Memoirs of Another Kind by Tyson Goddard (electronic reader .TXT) 📖

around and sighed. So, I’m in some kind of station and I need to find the correct train line, I can’t speak s single word of Japanese and by this point it would only take one thing to go wrong and I might just burst into tears.

“What? Scared?”

It was him again, that other side of me, he whispered into my ear over my shoulder before sashaying around to stand in front of me. He smirked at me with disgust.

“Yes....a little”

“You know this dance well enough Tyson, do I need to take you through the motions..or can we just get this over and done with?”

I nodded in shame as I watched him reach into his pocket and take out a silver coin. Flicking it with his thumb, it spiralled into the air. We both had our eyes on the piece of silver as it tipped and turned. As it descended it landed in my palm, opening my fingers one by one I glimpsed that it was his face staring back at me from the coin and not my own, and then darkness.

As Tyson faded away I took over, the confident one, the other one, that person...or was it entity that was so shocking and brazen that you had to look twice to make sure he was real.

Of course, little Tyson’s efforts could be smiled at with some sincerity, after all he did try.
Now, to Kanda.

Taking a firm grip of my suitcase I marched up to what I assumed was an information desk and asked in clear and slow English.

“Where is the Yamanote line?”

The man who looked to be in his mid twenties stoop up and leaned over his desk, and said pointing his arm out in the general direction of the rest of station.

“reft”

I nodded, hoping that he said left and picked up my luggage and went.

A lot of wandering, asking “do you speak English?” and lugging around a huge suitcase and I finally managed to shuffle my way onto the right train.

I was on my way, I felt the small seedling of hope begin to blossom inside of me and slowly the other me, the confident me the one usually holds the reins began to fade away into a shimmering haze leaving only me behind, he was no longer needed.

As I would come to learn over the next few months the Yamanote is one the busiest train lines in Tokyo as it visits all the main stations that both business me and tourists need or like to go such as the famous Harajuku, Shinjuku, Akihabara and Takadanobaba.

So the train ride, as long as it was, was an interesting one, watching the people come and go in their various attires and attitudes became a pleasurable pass time.

I stepped off the train at Kanda, I was a little relieved to see that this station was nowhere near as busy as Tokyo station, turning a corner I was faced with an impossibly long flight of stairs, no escalators in site, and I had my huge baby elephant sized suit case to lug all the way to the top. Drawing in a sharp breath I tugged and pulled my suitcase over each step, my scarf becoming un-ravelled and my lap top satchel falling from my shoulder a few times. I eventually made it to the top alive and found myself on the street.

I had written the address of the YMCA down in my travel journal, I wandered the streets going into small cafes or corner stores hoping someone could direct me at least in the general direction of the street, but it seemed like I was going in circles.

Apart from the fact I was afraid my suitcase was about to break, my feet were hurting and I was hungry and dirty, I felt so alive, I felt like I was in my own movie as I’d pass from a bustling main street to small little alley where it seemed time had stopped still, it was truly amazing the almost instant contradiction.

Finally I relented and decided to catch a taxi, I’d been avoiding this because I wasn’t used the currency exchange and I’d heard it was quite expensive and I wasn’t sure how much I would need to spend.

Reluctantly I flopped into the back seat of the cab and showed the driver the address, through his broken English he told me that he knew where the address was but not the YMCA. How could that be? I wondered, if he knew the address surely he must know that it was the YMCA, unless the website was wrong?

The taxi amazed me, there was nothing like this in Australia, the interior seemed so crisp and clean and had more frills and lace than a grandmothers mantle piece. The driver wore white gloves and looked so sharp and efficient.

Kanda isn’t necessarily the most interesting place to be, it has its own sense of cosmopolitan attitude but it definitely is not the type of place you think about when you think of Japan or Tokyo.

While it does have a main street lined with multiple story department stores, a StarBucks and those little independent bakeries that could easily become a favoured haunt it’s no buzzing metropolis that over the last few decades has become synonymous with Japan.

Never the less I drank in all that passed by my window. The bold fashion, the large bill boards with the faces of Japanese celebrities and most astonishingly of all was the little shop windows that seemed to hold on tight to their heritage, opting to stay with rice papered sliding doors matched with an exterior of dark brown wood.

He stopped in front of the building with the right address but no YMCA. Within minutes he’d unpacked my luggage put it on the sidewalk and driven away.

Disdained I sat down on the decorative garden wall and felt like crying.

What an utter failure I was already turning out to be. Fear struck me as the question crossed my mind....where would I sleep tonight? It was already high noon and I couldn’t tell if I was closer or further from finding the YMCA.

Somewhere down the street I could hear a small bell tinkling, I looked up and moved my sun glasses down the bridge of my nose a little. A wind chime dangling outside of small rice papered door seemed to call to me, inviting me.

I stood up and pulling the handle of my suitcase wheeled my luggage down towards the little door.

It was the door of a charming little book store, sliding the door to one side I found behind the rice paper door was a glass sliding door, another cultural contradiction, they were everywhere.

Stepping into the crowded little store a small woman about middle age was sitting behind the front desk stacking what looked like Kabuki magazines.

“Excuse me, do you speak English?”

“Oh, a little bit”

“Do you know where the YMCA is? I was given this address but it seems to be wrong”

“Oh, the YMCA? It has umm moved, it was torn down at last year”

My heart dropped with a thunderous crash, I’m sure my eyes showed my horror.

When all seemed to have become that much harder the little woman pulled a pile of posters out of a white envelope. They were posters that had been delivered to her the day prior she explained, and they advertised the new premises of the YMCA. I couldn’t believe it!

She gladly gave me a poster and within minutes I haled a taxi and found myself checking into the YMCA.

Half trudging half stumbling into my room I collapsed on the bed and thanked the Lord for his miracle working. I knew that he’d sent an angel to aid me in my path, who knew they could live in book stores?

I am writing this to you from within my favourite cafe, I’ve been here nearly four months now the season has changed from sweltering summer to freezing autumn, winter is just around the corner and she’s already invading the atmosphere bit by bit.

Although the seasonal conditions have become icy, within me there is spring, new life and change is blossoming in ways I never thought possible.
Like I said, you won’t find me scaling a snow capped peak or getting lost in a jungle, nothing so adventurous.

After all, these are not the memoirs of an adventurer or an explorer, nor are they the memoirs of a person of any particular importance.

These are memoirs, of another kind.

Imprint

Text: The cover Photograph is taken and edited by me, I am also the model.
Publication Date: 11-16-2009

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
For my parents Faith and Lloyd, and my grandparents Carl and Valerie. Your love is with me, even a world away. For Jesus, your love has sustained me, your grace has provided for me.