Farewell to Tokyo

A sense of detachment has started to pervade every moment of daily life, from the time in which I set foot out of my apartment and make my way through the neighborhood, searching for a meaningful activity in which to invest my day, to the time I spend alone in the restaurant, trying to grasp all the flavours of the beautiful cuisine of this country for one last time, to the time at night when I gaze at the highest windows of a skyscraper, dimly lighting up the skyline, and inside the bright entrances of restaurants, izakayas and drug stores, when I am bound home from yet another drinking night.

Like an ajisai, Tokyo began to bloom with the rainy season. The monsoon came and covered everything with its cloak of water. Now, a different city emerges from beneath the ponds that are drying up. The streets that were once empty are flooded with life. In Meguro, the posh area where I found my tiny, overpriced room, the young elite shows off its vintage muscle cars on the side of the road, while businesswomen dressed in colorful attires decide where to head for the next round.

In Akihabara, the electric town, different generations of otakus have once again started to flock into anime shops and maid cafes, and the streets, with their sharp corners, now look much more similar to those I remember seeing in documentaries, with the young dressed-up girls trying to attract new customers through their cute dances and their squeaky voices.

Crowds of employees fill up the alleys under the Yamanote line at Yurakucho, with their black and white office uniforms, the red faces and the shiny eyes. Some of them just wanting to relax and laugh, some clearly in search of occasions for nampa, and some others looking for something in between.

From its wide avenues to its darkest passageways, the metropolis seems to have awaken from a long lethargy, right before my departure. All this trepidation makes my farewell somewhat more melancholic. I don’t leave the party in silence at the break of dawn, but at the start of the evening, right when all the other guests seem to be arriving.

At midday, the city is struck by an unbearable heat, the sun hitting the grey pavement with incessant violence. Humidity makes it impossible to breath, and it is all but useless to try and freshen up by taking a shower, because by the time you finished drying up, most parts of your body are inevitably wet again. It’s in the afternoons that the season offers its very best climate.

When it’s six o’clock, the sun paints the few clouds with stains of pink and orange, and the most pleasant breeze streams through the hills of the city, arousing the blue of the evening to come out. It is indeed a pity to leave this place.