The Neccessary First Part

Whatever it is you’re seeking wont come in the form you’re expecting.

— Haruki Murakami

Feb 24, 7:30am, Gulf Islands 

So, I’m about to fly west for 10 hours to get to the far east. Checkmate, flat-earthers. But if those toothless mutants have a conspiracy theory about how the BC Ferries Wi-Fi could still possibly suck this badly after all these years, I’m all ears like an animated donkey, or how I imagine flat-earther children to look. I’m typing this offline right now. I feel like I’m in jail here.

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The sunrise over the gulf islands was lovely, and although I’m steaming forward on three hours sleep, I feel lucky and grateful and excited to have another adventure abroad. I know people who can live every day like their whole life is an adventure; I am not one of theirs, try as I might.  Some days I get it right and do the things I love, and learn new things, and feel authentic about the whole experience of being alive. Other times I get bored and testy; I make bad (or at least neutral) decisions to combat the mundane. I tell myself stories that aren’t true about my life, and some days, I turn my daily adventure into more of a performance. Not to be hard on myself because I’m not the only one, of course.

So maybe I’m doing this trip because I hope it will spark a forgotten engine in me that will help me lose fewer days to boredom and aggravation. Or maybe I just like nice shit and my privileged eyes have looked for too long at the same bricks and trees. Or maybe I work pretty hard and it’s okay to want things. It’s 8am, and the seas are choppy atop the strait.

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This writing is for me, but it is also for you, dear reader. All five of you. My knuckles are rusted over and my mind is a toddler in the batter’s box staring down Greg Maddux. The thoughts come varied and elusive. Will I make contact? Hopefully with time. I hope. Seywantaneyo.

I’ll tell you what I really hope, I hope I lose some weight on this trip. Your boy out here looking like Prince Harry ate Meghan Markle.

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10:30am, Richmond

Bus and Skytrain brings me now to my seat in the smoking area outside the Graham Clarke Atrium at YVR’s international terminal. Scores of flight attendants flow past me, a battalion of luggage wheels. Police presence, taxis, terrible parking jobs. I imagine I’ll tell the story of this journey someday within the frame of reference of the news, and hopefully we’ll remember Novel Coronavirus the same way we remember Swine flu and SARS, which is to say seldomly if at all except as predecessors to the next viral threat. There are already a lot of masks.

Speaking of the smoking section, I have enough Juul pods to last me the duration of my stay in Japan, which is to say I have nearly 40. It is illegal to sell nicotine vaping products in Japan, but not illegal to own them. I wonder if I will get bag-checked as I often do, probably because cops of all varieties are trained to notice when one does not particularly care for authority figures.  And if I should get interrogated by these sad necessities of security, will they ask me why one man could possibly need so many Juul pods? And if I intend to sell them? My prepared response is to say that if I was indeed a nicotine salts trafficker, I would be the least ambitious one ever, since even at a 300% mark up, they wouldn’t even cover my train fare for the coming weeks. These are the sorts of preparations I am constantly making in my mind. Sometimes I think these musings are like armour, but armour protects from the touch of flesh as well as steel.

And away with armour! I’m already monologuing at my GoPro, which, even though everyone knows I fucking love the sound of my own voice, feels vulnerable and bare to me. Just me and the lens and the sound of that voice, but also the way my face looks and how it sounds to others when I say it upon playback. To see yourself, at least superficially, the way the world sees you and not within the warm confines of your personal narrative, is bare and brave, and so vain, too. I will be less like Richie Tennanbaum in the mirror, and more like Eminem. There are cops with semi-automatic rifles strolling past without a care in the world. The intimidating weapon slung from the one officer’s shoulder hangs by his waist carelessly. I am used to seeing this in other countries but not as much in my own.

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I have these old videos collecting dust on my Youtube channel. Two of them are videos I made when I was in the Applied Communications Program at Camosun College a decade ago, and the other is a video of Chili B. cutting up a durian for her mom, which looked, smelled and tasted awful. I want to keep them, but I don’t want them on my page really, when I send people to look at the videos I intend to post about this trip. I haven’t figured how to download them. I am new to this again. Time for coffee, and to clear security.

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I managed to already nearly lose something. Security was chill, but goddamn man, there were humans all over me, and I was a three-bin guy today. I felt the pressure on me. Almost left my GoPro in the bin. Security was fam about it. Not getting my cam yeeted is big mood. That’s how you do that, right? Yeetmood? Bigfam? Elder millennial swag, you stan my shit hundo P.

Unlike the BC Ferries, the WiFi here at YVR is actually pretty good! That’s clutch for a guy who’s lamping at his gate two hours early. I wouldn’t have wanted to rush, so the 7 ferry was ultimately the right choice. Still, this day was already going to be too long. From my parent’s front door to my hotel near Asakusa St. in Taito City, Tokyo, I’m looking conservatively at a 19-hour travel day. We’re gonna find out a lot about me on this flight. Can I get away with vaping in a plane bathroom? Was it dumb not to bring my Nintendo Switch? Am I made of flesh, or am I in fact made of cheese? My guess on the poop count is one for a 10-hour flight, but maybe I can go for two?

This feels like as good a place as any to stop. Thanks for coming along with me, for sandy ramblings that slip through my grasp and catch on my lap, and for my travels. Feel free to come in and out when you feel like it. That’s what I’d do. And don’t feel bad if you’ve had enough. I don’t know how, but I’m great at convincing people to indulge me.