Tetsugakudo Park
It's a scene from Perfect Days, I say to Luther and Jaylord, my friends for more than twenty years.
They don’t understand the pop culture reference off the bat, but they listen, perceptive as ever. As we walk around Tetsugakudo Park, hiding under the shade to shield us from the summer heat, I explain: It’s a movie directed by Wim Wenders about a man who cleans toilets and lives a simple life. He reads a book at night and wakes up early in the morning. He takes a break at lunch, eats onigiri (or am I imagining that part?), and enjoys “the sunlight that filters through the leaves of trees.” The Japanese call it komorebi. The film won’t make sense anywhere else but in Japan, a country that isn’t quite like any other place I’ve been to.
We briefly rest on a bench and sip iced tea we got from a vending machine. I look up and witness the gentle dancing of trees, tickled by the intermittent whispers of the summer wind.
They look great in the fall, Luther tells me, pointing to the trees. Earlier, walking with me from his home in Shinjuku, where I am given five-star accommodations, to Jaylord’s new apartment, he showed me the queue of trees lush with greenery and told me they are cherry blossoms. He pointed out the reservoir of flood waters beneath the park grounds, a feat of Japanese engineering and thoughtfulness. I learn so much from Luther, one of the smartest and wisest people I know. He breezes through difficult subjects while the rest of us struggle to even pass.
Jaylord says to me, Would you believe people come to us for help with English? It's crazy. Luther chimes in, In college, writing those papers gave me a very hard time! Now I'm consulted to check their grammar!
I’m visiting Tokyo for the weekend, a trip I brought upon myself after I booked round-trip tickets on a whim. Luther and Mau’s son Leroy had been asking about cells and doctors. It was really Mau—I fondly call her Mrs. Mau now; I had the privilege of emceeing their joyful wedding reception in Tagaytay—who got me thinking of visiting Tokyo. Of course I wanted to show myself to Leroy. I packed a white coat and a stethoscope, things that would show Leroy I'm a cool uncle. The last time I saw Leroy he was a little boy, being carried around, barely talking. I have other dear friends who live in the area. Jaylord and wife Raine had just been married. I hadn't seen Razel since college graduation! Mich is taking her master's and is set to be married soon to another dear friend, the number one reader of this overly popular website (for context: the daily traffic is 2 views per day.)
My friends have lived in the city for several years. They look the same as when I had last seen them in person. I can’t quite remember when that was, for the past has a way of obscuring the boundaries of time. I feel like we’d just seen each other last week.
I’ve come to a point in my life where I equate travel with reconnection and disconnection. I’m past the midpoint of my lifespan, considering the average Filipino lifespan to be 72.19 years (as of 2022). I might as well spend time with friends who have known me since before: a rekindling of relationships, if you will, for these people are precious to me and have walked with me during my faltering, emaciated, but joyful days of college. Would I wait until retirement to do that, when my knees will falter and my mind will have a hard time remembering flight details? Electronic connections are inferior to face to face conversations. I realize that a few days spent with friends is soul-nourishing, but it can only happen with temporary and deliberate disconnection from my every day routines. Work can be crushing, no matter what limits I set. True rest, I’ve realized, is primarily spiritual. Augustine wrote about our hearts being restless until they find rest in God. But rest is also aided by physical disconnection, a sense of unreachable-ness sometimes achieved through a four-hour flight and a tourist visa.
Discovering places still gives me joy, a sense of childlike wonder at the peculiarities of a place or culture. A college professor once told me that travel is just as educational as a four-year university degree. But I can say the same about being in the company of these friends, whose worldview is shaped by an abundance sustained by the grace of God, overflowing with their love for others and in their competence to deal with the realities of life.
Luther and Jaylord, both brilliant engineers and meticulous planners, ask me where I want to go.
I tell them, Anywhere with you, an answer that makes them scratch their heads.
