youth

In flight

From somewhere above the sea, between Hong Kong and Tokyo.

So much of what I write about recently is through the lense of a toddler. Our life in many ways remains, its outlines no different from the days before her arrival. We work constantly and travel often. We play frisbee wherever and whenever we are able. We climb, see friends, dine out, and are almost more social than our bodies can support.

And yet.

On this flight I am in awe of the toddler. Not yet three she is comfortable on planes in a way I only dreamed of. She knows the path to the airport, taxi to train, and how many stops. She is ready for the lines and then her spinny cart. She asks if we can go to the lounge and get food before the plane. Then she’s excited to find “her airplane”. She carries her own stuff, in her brand new unicorn backpack, and pulls out her hoodie when cold. Onboard she knows to wait till takeoff to watch, to wait till we are in the sky.

And now, crushing egg waffles onboard Hong Kong Express, watching Totoro in Japanese in her hoodie and sambas, she is a happy little crab, a person in her own world.

I’m so grateful to be here for it.

A gift of space

Looking towards the sun setting over Toshima, Tokyo

In Otsuka young people linger outside on a Sunday night even in the winter. It’s been a warm day, though the morning will be sharply colder. Monday will come with the feel of winter not out of place this first weekend in March. And yet in this joy at the sun, in the crowded outdoor space by the station and the group of people sitting laughing along the tram line I feel another joy as well. It’s one that I miss, that makes me feel both young and old: it is the joy of the student or the hourly wage worker. It is the joy of those with no children, and no place they should be. In the light breeze of evening then they gather, celebrating the day ending, the weekend that has been. As a victory lap on time, it’s a good moment.

I watch them from my seat on a bench near the station, grateful for my partner putting the baby to sleep. I am thankful too for the brief respite from work’s mental assault that the coming Monday off has granted me. I am grateful for this space to think, and to write. Although I can no longer feel the freedom of those without salaried jobs or children, I can enjoy the presence of those who do, and relax in their joy. We all grow older, I think, and find our own ways back to peace.

So much of Tokyo is this now. It’s our peace. It is our spaceship, as Tara said today. Our way to escape whatever we are running from. May it ever feel so.

For we need youth in our lives, need to feel the sense of having no other requirements that grows harder to remember each year. We need somehow to remember what we were once, and can again be. To remember who it was we fell in love with, and in turn who they did.