Rice is growing high
Summer has come. At least on the calendar. As most of south east asia, now is the rainy season, meaning that for the past month or so it rains 1 every 2 or 3 days. And often for some days in a row with little breaks. There is also sun, and we went exploring around and enjoyed the first swim in the sea probably among all vulcanus bunch.
Nevertheless, is terribly hot. The humidity is very high, always between 70-90%. So even if it’s a nice summery 25-27°C, it’s often hard to bear if no wind is blowing. But you can slowly get used to it. Unless the company decides to switch on the air conditioner from July on. And leave you hardly breathing for all June. Oh well. Even now that is on, the setting temperature is 28°C. The job is still a hard challenge. Not because it’s difficult, but because it’s hard to get good one. It is crystal clear now that they had no plan for us coming here. It’s surprisingly hard to accept, in this carefully planned, painstakingly maintained, aimed at the absolute perfection no matter the cost-Japan, to see something so randomly handled.
And it’s not like we came for free for them.
But anyway, somehow now, at less than 2 months from the departure to Europe, some melancholy starts coming out. You get to share something with the place, may it only be the breathtaking sceneries this country always presents you with. That’s when cycling in a not particulary sunny -but hot just the same- day, along those secondary roads, and paths by the river like just in some manga I had chance to see, echoing corners of Japan that were more common sights perhaps 20 or 30 years ago, you feel that weird sensation at the stomach….I am leaving this place.
I lived here, this place became a part of me, and almost a year, my life and this place have been the same thing.
It will be hard. As the rice is growing high, lazily swinging with the wind in glass-like flat, water-filled rice fields, so the sensation intensifies. In every season, this country is ready to amaze you, and leave you something to take back home.
I don’t know if this aspect is meant to compensate the lack of social interaction that this country suffers from, but still the traveler, the foreigner, the “other” people (as in gaijin, 外人, shortening but also dispregiative for foreigner) is rewarded for his choice, for his efforts, and if careful enough, can treasure something that will never leave him for the rest of his life.