I once again have the reigns on the chaos that accompanies international living. My contract is finished, my apartment is clean and I am all set for a three week romp through the western provinces. Now, a bit of back logging:
Weirdness has a heart, a buzzing hive of pink punks and ukulele gangs. The "park" is more like a chaotic talent show with sword fights, break dancers, a-rhythmic clapping parties, and swing danging greasers littering the otherwise pristine greenery. A "Where's Waldo" shirt and a red Mohawk fit in perfectly. The park is a place where youth parades recklessness and passion. It was overwhelming how much random culture was pouring out into the atmosphere of Tokyo's Yoyogi park; NYC has a thing or two to learn.
The difference in expression between an adolescent/young adult Japanese and an adult is as clear cut a distinction as water and ice. The condensation of the free spirited youth into business suit wearing office workers occurs overnight. The Japanese treat the phases of their life like the change in their seasons; the change is abrupt and extreme. One of my students who commonly wears neon tights, random charms and sports multicolored hair showed up to class with straight black hair, a gray suit and a plain white bag because she got a job. That's the end and they know it, and I think they like it!
Until they reach that endpoint, the city has no shortage of kitch boutiques selling everything from authentic American civil war flags to Bob Seger vintage concert t-shirts to decorate the scattered identities of Tokyo's 20-somethings. I got some red suspenders and a black leather steel-studded wristband. My friend bought a t-shirt out of a giant plastic tube. We enjoyed our eccentric purchases over a cup of Bolivian coffee in a French cafe called the "Snob's Heart". Until I lived in this city, I never fully realized the extent of comfort the completely random offers my soul.
