THE CITY

THAT STOPPED
THE CYNIC
by KYLE HOVANEC
Throughout my life I have been fortunate and lucky enough to have had wonderful people
to help and guide my progress throughout my life. Without these people, I would have never
made it to where I am today.

To my mother and father: I might not have always been pleasant and I may have given you
some grey hairs over the years but no matter what I did, I know that I never could have
made it where I am without your support and love. I don’t say it enough how much I ap-
preciate your kindness, understanding and love. I am proud to be your son and no matter
where I go and what I do in life, I will always have you guys in my mind and heart.

To my siblings: We may not always see eye to eye and we might not have much in common,
but to say that I appreciate you guys in my life is an understatement. It has been a great
pleasure to see you grow up and mature before my eyes. I will always remember the good
times we spent with each other and look forward to many more as we grow up. Though not
bound by blood, you are my brothers and sisters, something I would never trade for anything
in the world.

To my high school friends: We don’t see each other as much as we used to, and we all went
our separate ways but I know that whenever we see each other, it’s like we never even left
each other. You will always be my friends no matter where I go.

To my college friends: Never before have I met a more crazy mix of people from all over the
world, but it’s you guys who got me though my crazy and sometimes stressful college years.
You guys are awesome, and will always be the source of my most cherished memories.

To Professor Larry Riley: Thanks for introducing me to serious film and encouraging me to
continue my writing endeavors.

To Dr. David Sumner: I still remember the first meeting we had before I even was accepted
into Ball State and the kind words of encouragement you told me. You’ve been a great person
to learn the art of magazine style writing from and your knowledge and helpful comments
will be sorely missed upon leaving college.

To Mr. Jim Rose: For treating me like a professional when everyone else treated me like a
child. You gave me my first experience in the professional world, skills that have served me
very well. Many thanks.

To Mrs. Moses: Thank you for allowing me a writing and public speaking creative outlet
when I struggled in my other high school classes. You were the doorway to who I am now.

Finally, to Mr. Brad King: Never before in my life have I come across someone who I have
feared, hated, respected, and admired in the span of a single semester. You words of wisdom
have been invaluable in my academic career and beyond. Through you I have learned the
value of hard work and sacrifice, and the joys of a job well done. Through you I have learned
that it’s ok to fail, and to blaze trails rather than follow them. Thank you for helping me in
college, in my future career, and in life. I will never forget the words you have told me and
hope that we will still see each other many years after the classroom.
THE SNOW SLOWLY DRIFTED DOWN as I walked to Studebaker West
Complex, an aging building located on the far end of Ball State University,
where I was in my sophomore year. I wasn’t the wide-eyed, naive student
I once was, but I was not experienced enough to have a firm grasp of the
world.
I was going to see my girlfriend who had just sent me a text. “I need to
see you, its urgent!” I had no idea why she would send me this text at 9 p.m.
on a Friday, a day she normally spent hanging out with her friends. I was
never one to expect the worst, but the feeling that something wasn’t right
swirled in my brain as I approached the building.
I opened the main door, and before I could text her to find out where she
was, I saw her sitting on a couch in the lobby. My heart sank; my stomach
felt queasy. She sat on the couch looking at me with a half-smile as her eyes
glistened in the light. Her eyes were wet. She had been crying.
I sat down next to her, putting my arm around her. I mustered a weak
smile. Whatever she had to tell me, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I gave her a hug. “Why did you need to see
me?”
Those wet, glistening eyes looked at me. Her half-smile transformed into
a frown. Her eyes began to tear up.
“Kyle,” she whispered, “this isn’t going to work out anymore.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing exactly what she meant but refus-
ing to believe it.
“I’m breaking up with you.”
“Why?” I asked.
 “I don’t really know you at all, you know. We’ve spent three months together,
and we’ve never really done anything, you know? I don’t think it’s just going to
work anymore.”
She sat there on that cold, January night, tears running down her face, her
voice cracking between each word that hit me like a nail to the heart. My
heart was beating fast, my mind struggling to process the words she told me. I
understood what she was saying, but it wasn’t sinking in that this was my first
girlfriend and she was breaking up with me.
“Please don’t hate me, Kyle. I couldn’t live with you hating me,” she said as
she hugged me, not letting go, her tears falling on my shoulder.
“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” I said, not really knowing what I wanted
to say. Or should say.
I walked out of her dorm, my stomach feeling like someone had just
punched me repeatedly.
This was the beginning of the spring semester, just a few days after return-
ing from winter break. The winter months were already filled with inactivity,
months of trying to stay warm during the freezing Indiana weather. One of the
few highlights was hanging out with my girlfriend, who no longer wanted to
see me.
My life was stale, and the one person who had given my life some excitement
was gone. My only incentive for getting up every morning was going to class,
which increasingly felt like an exercise in meaningless distraction. The classes
that had to do with my major were filled with repetitious activities, such as
identifying verbs and the differences between newspapers and magazines. The
only reason I went to class was for an attendance requirement, and I often slept
through most of them.
The breakup made me angry that so many of my friends were in happy,
healthy relationships. It felt like they were rubbing my single status in my face,
laughing that their relationships were working out and mine had fallen apart.
I never told my friends how I truly felt, how they made me sick to my stom-
ach, and how our weekly activities of watching movies and playing video games
had become boring. I couldn’t speak my mind. All I wanted was anything that
would make me feel happy, even for a few hours, or to make people laugh and
forget that I was starting to turn into this negative person.

The winter months passed. The snow melted. The weather warmed. Yet my
mood did not improve. In many ways, it had worsened. The more time I had to
think about the breakup, the angrier and more depressed I became. My mood
had darkened so much that few people could stand to spend time with me.
On a rainy March afternoon, I came back from class to see my friend Ryan in
my room watching recorded footage on my TV.
“What’s up, man? What are you watching?” I asked as I sat down next to him.
“My trip to Tokyo last winter,” he said.
Brightly lit buildings stood against the night sky as snowflakes drifted down
on the people who walked in the background. I stared back at the screen, fas-
cinated by the towering structures, the people, and the brightly colored lights
shining on the streets like a hybrid version of New York City and Las Vegas.
“That place looks awesome. I’d like to go there one day,” I said as I continued
to watch the screen.
“Why don’t you come with me this summer?” he said. “It’s not going to be
that expensive, and it’d be a cool experience for you. I feel that you could prob-
ably use a getaway anyway.”
The thought amused me for a second. I entertained the idea of traveling to
the other side of the world to explore one of the largest cities in the world. I
was from a suburb only an hour away from Chicago, a city much smaller than
Tokyo, and yet I’d barely explored it. I had no idea how a city worked. I thought
one day I would travel the world, but as soon as these thoughts would develop,
I’d push them away. I was too young and too poor to even think about those
dreams.
Now was different. Ryan did not make these offers lightly. He ran his life
strictly on logical thinking and planning. He never did anything without a plan
nor did make an offer without considering all the options. He was serious, so I
didn’t want to say no and I half-jokingly took him up on his proposal.
“I tell you what,” I said. “I’ll have a decision by the end of the semester. If I
can’t stand this place anymore, I’ll go.”
I figured I would forget and so would he. The semester was going to get
better soon, I thought, and things would be back to normal just in time to go
home for the summer. I was wrong.
On a rainy night in the middle of March, I sat in a bar with Ryan, drunk and
seething with anger as he tried to talk me down.
“Listen, it’s just a rumor I heard,” Ryan said. “It might not be true at all, prob-
ably just some stupid rumor.”
“I can’t believe it,” I said in disbelief. “Shu would never do that.”
Shu was my friend, interested in the same geeky stuff I was and hopelessly
single. We would often share each other’s grief. He was one of the few male
friends I had that I could talk with about anything without fear of being judged
or teased.
I stormed out of the bar, drunk, and made my way to his dorm room
through the pouring rain. I needed to know the truth. I knocked on his door,
suppressing the urge to kick it down.
“Shu, open up,” I yelled. “We need to talk, now.”
Shu opened the door. I pushed past him.
“Sit down,” I said. “We’ve got some things to discuss.”
Shu sat in his desk chair looking at me with surprise.
“I heard you’re going out with her. Is this true?” I asked.
Shu looked around the room. He looked back at me and lowered his head.
“Yes.”
I spit a stream of expletives at him. Not sentences, but random fragments
and curse words.
I stood in Shu’s room. He continued to stare at the floor, not acknowledging
that I was there. Tears streamed down my face and my hands shook uncontrol-
lably. Shu, my friend, was dating my ex-girlfriend.
“How could you, man? Why would you do this to me?” I shouted at him as I
paced around the small dorm room.
“I’m sorry. I guess she liked me more. These things just happen,” he said as
he finally looked me in the eye, his face firm and his body tight with his hands
slowly turning into fists. “I want you to know that I’m not going to officially
date her. We’re going to take it slow and see how things turn out.”
“Bullshit! I already know you!” I shouted. “You’re going to get together no
matter what. You’ve already made up your fucking mind. It’s sad that just be-
cause no one will go out with you, you feel the need to grasp on to the first one
that comes your way.”
“It’s not like that. She really likes me,” he said.
“Sure she fucking does! What a fucking coincidence; she told me the same
goddamn thing! Who else knows about this?” I asked.
“Well, everyone, but they didn’t want me to tell you.”
Everyone knew but me. They didn’t trust me enough to tell me. I felt my
heart ache, and my stomach churned and rolled over on itself.
“You have to choose, man. Me or her, because I guarantee that if you choose
her you won’t have a friend too,” I said. “You’re only getting one. Make up your
fucking mind.”
“I don’t want to lose any of you,” he said.
I stormed out of the room, slamming the door at 1 in the morning. I yelled
so loud that everyone could hear. I didn’t care about anyone anymore. I was too
hurt. My friends didn’t care about how I felt, so I returned the favor.
Word got out that I had exploded on Shu, and people started avoiding me.
My roommate, who couldn’t stand the negativity, started to sleep at a friend’s
dorm and would hang out with the rest of my friends, who were happy and
angst free.
Instead of hanging out with my friends, I buried myself in homework, not
wanting to go back to my dorm where I would spend nights by myself, lying in
bed and making myself crazy over decisions that I couldn’t do over.

A few days later, I got a text from Ryan: “Still thinking about Japan? Prices are
cheap now and you can book with me and be on the same plane, don’t wuss out
man, just do it.”
I read the text over and over. It was the perfect romantic notion -- to get far
away from the people I couldn’t stand and who couldn’t stand me. I closed my
phone, logged on my computer, and purchased a plane ticket that night with-
out thinking. I wanted to get away. To clear my mind of all the stress, to think
about all the damage I had caused and relationships that I had ruined.
While the days got warmer, I buried myself in homework and thoughts of
Japan. Before I knew it, the end of the semester came. As I packed my room,
my roommate’s stuff was still conspicuously there. Nearly two months later, he
still did not want to be in the same room as me.
After I moved the last of the boxes out, I stood in the doorway. I looked at
my lonely room and made a silent pledge to myself: I was going to Tokyo, and
I was going to do some serious soul-searching. I was going to become a better
person. I was going to make the next school year a good one.

I stared out the window of the 757 bound for Tokyo as the sun shone brightly
on a warm June morning, just five weeks after I had left my university. I sat
patiently with Ryan next to me. As the plane began its ascent, I looked out the
window and saw the ground and people become smaller until they were noth-
ing more than specks.
My excitement died down, replaced with calm and quiet. A 13-hour trip was
ahead of us, and I tried to pass the time by reading, playing video games, and
making small talk with Ryan. As the hours went by my legs began to feel numb,
almost like they were rusted together, unable to move. My mouth was dry. The
bland meal combined with my now flat soda warned me that I had been sitting
for too long and it was time to get the blood flowing through my legs again. I
went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. I stared at my reflection
in the mirror, and a ragged and tired-looking individual looked back at me.
“I’m leaving you behind, just so you know,” I told my reflection. “I’m going to
be happy here. I’m going to forget about all the bad stuff that happened to me
and I’m going to learn to make next year better.”
I splashed more water on my face and straightened my hair. I looked better,
not perfect, but better than my ragged reflection looked before. For the first
time in months, I smiled and laughed. It finally hit me. I was giddy once again.
I was going to Japan, and I was going to have fun.

The plane landed at Narita International Airport at 6:54 p.m. Ryan and I
stumbled off the plane, our legs feeling as if they were shriveled and useless. We
welcomed the chance to stretch our muscles before joining the assembly line:
collecting bags, going through customs, and making our way to the train sta-
tion at the bottom of the airport.
Tokyo was still more than an hour away, so a train was the cheapest and
fastest way to get there. We boarded the train, filled with 30 passengers, and
noticed the eerie silence. Nobody was making a sound. The only noise was the
clanking of the train wheels. I would learn that Japan is a very private society, a
society that avoids confrontation or social interaction with strangers.
Tokyo is a varied and wild mix of old and new structures. It’s not uncommon
to see old bamboo houses and tool sheds next to tall, concrete buildings with
flashing neon signs or traditional ramen stands wedged in between McDon-
ald’s. As we approached the city, even the tallest building in the countryside
was dwarfed by the Tokyo structures. The brightest lights were but dim flick-
ers compared to the massive, flashing neon light shows on nearly every major
building.
As the train slowly pulled into the station, my mind was on overload. For the
first time I was far away from parental supervision, the guidance of educators,
and the watchful eyes of my friends, who usually made sure I didn’t do any-
thing stupid. This was the first time in my life that I felt free.
“Man, you keep smiling and looking everywhere. You’re going to definitely
look like a tourist,” Ryan said.
“I don’t care, man. I’m here. I’m actually here. I have so much energy. I feel so
happy. I just want to run off and scream,” I said excitedly as we got off the train.
That’s when it struck me that we were in a foreign country. The simple task
of finding another train proved to be a monumental challenge. People rushed
around in every direction, trying to make it to different trains, which were
constantly leaving and arriving. And I was in the middle of it all with no idea
where to go. I looked at Ryan, unsure if he understood my concern. I’d never
seen so many people going in all directions at once.
“Don’t worry,” Ryan said. “We’re meeting my brother first before we leave. He
knows where to go. All we have to do is find a coffee shop.”
My momentary happiness was immediately replaced by a larger horror: How
would I ever find my way on my own? I couldn’t read the signs, had no idea
how the trains ran, and couldn’t even speak the language to ask for help if I
needed it. My enthusiasm was curbed.
If I was going to explore and get the most out of my trip, it wasn’t going to
be easy. I was going to have to go far outside my comfort zone, something I’d
never done.
After wandering through the station a few minutes longer, we finally found
our contact person: Ryan’s brother Chris. He was waiting for us in a small
coffee shop near the train station’s exit. They were twins -- Chris was born just
a few seconds before Ryan -- but seeing the two for the first time was truly a
sight. I was looking at a mirror image of my friend in a country on the other
side of the world. It was an absurd situation in a chaotic place, and I had only
just gotten here.
We headed to the metallic gates that separated the station from the outside
world. On the side of the gate you passed through, there was a magnetic area
as well as a small crevice to insert a ticket. In order to fulfill your payment, you
either had to insert your ticket from the train or use a pass card by waving it
over the magnetic strip. There was a constant flow of people traveling through
the gates, almost machine-like in precision -- the kind of precision that could
easily be disrupted by foreigners.
Ryan inserted his ticket and waited for the gate to open. Instead, another gate
quickly closed in front of him and a red warning light flashed. A polite-sound-
ing, computerized Japanese voice came from the speaker telling him words I
didn’t understand. The tone was unmistakable, though. In the time it took for
my friend to fumble through his pockets in search of more money, most of the
line had already shifted to the other gates, and a gate attendant approached my
friend. My friend stood there in awe, understanding only bits and pieces of
what was said. Ryan looked at me, shrugging his shoulders. I laughed, thankful
it hadn’t happened to me.
Finally, another gate attendant came out, speaking English. He pointed to the
entrance of the station and told Ryan, “You can just go.” My friend, overjoyed
that he had somehow gotten out of that situation, walked past the gate and over
to his brother. I paid the appropriate fare and quickly followed behind him,
eager to hear his take on the story.
“Why did they just let you go?” I asked Ryan.
“It’s easier,” Chris said. “They have foreigners come and do this all the time. It
just becomes easier to let you go than argue with you in a language you prob-
ably don’t understand. Japan is willing to sacrifice cash for efficiency. It’s a very
bad thing in Japan when things go against the norm.”
We found a taxi, and Chris told the driver to take us to a smaller district
of Tokyo called Itabashi. As we left downtown, the skyscrapers were replaced
with small shops and three-story office buildings. Instead of a neon-drenched
marketplace, traditional farmer stalls were outside little shops. The street that
our taxi drove down was barely large enough for the taxi. People would have
to stand to the side and wait for us to pass before continuing on their way. All
along the road were mom-and-pop drugstores, ramen stands, and small super-
markets. This was a little section of Japan that time, technology, and progress
had forgotten. It was completely surreal. It seemed more like a drive through a
movie set than a major Tokyo district.
I continued to stare out the window, watching the buildings slowly go past.
“Why so quiet, Kyle?” Ryan asked.
“No reason. Just tired, you know?” I replied.
In reality, I was mad at myself. Mad that I was getting so worked up about
not being able to survive in Japan.
“So much for having an adventure,” I thought. I was convinced that the rest
of my trip would be played safe, traveling with Ryan or Chris, going where they
wanted to go, always being with someone who knew their way.

Our taxi arrived at a small apartment nestled between an office building and
barber shop. The building looked old, with stains like wrinkles on a face that
has seen generations pass. We entered, climbed three flights of stairs, and ar-
rived at the apartment where I would be staying for the next 2 1/2 weeks.
“I hope you like tight spaces, man, and being really close to dudes,” Ryan
said.
I had heard that Japanese apartments were small. Within a space of the
length of a normal bed was a shower and toilet. You didn’t have to worry about
slipping in the shower; there was no room to fall down if you did. Outside
was the kitchen and laundry area, both of which were a fraction of the size
of a kitchen or laundry room in the U.S. A small table sat in the corner of the
kitchen.
“Do you guys eat there?” I asked.
 “No, it’s used more as an extra countertop,” Chris said. “There’s no room to
eat in here. We usually eat in our rooms.”
The room Chris slept in was equally cramped. Fitting everything in such
a small space became a game of Tetris. A door opened on the far end of the
apartment, and Chris’ roommate, James, came out of the room. He yawned and
lazily scratched his messy hair.
“Welcome to fucking Tokyo, mate,” he said. His British accent was particu-
larly strong, and his appearance looked like he stepped out of a ’70s-era punk
rock poster with his arms covered in tattoos and piercings in his ear and nose.
“So are we going out yet, mate? It’s our night off. We need to get fucked over
properly.”
“Yeah, we’ll take my brother out and his friend too,” Chris said. “They just
got here, so we should celebrate.”
“That’s what I like to hear, mate,” James said, a large grin on his face as he
grabbed his coat.
We headed to the train station. Before we reached our destination, though,
James stopped.
“Wait a second, we need to warm up before the main event,” James said.
James and Chris went to the front of the store, paid the cashier, and walked
out with a large, silver can.
“What’s this?” I asked as I held the cold aluminum in my hand.
“This,” said James, pointing at the can like some exotic scientific specimen,
“is what the Japanese call biru, or as you Americans like to call it, beer.”
“So are we going to, like, go inside somewhere and drink?” I asked. James
started laughing.
“No, mate! That’s the great thing about this place; something you can’t do in
the states,” James said. “You can drink here. You can drink it right here now
and nobody can do anything. The police can’t do shit. It’s perfectly legal.”
We hopped on a train, beers in hand, and took off. Chris told me it was a
gaijin bar, which is a bar for foreigners. Despite my initial enthusiasm, I was
tired and hungry. And the beer was certainly not helping matters. I was ready
to go to bed.
We arrived in the Ikebukero district. As we exited, my senses were assaulted
with light and sounds, crowds of people walking in every direction, and build-
ings with bright signs advertising their businesses and wares. Music from stores
flooded into the streets while shop employees stood on boxes with megaphones
shouting at customers to check out their store.
We walked down the busy streets, finally arriving at a little underground
pub called the Hub. We ordered our drinks and some food. The conversation
grew louder, and the beer continued to flow. By the end of the night, as most of
the people had left the bar and chairs were being stacked up, Ryan, Chris, and
James were still animated, but I sat in the corner, slowly sipping my beer, strug-
gling to stay awake. At this point I didn’t care, the music around me began to
echo and I slowly began to drift off.
Chris shook me awake as James stood in the background laughing, con-
vinced that I was a lightweight. It was time to go home. Ryan was staying with
his girlfriend, which meant I was staying with Chris and James. As the three of
us walked back to the apartment, I noticed how quiet and empty the city was.
We were the only people on the sidewalks, and to me it felt like we were the
only people in the city.
“It’s funny,” Chris said. “This place is so busy and so full of people. It feels
weird to walk around like this late at night. It really makes you feel like you feel
powerful, like you own the city.”
I thought about it for a second, entertaining the fact that someone could own
Tokyo and laughed to myself. I was suddenly amazed how easily getting stuck
at the train station had ruined my first night here. I came all the way to Japan
to escape these feelings, but somehow they followed me. I felt sick. Why did
these things keep coming back to me?
We made it back to the apartment, and Chris gave me a spare mattress. Be-
fore sleep, I went outside on their tiny balcony and stared off in the distance. I
decided that tomorrow, whatever happened, I would be adventurous.
I was going to leave the old me behind once and for all.

The next morning, I awoke refreshed. The sky was slightly overcast but clear
enough to allow rays of sunshine to shine through. Despite being 6 a.m., people
opened shutters in front of their shops and children shouted and laughed on
the streets below.
Shopkeepers swept their sidewalks as bicyclists peddled by. I got on my
computer to let my parents know I had made it to Japan safely. I noticed that a
few of my friends had commented on my Facebook wall. These were the same
people that only a few months before were doing everything in their power to
avoid me.
“It’s probably just a formality, although it is a nice one. I probably won’t hear
from them again,” I thought as I shut my computer down.
After I took a shower and got dressed, Chris came up to me, looking slightly
tired but remarkably happy for someone who spent his entire night drinking.
 “Hey dude, me and my girlfriend were planning on going to the aquarium in
Enoshima, near the shore. Want to come?” he asked.
“Sure” I said. “I’ve never been to the ocean before, and I’ve only been to an
aquarium twice.”
We left that morning, and after taking three trains, we arrived at Enoshima.
The sunny, blue morning was replaced by gray skies with strong winds and a
torrential downpour. This was normal weather for Chris and his girlfriend,
Akiko. Umbrellas firmly in their hands, they laughed as I struggled to hang on
to mine. My flimsy umbrella stood no chance as I struggled just to walk down
the street, and yet I was actually enjoying this. I was in a disaster movie as the
rain pelted me from the side and palm leaves blew through the street.
For the first time, Japan was fun.

Enoshima was a small island, part of the city of Fujisawa an hour away from
Tokyo. It was filled with beach houses. In the distance, Mount Fuji loomed.
The aquarium was a modern-looking building that seemed completely out
of place in a traditional beach town with bright yellow surf shops and ramen
stands with palm trees on the side. It was large and curvy compared to the rigid
rectangular structures that surrounded it. Behind the aquarium parking lot, the
ocean waves raged and repeatedly knocked down surfers.
I couldn’t resist, I had to see the ocean up close. I started walking through
the parking lot and made my way to the beach area. Waves quickly started
crashing around my ankles.
When I was younger, I was terrified of the ocean. I was afraid of being swal-
lowed by it. Since I lived in Indiana, I never had to worry about getting swept
away from raging ocean waters, but the fear never left. As I got closer to the
edge and the waves continued to get larger, my heart raced. My brain screamed
at me to turn back, get out before the waves swallowed me whole, but my body
remained firmly in place. My adrenaline was pumping; my heart felt like it was
going to explode. I was facing the ocean, letting the salty water spray over me.
I looked up and saw surfers continually getting knocked off their boards before
popping up again. They refused to go down.
I must have looked like a fool to Chris and Akiko, but from where I was
standing, I couldn’t help but smile -- no longer afraid of silly things like oceans.
I returned to my new friends, and we made our way inside the aquarium. Its
main feature was the giant tank in the middle of the building, which housed
a variety of sea life. It was like a chunk of the ocean, suspended in a building.
Soon, though, Akiko began tugging at Chris’ sleeve.
 “Hungry?” she said as she gave a pouty face and pointed at the aquarium’s
restaurant.
“Well, I guess it means that it’s time for dinner,” Chris said.
The inside of the restaurant was all too familiar with the sight of wooden
chairs and tables as well as various tacky ocean items such as anchors and oars
hung on the wall.
“Wow, it’s just like home,” I said.
“Yeah man, Japan loves America,” Chris said. “Something about it seems so
grandiose, so larger than life that they’re constantly attracted to.”
Chris ordered and the food arrived. But there was something strange about
it. As I began to dig in, I noticed something weird in my spaghetti, almost
worm-like and thick sticking out of the noodles.
“Um, Chris, what’s sticking out of my spaghetti, this worm-like thing?” I
asked as I poked at it.
Chris and his girlfriend began to laugh as I cautiously prodded at the dish.
“It’s squid. You’re eating the tentacles off a squid right now. How do you feel
about that?” asked Chris jokingly as I grasped the tentacle-filled arm in my
chopsticks.
“I’m not sure I want to eat this, man. I mean, just look at it! It looks like
something not … natural,” I said as I played around with it some more.
“Dude, just try it. What do you have to lose? If you don’t like it, you can just
spit it out. Live a little,” said Chris as he chomped down on his own dish of
spaghetti and squid.
After working up the courage to move the chopsticks to my mouth, I shoved
the piece in and began to chew furiously, allowing no time for the flavor to sink
in. It felt like rubber. No matter how hard I chewed, I could not break it down.
It bounced around in my mouth until I managed to swallow the piece, chased
by several gulps of water. Chris and his girlfriend applauded, happy to see that
I was brave enough to eat something different.
I smiled and gave it a thumbs up. The truth was that I hated it. It had no
flavor and felt like tire rubber. Yet there was some immense satisfaction from
eating something I would never usually try, being more daring than I was back
home. I would later be told that there is a Japanese myth that by trying new
foods, a person gains an extra year to their life. I felt like I had gained three.
The train ride back was quiet, no one talking much about the day. My friends
nodded off as Chris’ head bobbed up and down and his girlfriend slept on his
shoulder. I was not tired. I was full of energy, wanting to do more than just go
back to the apartment and sleep until tomorrow. I felt energized and happy.
 Happy. Something that I hadn’t felt in a long time. This was a happiness I’ve
felt only a few times before. The times that meant the most to me were getting
accepted into college, meeting new friends, falling in love. These were feelings
we are lucky to experience a few times in our lives.
When we got back to the apartment, Chris and James were getting ready
for the work week. They would be busy until the late hours of the night. This
meant I would either have to stay in the apartment all day or stay out until the
late hours. I knew Ryan would accompany me a few days but for the most part
I would be on my own.
For the rest of the week, I would be exploring Tokyo with only a guide book
and a basic understanding of Japanese.
The next morning, I packed my bag with some cash, my train card, and the
guidebook. I didn’t have a cell phone that worked, so other than short bursts on
a payphone, calling people would be out of the question.
I was ready to get lost in Tokyo. I was ready to find myself.
I had no map. I had no guide. I had no itinerary or schedule. My starting
point would always be the Itabashi train station, each day traveling to a differ-
ent district in Tokyo.
The main train line that ran throughout Tokyo was the Yamanote Line,
which traveled around Tokyo in one large circle, making it easy to visit a new
place every day and reliably get back to Itabashi. Even if I missed a stop, all
I would have to do was stay on the train until I was returned to my original
destination.
I left that morning feeling excited, exhilarated by yesterday’s adventure. Get-
ting to each district by train was one story, but finding my way through each
district was another. My own sense of direction was horrible, and without a
map to guide me, I was utterly lost.
These thoughts lingered in my mind, but I pushed them aside.
I boarded the train and was greeted with a full car of Japanese businessmen
and uniformed school children. The train was filled to near capacity. I could
move just a few inches from my original position to grab hold of a handle. I
was wedged between an older businessman reading a newspaper and a teenage
girl texting. The feeling of being in between people, hardly able to move and
constantly rubbing up against them was unnerving. I was not used to being
close to people.

The train made its first stop, with only a few people getting out. As five people
left the car, eight more stuffed themselves in. Any space was completely taken.
I shifted uncomfortably, accidentally backing into the teenage girl and shoving
her against another girl. She threw me an irritated look.
“Sorry,” I said weakly, knowing that she probably didn’t understand what I
was saying but not knowing what else I could say.
I realized that if I was ever going to get off the train, I would have to be ag-
gressive. It was only logical that more people would get on the train if I waited.
As soon as the train stopped, I pushed my way through the crowd toward the
exit. People moved as best they could, but it was not enough to give me a clear
path. I kept on pushing, not hard enough to cause injury, but enough to make
my way through not only people on the train, but also moving past people get-
ting on the train.
I stepped on to the platform just as the doors shut and the train began to
move. It was only 9:45 a.m., and I had already done something I had never
done before. I had been aggressive and pushed myself off a crowded train in
Japan. I had taken action in my own hands for the first time since that fateful
night when I confronted Shu. It felt good. It felt liberating.
I made my way past the station gate and up to the city. The hot sun beat
down on me as I stood there, taking in my surroundings. An entire city lay in
front of me like a pile of Legos waiting to be assembled. I took one last look at
the station and took my first step toward nowhere.
“I’ll just keep walking until I find somewhere interesting,” I told myself.
As I walked away from the station and deeper into the maze of skyscrapers
and alleyways, I started smiling. These were the first steps on my own adven-
ture. I was Frodo leaving the Shire. I was Luke leaving Tatooine. This was my
adventure.
I started to explore my surroundings. I popped in to a convenience shop,
browsing the aisles and observing the different food and drink items. I ended
up going in to bigger stores filled with clothing and electronics. I’d always hated
shopping before, never enjoying looking just to look. I had always known what
I wanted and spent only as much time in the store as I had to. This felt dif-
ferent. It felt good to slow down for once, to just take it slow and take in the
details. The way food was organized on shelves. The way clothing stores are
themed for each section. These were small details I had spent my entire life
overlooking. Upon noticing them, it was like seeing color for the first time.
By afternoon, the sun was shining brightly in the sky. The temperature had
risen; the humidity had climbed; the air had grown stuffy. I needed a drink and
something to eat.
I found a restaurant called Matsuya, a fast-food place that sold gyudon, or
beef bowl. Ryan recommended it. It was fast and didn’t require an extensive
knowledge of Japanese to order. The process was simple. Go to the vending
machine inside, find your food choice, insert your money, give the ticket to an
attendant, and get your meal. I hungrily dug into my beef bowl, which filled me
up. Still, I hoped that my Japanese would eventually get good enough to order
from a restaurant that required human interaction.
The sun began to dip in the sky. Running out of buildings to explore, I made
my way toward the back alleys, where the bars and pubs were located. The
work day was ending and businessmen and other patrons were arriving, hap-
pily shouting and laughing. I sat outside two bars next to each other, watching
the people go in. My attention was drawn to a happy, young couple as they held
each other’s hand. They were both smiling, and they were both laughing. It
was obvious they were in love. As they gently kissed each other on the lips and
walked hand in hand in to the bar, I found myself smiling. It was a cute sight to
see, and I felt happy for them.
It dawned on me that just a few months before I would have been angry
upon seeing them. I would have hated the fact that they were sharing their
love with the world. This didn’t bother me anymore. It was clear that they were
happy. They were enjoying their company, enjoying their lives and living in the
moment.
It finally hit me that people found happiness in different ways and with dif-
ferent people. In retrospect, I felt ashamed that I acted the way I did. I was so
desperate to hold on to a single shred of happiness that I was willing to ruin
other people’s happiness to keep it.
Perhaps my happiness wasn’t meant to be found with my ex-girlfriend, but
now it didn’t matter. I didn’t need a relationship with someone to justify my
happiness, to give my life purpose and meaning. I was the one who dictated
this in the end, and as I sat in front of that bar watching people walk in and
out, I never felt happier.
I made my way back to the train station to take the last train back to Itabashi.
I sat on the train, keeping one eye on the destination marker and another on
the city as it traveled past my window. Tokyo was beginning to grow on me,
and I felt absolutely giddy about where I would go tomorrow.
Chris and James were about to go to bed when I walked in to the apartment.
“Did you have a good time, dude?” Chris asked.
“Oh yeah,” I replied. “I just walked around, but I had a great time.”

I checked my Facebook before going to bed and found a bunch of friends who
once again commented on my wall.
“Maybe they do care?” I thought.
I noticed that Shu’s feed was updated for me, and I saw him talking to my ex
on her wall.
“I miss you!” read the message, with a reply from her reading, “I miss you
too baby!”
Seeing this didn’t fill me with anger or sadness. I wasn’t hateful, jealous, or
even sad.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” I whispered to her, knowing there was no way she
could hear me. “I’m happy too. I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t think I
miss you anymore.”
That night I slept soundly.
Each day, I would follow the same morning routine: shower, dress, have
a quick and cheap meal, and be on my way to a new section of Tokyo. My
Japanese was beginning to improve. I was asking more questions and talk-
ing to more people. I browsed different shops and stores. I explored whatever
free public place was available. I had little cash with me, so buying things was
mostly out of the question. In place of spending money, I would take pictures
and take free fliers in place of posters and souvenirs. Some days were spent
browsing Japanese bookstores. Others would be spent inside a camera shop
or video game store. Parks and museums were great spots to explore, as they
offered many photo opportunities and landmarks to view. It got to the point
that I didn’t care where I went or what I did. I just wanted to soak up as much
of Tokyo as possible.
As the days turned into nights, I would end up outside exploring the back al-
leys where the homeless and drunks stayed. Bars would open, and hosts would
stand outside, frantically waving fliers and trying to get you to go inside. I
would wander the streets, taking in the sights of neon signs and the loud mix of
city noises. I didn’t want to drink when I was exploring. I wanted my senses to
be sharp so I could take in as much as possible. My meals would be quick, with
convenience shop sandwiches and green tea so I could eat on the go.
When my exploring was completed, I would return to the apartment, ex-
hausted but satisfied. I was beginning to fall in love with this city and all it had
to offer. Just knowing that every day I woke up would be spent finding some-
thing new made me more excited than anything else I had done. I was living
on my own and for myself. I was happy to be here; I was in love with the city. It
had everything I needed.
I discovered that, during the end of my final week in Tokyo, Aenea, one of my
friends from Ball State, was coming to visit Tokyo for a few days before joining
her family in Taiwan. Ryan thought we should meet with her to celebrate the
end of our trip.
We would be meeting up with our friend in Shibuya, one of the largest and
most famous districts in Tokyo, known for having the largest street crossing in
the world and some of the most well-known entertainment and fashion loca-
tions in Japan. Our plans were simple: blow whatever money we had left and
try to have as much fun as possible before leaving.
I was admittedly nervous about seeing Aenea. Like my other friends, she’d
distanced herself from me whenever possible. When we did run into each
other, she was always friendly and smiling, but I gradually saw less and less of
her as the semester went on.
I was afraid of what she thought of me. I had come to terms that I came off
as less than pleasant to a lot of people. I wondered if the time away from each
other would heal the bitterness between us. The nervousness ate away at me as
I boarded the train toward Shibuya, but it was too late to turn back.
I arrived and saw Ryan waiting outside the station. We started talking, and I
joked about our idea to have fun with our limited funds.
“This sounds like a really bad plan,” Ryan said.
“It probably is, but we’ve spent the entire trip being responsible. We can slack
off responsibility for one night, right?” I said.
“This is so stupid, but whatever, might as well enjoy it, might not be coming
back here,” said Ryan laughing.
The thought occurred to me a few days before, that there was a possibility I
might not come back to Japan. That thought was slowly becoming unaccept-
able in my mind. Days of wandering and exploration made me feel more con-
nected to this city than any other place I had been. I wandered Tokyo’s most
beautiful parks and seediest alleys. I knew all of Tokyo’s best places to visit and
some of its dirtiest secrets. I was too connected to this city to never come back.
Tokyo was a part of me now. It had left an imprint that would never go away. I
would come back someday.
Aenea found us as she came out of the station exit. Dressed in trendy jeans
and a blouse, Aenea had always been one of the most fashionable people in our
group of friends, and in one of the biggest fashion districts in Tokyo, she fit in
well.
“Ryan, oh my god, how are you?” asked Aenea as she gave him a hug.
The two of them talked as we entered the restaurant. I worried. “Why hasn’t
she talked to me yet?” I wondered. “Guess I really made an impression.”
Aenea looked away from Ryan and began to walk toward me. I froze, not
knowing what to do or say.
“Hi Kyle,” she said with a big smile. “How’s Tokyo?”
“Awesome,” I said. I was still apprehensive.
“Sweet!” she said. “It’s good to see you by the way. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”
“Too long,” I replied with a slight smile. She seemed friendly, but was she re-
ally happy to see me?
“Well, let’s not wait here any longer. I’m really hungry, and I know this place
that’s really good,” she said as she started to walk.
There was no use worrying anymore. Whether she was being sincere toward
me or not didn’t matter. This was the last night here, and as long as I was hav-
ing fun, I didn’t really care.
We walked to a restaurant three blocks from the train station. It was a nicer
restaurant than I was accustomed to. I welcomed the chance to eat fancy food
and drink expensive wine.
As the night wore on, we drank faster and talked more. We reminisced about
our friends, all the stupid things we did in the past, and all the pleasant memo-
ries that bound us together.
“Do you remember when you guys threw Johnny in the fountain?” Aenea
asked.
I found myself missing my friends. This made me realize just how much I
did with my friends, how much they made me laugh, how important they were
in my life.
Guilt washed over me. I remembered all the bad things I said to them over
the semester and how I went from being so close to them to being hated by
them. I was having a good time on my own, but if I had no one to share it with,
no one to be happy with, what was the point?
I knew that I had to make amends with the people at home. They weren’t
the problem; I was. I had let a situation spiral out of control, and instead of
handling it in a responsible way, I let my emotions get the best of me, chasing
everyone away in the process.
The happiness that had permeated me during this trip was coming back
again. It wasn’t because we were in a fancy restaurant, and it wasn’t because of
the food and drink. It was the joy of being with friends. My face glowed, and
my heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest. I couldn’t stop smiling. I
was happy again.
We spent the rest of the night drinking until the early hours of the morning,
when we went our separate ways. Once I got back to the apartment, I went on
Facebook to check in on people and saw a slew of comments and well wishes
from the same people who were posting as soon as I arrived in Tokyo. It wasn’t
a formality or a save of face; they really did care about me.
“I came here to forget about you guys. Why the hell did you still remember
me?” I asked them, knowing they couldn’t hear me but still wanting to ask out
loud.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I told them, before drifting off to sleep.

The next morning was time to start the long journey home. It would take at
least two hours and two train transfers to make our way to the airport. Just
thinking about leaving made me ill. How could I possibly leave this place? Just
2 1/2 weeks here and I felt more comfortable and more confident than I had
ever felt at home. In just one week, I learned to live on my own in a way college
couldn’t teach me. In just one week, I had learned more about myself than any
class could teach.
“Shame that you have to go back, huh?” said Chris as I was packing my bags.
“You come here for a while and you start liking it so much you can’t imagine
leaving.”
“I learned a lot from here,” I said. “It was a good point of my life for me to
come here.”
“That’s what I like about Tokyo,” Chris said. “You always keep learning about
it, and it never stops teaching you something that you need to know. It’s not
like New York or L.A., where you’re learning hard lessons and you’re just trying
to survive.”
“This city has been a better teacher than most in my life,” I said.
In the afternoon, I received a call from Aenea. She wanted to meet up for
coffee before we left for home. The Shibuya Starbucks was near the main train
station and overlooked Shibuya Crossing. It was combined with a multimedia
store, so while you sipped your coffee, you could browse music and movies.
The top story had a café area to sit down and talk while overlooking the street
crossing below.
We met and talked about what we’d miss most about Tokyo. It was small talk,
pleasant but nothing serious. After we ran out of things to talk about and were
sipping our coffee in silence, Aenea finally asked the question I had been think-
ing about the entire night before.
“Are you still mad at everyone?”
“No,” I said. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I came to realize that I handled
things the wrong way and ended up making it difficult on everyone else. If I
didn’t come on this trip, I don’t think I would have changed. I would have con-
tinued to be bitter, and that’s not the person I want to be. I want to be happy,
and I want my friends to be happy too.”
Aenea smiled. “I’m glad you’re not mad anymore. We really cared about
you and didn’t want to let you go. I would have been sad, and so would a lot of
other people.”
“To tell you the truth,” I said. “I can’t even remember some of the things I
was even mad at to begin with.”
We left the coffee shop and stood in front of the train station. I told Aenea
goodbye. Before we left she did something that she hadn’t done since we first
met: she hugged me.
“So,” she said, “you think everything can go back to normal?”
I finished embracing her and smiled. “Yeah, I think so.”
“I think we all needed this trip. I think things are going to be better once we
go back,” she said as she turned around and walked away, smiling back at me as
she left.

I watched Aenea disappear, knowing that when I saw her again, it would be
back at school. I wasn’t afraid of going back anymore. I wanted to go back. I
wanted to make things whole again.
I sat there, staring out at the buildings and the crowded streets below. The
sun was beginning to set, and the buildings were lighting up. For a vacation
with no set plans and no real goals, I felt accomplished. I felt that my problems
were suddenly lifted. I had a clearer view of what I wanted and where I needed
to be. Suddenly home didn’t seem that bad. Running away would never solve
anything. I would have to take control of my life, my goals and my worth. I
would have to apologize to the ones I hurt, even if it meant them not accepting
the apology.
Most importantly of all, I would have to find a way to come back to Japan, to
Tokyo.
I made my way to the subway, the last subway I’d take for awhile. Before en-
tering the station, I turned and gazed at the skyline again. The buildings, those
tall, neon-lit buildings, would forever be burnt in my mind. Turning around, I
left behind the city of my dreams, the city of lights and chaos. The city that put
my life back on course.
 If I Leave Here Tomorrow by The Invictus Writers is licensed under a Creative
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