May 8th, 2006
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Monday morning
Japan is my home…I know I’ve said it dozens of times before, but every time that I’m away, sooner or later I start to think about it, and I am submerged in that sweet, aching whirlpool of missing “home”. Even if I’m visiting family in America, my soul knows that it is far from the place of my unmei, my destiny, and I need to go home. I need to go home to the place of ubiquitous karaoke, of conveyer belt sushi bars, of construction workers who meticulously sweep up debris and rubbish from around their site, and direct you with bows along the detour. It’s my home of Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines, of ichigoichie and SMAP. It’s a shining land of quiet people with hearts boiling inside; boiling, dreaming, screaming, scheming for expression… good natured people who excite over quadrupeds who pose standing on their rear legs, people who ganbatte no matter what their jyoutai is.
I am in that land, I will never leave it. I will put in my strength, my soul, and my blood. I will pay one hundred percent of my patience and devotion– embrace me, love me, caress me nihon. I am your lost and stranded child, let me learn of your ways and follow you hand-in-hand, through the narrow, cobblestone streets of Kyoto. Forgive my sins and love my passion, for I love you, and am lost when we are apart.
