"This is AC002 departing for Narita International Airport in Tokyo." The captain of the flight had a typical captain name. I always wondered why they sounded so fitting. Did they change their pilot names or were only candidates with professional sounding names hired? He had a typical captain's voice too. Not too deep, not high at all, with a thick raspy texture like one of those folksy acoustic singers. "Local time is four in the early morning. The weather in Tokyo currently: clear skies, a light North Easterly breeze, 15 degrees Celsius. Flight duration should be thirteen hours and thirty five minutes, give or take." The flight attendant, Ozawa, then translated the message in perfect Japanese. It felt good to hear Japanese again. Especially from a pleasant female voice. I would listen to her explain breathing apparatuses any day.

I watched a CNBLUE concert DVD I had brought and a Korean film from the TV on board: "Hindsight" with Shin Se Kyung. I thought the actress was pretty - and hot. She was an ace marksman, sniper rifle and all, hair over eyes, black eyeshadow, reluctant but efficient. Some tense romance with an older man, household scenes and gritty action shots. Bullets and car crashes. Questions about morality and conscience. And love. Always love. I took pictures of the screen whenever her face combined the look of cold killer and cute - a bad habit of mine. I knew from the get-go I would be taking a lot of pictures.

No less, I took pictures of my appetizer. It was served soon after take-off. It came in a tray and polished clinking dishes, full knife and fork work over salad and smoked salmon, marinated shrimp and sauteed scallop. Decorated and arranged like Japanese flowers. On a plane was the last place I had expected an art form. Dinner later was grilled clams, simmered and fried tofu, sushi, sushi, miso, steamed rice and all. Dessert after. I ate with my feet propped horizontal, blanket over my legs, back reclined. It was warm and tight. Breakfast in bed, kind of. Everyone must have had the same treatment but I couldn't see them. I asked for a beer after, before I cracked open an old guidebook on Japan to review my notes.

I was staying right near downtown youth central in the Meiji-Jingu-Mae, Sendagaya, Harajuku area, at Hiromi-san's place. Harajuku was a fashion district right next to Shibuya and higher end brand name Omotesando, with easy access to Shinjuku and Takadanobaba and Ikebukuro. Yoyogi Park and the Meiji Shrine was just a walk away. All along the famous west side of the Tokyo Yamanote main core. Nevertheless, I was pretty thrilled. Everyday I would be pushing through Takeshita Street in a sea of bobbing coloured heads, eccentric fashion, black men hustling products, high school uniforms, cell phones and flawless made up faces. The noise and the hip hop signs. It would become an integral part of my life. It would become home.

At one point on the flight, I woke up and couldn't tell whether it was night or day - funny when time becomes irrelevant. The number game is just a human construct with no regard to subjective experience. It felt long and endless. It wasn't so different from sailing across the Pacific, where the horizon was compressed into a flat line, the dark gray of the ocean and the lighter shade of the sky drawn straight like an abstract painting. No matter what waves pitched the boat, and how seasick, the journey was onward, because there was no choice. Pick a direction, and you would still be going. The question was how long. And how long seemed to stretch and contract, elastic band-like. I couldn't have been asleep for too long. I tried to make calculations and discovered it would be around seven in the evening back home. Morning in Tokyo. It was still the first leg of the journey. In an endless, timeless purgatory. Harajuku looked incredibly distant at that moment. It didn't matter that I was laid flat on my first class bed; signature of flights, I felt that slight headache and intense dryness, lightheaded and disoriented as if you were swimming in dark blue oil slicks all night. It was an oxymoronic hot and stuffy but cold at the same time, somehow. My stomach was growling. Everyone else seemed to be asleep. I wondered what my parents were doing back home. What She was doing. I had texted her before we flew but I didn't receive an answer.

One of the great privileges of first class is having service all times of the flight - and that they knew your name. I felt spoiled as I hit my service button. A minute later the same attendant appeared. Her first name was Mari. She spoke in a low voice as if sharing a secret. "Did you need something, Mr. Lee?"

I asked in Japanese if there was anything available to eat. I had read on the flight menu that there would be food available on request.

She gave a friendly smile and replied in Japanese. "Most certainly. We can ready one of the main courses for you. We also have sandwiches, salad, cup noodles. Everything on the menu."

I went with the noodles. Soggy, I liked them soggy.

The black case the blonde woman had given me contained things like earplugs, an eye-mask, toothbrush and paste, lotion, wet towels, lip balm, socks, cologne, a comb, earphones, mint candy - might as well have had a few guitar picks too. I figured the pouch would make a good external hard-drive case, and it did. The eye mask, on the other hand, did little to help me fall asleep. I listened to the roar of the engines that seemed to rise in crescendo and saw kaleidoscopic images in my mind. I tried music, and entered a shapeless bath of YUI's sentiment. But I could feel the bed vibrate. The noodles were still warm in my chest. I sat up and opened a window and it was this dark emptiness outside. I could see nothing except for intermittent dashes of light against clouds or what I thought were clouds. We were much too high for clouds. They could've been lost spirits drifting along for the ride. The blankets I had weren't enough. I asked for one more and hot tea.

It didn't matter that I had first class room or decent bedding. Sleep and the human consciousness came and went as they so pleased. By the time we arrived, I had exhausted two more movies, a file of free association and stream of consciousness, the entire playlist of Japanese pop rock, few pages of sketches and three cup noodles like a chain smoker. The final time I fell asleep was embarassingly to my own song.

.

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Note #1 04/01

A lot of solo travelers in the airport. All kinds of people. I wonder what their stories are. Where they are staying. What they're traveling for. If they have friends waiting for them at their destinations. I feel like I'm leaving everything behind and taking a leap of faith. Well, maybe I am.

.

Note #2 04/02

Loneliness is starting to seep in. Already? It would be great if I had company. I'm always on my own, striving alone, dreaming alone, accomplishing and failing alone, chasing things that are ever ahead of me. For the next three months I will be operating solo, in a place where I probably wouldn't function smoothly - or normally. I'll feel more disconnected from the world than ever before. I've always thought just my music alone is enough, that I will be alright - even if I'm alone.

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Note #3 04/02

Watched my YUI concert DVD and immediately as her music and performance and aura overwhelmed me, it brought me back to the core of who I am. The core of music. YUI's story was not one that was full of romance or companionship either, she fought for her dreams alone in the beginning, with nothing but a guitar and impulse, as a somewhat introverted quiet soul. And even now I can't help but notice the strength and independent determination from the inside of her heart and soul. Her whole being breathes the same passion and conviction. The passion for music is not dependent on anything else. Watching her smile while she plays, conveys the warmth of music - that she wanted to touch lives, to inspire, to empower with this gentle strength. The simple and raw aura of her music is so pure, it is unmistakable - you can't miss it. Indeed, she was the one who started me on my journey and my dreams. It's always good to reflect on where you came from. I trust that my music also carries the same kind of message and beliefs, whether it was conscious or unconscious, intentional or unintentional, as I was born from the same spirit in YUI. I remember where I've come from. I feel alive again.

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Note #4 04/02

We say nothing
while the landscape outside
streams like liquid grace
streams by like consciousness
cutting across time and space
How did we end up here?
Fixed on crossroads and
out of the frying pan into the fire
Which way you go decides fate
But what if fate has already been decided?

I think you've got a misconception
Maybe it's my fault and my intentions
Maybe I'm wrong but surely no one else is right
But still there's something worth striving for

If I keep keep trying
Do the ends meet?
And if we sing sing and sing
Do we get any closer?
If we hang on and stay on
Will we make it to the end?
If I take your hand
Would there be an exception?

Can you tell I'm coming to the end of my line
There's this weight I can't get off my chest
Every single breath I take
It starts falling into pieces

All their stares tell us
That we can't make it
But breathing isn't living
The mundane things
They won't replace us
They won't replace anything

Will you pick them up?
Will you pick me up?
And put the pieces back together
Like a jigsaw puzzle
From the time we were kids

Maybe it's a little too late to say this
But i think there's something about you
Thinking about you
I'm living between the black and whites
And all the bridges have burnt down
I don't know what's right what's wrong now
We'll make the best of this

What if this world comes to an end?
And what if we lose sight of ourselves?
Will you remember me til the end?

"Dreams won't come true" they say
Are we nothing special any more?
But at least we've got each other

But I've still got this feeling inside
I've got a getaway plan
So let go let go let go, come with me