Tokyo, Japan

By Alex Gibbs

I feel so lost these days,

traveling through the streets of Tokyo.

Living off minimum wage,

struggling to find my inner balance.

I arrived in Japan five years ago

to find myself.

Now I feel more lost than when I arrived.

I have been submerged into the inhumane conditions of the Japanese working culture.

The daily grind makes me feel like Sisyphus,

pushing a boulder of papers and reports.

Up a mountain of deadlines that never ends. 

That never will end.

Sometimes I wonder if I live to work or

If I work to live,

Or maybe a mixture of both.

As my paycheck increases,

my hours spent inside the walls of my clustered cubicle increase,

and my passion evades me.

Each day my smile of feigned enthusiasm grows thinner and thinner.

Ironic.

I came here to find myself.

Now I am a perpetual foreigner,

doomed to never feel like I belong.

Though the country has gotten more accepting of foreigners over the years,

I still get the occasional stare at the park,

or the supermarket,

or anywhere else really.

A kid will stare at me like I’m some sort of spectacle, 

whisper to his friends,

give me one last curious glare,

then laugh and walk away.

Perhaps I idealized Japanese culture.

I was drawn here by the art, 

the fashion, 

and the food.

The ethereal beauty of the sakura trees,

 and the shrines captivated me.

From the outside Japan seemed so perfect.

A land without flaws.

To think I came here to escape the mundane reality of American suburbia,

just to be met with the grim reality that heaven is not a place on earth.

No culture derived by humanity will be perfect.

Humanity will never be perfect.