Morning
In all of the joyful excitement of returning to Yamagata for the first time in 10 years, my hands are clammy, my heart is racing, and my stomach is in knots for one reason. I truly cannot put this feeling into words. Like so many things between Yoshi and I, perhaps only we might understand what it feels like or even begin to put words to it. Even through the language barrier, when we did communicate, we usually managed to understand each other from the inside out. And my insides are roiling; I wonder if his are as well.
In preparing for this trip, I’ve been reading through our old correspondences, almost 12 years of them at this point. Through time, distance, and maturity, I’m now able to read between the lines and piece together what the hell was going on between us. Up until this exact point, I’ve always had a nagging, lingering doubt that the feelings were one-sided to some extent, that I was pushing the boundaries of our friendship and constructing intimacy, almost forcing his hand into a physical relationship. However, in reading our IM’s, emails, FB messages, and even communications between my closest friends at the time, I can see so clearly now that he indeed felt far more than mere friendship towards me.
A few months after I left Yamagata for the first time, I emailed Yoshi and asked him why he slept with me, for at that point, I was still struggling with my own feelings about it all. He admitted that he did it because he “couldn’t stop my emotion”. He said that if he didn’t have all of his responsibilities, he would have wanted me to be his girlfriend, that being with me had unlocked feelings he hadn’t felt in years. Looking back at our painful parting and the subsequent conversations for years after, I now believe he was even as heartbroken as I was at the end of things.
I also understand why I had so much trouble seeing this at the time — he knew he couldn’t truly build anything with me and, valuing our friendship and me as a person, he held back to protect both me and himself. And in truth, he did warn me. Repeatedly. But no matter much my mind heard him and understood every single one of his reasons, I couldn’t reconcile the strength of my feelings and the undeniable pull between us. I couldn’t turn away from the bond that had developed between us. In short, I wanted it to work because it felt like it should have. So yes, I was sensing something that was real, but Yoshi’s was indeed holding back, leaving me rightfully confused.
Seeing his reaction to my visit has been telling as well — he was the first to reply and messaged me within minutes, he’s arranged a second reunion dinner, and I think he may even have mined by FB pictures to post an announcement to his Japanese friends (possibly a little creepy, but I appreciate the effort). I cannot deny that this has been incredibly validating. It’s been a decade-old weight lifted from my chest, a deep reassurance that no, I was not crazy, I was not reading too much into our interactions. I may have pushed him too hard because of the strength of my feelings and the ticking clock that our relationship was on. But I wasn’t acting alone, I wasn’t just in my head or in my feelings. I was responding to a vibe, a connection, an attraction that was indeed very much mutual.
Knowing all of this, my anticipation is understandable. How will we react when we see each other for the first time? Will my heart literally jump into my throat, like I feel right now? Even more fun is that I realize now how our interactions haven’t gone unnoticed by our friends, so I feel like we’ll be in a fishbowl if others are around when we do finally meet. This is actually one of the most interesting and surprising parts about everything — people have known about Yoshi and me, but I had no idea how much they knew, or when. I almost feel foolish for thinking the intensity of what was between us was invisible to everyone but those closest to us. Really, it’s almost amazing how much I didn’t understand or see as I was going through this, and even for years after. Again, it wasn’t until I announced this trip that I truly recognized his feelings towards me, towards our history. And yes, I can now say that we do have a history.
Dear god, I hope this goes well. I feel so tightly wound up that I might break if I’m met with indifference. But in truth, he’s already shown that he’s far from indifferent. And despite what our interaction may be on this trip, I can rest assured that he does care, in his own way.
We’re two hours outside of Yamagata and five hours from dinner with Yoshi. I can only wait and see.
Night
As I was getting ready for our dinner with Yoshi, he texted me to let me know he was downstairs. I hurriedly finished prepping and rode the elevator down, my heart racing and barely able to breathe. I finally reached the lobby and sought out Yoshi in front of the hotel. He was locking up his mountain bike when I stepped outside. My heart almost stopped when I saw his back leaned over his old bike, an action so familiar to me it felt for a split second that no time had passed. He was wearing his standard uniform of a flannel, t-shirt, and dark straight jeans with hiking shoes. His sturdy, athletic build hadn’t changed an inch and he still moved with controlled gracefulness, a testimony to his years of training as well as his current obsession with marathons.
I attempted to make some sort of sound to get his attention, but couldn’t get my throat to work. He lifted his head up anyway and finally saw me. I held my breath, as I had no idea if I would get the cold, formal Yoshi or the warmth of his smile, which I’d come to love so dearly.
I could see it immediately in his face. Even when his face is a blank slate, his eyes can speak volumes. And I could see the impact that seeing me had on him, his large eyes twinkling as I made my way towards him. A smile broke across his face as he walked over to me and we hugged, a bit awkwardly at first, then relaxing in each other’s arms. We pulled apart and he punched my shoulder playfully, his smile only getting wider. I returned the favor and we were right back where we left off.
As he tends to do when a bit flustered, he sputtered a few indistinguishable Japanese filler words and smiled at me again. My heart was filled with warm feelings as 10 years melted away and the awkwardness of seeing Yoshi for the first time in a decade only lasted for the briefest of moments. I introduced him to my cousins and explained our relationships. After exchanging good-natured small talk, he said, in his typical strange blend of archaic English and Americanisms, “Shall we go?”
As we walked to the restaurant, we pulled ahead of the group – or they backed off – and we started the process of catching up on 10 years. We attempted to cover a decade of our lives in a few moments, hurriedly jumping from topic to topic. The conversation felt as natural as breathing, though I think we both were still a bit overcome with the excitement of seeing each other. When Yoshi realized that we were running late, he waved down a taxi and loaded me and my cousins inside; with our taxi full, he rode separately in another.
On the ride to the restaurant, I told my cousins more about Yoshi, as they had been immediately taken by his demeanor and were curious about him. They had noted how different he seemed from the other Japanese folks they’d met — from his unusual English to his quirky sense of humor. I talked about his practice and his place in the community, how his personality was indeed wholly unique. I shared some of his background, that he was the eldest son of a 13-generation family and how that bound him to Yamagata. They were fascinated by it all and I was thrilled that they were beginning to see what I saw in him all these years.
We arrived at the yakitori restaurant and I was surprised to see my dear friends the Manos outside. The Manos were a sweet older couple who loved to hang out with us gaijin, though they weren’t Westin students. The husband, Shunji, was an eye doctor, as kind and gentle as the Budha statue he eerily resembled. He had spent many pizza parties and nights out with us, and he and his wife Yuko generously taken us on several excursions to tourist spots throughout Tohoku. I was beyond happy to see them, as they were to see me, and so grateful that Yoshi had invited them. They both somehow looked exactly as they had more than a decade ago and I hugged each of them, in spite of Japanese formality that would have me simply bow.
Yoshi knew the owner of the small restaurant and had reserved the entire place for our dinner. That night, the Manos and Yoshi treated us to an amazing yakitori feast and several bottles top-shelf Tohoku regional sake. Maybe a little too much sake. As I struggled to follow Japanese custom and keep everyone’s cup filled, I spilled copious amounts of expensive sake on the table. After doing so in an attempt to fill Yoshi’s cup, he gently took the bottle from hands with a click of his tongue, reminding me of the many times he had babysat my drunken self. I smiled to myself at the familiar gesture. It felt so good to sit at the same table with him once again, trading jokes, stories, and barbs with each other and among the group.
I met his two young sons and his wife. They came later to the party and I was surprisingly glad to see them in person, it made them real. His sons, whom I had seen in Facebook posts and who shared Yoshi’s stern countenance when not smiling, were more personable then they seemed in the pictures and were clearly curious about us foreigners. I enjoyed talking to them through gestures and Yoshi’s interpretation. However, watching the casual affection he had for his boys pricked my heart just a little, as I had a flashback to a time when there was the remotest chance we would have had our own.
At any rate, his wife, though clearly not excited to be there or see me, was cordial and even joked around with my cousins a bit. She noted my cousin Kim’s new engagement ring, comparing it to her own smaller ring and ribbing Yoshi for the difference in size. I felt awkward, I’ll admit – the seating arrangements had Yoshi and I sitting directly across from each other in and I had to consciously tamp down on the easy banter with him. I plastered my brightest smile on my face and exchanged pleasantries with her. We were obviously both doing our best to be polite.
I knew little about their history, and the little I did know wasn’t good. It seems that he was forced into marriage with her, for whatever reason. He never explained it clearly and I didn’t ask for further details. I do know that she had hit him and caused the police to be called on them a few years prior – an event almost unheard of in sleepy Yamagata. So, I don’t know what their story is, but I know it’s not a pretty one. You could tell there was no love lost between them, as their interactions were formal and even strained. She left early with the boys and Yoshi came back in the restaurant a different person after walking them out. It was a lot to process in for many reasons.
After dinner, we took pictures in front of the restaurant with the owner and the Manos. We parted ways with Shunji and Yuko, thanking them profusely for the wonderful evening and for treating us to dinner. After parting ways with the Manos, Yoshi, my cousins and I made our way to a tiny, sketchy bar near our hotel owned by another of Yoshi’s friends.
By then, the copious amounts of sake from earlier had taken full effect, leaving my head spinning and inhibitions lowered. We found a high-top table in a dark corner and ordered more drinks. Yoshi chatted with the owner for a bit then rejoined us. There were a few other people in the bar, including several other gaijin and the kind of Japanese folks I tended to love — those rebelling against Japanese tradition who followed their own way — in this case, by hanging out at a sketchy bar with possibly sketchier gaijin. We got our drinks and sat around the table, enjoying lively, drunken chatter and taking drunken selfies. Yoshi is a master at having engaging conversations, even through a drunken haze, and he bantered easily with us. We were having a great time, as my cousins seemed to really like Yoshi and vice versa.
At one point, Yoshi caught my eye with a look I knew all too well — it was time to head outside to smoke. Since I was attempting to keep my habit a secret from my cousins, I had to sneak a cigarette from a Japanese girl, dressed in her finest hip-hop gear, at the bar. Yoshi and I went outside and fell into our old habit — hanging out in our own little world, smoking and talking and enjoying each other’s company. It was awesome to be with Yoshi like this again — full of liquor, with loose tongues that let us talk more freely. We were both smiling the whole time, reminiscing and joking around. It was a special moment for me, one that I wanted to last forever, but we had to rejoin our group lest my cousins get suspicious of our absence.
After a while, Alex and Kim admitted they were done for the evening, so it was down to me, Carolyn, and Yoshi. Eventually, Carolyn got tired and wanted to head to across the street to the hotel. I was disappointed at leaving Yoshi, but I had to take her back, again for propriety’s sake. I said goodbye to Yoshi with a pang of sadness, both of us saying we would see each other again before I left.
I will admit that our behavior with each other that night may have crossed the line a few times from chummy-but-married into heavy flirting. We shared a few clandestine, yet almost reflexive brushes against each other’s hand or knee. He did smack my butt at one point — knowing this was just how our old gang used to joke around and that he would’ve done the same thing to Matt or Keith, I merely laughed and felt a twinge of nostalgia in the pit of my stomach. At any rate, we both clearly kept our heads throughout the night, for obvious reasons. Not to mention, my cousins were with us and I have a feeling they were curious enough about the palpable energy between us and our subtle displays of affection since we first set eyes on each other again. However, that night, I didn’t much care. I was with Yoshi and we were in our old groove. Let them think what they will.
unrequited 