Wilted Love in Little Tokyo

Wilted Love in Little Tokyo

My Japanese love started in 2016 when I was just 18 years old. On summer- break from college, I decided to go to Japan, to experience something different from the banal American culture that surrounded me. I met Ichiro at one of the bars I first attended to in Japan. Ichiro was almost six feet tall, his hair was black as coal with a sharp shine. He had a swimmer’s body, not too buff nor too lean- the one you would see in Korean fashion shows. Or maybe it was Japanese.

That night, when his mouth curved to a flirty smile exposing his white perfect teeth and his eyes narrowed till you could barely see them- I fell in love.

We spent this month together as if we were in a relationship for three years already. He showed me around more than I have ever expected to see, and this became a one-month routine. Our mornings started with a traditional Japanese breakfast and ended with several cocktails at the same bar, where we met, and finally making love in his bedroom.

We were on our way to the airport, holding our hands not ready to let go, “I will message you when I land back in California, drive safely back home. I love you” I said before I pulled him closer for a long farewell kiss.

“Okay” he said back, giving me that same first smile I fell for at that bar.

I landed in California and headed home to San Francisco, “I am home! What have you been up to?” I messaged Ichiro while I was waiting for a taxi. I held my phone so stiffly that it left a mark on my fingers- there was no reply.

After realizing I was just a one month stand for Ichiro by getting no response from him, I found myself depressed and desperate to reach him in any way possible, unsuccessfully. I wanted my time back, I wanted the memories to fade away but at the same time, I wanted to feel the same way as I did then. Wherever I went I saw him. I hallucinated Japanese people on campus all the time.

“Jess, if you really want to recall your experiences with this Asian dude why don’t you go to Little Tokyo?” My best friend asked me, persuading me to make a closure and leave my broken heart on the shelf of tiny furry hearts you see in the Little Tokyo resort stores. And so a week after returning from Japan, there began the end of my Japanese experience.

I clicked “accept”. Reserving a single room in “Kimpton Buchanan Hotel” in San Francisco Little Tokyo. “Be ready for a full Japanese experience” said the page after my payment. Was I ready?

I packed a bag and courage for three days, knowing that this is going to be a proper goodbye from my Japanese experience.

Everything in Little Tokyo screamed “Ichiro” to me, the red and white colors of the buildings’ walls, the Japanese letters on each store, the anime posters on the walls. It all reminded me of him.

I finished my nights with sushi and cocktails at Hinodeya Ramen Bar, just like we used to do together. Around me there were happy people, laughing and drinking as this was a vacation for them but for me a business. On my way back to the hotel I saw this one store called “Kawaii”, this is how Ichiro used to call me. I put my hands on the store’s glass to look inside. The store was of tiny dolls, Hello Kitty in so many sizes and colors, Pokémon creatures, small vintage furniture for decoration and plenty of tiny furry creatures with huge sweet eyes. I looked up again at the name of the store wondering what it was about, and why did this name fit me.

On my last day in Little Tokyo I decided to go to the famous event of the Cherry Blossom Festival. I thought it would be the proper way to separate myself from this colorful culture and put it behind me. The festival was just like I wished it to be. Food stands everywhere selling Japanese food on sticks and in origami boxes, actual cherry blossom trees hypnotizing by their delicate pink color. There were also Japanese melodies heard around, the ground was covered with hundreds of picnic blankets with families and couples dining on. I captured this moment in my head and my camera- this is how I wanted my Japanese experience to end, and not with a broken heart.

When I was waiting for a taxi to take me home, Ichiro’s name appeared on my phone: “This is Ichiro’s sister, I noticed you tried to reach him and I figured you were someone important since your name is shown as “Kawaii- My Cutie” on his phone- I got to turn on his phone just now. Ichiro was involved in a car accident on his way back from the airport last week. He was found dead”.