Don’t Wear My Socks, You Will Stretch Them

When we started out there was a fascination with each other physically, mentally, socially. We looked different, we came from different countries, and spoke different languages. It was a chance meeting of course. There were so many possibilities for it never to happen, but then again looking back and reviewing it all, we often discussed how we were bound to meet up eventually. We had gone to the same parties and knew the same people. In fact, it was remarkable that it took as long as it did for us to finally meet.

I remember it mostly.

My mind skips over some of the details. Like, was it raining that day, or just cold? I think it was cold, a crisp autumn evening in Osaka. I had spent the earlier part of the evening with my friend Takako at dinner. We had met in Umeda; the busy shopping hub filled with above and underground restaurants, bookstores, clothing stores, galleries and pretty much anything you wanted to find. Umeda was the less sleazy of the two hubs, Namba and Umeda, with Shinsaibashi the cousin that was cool, but not quite. I lived in Namba, naturally. We met under the “Big Man” screen at the station. There were two Big Man screens, which were two large TV screens sponsored by the company Big Man, whatever that was. One was slightly bigger than the other one. We always met there. Every foreigner knew the Big Man meet up spot.
Big Man.
Sometimes, in the rare occasion when I was early, I would tuck away and just watch all of the rendezvous among friends. It was better than being at the airport. I loved watching Japanese people meeting each other. Each party member would walk towards the other and wave persistently and continually as they approached the other, in full sight. The waving would never faulter or stop. Feverish quick snappy waves matched with big toothy smiles. It was as though each person couldn’t really see the other until they were about ten centimetres from the other. The waving would just continue until they hugged or bowed hello. I would adopt this meeting custom soon enough, and would find it difficult to shed when leaving.

Hai, hai, Big Man telebini mitemasu, ja mate ne...

She signed off from the call. Takako was a character. Was the character. She was a bundle of weird experiences all bound together in a small frame, and about seven years older, but looked the same age as me, if not she looked younger. It’s those genes! And well, someone who actually took care of their skin, not subjecting it to the harsh Australian sun. Someone who avoids getting sunburnt every summer, just to peel off dead skin, shedding it like a reptile. Lucky bitch!
She was from Osaka, but lived in the Kobe area, which was around 40 minutes away by train. Less if you take the Shinkansen of course, but who spends that kind of money just to go to Kobe! If Namba, Umeda and Shinsaibashi were all closely related by way of aesthetic, nightlife, shopping and fun things to do, Kobe was a distant distant cousin twice removed. A relatively new place, for Japan at least, it was mainly residential, with a main downtown area, but nothing really noteworthy to spend a load of time in to do. It has a port, so if you were a boat enthusiast of the shipping variety, it’s definitely your place.

Takako had a British accent, but every now and then she had a few words that popped out with an Australian accent. I loved it. She had studied in the UK, and had spent some time in Australia apparently. I didn’t really listen to the whole back story. All I knew was, she was a riot. We would go to karaoke bars together along with the rest of her crew; Masa, Masaki, Akko, Yu-chan, and Yuko typically were the repeat offenders. She of course could sing, they all could. Me not so much, not for lack of trying however! We would drink and smoke and cackle and roar with laughter every single time we got together. Now, looking back it felt like all we did was sing, eat and drink and laugh. We were punks and misfits and weirdos and boozers and the life of the party. This particular night, meeting rendezvous set at Big Man, the night was dining, with some drinks.

We arrived, waved and met. Just as all of the others had, and decided best to have a quick drink, we had just finished work after all, and went to a standing bar around a few streets away from the station, underground. She knew all of the cool little bars and eateries. We hadn’t caught up in a while and so had a bit to talk about. But mainly the theme of the night was men, usually was.

Where were all the men! I exclaimed rather than asked.

It’s so hard to date here! Japanese guys are intimidated of foreign women, especially Australian women. They think we are all like Xena Warrior Princess. In fairness we all are; warrior princesses.

Reductive and sweeping statement disclosure! Foreign men mainly were interested in Japanese women, I mean, that’s why they were there. There was no market for a foreign female minx, such as myself, I was deep in my compelling argument. She nodded and added a few:

…So nah… 

…Muzukoshi desho!

Our conversations were mostly in English, Takako’s was practically perfect, she’d like to tell you it wasn’t, but it was. Definitely much better than my Japanese at the very least. The way we communicated, which was the same way with most of my Japanese friends, was rhythmic and flowing. Conversations would have an almost natural sing-song to them; someone would speak, the other person would listen and think about what was said and offer a response. That could be a comment, thought, sound effect. But it would always, whatever was said by each person, be received. It had the rhythm of a good poem. I loved it so much, I miss it now. I often wonder if my life in Japan has impacted the way I am. Impacted the choices I make now, how I respond to others. I romanticize it a lot. I like to think that my time living in Japan makes me more polite and more intrigued of others. It does to an extent I suppose, but my natural state always comes back.

Lament! Lament! Lament! This was before internet dating. Actually, it probably wasn’t, Japan always did things first. I am sure there was a fully fledged internet dating scene, I was just unaware of it. I had decided to call it quits; I had lived in Japan for almost 2 years. I broke up with my ex after 3 months of arrival, and the remainder time was just floating about exploring the country. It wasn’t like all I wanted was a boyfriend, but a little interest would be nice! I told Takako that I had booked flights home via Vietnam. I wouldn’t be leaving for another 4 months, but it was a goal. Takako nodded and agreed. Men sucked and were so elusive. Ha! We were debating continuing the night further, more drinks? I’d been invited to some live music in Shinsaibashi area, and I was debating going, Takako politely passed, but encouraged me to go. You may as well, nothing else is happening tonight!

We walked back to the station together, jumped on the same train for a few stops. Just as we met, we said goodbye in the same fashion, waving feverishly and continually, until we were out of sight. It always made me beam with glee. Maybe that was the point?

Peter, James’ friend had invited me to the gig. It was live drum and bass in a tiny café in Amekumura, the American village, a few streets away from Shinsaibashi. Pete and James were from New Zealand. James was part of my Sydney crew, so family. Pete went to art school with James, and I had just met him in Japan. He was pretty tall, taller than both James and I, and wore dress shirts and jeans. Definitely cut from a different fashion rug to James and I, who dressed like a five year old had chosen the outfits. At least in my case. Layers! Colours! Big, beaded necklaces. Nothing was understated. Oh, I miss nineties fashion. Luckily this is my first revival, and I get to experience it again.

I absolutely love drum and bass. I love LIVE drum and bass even more. I love how it is just so hard to dance to it, without giving your whole self to the sounds. You just respond to the beats. In fact, this would be the first time for me to see a live set. I swanned into the bar area and found someone to get me a beer. I spotted Pete pretty quickly. Being over 6 foot, big blue eyes and no hair, made him stand out. Instead of waving maniacally, we just bowed and nodded and cheered our glasses. We exchanged pleasantries, oh how it was wonderful it being the weekend, and the music was great and the such. It was early on, so the flow of the booze hadn’t enhanced my conversational skills just yet. Out of nowhere a young Japanese guy moved towards us. He smiled as Pete recognised him.

Oh, hey man, how you doing?

I couldn’t really catch their conversation, but I knew it would just be much of what was just said between Pete and me. I focused on the music. It was so amazing! There was one guy with electronic drum pads, absolutely going nuts. I wanted to just move my body along with the music and do nothing else, but there wasn’t really a dancing area. So, I just moved a little bit. My feet were tapping wildly though.

Where did Pete go? I saw in the distance he was moving through the crowd, working it. He was a constant networker that’s for sure. The young Japanese man leaned in, he was a bit shorter than me, but that was fairly common. I’m not 6 foot, but definitely taller than the average person in Japan. Plus, I was wearing wedges so had some height tonight.

Hey, what’s your name?

Who me?

Yeah!

I’m Karen. 

As I said my name, he nodded and smiled, I wondered if he had heard correctly. It was as if he was expecting me to say that.

How about you?

I’m Kei, nice to meet you!

Nice to meet you too! How do you know Pete? I asked.

I don’t think I ever really got how he knew Pete, I definitely didn’t get it that night, the music was so loud, and our encounter was so brief. I remember thinking he was pretty cute, but it didn’t really extend past the pleasantries. I’d later find out that when he heard my name, it had just confirmed to him that we were destined to meet. He loved the Yeah, Yeah, Yeah’s and Karen O was one of his crushes. He claimed that I looked like her. Tall, skinny, black jeans, red lips. Out of his league, but he was curious, nonetheless. Before the night was over, he had asked for my number. I didn’t really think much of it actually, it was a party, and everyone was there to meet people. I think it took him a few days to actually text me, and a few days after that for us to go on a date. Well, it wasn’t really a date. More a scheduled rendezvous. I had actually invited another guy I had well… a bit of an appreciation of. Yoshi, he was an aspiring music photographer, and was cute. A little reserved, but that was most guys I had discovered. But in the end Kei won out. Yoshi was too shy, and Kei was this young confident guy who seemed to know a lot about music. A reoccurring theme in my guy list.

What proceeded would be an intense courtship, one where we would be inseparable for the next few months. He was younger than me, I could tell. I was 23 and he said he was 21, which was a lie, but I wouldn’t know that until much later. We liked the same music, we both loved Radiohead, and of course the Yeah, Yeah, Yeah’s. We adopted Maps as our song, and would always play it when at house parties. He’d always stay at my place, saying that he still lived with his parents, which of course wasn’t uncommon, so it was just convenient. We’d been together for around two months, seeing each other every other day. Looking back at the timeline, it was indeed intense, but I guess that’s what you did when you were in your twenties.  I told Kei that I had decided to leave Japan, and I was going to Vietnam for a few weeks before heading home. It was annoying timing; I didn’t really know or want to think about what that meant for a relationship starting out. He said that he was finishing his uni, he was studying engineering, was naturally smart acing his assignments and just had to submit one or two more assignments. He asked if he could come to Vietnam with me, and I said,

Sure, why not.

I’ve often said, or someone has, holidaying can make or break a relationship. You can gel extremely well together as you navigate new environments, or it can be one long argument. We thankfully worked so well together, in the beginning of course. I thought one seamless holiday meant all seamless holidays.

We traveled throughout Vietnam from the bottom to the top and back down again. We had arrived in Ho Chi Minh City during monsoon season and the streets were flooded. It was exhilarating wading through the streets to our hotel with our luggage on our heads. We hired motor bikes and zigzagged through the landscaped mountains of Sapa. We doubled and tripled back after I had lost my Raybans, all the while he calmly just went along and lead the way ahead. It was romantic and fun, perhaps because I was heading home at the end of it and he was heading back to Japan. As the time neared to our departure dates, we promised each other to do distant relationship, until one of us moved to the others’ country. Perhaps I’d go back to Japan, or he would come to Australia.

It took a holiday back in Japan, and a holiday in Australia before we decided that Kei was going to come to Australia to live. During my holiday in Japan Kei had bought me a gift, it must have been for my birthday. Expensive perfume. Who was this guy? I remember opening it, smelling it, and surprisingly loving it. As I opened it, he leant in and said

I love you.

I thought when I heard someone say that to me, I would warm up inside and have an in surge of feeling. I didn’t. I felt immediate responsibility. I need to say something in return, it’s only polite.

I love you too.

I knew I didn’t. I knew I loved spending time with him. It was enjoyable, but was it actually love? I had no idea what that was, but I didn’t think I was feeling it. I felt like a fraud, and puzzled at what could be wrong with me. I chose to ignore this. Which is my only regret. I don’t regret spending the ten years with him. I don’t regret our fights, him yelling at me for wearing his socks, me yelling at him for putting his friends first. I don’t regret our intimate and personal adventures we took throughout Japan and Australia, trekking throughout the village where Ponyo was set, driving along the Great Ocean road, to almost colliding with an emu late at night. I remember all of it with fondness. I don’t regret breaking up with him after just a few months of his arrival, because he was so dependent on me, I just freaked out. Only to get back together again a few months later. I don’t regret any of our memories at all. But I do regret not being honest with myself, and ultimately him. It would’ve made for a better relationship. All a learning experience I suppose, and the lesson took a long time for me to learn.

I look down at my ankles and wonder if I would’ve actually stretched them out. Probably. I smile thinking about his warped socks falling into his shoes.