First Impressions of Tsukuba


We visited Tsukuba this Sunday.

The train ride was expensive yet fun. After the last agglomeration of houses disappeared, the landscape started screaming ‘Midwest’. Excuse me, ma’am, is this Highway 67? I think we got lost on our way to St. Louis…

The fun was suddenly truncated when we found ourselves exploring the University’s neverending campus and desolation became evident. Neon green slime bubbled on the surface of what seemed to have been a fountain decades ago while a lonely cherry tree was stripped from its unusually early beauty by the dirty brick buildings surrounding it and the undeserving reflection on the turbid pool where carps made their way through brown curls dancing like solid threads of cigarette smoke.

And then, the dorm. “Do not walk this path on your own at night,” was our welcome sign into the dormitory area, which felt like an abandoned world in sepia. A landscape drenched in monochrome sadness, an atmosphere of utter despondency, the last stage of a slow nightmare set inside a vintage photograph of naked trees and still waters.

I need to take some serious measures if I don’t want my head to fall into the darkest pits of depression after moving into the dorm.

終

Today has been our last day of class at the Japanese Language Center. What seemed like a numb routine stuck forever in a scratched vinyl record is suddenly over.

Is that good or bad news?

"This Is Not Colombia!"

So used to say Cora around the end of autumn whenever she saw me going out with wet hair.

Yesterday morning, the temperature in Bogotá was -4°C.

No, this is not Colombia. This is a warmer place.

Update: -8ºC. Do not expect a lot of flowers for Valentines Day.

Mare Pacificum, ad infinitum.

I can see him. I can see daylight while I’m immersed in darkness. His soft voice comes to me with little delay, assuring me there is nothing to be scared of.

Time feels like an endless ocean, us standing on opposite shores; but with every tick of the clock a grain of sand comes afloat, and peninsulas begin to grow like steady branches on a soft horizontal tree. We stand facing each other, eyes closed, breathing in the salty wind whose wild dance is only the prelude to a memory. The beaches surrounding either side remain unexplored, enticing, but we know they could never be as interesting as they would be if they let two pairs of footprints fade into the water.

One day, when we least expect it, the marine scent will be replaced by that of fresh grass, and we’ll walk into an isthmus in the midst of which we are to run into each other’s arms, into the promise of a vast horizon to leave behind.

I can see him, but I can’t. And I wish I could build that seemingly impossible strip of land with my own bare hands.