The timing of my Okinawa trip couldn’t have been more perfect. Everything started there and now I return, and it is all over. Irrelevant instances I have been overthinking about for half a decade no longer matter, but it still feels like it is going to keep following me.
I thought my mind would explode being back, all this seeing familiar faces and sites. I went past my childhood home and noticed the new family painted over the mold on the concrete foundation. I thought about all the times a drunkard was passed out in front of it, and all the times vomit appeared in a new spot on my way to school. I passed the house suspected of Yakuza involvement right across the elementary school. All the spot this military man hit on younger me. The sidewalk where an old lady died of heat, and I thought she was trying to mug me. I saw the alley way I passed out in once and I would never dare to venture into it again. Also, the house a former friend resided in, where all the distasteful happened. The aquarium I’ve been to a thousand times for field trips, the mountain I used to be able to climb five times a day, and the sidewalk of my first kiss. It is so many memories, they wouldn’t have as much importance to me if I stayed forever. I still feel like I have stayed forever. Maybe because I spent too much time on Google Earth, stalked photography accounts, and watched drive through videos. I have been existing there and I have molded around its changes. Businesses shut down and replaced, the Fishermans market was recolored, protests relocated to other spots, new building constructed where traditional houses once held an abundant of strays. My island is much more than a place of origin; it’s the birth of language, the foods of comfort and survival, where blood is absorbed in the land and sea, and where many souls rest. A connection that lingers even when the politics are frustrating and the life of the regular local is not easy in the slightest, I will always love it.
I promised myself never to speak of him again. I don’t want to know where he is. I no longer want to think of him. Memory has a funny property to exist longer than our encounters. I caught a glimpse of that Koza alley I once shared with Jasper. I half expected him to show up the weeks I was visiting. Like he would suddenly show up in the most random of places and I would still go speechless. And he did visit… one week after I returned to the states. I always just barely missed him. It’s been exhausting to have him in the back of my mind for nearly five years, excruciating really. I think I have finally let him go for the most part. I had some casual conversations with a good friend of his, who has somehow retained memory of me. We never really talked before when we were in school together it was very odd seeing a look of familiarity in him. Our conversations do not last long, I get embarrassed knowing his is close to Jasper and I am trying to let every bit of him go. Thank God the two are not super alike, that would make me paranoid. To be honest, Jasper makes me feel like Carries Bradshaw from Sex and the City.
Speaking of Sex and the City, I actually have something positive to write about. The fleeting of childhood and entering a new chapter in life has changed a refined my aesthetic tastes. Clothing wise, I formally limited myself to pieces I could find exact replicas of and afford with little tip money. It was easier to quickly finish putting together a wardrobe that lacks creativity and personality. Now, that I am influenced by the cultural impact of Carrie Bradshaw and Charlotte York, I allowed myself to embrace pieces I considered unattainable for me. Of course, the lifestyles of the Sex and the City cast are polar to mine, but I can ignore the class differences for some fashion inspo.
I let in more softer textures to my main colors of red, blue, green, and neutrals. Some frills, lace, knit, and fur to add to leather and denim. I dabble more in animal print and plaid (the preppy Vivienne Westwood type). I am drawn to slightly bulky bracelets, belts, and statement pendants. The only rings I want are Fusa in silver and gold. I am more comfortable in myself for skirts and dress. Allowing myself to look at shoes that are not tennis or converse, I was afraid to before had because I cannot afford fancier shoes, but it actually does not hurt to look at it. I do have to keep myself from spending impulsively with paranoia. Altogether I draw from Elena Gilbert, Carrie Bradshaw, Charlotte York, Lana Del Ray, Preppy, southern gothic, street wearish, and hoochie mama.
Personal vibes wise, instead of attempting to emulate a “going out baddie” vibes I felt influenced by my girls, I dabble more into my book, cat, and flower loving self. I love my girls; however, I do not have to energy to doll myself up like they do. The look is very overwhelming on my features, it is good practice to get used to my bare skin.
My interior tastes shifted more organic to my nature. I prefer the orange-brown wood I hated as a child over the plain modern white and striking black furniture. It has turned more romantic, collectable, in line with makeup of my Ojii and Obaa’s house. I like the look of traditional okinawan pottery on shelves, pictures posted everywhere, book piles, screen windows, decorative tile bathrooms, one person sized comfy chairs, and an intimate breakfast table for two. I resonate more with dangly entry ways, warm lighting, closer to the floor furniture, and gold framed art pieces.
Overall, I have morphed to be kinder on myself and it is showing physically.
Everything is flowing seamlessly :)
BEAUTIFUL