You could get what you want or you could just get old

Yesterday I wanted a tiny cake. 

Not a bento cake, although I have tried them once or twice. I’m talking about the pre-made three-inch cakes covered in sickly-sweet, powdery frosting from a cake stall you’d often walk right past at the mall. If you can’t quite understand what I’m referring to, I don’t blame you. You wouldn’t know they were even there unless you stopped and really looked, past the Barbies wearing heavy chiffon skirts (I celebrated my seventh birthday with one) and the racecars sporting shiny red fondant paint jobs. They’re usually displayed in a line beneath the glass counter, and people don’t typically peruse specialty cake stores unless they have a reason to. 

My first taste of these treats probably counted as more of a cupcake, years before cupcakes really blew up as a trendy dessert. My mom managed the showroom of a Maco Kuchen in Shangri-La Plaza, and sometimes I would get to visit after school and close up with her, after which we would take the MRT home. On the fifth floor on our way to Shaw Station, we would stop by the Art Cakes stall just before the exit and buy character cakes—deep, dark chocolate batter baked into palm-sized aluminum cups and decorated with the faces of cartoon characters. We’d get Tom and Jerry, or Tweety and Sylvester, or Elmo and Cookie Monster. 

The cakes came with plastic forks, and even after twenty years my sense memory of them is so strong that sometimes it feels like a phantom limb: my teeth scraping against smooth plastic, frosting on my lips, the dense, slightly bitter chocolate cake complementing the saccharine buttercream. 

I don’t remember which came first: my mom leaving her job at the showroom so she and my dad could start their own business, or Art Cakes’ closure. Either way, this routine we had eventually became just another thing we used to do. 

I got to have them again once or twice over the years, delighted at the discovery that the Cakes ‘r’ Us near me had little cakes, too. They no longer came in cups or frosted with animated icons, but they tasted just the way they used to in my childhood memories nonetheless. Most of the time, though, I let myself pass the shop and the cakes by, either too preoccupied with the life I’ve come to live or too shy to come up and just buy one out of the blue. 

The last time I had a tiny cake was five years ago, bought on a whim from a similar type of cake shop in Megamall on a day when everything seemed to be falling apart and I found myself turning to any source of fleeting comfort I could think of. It was a new year and I had just gotten diagnosed with depression and I didn’t want to go home just yet, so I decided, fuck it. I went up to the stall, picked a cake out from the day’s display, and took it down to the food court. It was decorated on the sides in stripes of different colors, the frosting piped downward, the top of the cake a plain pale lavender and framed in dollops of chocolate frosting. No pastels, no patterns, no rainbows, just vivid shades. 

And it tasted the same. Of course it tasted the same. I ate less than half and took the rest home, and I showed it to my mom and we laughed about me being silly and nostalgic and spontaneous. I asked if she wanted any and she said she would have a bite. 

When bento cakes became popular, I adored them for their cuteness and how creative they could be: puffy frosted flowers, faux watercolor, even the chic minimalist ones with short and sweet messages piped neatly onto solid colors. But every time I take a bite, I just end up missing the flavor I know best: like yesterday’s birthday cake, just a tad more bittersweet. In more ways than one.

I can’t remember the last time I passed a cake stall at the mall. There are the fancy bakeshops, sure, only they never have exactly what I’m looking for. In my mind I want to believe I can walk into an SM and find another one. I can even picture the exact places I’d try to look. But I’m pretty sure they’ll no longer be there. Just another thing we used to do, just another thing I took for granted. Just another thing I can’t bring back from the life I was lucky to share with my parents.

(Recently I realized I’ll never have a 13 Going on 30 “Vienna” scene because my parents won’t be there when I turn 30.)

The tiny cakes I grew up with weren’t as sophisticated or pretty as bento cakes. They were kitschy and colorful, piped with standard, impersonal greetings: “Congratulations!” “I love you.” “Happy birthday!” Not much room for personalization. (Literally. They were too small.) But they were cheap and they were still cute and they were good, the perfect last-minute pick-me-up for a celebration with someone dear to you—or for yourself when days felt too ordinary or too gloomy. 

What I’ve learned from them—and my mom who always shared them with me—is that I don’t need a special occasion. There’s always a reason to enjoy the little things. 

Desire and reward; long term and short term joy

August 2

Never had my life been more akin to a whirlwind than when I landed at Changi Airport with nothing but a backpack that held two days’ worth of clothes and the barest essentials. 

Two weeks before, I had flown to Kuala Lumpur to see The Strokes at a music festival, and we had decided to make it a weeklong family trip. On July 22, it was announced that the rest of the music festival would be canceled after its first day. 

The Strokes were headlining the third and final day. 

I don’t want to get into it, but let’s just say I’ve prayed for the main loser from The 1975 to trip and fall flat on his face every day since then. I burst into tears in the middle of a mall, trying to come to terms with the fact that my one chance to see this band that has meant the world to me in over 10 years of loving them has just popped like a bubble. The KL trip had been fun, but this was why we were even there in the first place. These were their first Southeast Asia tour dates in their twenty-plus-year-long career, and now one of them had just been taken away by utter stupidity. 

I’d come home, gone back to work, and successfully held my tongue from any expletives in front of my coworker who’s a 1975 fan when The Strokes announced a few days later that they were adding a second show in Singapore to make it up to people who were supposed to see them in Malaysia. 

It would be insane, right, to spend an exorbitant amount on another concert ticket, another round-trip flight, another hotel (wait, no, not “another,” we literally stayed with my aunt) just for five men in their forties who changed not only rock music in the 2000s but also my life? 

Anyway, my flight was in five days. 

It was late when I arrived at my hotel in the chic neighborhood of Lavender. I still had a bit of a cold—the whiplash of making all of this happen in less than a week included overcoming a horrible fever that I had to deal with all weekend (with the help of my doting dad <3). 

The room was small and windowless, but cozy. I especially loved the black and white Brooklyn-style bathroom of my dreams, with brick-like tiling around the walls and gorgeous floors. I got settled and rested up for the night. 

August 3

I didn’t include this day when I filed my leave, so I spent until the afternoon working on my phone—I hadn’t brought my laptop, and I’d made sure to finish the major tasks before I left anyway. I walked around the neighborhood to look for breakfast, and I decided to stock up on food and snacks at 7-Eleven: chicken bolognese, an unagi onigiri, a rainbow chip brownie, and some really good instant mac and cheese in a cup.

It was also the time when “Planet of the Bass” was mega-viral, so I can’t think of this trip without being reminded of it. 

I met with Alissa at a coffee shop in Marina Bay Sands before the show and had a lot of fun just talking at length about all kinds of things and getting to know each other better. It was the first time we were hanging out and meeting in person, and I had a great time and I’m always hoping to get to do it again. 

Eventually it was finally time for me to go down to the expo hall for the show. I was near the back since I’d waited until the last possible second to go in, and that was just fine by me. As far as venues went, it was pretty cool: huge space, super high ceilings, but the stage was set against the center of it and it somehow felt like an intimate basement show. (Which, well, it kind of was.) 

I couldn’t think of a better song to start my Strokes show with than “What Ever Happened?” The title track of Is This It is a classic slow burn, but this was the track you wanted if it was about coming out swinging. The pulse of the beat, the anthem-like declarations of the chorus that made it perfect for shouting along to (I wanna be forgotten/And I don’t wanna be reminded), that rousing solo that signaled this was just the beginning—for the song, and for The Strokes themselves at the time it came out. 

I don’t really have a lot of specific memories attached to most of the set list, other than absolutely losing my mind every time they started up and I realized I was hearing them live, but I want to remember every song they played, so I’m listing them here: 

1. “Bad Decisions”
2. “Soma”
3. “Juicebox” (of course it was the most cathartic thing ever to scream along with the chorus) 
4. “Automatic Stop” (I loved swaying to this one) 
5. “The Adults Are Talking”
6. “Take It or Leave It”
7. “Under Control” (this is where I finally cried) 
8. “Reptilia”
9. “Call It Fate, Call It Karma” (literally the fourth time they’d ever played it!) 
10. “Red Light”
11. “Someday” (this is where I finally cried pt. 2) 
12. “Ize of the World”
13. “Hard to Explain”
14. “You Only Live Once” (truly one of the most flawless songs ever, what can I fucking say)

It’s well-established that The Strokes are absolute monsters live and their performances (the guitars!) are always phenomenal, and it feels so good to finally be able to state it myself firsthand. 

I heard the guy in front of me, who’s dancing in all of the footage I took of the night by the way, tell his companion, “They used to just be on TV, and now they’re in front of us,” and as I said in my tweet later when I was reliving the concert in my hotel room: SOBRANG FELT PO, KUYA. 

Julian asked Nikolai to say something, and he was so soft-spoken that Julian said he sounded “like the parents on Charlie Brown.” I couldn’t help but think back to 2014, when I was really falling in love with The Strokes for the first time after years of being a casual fan, and they were starting to play shows again and figure out what it means to be in a band together at their current stages in life after all the animosity of Angles and the uncertainties of Comedown Machine and everything else that came before. I would zoom in on a GIF of Julian patting Nick’s back after their Capitol Theater show and get so irrationally emotional like, “See?! They’re friends!” So to witness something as casual and sweet as this, especially between the oldest members who had known each other longest, was doing my head in a little. I’m so glad they’ve made it to a point where all of it doesn’t have to be such a big deal.

Nick grinned so wide at the Charlie Brown comment, and I wished this could be my life every night. 

One final anecdote: During “Last Nite,” just before the guitar solo, Julian went, “Introducing! Albert... Hammond... Jr!” (Fab, of course, was being his silly, ever unflappable self the whole time, and I loved seeing them all exchange smiles every now and then.) 

I booked a Grab to the hotel. I admired the view as it passed the Helix Bridge, and I couldn’t be happier.

August 4

I checked out in the morning and tried to find the nearest train station, which turned out to be very close by. I got a card that gave unlimited rides for the day and hopped around the city a little before I went to the airport, where I waited to board my flight at the Texas Chicken near my gate. I had salted egg poppers and these cheese fries that I still think about sometimes, with loads of sour cream and cheese and super flavorful large chunks of green onion. Hear that, Taco Bell cheesy fiesta potatoes? GREEN ONION.

I still can’t believe I flew to Singapore on basically a whim and took my lightest backpack and flew back home in two days. I would never recover financially. My eye still twitches when I think about what I had to spend because some man was so full of himself that he caused an entire music festival that people planned for months and was the source of multiple livelihoods to be canceled. (Where’s that class action lawsuit? He needs to pay me back.)  

But the truth is, it was all worth it. Even if my relationship with this band (particularly its frontman) has grown complicated over the years. I was impressed and touched that the band even chose to do an additional concert at all when they could’ve just shrugged it off, and that they managed to put it all together so quickly. It was nice to know they cared, when their entire brand has been foolhardy indifference. They even mentioned Manila when they said they would be back. 

It was a night I’ll never forget, I’d do it again and again if I could, and I got a good story to tell out of it. Even if they didn’t play “The Modern Age” on my show date. 

You feel so good to leave behind

For Tokyo, I decided to bring a Fujifilm Simple Ace 400 instead of my usual Vivitar. Disposable cameras are almost the same price—i.e. eye-twitchingly inflated—as a 35mm roll, and it had the added bonus of being expendable so I could just pop it in my bag without worrying about scratching or damaging it. (I literally put my Vivitar in a zip-loc to protect it from getting wet or getting ruined.) Then I can just pull it out any time, especially if I need to be quick. 

One of my favorite things I've stumbled upon around my hotel area. I'm choosing to ignore that it's a police box. 

When shooting film, sometimes I default to portrait without really thinking about it, just a reflex that feels right. I always like the results. 

I only ever get to indulge in this hobby when I travel these days because I don't get a chance to go around Metro Manila much anymore. Sometimes I wonder if it's even something I want to keep pursuing since it's so costly now, but then I get a roll back and I'm reminded every time that it's always worth it. It keeps me on my toes and motivates me to seek out the slice of life stuff you never see in the guidebooks.

More vertical shots, the first two probably being my favorites out of the whole roll. I love the unique POV of the first, and I like how the second has all these fun details: a wide street, people with umbrellas to hide from the sun, a human figure on a storefront awning, some Hokusai street art, and of course Tokyo Skytree towering above it all. 

I'm also always drawn to crates when I'm using my photographic eye, which is definitely a result of being a big Sophie Tajan fan on early 2010s Tumblr. Her iconic shot of pink Evian crates greatly informed my own picture taking style and taught me to find fascination in seemingly ordinary, mundane moments. 

I bookmarked this place on Google Maps for when I come back. 

Next time I'm also going to be more consciously seeking out storefronts as subjects because they're just so fun. I've been so inspired by Joel Holland's NYC Storefronts (remember when I picked up drawing again for a bit to prepare for Osaka then I just... didn't draw after that) and James and Karla Murray's Store Front NYC. 

Omiya is a quaint little fancy restaurant serving Western cuisine and I was intrigued when I looked at the menu. Definitely another place I'd love to return to, especially if I come with company. 

Our final stop was full of prettier-than-average vending machines (but not the best selection of drinks). 

The film version of the surprise Asakusa street shot on my phone, and an example of me being able to pull out my disposable at a time-sensitive opportune moment. I like the contrast here, but I prefer the phone shot since the portrait orientation was able to capture a more dramatic angle that includes an expansive sky over the top of the tallest building, whereas here it's been cut off. 

One last star rise before I go

An earthquake hit Tokyo on my final night, unmistakable with the way my hotel bed audibly hit the wall—which it was set at the very edge of, meaning the earthquake was strong enough to shake it so that it moved and bounced back. I had to find the translation for "earthquake" in Japanese and searched it up on Twitter to see what was going on. I found tweets from locals, and also NCT Dream fans sharing that Jisung posted about the earthquake, because they were in the city as well on tour. 

We checked out the next morning, and for the last time I hit up the breakfast buffet for my favorites: rice with grilled mackerel and fried dumplings. My favorite drinks on this trip, meanwhile, have been a mint chocolate milk I got at Family Mart and Skal. I've become obsessed with the latter for its delicate balance of sweetness and fizz that goes down way smoother than any drink I've ever had, and I was surprised to learn that it's actually a soda and skim milk hybrid since it's so light and refreshing. I loved the cream soda/ramune flavor I first tried in Osaka, but this time I could only find peach. 

Not much really happened on our last day since we had to be at the airport by noon, so I thought I'd use this entry to talk about some pictures from my phone camera. For our final stops we explored the Asakusa Sensoji Temple and Nakamise Street area, then walked along the Sumida River, which I would've enjoyed so much more if it hadn't been so sunny. (You know I'm a big believer in the power of proximity to a large body of water to heal depression.) 

I took the picture on the left as a final-goodbye view from my window. The shot on the right, I took before crossing the street in Asakusa, and the sun was so bright that I hadn't seen my screen at first. I saw it only the day after and was floored by how much I love it. I find the inadvertent composition so dynamic and interesting. 

I saw the building on the right out the window on our drive to Disneyland. Love the idea of an unassuming bookstore out there with these really cute signs. 

The modern izakaya I wrote about in my last entry. I wanted to step in so bad but it felt like a little more than my social battery could handle right then. 

Yuki and I had formed quite a real connection and I was lucky to have met someone so thoughtful and kind. She had asked me about my plans for my free day and when I told her about wanting to visit the Snoopy Museum, we talked about other characters and pop culture we love, like Studio Ghibli and Sanrio. There are decades and thousands of kilometers between us but it's so nice to be able to find common ground in these little things. 

She asked to hug me goodbye at the airport before I left, and I was all too happy to oblige. 

I had amassed quite the collection of tiny keepsakes and trinkets, including a Mofusand banana figure that ended up being a digital clock that even tells the date. I was very excited when I searched up where the biggest gashapon place was in Tokyo and found out that it was literally right at the complex my hotel is in, and I let myself go wild with every 100-yen coin in my possession. Just hitting up every machine that caught my eye, dropping the capsule into the tote I'd brought for this exact purpose, and moving on to the next. The absolute time of my life. 

At Narita I had unadon at the Yoshinoya near my gate for lunch and waited to board at a counter with charging ports, right at the gate. I didn't need to charge my phone, but it did provide something I've been adamant is a basic human right at airports: a free place to sit with something akin to a table, or at least somewhere to properly rest your elbows. [Mark Ruffalo "We are America!" protest.gif]

It was raining in Manila when we landed. I hauled my suitcase to the pickup area and tried not to think about how, whenever I would land and turn on my local data, there would already be a message from my dad telling me where he'd be waiting to welcome me home. This time, no one was waiting for me, and I was booking a ride with a stranger. With my vision blurred by the downpour and my own tears, I cried in public for the third time that day from how I kept missing my parents. (Yes, I cried at the Yoshinoya, too.) 

But I know my dad would be proud of me for doing this on my own and finding ways to be happy and strong and healthy without him, while still keeping him and my mom near. I'm so happy I went and came home looking forward to more, that I've never lost the ability to want and to anticipate. Moving forward and surviving is painful, but I'm doing it anyway, in small steps and in large leaps. I'm already planning what comes next. Spoiler: Kamakura, wait for me. 

On an island of your own

After Disneyland, I had an entire day to do whatever I wanted in Tokyo—and it'd had me anxious for weeks, scared about trying to navigate the train system on my own. That morning I went to the supermarket across the street first to buy instant noodles. (I swear by the tarako and clam chowder flavors of Knorr Soup Deli.) Then I spent about thirty minutes lying in my hotel room with my full outfit on, trying to muster the nerve to just fucking go already. 

My extensive research for the trip included potential places to visit on my free day, and I had narrowed it down to the Snoopy Museum and a gallery and shop called Mount, because I think zines, crafts, and local literature are the absolute best souvenirs you can bring home from a trip. I watched a video about where to even begin with the subway, and a walking tour of Ikebukuro Station so I would know where to proceed. It's so cool that there are people out there who make these kinds of videos and share their knowledge, just because. This helped me avoid the confusion when it came to the lack of Yamanote Line symbols on the signs, because it was a JR line, so I knew to look for the JR logo instead.  When I landed in Tokyo, I made sure I had a sim card with a data package to access Google Maps—my phone doesn't have eSIM capability yet and I didn't want the pocket wifi to weigh me down—and lined up for several minutes to get a Pasmo Passport so I wouldn't have to worry about IC cards and tickets down the line. 

All this, and I was still nervous. I (mentally) slapped myself and yelled, "YOU ARE SMART AND CAPABLE!" You learned to navigate Singapore on your own when you were 18! People from all walks of life do this everyday and so can you! With one last steadying breath, I launched myself out of the safety of my hotel bed, grabbed my bag, and set off. 

The weather was perfect. Fresh, not too humid or drying, with just the right amount of sun. On the 10-minute walk to Ikebukuro Station I stopped every once in a while for pictures and took note of different places I wanted to experience when I came back: a basement restaurant with a tasting menu, an izakaya with cute snacks and drinks, the Milky Way Cafe on Sunshine 60, the Denny's right next to the subway entrance (because they have a fun yoshoku menu and Japan uses the vintage '70s-'90s logo!), so many bakeries. 

I was there before I knew it. I descended the escalator, and from there it was suddenly like muscle memory even though I had never been there before. They say Ikebukuro is one of the more maze-like stations, but to me it really was as simple as following the signs. I topped up my Pasmo and held on to the green JR symbols like an anchor, until I was on the platform that would take me to Shibuya Station. 

It was a Saturday, just around noon, and the crowds were manageable. I was able to find a seat on all four trains I took through the day, even later in the afternoon. It wasn't overwhelming in the stations either. Like that j-hope lyric, but I'm bastardizing it to fit my narrative: all I had to do was be the opposite of a salmon, and just follow the (right) stream. 

I switched lines at Shibuya, and from there it was a 45-minute ride to Grandberry Park. Now that I was actually doing it, my mind spun as I watched the scenery change out the window, imagining all the new possibilities I'd unlocked. It was dizzying, knowing I could just go anywhere.

I was too focused on not getting lost to listen to music, but next time, I'm definitely emoting to CHAM's "Cherish These Moments" from Perfect Blue, just like Mima does on the train. 

I got off at Grandberry Park and found myself in front of the Snoopy Museum.  

Walk-in admission is ¥2000, and the ticket is a comic strip published on the date of your visit printed on colored cardstock, which I found super endearing. I took my time taking in each exhibit, with the first being a room with a mountain of Snoopy plushies and all kinds of merch across the decades. There are rooms about Charles Schulz' life and the history of Peanuts, a gallery all about each individual character, and a special exhibition called Traveling Peanuts with original art (as in archival pieces personally drawn and touched by Schulz!) and comics about the characters' adventures around the world. 

My favorite is the Snoopy Room, full of huge Snoopy figures that showcase his playful whimsy. A few minutes in, the lights suddenly went out, and I thought there might be a problem until silly music started up and a spotlight was cast on the figure I'd been looking at. It was a special show where the different Snoopys came to life, his shadow bouncing around the room in bursts of color and movement. The best surprise, and I'm so happy I caught it. 

I also love the room with a giant version of Snoopy's house, where on one wall you can draw your own Snoopy or Peanuts gang on a sticky note and leave it behind. 

I got a lot of souvenirs, my favorites being the sheer embroidered blind bag keyrings (I got sleeping Snoopy!), a '50s Snoopy and Charlie Brown pop-up card, and '90s Snoopy's favorite chocolate chip cookies. They were so good. I got two boxes, one to bring to work. I love how our team is encouraged to take long leaves to go to wonderful cities and we have this sweet little tradition of always bringing snacks from our travels to the office.

At the very end of my visit, under a chandelier made entirely of stuffed Snoopys, they had a DIY activity where you could get a random capsule with a pin design inside. You can decorate your pin with markers and letter and heart stickers—they didn't have the letter F so I couldn't make "Fiel"—then move to the button machine station where you pressed the pin yourself. I loved this part, of course.  

I'm glad I looked down when I got on the elevator that would lead to the start of the tour, because I never would've known that there were more Snoopy statues outside in the park.

I hadn't made any reservations for the Peanuts Cafe next door since I wasn't sure when I'd be arriving and I'd heard they weren't necessary, but they weren't accepting walk-ins until 6 p.m., so I had lunch at the nearby Shaun the Sheep cafe instead. I had a cola float and chicken omurice in cream sauce, both adorably decorated with richly flavored chocolate cookies to resemble the characters. This is going to sound stupid, but I was surprised how common yoshoku menus are in Japan (where they originated, duh), because I keep looking for them back home and they're not easy to come by. 

Another thing that makes it so perfect for socially anxious solo travelers here is that a lot of customer interactions are automated. I ordered my meal through a QR code menu and observed how my fellow diners were making their payments, which is taking the clipboard with the QR code to the counter and paying through the cashier. It was the same at the grocery store that morning, where I paid through a machine after the attendant had scanned my items and bagged them myself. I like that it makes everything less confusing and awkward without removing the human element or taking away livelihoods. 

I finished my sojourn at Grandberry Park at 4 p.m. Unfortunately Mount Zine was no longer on the table if I wanted to explore Sunshine City and have enough time to pack and rest. Getting back to my hotel was equally painless, and I spent the rest of the day in the two separate but connected malls downstairs, going through the last of my checklists. Sunshine City has every character shop you could ever want: Studio Ghibli, Disney, Sanrio, Peanuts, Rilakkuma, Pokemon, even Thomas the Tank Engine. It also has the biggest gashapon store in existence, and another huge one two floors below, plus a planetarium, an observatory, and an aquarium. 

That last night, settled in bed after packing, I checked the step tracker on my phone and was blown away by how much I'd been walking the entire time I'd been in Tokyo. Never fewer than 15,000 steps, with Disneyland amounting to 22,000 and my free day getting 18,000. It felt great. I was ready to collapse sometimes, but I always felt rested and ready the next day, and right then I didn't feel tired at all.

What I noticed, making my way around the city, was that it seemed like it was so easy to get to spend time together here. You could come see your friends and hang out all the time, not only because public transportation is great, but also because there are plenty of options to go. Parks, cafes, attractions, even just streets to explore. I would see groups of friends everywhere—and in Disneyland, they even wore matching outfits. It made me feel the nicest kind of wistful. 

When I was 15 I was really into the idea of "wandering" as Keri Smith had presented it: leave your watch, pack only what you need, pick any direction, be aimless, get lost. As I got older I began to romanticize this less, especially in a city that isn't really conducive to frivolous meandering. But being able to go so far with just my feet and a limitless transportation system to propel me forward had me believing in it again somehow.

I don't wear a watch anymore anyway, for starters. 

It's so nice to get to know the side of me again that prided myself on being a commuter after the pandemic made all the routes I know best inaccessible. To discover that walking doesn't feel heavy or exhausting or impossible when the ground you're given to traverse has plenty of spacious sidewalks and well-paved, even streets, and you're not sweating thanks to a cool climate. The Skechers Go Walks I had to buy in Osaka because all the walking on that trip broke my 200-peso shoes have been so convenient and comfortable through it all, too. 

I can't exactly be aimless—we've established I'm too much of a planner for that. But I can pick a direction, trust my gut, and go. 

All alone, in a city by the sun, in a carousel I love

My first Disneyland experience happened on the third day of my Tokyo trip. I got on the app as soon as I got through the gates and booked a pass for the Haunted Mansion an hour away, and I passed the first hour  lining up and getting on It's a Small World. The exterior of it is really beautiful and I love a good boat ride no matter what, but what I noticed more than anything was how strong the A/C was inside. 

My exit from the ride was perfect timing, allowing me to saunter on over to the Haunted Mansion so I could scan my pass and skip the 45-minute wait. Super convenient! We headed right into the foyer, then into the elevator that I've come to know as the stretching room. 

I don't talk about this often, but I'm very interested in theme parks, reading up on all kinds of histories and lore. The artistry, effects, and storytelling are incredible to me. I have this whole list of rides I want to try, and the Haunted Mansion has been near the very top. But here's the thing: I didn't expect it to be so dark! I've watched videos online to see what it's like and somehow I never thought the real thing would be so poorly lit by design. It definitely heightened the ambiance of exploring an old, decrepit mansion that had long gone out of electricity, and I began to feel actual dread set in when we walked across the hall that would take us to the loading station. (Everyone around me had a pal to laugh the jitters off and hold hands with and I was alone, okay!) 

When I got on the Doom Buggy and got to see all of the silly-creepy effects I've come to know by heart, though, I only felt excitement. The seance room was gorgeous, and of course the ball scene was magical. Panic set in a little again when we got to the part with the beating-heart bride, because we took forever to pass by and she was literally right next to me, staring into my soul. Another thing I could never account for from just watching on-ride videos was how much movement and twisting and turning the vehicles actually did around the house, especially the little lift hill that would culminate in a "drop" beside the caretaker and the dog—in fucking reverse, like you're being buried alive. 

My next stop was the Peter Pan ride. I was really looking forward to seeing the London cityscape and little Neverland surrounded by stars, and it didn't disappoint. The suspended track system was really cool and did add the tangible sensation of soaring. I was a little worried about the life-size Jolly Roger scene at the end, because I have automatonophobia and there were like a dozen human figures on it, but I realized that a quick fix was just to remove my glasses. Honestly, my horrible eyesight has been a godsend for certain parts of my life. 

And then it was time to brave Beauty and the Beast. Not the ride, but the 120-minute wait under the bright, blazing sun. I'd tried to buy a pass on the app to avoid it, but it rejected my debit card, so I had to suck it up, because this was the one part of my day that I could not miss. 

Crazy that there was hardly any shade for the outdoor part of the line, but at least it was still cold. It really was just that I could feel the rays seeping into my skin. It had me ordering a Tocobo sunstick as soon as I got home. (I never go out into the sun around Metro Manila so I've never had a need for it, but I'm a brand new person who is also planning on going on more Japan trips with a lot of walking.) 

I learned another thing in line: it's so much more exhausting and painful to stand around and move very slowly than it is to walk. The supposed two-hour wait time ended up being a little less than that, though, and soon enough I was front and center for the staircase scene before finally getting on the teacup-shaped vehicle. 

There's so much life injected into this ride. And it's not just the amazingly smooth and vivid animatronics. I'm realizing just now how fitting that is, how they made inanimate objects feel human for a story that's about characters retaining their humanity even as they become objects. The "Be Our Guest" scene was chaotic in the best way, and the "Something There" scene was really sweet and had me humming the song for days after. I'm also very in awe of the Beast transformation effect, along with the way the castle was brought back to life, leading into the grand ballroom where Belle and the Prince are forever entwined, dancing to their sweeping soundtrack. 

The engineers (I refuse to use the corporate word!) have said that the trackless ride system is meant to feel like the vehicles are also dancing and moving, and they really were gliding across the floors. They were surprisingly fast in a really fun way, and it showed me again how strong the A/C is in Disney rides from how the cool wind kept getting in my face. Anyway, all this to say: As Belle and Adam swayed around and around, our oversize teacups circled the room and gently but firmly tilted this way and that like we were waltzing right along with them. The song crescendoed, all those gorgeous layered harmonies, and of course I fucking cried. 

Beauty and the Beast has never even a strong part of my life the way The Little Mermaid or The Lion King or even Toy Story are. 

More than how worth it the wait was and how breathtaking the ride is, it was everything that had led me to that moment, going on this trip, the grief I'm carrying on top of the one I've carried for almost three years, the way depression makes every good thing feel like something you've held on long enough to see. (I've written about that before, so let me self-plagiarize.) The way the scariest, worst possible things have happened, but the life I'm trying to live beyond that doesn't feel like a consolation prize at all, and the way I'm letting myself be okay with that. 

The way I sat with my mom four years before, watching a video of the ride when it first opened, and the way we were both so entranced. It felt so impossible at the time that I would ever get to go on it, and I had no idea about anything that was to come.

Time for the funniest, stupidest segue ever after all of that emotional navel-gazing: Lunch. It was 2 p.m. by the time I exited the Beast's castle, and I wound up at the Pan Galactic Pizza Port for a calzone, a cold drink I desperately needed, and the classic alien mochi balls. It was crowded like every theme park restaurant ever on any given time on any given day, but I was lucky to find a table.

The only ride left that I really wanted to go on was the Roger Rabbit ride, because of this actually quite pretty sequence where it looks like you're falling down a building among the clouds, but you're moving horizontally across them and it's really just a cool 2D perspective effect. 

I was bummed because the app said that morning that the ride wasn't available, but I had checked ride unavailability dates weeks in advance (#JustINFJThings) and there wasn't any mention of it, so I decided to check one more time just in case. And by then it was open! I had spent an hour resting while eating, so I had just enough time to line up and get on it before I had to exit the park and go back on the road. 

It seemed at first like a short wait, but the line actually snaked all around these queueing areas that reminded me of what I've learned about Disney's forced perspectives and their techniques for hiding long lines and wait times. The areas are very elaborately themed and interactive, looking and sounding like back alleys and streets in nighttime Toontown, and I was glad I got to see them. The ride itself was fine and the fake-falling set piece was the highlight for me, like I knew it would be, along with Jessica Rabbit. 

Trying to get the most out of Disneyland is impossible to do in a day like I've read—but they had very clean and convenient toilets and you can always find a place to sit, I'll give them that. 

All in all, I had a good day. The drive to and from the park was full of views of pretty buildings, and I got to see Tokyo transform from tiled apartment buildings with looping fire-escape staircases and cozy rooftop gardens into shiny, modern office buildings making up a business district as we kept going on the elevated expressway. I'd been missing my parents extra lately, and it reminded me of falling asleep in the backseat on the road, lulled along while they laughed together up front. 

Dinner was really delicious steak with demi-glace and fried rice, with these cute lightly flavored mint cakes for dessert. 

If we don't watch the sun, it will rise

It's been a week since I came home from Tokyo. A little funny to think about, given the weeks I spent agonizing over the decision of whether I wanted to even go on the trip or not, and the month I spent after that going full-on apocalypse-bunker mode, trying to prepare for every possible thing that could go wrong. 

It made me a little sick to think about going back to the airport and on a plane for the first time since January, when I flew home with my dad and thought we had this whole new year ahead of us, none the wiser that he would be gone just nine days later. If anything went wrong on the trip, I wouldn't be able to call home. And if anything went wonderful, I still wouldn't be able to call home and tell him all about it. It was a scary and isolating and heartbreaking thought. 

But I'd applied for a Japanese visa as soon as I got my latest ITR, and I got a five-year one. Five whole years of no more documents and waiting around, of just needing to buy a ticket and leaving whenever I want. What a relief, and how freeing. (Of course, I would still need to pace myself, because the expenses tend to be a significant dent in my net worth.) I suddenly had a passport that's ready to go anytime, spring was about to end, and I would have to wait until September to experience any cold again. 

The idea of going didn't get any less scary, but I told myself I couldn't let what I went through stop me from enjoying a good opportunity, because I could rely on myself, and I could give myself this.

So I went. 

Weeks later and I was in Odaiba, peering up at a life-size Gundam statue under the pleasant spring sun. 

A group tour was the perfect first trip with this visa: I'd never been to Tokyo before so it wouldn't feel repetitive, it had stops in places that aren't quite as accessible, and there was a free day where I could study and practice commuting by myself for when I returned, this time completely solo. Having social anxiety and no choice but to travel alone, I've found that group tours are great for going on autopilot and following along wherever the wind (and the tour bus) takes you. Like that song "I Love the Unknown" from the Rocket Science soundtrack, except you knew just enough to keep anxiety at bay. 

Of course, me being me, I looked at the itinerary and did extensive research on every place we would be visiting, making checklists on my weekly planner app (so handy!) so I wouldn't miss a single thing. 

That first day, we mostly went around Aqua City. I was sitting in the food court wondering why they've decided it was a must for tourists to visit a mall when I heard excitable puppy barks. Across from my table was a pet shelter. In the middle of a mall! I suddenly never wanted to be anywhere else. 

There were lots of puppies and kittens around, all of them so sweet and playful. An adorable toy poodle kept pawing at the glass when I gave it a bit of attention. But my heart was instantly won over by Marin-chan, who's a little older than everybody and has the most gentle, prim demeanor. She reminded me so much of my kitty-nephew Fifi, and I miss her already. 

After dinner we hung out a little on this floor with a row of shops that made it feel like a retro '80s alley, with vintage gift shops and old-school arcade games and vending machines. We passed through the Rainbow Bridge on our way to the hotel, which gave us beautiful views of Tokyo Bay at sunset and was probably my favorite moment of the entire day. 

(I didn't know it was Tokyo Bay until I sat down to write this, and now I'm listening to "Tokyo Bay" by The Academy Is..., a deep cut that was a vinyl bonus track.)   

We set out early the next day for our trip to Mt. Fuji. I'd made sure to buy a cozy puffer jacket to prepare for the cold when we disembarked at the 5th Station. Like clockwork, I fell asleep on the drive, but I woke up to the most surreal view. 

At the 5th Station, we visited the Fujisan Komitake Shrine and I bought a few souvenirs and collected stamps at the local rest house. The drive up was unlike anything I've ever seen or experienced, just lush forest all around made even more breathtaking by the huge bus windows. We even spotted some deer milling about. 

Lunch was at Fuji-Q Highland, the local theme park. I got a chicken teriyaki rice bowl and sat with our tour guide Yuki, who's quite warm and friendly. We talked while we ate. I learned that she's been guiding tours for a few years as a freelancer, and it's her retirement job after working at a travel agency, then moving to the States to become a language teacher and translator. "So it was natural," she said of the tour guide gig. "It connects to all my previous jobs." 

 

I had just enough time when we finished eating to book it to the yakisoba shack, where they're also selling the ice cream I've been dreaming about for years: Cremia, a softcream (what they call soft-serve) that tastes extra rich with Hokkaido fresh cream and milk fat, and a buttery lengua de gato-type cone that brings it to a whole new level of melt-in-your-mouth. It was everything I'd imagined and more.

Just before the entry gates to the theme park was La Ville de Gaspard et Lisa, the most charming little walk that transported you straight into the world of these puppy BFFs. With a cafe, tea and dessert shop, souvenir shop, grand carousel, and garden with its own mini-Eiffel Tower, the entire area looked just like a chic rue en Paris. I especially adored the bakery, which had super cute Gaspard and Lisa and Mt. Fuji-themed cookies and smelled heavenly thanks to the freshly made caramel cakelets. I wish we'd had more time to linger around it a bit longer. 

Our final stop for the day was the premium outlet mall in Gotemba. I've been on a couple of group tours that also made stops at outlet malls, but I never really found them interesting since I could never let myself afford anything, anyway. But when I went on the website, I saw some less common luxe brands that had me thinking, what if I splurged, just this once?

My top priority was Saint Laurent. I'd been telling myself that if I ever would own anything designer,  a YSL bag would be it for me. So I was excited to look around and see if I would find something within my budget, especially with the significant discounts. 

The Saint Laurent outlet was a bit of a walk from the entrance we used, requiring crossing a bridge that went over a forest and had another unbelievable view of Mt. Fuji. I was determined to look for a monogram crossbody that didn't have a chain strap, and I was immediately drawn to a gorgeous moss green satchel. I've been obsessed with deep green in bag form, so it should've been perfect. But the satchel on display was the last one in stock and it was just too damaged to justify buying. I guess I'll be seeing it in my dreams. 

I looked around a little more, and eventually found a black double handle bag that also checked off my boxes. And this one was less expensive and had new stock! The walk back across the bridge felt extra giddy with the tall black shopping bag in hand.

I'm so in love. I kept admiring it while having my dinner of carbonara from the Family Mart in the hotel. (Literally inside the hotel, just off the ground floor elevators! Would've been so useful to know the night before when I'd gotten hungry at 10 p.m. from having such an early dinner.) 

My attitude when it comes to the more pricey bags I have is that of a mother to a newborn—always careful and precious with them to a fault, and it gets to a point where I end up not using them as often as I should for fear of damaging them and because there's so much work to my OCD-heavy ritual of taking them out of storage and putting them back. But with this bag, it's like there's a switch that flipped in my head that's made me more open to just using it in my day-to-day life. I'm still afraid to death of making it anything beyond pristine, but I'm more normal about it. And it's had a domino effect, I think, because now I'm starting to think this way about my other bags, too. 

I did read something somewhere that went a little like: What's the point of collecting beautiful things if you're not using them? Loving the objects that make you happy means enjoying them to the fullest, so I'm going to do that.