Bubbling Like a Fever
The city is opening up to me like a fairytale. At first, it was gray, anonymous, all edges and noise. But now it’s bleeding color - flashing signs, temple eaves glowing under dusk, vending machines humming like lullabies. Kumamoto. It wasn’t mine, not at all. But I started stealing pieces of it. Slowly. Every time I open a new door or take a wrong turn, the city breathes a little louder. I’m beginning to hear its rhythm. Every day, something reveals itself. The blank spots in my head, those static-filled no-places - they’re finally vanishing. They become convenience stores glowing at midnight, playgrounds with rusty swings, alleys where cats stare like they know what I’m hiding.
I found people too. Accidental encounters. Strangers who became storylines who became friends. Faces, voices, footsteps beside mine. They teach me things. We walk this city like it’s a puzzle we’re trying to solve with our bodies. They show me corners I wouldn’t have dared to enter alone. We move through it, through each other, like we belong nowhere. The city never waited for me. But somehow it lets me in. It stares back at me with curiosity, like it’s trying to figure out what kind of ghost I am. Every corner hides something either heartbreakingly old or ridiculously new. Shrines behind cafés. Salarymen passed out on benches. High schoolers eating fries like it’s a ritual.
We visited a mall the other day. Huge. Unapologetic. Floating over the train station like a spaceship made of steel and fluorescent dreams. On top of it, above the noise and sorrows, red broth was bubbling in a hot pot like a fever. Meat curling. Mushrooms blooming. Vegetables losing their color like they were giving up dreams. The city sprawled outside the window, buildings layered like old scars. And we sat there above it all, dipping, chewing, and talking about everything and nothing. We burned our tongues and fears at the shabu-shabu place. We laughed. And we promised not to waste a moment, not to go quiet. That day felt like part of the city decided to remember us back.