Bangkok and Shizuoka

Column for those involved with the post office

Beer and grilled banana, 15 yen per stick. As I was enjoying a mysterious lunch, water came flowing in around my feet. I guess the river I see over there is overflowing. The radio is saying the bank is about to give in.

The old lady cooking the bananas pointed to her bare feet and smiled, showing her gold teeth. Is she saying she will be okay because she is barefoot? Naked children came out of their houses screaming and dove into the mud water. The parents looked like they were saying, ah, what a nice playground.

Wait, wait. That’s not right. We have to get out of here. This is the big flood in Bangkok that’s going to be on the news in Japan later. A university in Thailand asked me to give a lecture and the locals said it would be okay so I came to Bangkok, but it is not okay. I asked around and found out all Japanese companies evacuated. Oh, so I guess I’m alone.

But something about this feels nostalgic. It is similar to the scenery I saw as a child.

I lived in Shizuoka back in the days. Nearby was Abe River and on the riverbed there were barracks with rocks on the roofs. I always played with kids from there. When typhoons came, we were taken into the house and we even nailed the window blinds in. Then the next day, I went to the river and found the barracks flattened.

They would soon be homeless, but they didn’t seem to care. They screamed and played in the water. I joined them and chased after pigs and watermelons that got out after the storm. The water level had increased and it was dangerous, but there was no tension. It was really fun. We were all poor. It’s actually quite nice when everyone is poor.

Then, my family business did not work out and we ran from home. My family got to Kyoto. Running away from home is a form of running away. You cannot let others know. You might know this if you have experience, but it means losing all your friends at once. That really upset me.

Your living standards dropping or leaving behind belongings is one thing, but abandoning friends I used to play with at the riverbed and being isolated from the community and communication is much worse.

But somehow, my mother told my teacher about it. After a while, as I was going to school in Kyoto with my head down, I got a package. Everyone in my class, including friends I played with at the riverbed, wrote me a letter.

Letters written by children are not that sophisticated. But each one of them thought about me and wrote it. I did not lose the community or communication. I was grateful. I still remember feeling, I am not alone.

I haven’t shown these letters to anyone. It’s my treasure.