26 (Part 2)
One of my favorite things about life in Tokyo 2017-18, apart from my weekly meetups (or let's be honest- pigging out sessions) with Winnie, was my weekly yoga class with teacher Yuki Matsui at Deus Ex Machina, Harajuku. The class helped center and relax me after a week of intense work, so much so that I was willing to wake up earlier than a work day for it. What's ironic was the location- it was a 2-minute walk away from my office.
After yoga, I'd sit around for an hour or so sipping my soy matcha from Deus, getting on my phone, listening to music or better, reading a book. Then I'd head to Singapore Holic Laksa near Omotesando street for a nice bowl of Laksa with Loh Shi Fun (mouse-tail noodles). I loved Sundays.
It took an awfully long time, much longer than I would have preferred, to feel at home in Tokyo. I felt as though I was throwing, or that I had to throw, my whole identity away when I moved there. As a young, fresh grad who happened to be Asian, I felt a huge pressure to fit in, to change my views and values, to adapt to life and culture in Japan.
I can imagine the range of reactions I would receive from people, depending on the culture they grew up with. In my experience, Americans value individuality a lot more than Asians. An American friend would probably say to me, "Forget what people say. You do you, girl!" And up till my arrival in Tokyo, that was what I was familiar with. I loved having my own identity.
And I imagine talking to my dad, a second-generation immigrant in Malaysia. He's seen firsthand what it took to not just survive, but successfully overcome the odds, thrive in a foreign country and even earn a title for contributions to the community in Sarawak, East Malaysia. My grandpa's life was pretty damn incredible, now that I'm actually thinking about it.
Dad probably would have told me to suck it up and quit being a baby. To do what I gotta do to survive. As long as I'm not hurting anybody, I suppose it made the most sense. Still didn't make it any easier.
Sometimes I think my stories in Tokyo are endless, but I find that some memories there are starting to fade. I sound 70 when I say this, but on the rare occasion that I look through my phone's camera roll, I'm pleasantly surprised by some of the photos and videos I find. "Oh, I've forgotten how much fun I had that night with Megahann and matey Kaz, it was awesome!"
I think I was 17 or so when I thought to myself, "I've always had a home, I've never had to worry about not having any food to eat. I want to experience some hardships in life, I want to know pain, struggle, heartbreak, loss, the whole lot that people sing about, that movies portray." Maybe it was the artist in me who wanted to understand life's challenges. Or maybe I was just young and stupid.
Whether it was my choice or not, I gradually got to experience those things as I headed towards mid-20s. As a teen, I always dreamed of being with one man my whole life. As of now, I think only one of my closest friends ended up married to her first boyfriend. Put another way, she's never had a failed relationship. In an ideal world, I would've loved to have that too. But I look back at my life and I know it's been one heck of a journey, and despite some stumbles along the way, I'd rather be someone with stories, who has experienced the darker days of life and relationships, and hopefully become a better and less judgemental friend, partner, daughter, sister, as a result. It makes me all the more thankful for arriving at everything good with my life right now.
"To have memories, happy or sorrowful, is a blessing, for it shows we have lived our lives without reservation." Tan Twan Eng, author of The Garden of Evening Mists.
After yoga, I'd sit around for an hour or so sipping my soy matcha from Deus, getting on my phone, listening to music or better, reading a book. Then I'd head to Singapore Holic Laksa near Omotesando street for a nice bowl of Laksa with Loh Shi Fun (mouse-tail noodles). I loved Sundays.
It took an awfully long time, much longer than I would have preferred, to feel at home in Tokyo. I felt as though I was throwing, or that I had to throw, my whole identity away when I moved there. As a young, fresh grad who happened to be Asian, I felt a huge pressure to fit in, to change my views and values, to adapt to life and culture in Japan.
I can imagine the range of reactions I would receive from people, depending on the culture they grew up with. In my experience, Americans value individuality a lot more than Asians. An American friend would probably say to me, "Forget what people say. You do you, girl!" And up till my arrival in Tokyo, that was what I was familiar with. I loved having my own identity.
And I imagine talking to my dad, a second-generation immigrant in Malaysia. He's seen firsthand what it took to not just survive, but successfully overcome the odds, thrive in a foreign country and even earn a title for contributions to the community in Sarawak, East Malaysia. My grandpa's life was pretty damn incredible, now that I'm actually thinking about it.
Dad probably would have told me to suck it up and quit being a baby. To do what I gotta do to survive. As long as I'm not hurting anybody, I suppose it made the most sense. Still didn't make it any easier.
Sometimes I think my stories in Tokyo are endless, but I find that some memories there are starting to fade. I sound 70 when I say this, but on the rare occasion that I look through my phone's camera roll, I'm pleasantly surprised by some of the photos and videos I find. "Oh, I've forgotten how much fun I had that night with Megahann and matey Kaz, it was awesome!"
I think I was 17 or so when I thought to myself, "I've always had a home, I've never had to worry about not having any food to eat. I want to experience some hardships in life, I want to know pain, struggle, heartbreak, loss, the whole lot that people sing about, that movies portray." Maybe it was the artist in me who wanted to understand life's challenges. Or maybe I was just young and stupid.
Whether it was my choice or not, I gradually got to experience those things as I headed towards mid-20s. As a teen, I always dreamed of being with one man my whole life. As of now, I think only one of my closest friends ended up married to her first boyfriend. Put another way, she's never had a failed relationship. In an ideal world, I would've loved to have that too. But I look back at my life and I know it's been one heck of a journey, and despite some stumbles along the way, I'd rather be someone with stories, who has experienced the darker days of life and relationships, and hopefully become a better and less judgemental friend, partner, daughter, sister, as a result. It makes me all the more thankful for arriving at everything good with my life right now.
"To have memories, happy or sorrowful, is a blessing, for it shows we have lived our lives without reservation." Tan Twan Eng, author of The Garden of Evening Mists.
to be continued.
my goodness.
26 was a long ass year.
Proof of Winnie and I pigging out:
Man. No wonder I put on 8kg after moving to Tokyo.
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