I wake up earlier than usual, and I record a video that I can’t wait to share with all my online friends. I save it on my computer. But as I’m running late, I can’t edit now. I take it with me hoping to work on it while on the bullet train.
Once on the bullet train, I open my laptop, and my worst nightmare has become true, the file is nowhere to be seen. How could it be? I checked the video before leaving the house. I pressed play (you can only make same mistake twice. OK, maybe three times but this time, I checked, and I pushed record)
I could only find the photos I took after shooting the video. The photos that still mocking me.
But as I did a good job with these pics, I want you show them to you.
I wake up as I do every morning at 5:00 a.m. without alarms.
I think I am an early bird because I am neither tired or grumpy.
I am fully awake.
But today is Sunday, and although my heart is ready to write, my brain has decided not to oblige today.
“It is Sunday” it says “ I want to have fun, I want to watch TV, laugh at silly jokes, and enjoy” it demands.
“Only 5 minutes” I reply, and I start preparing my morning tea.
“We’ll see about it” it threatens me.
“Time to work” I say once I finished preparing my tea.
“But we work everyday. It is Sunday” it says almost crying.
“We gotta get on with it” I say trying to make it understand
“It is Sunday. I want to watch TV, laugh at silly jokes, and enjoy. I won’t work today” It repeats again.
So I turn on the tv, and here we are still discussing when it is a good time to start writing. Sometimes my brain doesn’t want to understand that writing is having fun, enjoying and laugh at silly things, even when those silly things are our own lack of concentration and skill.
I upload my contents like every day, and like every day, I take a second to thank whomever deity might make people click on my posts,
I upload today’s post. And instead of the delightful thrill, I get by seeing my posts flying on the web. I get chills because the generous spirits (genies or angels) that have been helping me, putting my posts out there, are not doing it anymore.
All I get is Error 5440. Click again and as many times as my trembling fingers allow me, and the same message comes out: Error 5440
I’m sweating cold, and the anxiety’s invisible hand is tightening around my throat.
I try again: Error 5440. And another message: the website you are trying to find is nonexistent.
This is too much for me
I decide to leave it for now and to make myself a cup of tea, but something is missing. Maybe biscuits could go well with this fiery cup of glory.
I leave the house, and right in front of the door, I find a group of funny looking spirits who seem to be having a jolly good time. They look at me and flee into the house like a group of mischievous children.Something tells me I should get a better set of helping genies because these are more bananas (crazy) than I am
Anyway, I think I’ll better get to work again because if I leave my genies to their free will, I will never get anything done.
Glamorous and exotic, Tokyo has countless secrets, some of them will never be shared, others will be given to you as soon as you arrive in the city. Some others will take time.
Tokyo is bejeweled but isn’t peaceful. Or so it seems at first glance, but if you give it time, it will tell you where to find those beautiful Eden gardens of peace. And it’s looking for peace myself that I made my way into “Ginza six” and on the 6th floor, I discovered “Ginza Tsutaya books” a real Eden of peace in this tumultuous city. One of Tokyo’s dearest secrets.
The warm lights and works of arts displayed everywhere make of “Ginza Tsutaya books” more than a bookstore but an art gallery, where entering means not only sharing knowledge but experiencing real traditional Japanese culture and the art that this encloses.
When asked about the “Ginza Tsutaya Books”, Pinlu Cheng, member of the PR department explains that “Ginza Tsutaya Books”, is special, a unique Tsutaya Books, because here (Ginza Tsutaya books) we want to people to see culture and art. We want our store to make people feel as if they were entering a gallery, where art and culture can not only be enjoyed but understood…”
And that’s exactly what you feel when arriving in “Ginza Tsutaya books”, where bonsai trees, samurai swords, gigantic books and works of art coexist to form a living haiku (short Japanese poem) that is “Ginza Tsutaya books”.
There she was waiting. I could see in her profile that she was shy.
Once we started talking I could see in her a wise but fragile soul, as she had survived not one but many battles, cried defeats and survived ignominy. She smiled and laughed at my poor attempts at humor. But her laughter, although sweet, was a cover. A cover of what? I don’t know. But I could see in her eyes memories that still hunt happiness away.
Her soul was a pandora box that could mirror the deepest darkest corners of ourselves. And yet, she was fragile. And in more need of protection than anybody, I have met before or after her.
“I have to go,” she said
She just stood up and walk out the door. And for a brief moment, I felt as if a part of me had just left behind her.