Nostalgia

Japan

Intertwining tranquility—a lively city and a restoring/healing countryside. 

In the summer of 2018, I was one of the fifty high schoolers on a United flight across the Pacific Ocean, anticipating a long-awaited four-week Japanese Language & Culture summer program. 

My fascination with Japanese language and culture commenced at age eight––as I sat, wide-eyed in front of the television, drinking up the vibrant colors of animated films: Studio Ghibli, Japan’s Disney. Anime turned into a deeper exploration of traditions and architecture, and I jumped on the chance to submerge myself in the brilliant self-conscious precision and restraint of a people who’d piqued my fascination, and with whom I sought a gentle bridge.  

Tokyo

A glimpse into the cafe through the glass window: one is intensely studying a magazine issue, perhaps Caravan. Another, savoring the mellow miso broth—first as steam, then soup. The cafe serves to be a resting stop, sheltering the outside storm of a restless economy. An ambience from a deep rooted standard of customer service, comfort, and excellence. 

Gazing into my own reflection on the subway, I reflect on nothing in particular. Before me are two individuals chatting away on a bench on the station platform. What kind of dialogue, I ponder. Perhaps gushing over a recent variety show or exchanging recipes. Neither of them show any sign of anxiety over the time of arrival of their ride...ah, that’s right, here, the transportation systems run on precise schedules. A reflection of the society’s respect for time, stability, and trust. 

The streets beam with energy more than ever at night. Lights and reflections join to paint the streets of the never-resting hub at every turn. Coming to an intersection, I freeze to admire the regular yet fascinating orderly strides of the people. Each figure seemingly walking on designated invisible paths, charting their ways through the crowd in an intuitive fashion. A dance routine showcasing the core values of independence and individual responsibility. 

Tohoku

I pace my steps, following a local tour guide at the 2011 earthquake site––and its partial restoration––in the countryside of Tohoku. The northern region is a contrast from the city. Surrounded by vast sky, land, and sea...I suddenly feel so small. Despite the apparent differences between skyscrapers and empty fields, I sense the shared harmony. The locals hold on to hope and the strength to keep going while facing hardships. Every day, they are working towards recovery. Towards rebuilding what was once there: housing units, as well as manufacturing and industrial infrastructures. Their perseverance touches me, leaving a bittersweet mark on my trip. 

Words: Christina Kan

A Crowd’s Warmth 

It was freezing cold. In California, winters never got this cold. I had always wished for the temperature to drop so I could witness snow or indulge in chic winter fashion items. No snow was to be seen in Tokyo; instead, my breath became billows of white, dissipating into the air. Urgent clicks of high heels rushed past: corporate employees were desperate to descend onto the platform. The train station was packed, as it often was, making personal agendas of swiftness difficult to adhere to. I hope she clocked in on time that day. 

Despite having visited some of the world’s densest cities, such as London, Seoul, Lima, Istanbul, and Taipei, I can’t forget the crowds of Tokyo around the new year. Watch a time-lapse video of Shibuya Crossing during the holidays for a brief but accurate idea. Wherever I went, everyone else was also going, apparently. 

On one early morning, we followed local families from the subway station through narrow alleyways to the Meiji Shrine for hatsumōde–to ring in the new year. The dark, wooden torii greeted us from just below the canopy of the evergreen forest, beckoning us to join the calm sea of people just beyond the gate. Following the echo of megaphone-emitted instructions, our feet crunched against the gravel beneath, our eyes searched for the end of the tree-bordered road we traveled. Twenty minutes of army-like marching passed, and we finally reached the shrine. Sounds of ratting change and disordered clapping travels through the packed courtyard as worshippers pay their respects and wriggle out of the way. 

Such crowds, along with the excitement of being carried by their waves, are now a distant and very foreign memory. Looking back on the photos incites wonder, warmth, and jittery feelings of anxiety and unfamiliarity. I wonder if the fast-approaching new year will still bring masses to Tokyo’s places of worship, or if families will elect to remain home. 

Words: Anna Fang

A Visit to the Ghibli Museum

When I walk through the gates and past head-high greenery, I stare in awe at a pastel, primary-color-blocked castle covered in creeping Ivy. The entire complex is peppered with subtle nods or overt depictions of the characters I grew up watching and places I only dreamed of visiting. The grand entryway, a stunning fresco showing scenes from Ghibli classics, creates a portal to a world I thought only existed in my childhood. Atop the structure is a garden with a magnificent sculpture of one of the robot soldiers from Hayao Miyazaki’s Castle in the Sky. This is the Ghibli Museum (三鷹の森ジブリ美術館), an established cultural institution and one of the biggest draws of people into the city of Mitaka in western Tokyo. I waited in an orderly line, taking in the painstakingly-constructed scenery trying to catch every little detail, from the Totoro figures in the windows to the soot sprites lining every railing. References to every film that brought me wonder when I was young and caused my nostalgic tears today hid throughout the area. The museum left nothing half-done: the food is prepared as if taken directly from the worlds it was emulating, the theatre constantly plays classic shorts with 35 mm ticket stubs. The stained glass windows fill with scenes that grace the dreams of many the world over, and the grand staircases and fanciful hallways lead to secret treasures waiting to be discovered. The museum sounded of happy children and awed adults as they left their daily lives and entered an ethereal world of whimsy.

Words: Connor Tumelty

Photos: Christina Khan