I can be myself around - my multitude of selves.  Someone that can mellow out my crazy, or meet it equally.  That is gentle and compassionate, and strong when in need.  When I need a shoulder they are open and comforting.  We can laugh together, and be quiet.  We can look into each other’s eyes for long periods of time - with or without laughter.  We can be creative together in whatever form.  I just want an honest love, a real love.

Untitled

Why are we so elite?  From other beings, like we serve a greater purpose.  Like we would actually outlive them all (yeah right).  How did we become so disconnected?  As if we can't feel her pain, as she weeps softly.  Sometimes loudly; thunderous clouds, tsunamis and great storms, fires that consume the old and the new.  Beautiful chaos, a cleansing.  She is vast and wise beyond our comprehension.  We are lowly and so young, so stupid.  So much to learn about her and the encompassing universe.  Her playground, her home, her space amongst the celestial gods; it a space we meekly fill, a tiny speck within an infinite, everlasting womb.  We are so lucky to experience it all.  If only that understanding reigned within all humans.  Let go of your pitiful selfish thoughts and behaviors.  Before it's too late.  Is it too late?  Have we reached the point of no return, the floodgates are destined to open?  I hope not.  That would be terribly sad.

love vs. greed, a thought

All we have is love, a pivotal emotion, to bring us true joy.  Can greed be deemed as a moment of true joy?  All a matter of perspective, I suppose.  It doesn't feel right, the righteous would think.  Greed can bring pain and hatred, seemingly terrible states of being.  The moment you feel love, is... like floating, like the smell of spring, fresh rain and a baby's skin.  All those precious pieces of time, experiences that we hold onto in our minds, stow them away in the memory banks of our mortal brains.

Greed seems to end in heartbreak, in death, often alone.  Does it not take more effort to be sharing and giving, then to hoard and be greedy?  Take more of ourselves, our spirits?  It's easy to keep everything to yourself, to be alone and pretend to not need.  It's far more challenging to let people in, to be open to love, compassion, and to give these in return, to share with others.  Yes?

Japan - Day 7 and My Top Favorite Things About Nippon

My last day in Tokyo was eventful, bittersweet at moments.  I arose early to get to the Tokyo Skytree first thing; though it was cloudy, still totally worth it.  It was fun to meander around the different levels and grab souvenirs for people (some at random).  The rain was still a light mist, so it wasn't a terrible day for exploration.

(There's my feet, standing on glass, on floor 340 - for 340 meters, which is apparently around 1115 feet.  Yeah.)

After the Skytree, I headed to Nezu for an art exhibit at the Yayoi Museum.  They featured a manga artist, Kazuo Kamimura (famous for Lady Snowblood), with pieces from the '60s and later; it was gorgeous.  But I'd like to backtrack a bit to travelling to Yayoi Museum.  Initially, I'd set out with my raincoat, and decided I'd purchase an umbrella somewhere along the way.  It wasn't until I'd left the Skytree that it really begun to rain, a very steady rain.

The whole trip to Nezu pretty much involved me being underground.  So, when I reached my destination, I just said screw it and walked the ten minutes, hood over my head, phone in hand, as I navigated to Yayoi.  It was fantastic.  I was drenched by the time I got to the museum, but those kind ladies lent me a towel and even took my coat and backpack while I walked freely through the exhibit.

Nezu has been added to some of my favorite places in Tokyo.  The town is quaint, with lots of intricate homes and buildings.  It was quiet, unlike busy Shinjuku or Nihonbashi areas.  And did I mention that the Japanese people (in general) are impeccably polite?  As I put on my coat and backpack to leave Yayoi, those two women stopped me, and held out an umbrella.  I couldn't have been more grateful.

My check out time was 1pm, so I basically headed back to the hotel and made my way to the airport.  It took close to an hour to get there by train(s), but I didn't want to miss the experience and take a taxi (which still only knocked off about 20 minutes).  So there I was, hauling my luggage up and down a few stairwells, mildly regretting my choice.  Fortunately, it didn't take too long to get to the train (A/KK line) which runs all the way to Haneda airport.  Very efficient those Japanese.  I had a few whispers from fellow passengers, and a couple stares, but not bad overall.

When I got to the airport, and reached the check-in counter, I was informed that I'd missed my flight.  Apparently, when it says 12:00 am Sunday, it means....midnight Sunday (or in more clear terms, you better get your dumb ass to the airport on Friday night or you miss your flight).  Yeah...that happened.  It only took a couple hours on the phone with Expedia, of which no resolve was found, and the helpful ladies of ANA ticket counter to help me get on the next flight to LAX free of charge.  I'd had to book a new flight, and pay, to get to Vegas from there.  I'll take it!

I've never missed a flight in my adult life.  This was certainly a learning experience.  Also, Expedia sucks.  Just saying.  Don't book a person six nights at a groovy hotel with free breakfast and not expect them to stay six (whole) nights.  Alas, after several hours of meandering and attempts of sleep in the airport terminal, I finally made my way home.

This whole experience for me meant life changes.  I know what I need to do, and I know it's time to move forward, with big girl steps...no more baby steps.  It felt like a part of my soul had been brought back to life, it made me appreciate human beings more.  It made me realize that people can be awesome.  I can't wait to explore so much more of this wonderful planet.



At that, I'd like to list my favorite things about Japan (so far..):
Vending machines, vending machine beer, food, all the food, sweets, macha, shrines, nice people, cute Japanese women, classy outfits, bidets, toilets with SO many buttons, Sonic the hedgehog, tiny people like me, tiny doorways and rooms so that Austin has to duck/crouch, sushi, sake, did I mention food in general?, art museums, sakura trees, and all sakura things really, foxes, hot springs, rituals and traditions, the lady that cleaned my hotel room, the lady that gave me an umbrella, the lady from ANA who helped me get home, the random guy who told us about the onsen, and all the other things.  And Japan.

I hope you all enjoyed this adventure with me.  And that my descriptions did some justice (though probably not, you should all go see for yourselves).  Get out there and explore your universe.  Life is far too short.  Love you all,

~HB~

Japan - Day 6

My last two days in Japan were bittersweet.  I'd had such a wonderful time, and sharing in new experiences with these beautiful people...



We said our goodbyes and they were off for more adventure, while I would plot out my final hours.  I'd decided to visit the National Museum of Modern Art, and would go from there to find shopping.  The weather was beginning to turn, mostly just a breeze, but I knew rain was coming.

The MOMAT was amazing.  Absolutely all that I had expected and then some.  It's been so very long since I've had the pleasure of enjoying a real art museum.  The pieces ranged from early 1900s-on.  My favorite, and the most moving experience, was a collection of works from around WWII.  I can't really describe the feeling, observing from their perspective.  It was incredible.  There was one piece that struck me in particular and sadly, I can't remember the artist's name or name of the piece (and no, I didn't take pictures).  If I ever find it, I'll post it here.  Everyone should experience something like this, being in the same room with something that old, absorbing some of the energy from the artist, putting yourself in that position, just for a moment even.  It's the best.

And even better, on my nearly final day in Japan, I found the golden egg I'd been waiting for....a sakura that was still in (full) bloom.

 

I still have to translate the sign that was nearby (I snagged a photo), but I believe there is something special about this tree.

After wandering for a bit, I decided to see Akihabara (recommended for potential gift purchasing).  It was very interesting and, though I didn't end up buying anything in this area, it was groovy to see.

Somehow, when I arrived in the Akihabara, I'd managed to find the one West coast, valley girl sounding Japanese girl at a small gift shop in a business building pretending to be a mall.  It had some places to eat, and apparently a few stores, but she assured me that the souvenirs I was looking for were not to be found very close by (unless I was buying for a bunch of anime nerds, which sadly, no).

I wandered for a bit, in attempts to find the two stores she recommended, but the wind was a bit much for such a midget like myself (not that I was the smallest person in Japan, 'cause I wasn't!).  And it felt good to get back to my hotel and relax.

I had a lovely morning in store, especially for my last day.  However, I had no idea that I was about to make a rookie travel mistake......


Side Note: The restaurant we visited regularly that has delicious pancakes is called the Kohikan, not the Kiokhan (or whatever I had called it in Day 2).  Oops.

Japan - Day 5

My fifth day in Japan included a visit to Fox Village, located about 5 hours north of Tokyo in the Miyagi Prefecture.  We got to take the bullet train (shinkansen) which goes roughly 200 mph at it's top speed.  Crazy.  The view was breathtaking.  As we left the city and moved further into the country, there were more and more traditional style homes, snow capped mountains and fields, trees, and the like.  It was incredible.  This day made me decide that I must come back, and I must explore more of this beautiful country.



The shinkansen took us only a couple hours to get to Shiroishi and then a cab ride of about 20-30 minutes, brought us to Fox Village, which is located up in the mountains.  The ride was quite spectacular, and thank you to the drivers who took us (as we had to split two cabs btw 5 people).  They gave us a ride to and from, communicating with one another to ensure we got to the village with no problem.  Language barriers.  I give many thanks to all those Japanese people that were so pleasant and helpful through our travels.

Anyways, Fox Village was adorable - and on some level a little sad, much like any zoo or other structure built to preserve other animals, there's always some feeling of guilt.  The foxes, however, didn't seem to mind as they were all quite fluffy and large.  We all made friends and even got to hold one.





How freakin' cute is that.  I mean really, come on.  I wanted so much to lay down with a group of them and take a nap.  But that was a big no, no.  There's a specified feeding area, where you can toss treats to suspecting foxes.  That was special.  And mostly where the guilt kicked in as some foxes had a challenging time getting their treats, and that's where some of the fights broke out.  Oops.

When we were ready to leave, we all made our way outside.  Only to be beckoned back by one of the staff, as she found us sitting on a bench and motioned, 'Wait for taxi inside,' or something to that effect.  It was lovely.  Like forced hospitality.  Love it.  And so, we waited by the stove, kept warm and waited for the taxi to take us back to town.

It took him roughly 20 minutes, and then we were off again.  The ride back was even more fun, as we got to see more of the town (I think he took a long way).  He dropped us at the train station, and then we decided to wander.  Food was needed, and found, and oh so delicious.  Everyone enjoyed varying meats on sticks from a vendor outside the grocery store.  The grocery store itself was full of lovely looking produce, everything so fresh and clean.

After some thought, it was decided that we needed to visit a local onsen.  It wasn't far from our current location and we'd heard about it from a groovy gentlemen at the Fox Village.  Thanks mister, whoever you were.  You rock.  The onsen was glorious (sorry no photos there ha!).  Naked in hot steamy water.  You don't get any better.  Well, if it had been outside, and co-ed...yeah.  I would've dug that.

The day was wrapped up with sleep, much needed.  Um...that is...after all the sake.  Yeah, that happened.  We toasted to friendship and travels and such, and the next morning I saw everyone off...