#2/26: What now?

One early September, eight years ago, I went to Okinawa. It was hot and humid, but the fresh air, the ocean breeze, and change in scenery was supposed to help heal my mind. I had been looking for something, anything to attach myself to; a reason for living. I couldn't be stuffed in my little flat any longer. With the little savings I had, I picked the furthest place I could go and bought a ticket.

Upon landing, all the other passengers wore expressions of joy and excitement. When the green light turned on, they all eagerly arose, attempting to collect their belongings and get off the plane. I stuck behind, being in no rush, and waited for everyone else to get off before bothering to get up. The only luggage I had was a backpack that contained a change of clothes and my wallet. On hand I had a rather detailed travel guide that I had picked up at Haneda Airport. I had spent the majority of the flight going through it, trying to get a grasp on Okinawa. I wasn't into all the tourist destinations, but I figured if I was going to get anything out of my time there, I had better read up on the culture and history, especially since I knew next to nothing. I can't remember all the details, but there were articles about the old Ryukyu kingdoms, their interactions with Chinese dynasties, feudal Japan, how Satsuma was able to take them in as a client state, and about the American occupation. In addition, I learned all about their crazy nature, like the endangered Yanbaru Kuina bird. Also about how the islands are liable to encounter numerous typhoons every year. Fragile, complicated, but withstanding. I was intrigued and, after reading, a sense of hope had begun to form. It sort of felt like I had come to a distant, foreign land, someplace I could rediscover myself. I was nervous, but excited.

Making my way through the airport passages, past baggage claim, and out the gate, I found the airport's bus stop. With no destination in mind, I got on a bus that seemed to be going towards the city and just let it bring me wherever. Besides the information I had read on the plane, Okinawa was still an exciting mystery to me. I was really pumped! As the bus drove out from the airport, I kept my face glued to the glass window. I guess I had expected some form of culture shock, but, staring at the surroundings, all I could see were thin, concrete buildings, chain shops, children walking home from school, salarymen with briefcases, crows and pigeons waddling around; scenes not so different than any other place in Japan. Disappointment sunk in. I had shunned the tourist traps, and yet I was let down not seeing sanshin players or goya venders on every corner. Muffling a sigh, I closed my eyes. Was this just a waste of time? Well, it wasn't like I had anywhere to go back to in Tokyo. Failing at job hunting, my father had kicked me out of our home, basically disowning me. For three years or so, I enjoyed the freedom, doing all kinds of odd jobs. Wait staff, clerk, factory worker, security guard. Nothing worked out. I had a lot of fun though, meeting many sorts of people, hooking up with a variety of girls along the way. Actually, I had been pretty into one of them. She was a cute baton dancer from Sapporo with a tattoo of a rabbit on her right shoulder. She could really spin that baton, but the rabbit really killed me. She never tried to hide it either. But other than that, I had no idea what she actually did for work or about her family. We still had a nice relationship, though. Well, except that she was always pestering me to go traveling with her. I didn't get that. All the planning and organization seemed like a hassle. Going to a new pub was all the excitement I needed in life. That and her adorable rabbit tattoo. It was a peaceful existence, but then one day, she was gone. Disappeared without a trace. There I was. No job, barely any money, no passions or hobbies, and alone. And now, here I am in Okinawa, having traveled across the country to one of its furthest points.. still equally lost? 

Suddenly, I was awoken by a large sound, like an explosion. Opening my eyes, I saw nothing peculiar: the bus was moving along as normal and no one else seemed to have noticed. Regardless, I took this as a signal to get off. I'm not sure how long I had actually been on the bus, but my legs were sore from all the sitting. I stretched my legs a little while I took out my guide book to look at a map. Then I realized, I had no idea where I actually was. I stood there, confused as hell, and hungry to top it all off. Maybe I should ask someone. This thought kept coming back to me. Damnit. I really had become a bloody tourist.

Getting up from the bench, I looked around the intersection I was sitting at and spotted a cluster of shops. I figured I would start in that direction. Approaching, a modest shopping arcade with about fifteen shops on each side came into view. Really local. No chain restaurants to be found. Well, no restaurants in fact. I was starving and tempted to just walk away, but that nagging voice of my girlfriend-past persuaded me to stay and explore. As opposed to some of the local shopping arcades in parts of Tokyo, this one had a somewhat lively pulse to it. It wasn't particularly crowded, but all the shops were well cared for and active. Free of neglect. To be honest, I was too timid to walk into most shops, even when I found a place selling sanshin, but then I came across an old, wooden book store, overflowing with hardcovers, paperbacks, magazines, and even some manga. I guess it called out to the avid reader in me. Upon entering, I began looking through the shelves. Most of the books where used. I found a few Japanese and foreign classics: "Kokoro", "The Setting Sun", an Edgar Allen Poe anthology, "To Kill a Mocking Bird", and "A Christmas Carol", along with a rather odd amount of strange titles. One, in particular, called "The Sexual Awakenings of Lord Cumberland" took me by surprise. Not only the title, or the fact that this kind of foreign language erotica had made its way to Okinawa, but the wild price. ¥30,000! Who the hell would pay this much for a novel?

Noticing my expression of shock, the small, slender woman from behind the counter, probably in her sixties, with gray hair pulled in a bun and a flower pattern blouse, came over to me.
"Expensive right?" she said with a grin.
Startled and blushing, I agreed and put the book back on the shelf. She proceeded to explain to me that most of these books were donations and the prices were decided by the donors, based specifically on how much they enjoyed the book.
"The higher the price, the more precious and treasured the book usually is."
"Looks like someone really got a blast out of that one."
"It would seem so."

That hit me. They were literally putting a price on people's joy and memories! I had never thought deeply about that kind of thing. Moved and impressed, I chatted with the old woman for a while about books, about the people who bring books there, and about my journey.
"You can't just wander around the city all night," she said, clearly concerned about my lack of plans. "Why don't you stay here with my husband and I. He should be back soon."
She explained that he was fond of spending his free time on his small boat, fishing with a few friends, or just reading books on the open ocean. She then proceeded to tell me all sorts of tales about her husband, who, coming home halfway through, simply denied his ingenious navigation of the waves "Taken in another lonely traveler have you honey?", he said, not at all surprised when seeing me. I took pleasure in hearing this label, even though I knew I was in fact nothing more than a tourist. He took out a bottle of sake and some cups while his wife prepared a simple dinner of fresh fish, rice, and pickled vegetables.

The conversation flowed just as smooth as the sake. Turns out the old man was a veteran demonstrator, having taken part in the student protests of the late 60s and early 70s, as well as various recent ones, such as in response to the March 11th nuclear disaster. Even more recently, he had been protesting the American base relocation.
"Those jets are so loud!" he growled, slamming his cup on the table. His wife, at his side, mummbled in agreement and filled his glass.
"Somebody should definitely do something about it", I said with conviction. I was feeling really comfortable now. I just wanted to go along with the flow. "This can't just go on! Someone needs to teach these people a lesson!", I exclaimed, emptying my own cup and slamming it on the table as he did.

Well, almost. My glass missed and fell on the tatami floor with a thud. I was about to pick it up when the old couple fell silent. Instantly, I felt guilty. Perhaps I had pushed the boundaries of their generosity too far. I quickly reset the cup on the table. We were now on our third bottle. The old man sighed while his wife smiled with a slight look of pity in her eyes.
"That's not it," he began to say in a low voice. "Listen, you seem like a great kid, but what the hell are you saying? It's not about doing what should be done. It's about finding something you can do."
I was taken aback. Something I can do?
"Think about it. Just telling people off isn't going to do anything. Human connection, now that's something. Authors, they communicate through their writing and their ideas touch us. See? that's a connection! This interaction, this is the basis for happiness in life. Find something you can do for others, something you don't mind doing, and do it. Through that, somewhere, you'll find yourself."
Silence filled the room again. His wife wore a wry smile, as if she was used to this speech. "Yes. Ok." was all I could muster. The old man raised an eyebrow.
"But first, drink!". And we did. To the forth and then the fifth bottle.

Back in Tokyo, I returned to the same old flat I had resided in since being kicked out of my family's home. Now, it was haunted by the ghost of my lonely past self and his many failures. The new me was determined to do something with my life. Immediately, I found myself a stable companionship in the form of a brown bunny with a fluffy white tail and pink ears. She loved sitting on my lap while I read books.

Upon leaving Okinawa, the old women had, after apologizing for her husband's aggressive manner, given me a pile of books. "If you are lost, search for yourself." she said as her husband came out to the entrance and simply handed me a bottle of sake. "Live life!" he muttered. After reading all the books she gave me, I assigned each one a price. Three months later, with the help and encouragement of my bunny, I opened my own small book store in a quiet neighborhood around Ogikubo. She moved in their with me, too. We didn't have enough funds for books, so besides the ones I already had, we accepted donations. Of course, I let those with special books decide on how much I should sell them.

Every time I hear news of a major typhoon approaching Okinawa, that old couple comes to mind. How are they doing? Is the old man safe at home, or is he fighting the waves in his small boat? Is his wife still holding down the fort at the book shop, taking in lonely travelers? I owe so much to their kind wisdom, yet I've not stayed in contact. Even so, the old man's words echo in my ear every time I meet a new customer. I'm providing a service, making a connection, and possibly helping society. Until recently, my bunny had stayed by my side, helping to draw in customers. With her support, I was able to overcome all the obstacles associated with running a store like this with minimal profits. I've been left alone once again.  So.. what now?