Ink Idle

Live by the rules of the land and embrace all its oddities. This was the motto Sakamoto had lived by as he journeyed across a new country. An excursion that had turned into an expedition. A conversation that had turned into a quest. It seemed almost like the video games that kids used to play in his home country. Computer shops lined up with teenagers who lived this world through a screen instead of boarding the bus and taking a ride.

He lived not only by the rules but also by its vices. Simple habits, yet vices. As he waited for the train to arrive, he pulled out his pack of tobacco, rolling paper, and rolled up a cigarette. He lit it with a match and took a long drag; he exhaled up at an angle coinciding with a gentle sigh. The station had been his centre point for cheap meals on a daily basis. He knew the lady at the bakery, the man at the pretzel shop, the young interns at the coffee shop, and the usual idlers in the car park.

Trains were unusually absurd here. Sometimes the train would be early, so he had to be at the station on time, but mostly, the trains were late. Though when he would be late, the trains would be on time and that threw him off. He may have wandered all his life, but in his home country, on very punctual trains. The taste of tobacco stirred his hunger and his thoughts as he reminisced the name of the quaint tea and cake shop, Gortz, opposite the Best Western. He could almost smell the fresh toasted Bauernbrot with a cold turkey salami and cheese and taste the beautiful crunch in every bite. He took a sip of coffee and wondered about the delicacies that exist beyond one’s comfort zone.

Stations and trees passed by the train window, and he munched quietly on his butter pretzel. Life had slowed down unexpectedly for him. He looked out the window and at times the lighting drew his attention to the reflection of his face. Wrinkles ran from his nose to his jaw and the edges of his hairline had turned white. He smiled. The wrinkles receded. Time could take away nothing from the man who embraces it with warm arms. Sakamoto never contested the inevitable. He had only begun his life, he always told himself. Amusedly, he wondered to himself, ‘I still cannot believe I am so far away from the place I could not imagine leaving.’

Some time back as he had been moving from one town to the other, he had found himself on a ship. He had not thought about it too much until in a couple of days time, he began feeling seasick and realized land was not to come soon. As he accepted his reality, he began to dream when he reached land, a place so far from home, he could barely comprehend this was still his country. Buoyed by this boldness, he befriended a new group of people, from another country. ‘Why don’t you explore our country, Sakamoto san? It is a beautiful land and made for someone like you. There are places that you must see.’

So, all arrangements done, Sakamoto then hopped onto an airplane and landed halfway around the world. Yet, he believed in his conviction: observe, experience, and move on. Only this time, he had limited time: a year and then he would have to return.

Sakamoto had never stayed neither left any place on anyone’s terms but his own; for the first time, he felt he was not ready. There was still one month to go, but time for him had slowed down. Every sight, sense, smell was of vital importance. For the first time in an achingly long time, he was truly engrossed in the moment.

Unjudged in this new land, he had truly understood the meaning of ‘Shiranu michi koso, kokoro o hiraku (It is the unknown path that opens the heart)’. It is not about the destination at all times, but the earnestness of the times spent at each milestone, including the journey itself. Every step matters and each waft of breeze carries with it something new. Sakamoto felt his calling to speak with every moment; silently writing his magnum opus in his mind. The road never taken never gets explored. The towns never visited do not teach us its ways. The key to opening the treasure chest of life is to chart the unknown path.

Cities, villages, towns, all passed by like trailers of movies that enticed him. As the train rolled past the next town, he once again turned his gaze to the reflection of his face more intently. The sight that he saw could have shaken the spirit of many strong men, but to him, it was a call. The inevitable sense of adventure crawled down the nape of his neck and into his spine as he sat up straight and looked at the the board. Next city stop in five minutes.

His hotel was reserved three stops later, but he had already been there. Life is short, explore till the day one can move. He told himself and got up. It can all be rearranged. Accommodation, transport, and food are the simplest fixes in this world. He stood by the door and waited as the train slowly pulled into the station. It was not his stop, he made it his own. His job may be reassigned within a couple of days at the coffee shop. He would find a new one in this new city; maybe in a restaurant. At least, he had learnt the new language quickly. Adaptability is the greatest strength of a traveller.

The train slowed down at outskirt of the station. Trucks stood in some alleyways, while carriages stood still with graffiti drawn on their sidewalls. The top of the houses by the rail track walls hid a sense of comforting mystery; home to an alien folk, yet shared through the common knowledge that they too yearned to go on journeys. Perhaps they did. The train moved again and rolled into the station.

As the train left the platform, Sakamoto stood still. People rushed by him to the next urgency in their itinerary. He stood like a still fish in a school of movement. He had moments to look at the street across the station. The bustling movement of buses, cars, and trams. He waited until the platform was empty, until he could once again see the tracks extending into the distance.

The identity of a traveller is his spirit. The hubris of a traveller is to assume. Sakamoto never assumed, he always observed. But for now, he closed his eyes and faced the fresh cold breeze flowing across the platform as it struck his face. He opened his eyes, started walking toward the exit, and thought as he smiled, ‘I am free and I am me.’