I used to keep a paper journal; still do when I’m able, but have fallen off somewhat now that I’ve got a small laptop. But somehow the journal seems more intimate, more personal, as I run my hand across the dust-colored pages and worn binding. So the stuff that goes into it is maybe a bit more, uh..

Came across this old snippet from my first time back in Japan after almost half a lifetime:

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8 May 05

Still the same day, somehow, but through the looking glass and across the international dateline.

Underground, waiting for my train, I find myself captivated by the JR route map posted by the platform seats. Each line, each stop, calls out to memories from another lifetime – Kokubunji, Ebisu, Takao. These are words I have not said in 18 years, and I find my lips silently forming their sounds as my fingers trace the route, again, as though tracing the memory of an old lover’s cheek.

I have been here before, and Hineni, here I am again. Footsteps I left in these streets, these narrow alleys and broad leafy parks – they have been swept up, and left no trace on this land, but leaving them has made me what I am today.