The white boxy shaped car whirled quietly to the station, the cabin within enclosed in a comfortable silence, a slight hint of the level of familiarity that had been fostered over three weeks of living together. The conversation between Sean and Ash was ordinary and everyday; it spoke about doing the laundry and wondering whether Luna would nap in the car after being picked up from school, a gentle giggle here and there, simple little things that we don't think much of during fragile times of peace. I was happy to be a passive participant during the ride, taking in my last sights of Okayama and the places that we often passed by on the way to town - the wooden stakes that I helped drove into the gritty soil one cloudy morning, a long jute rope begrudgingly connecting them all together to form the boundary of the property, the windy road that curved left followed by a sharp right before it opens up to a wide, unobstructed view of the town and the line of mountains beyond, the half acre lake with a gazebo in middle, the new laundromat that combined both washing and drying, an impressive technology if you ask me.
My thoughts couldn't help but drift back to the first day I arrived, the weather gloomy and dark, but the space awakened instantly by the ruckus of trolley luggage, the excited footsteps of a curious child, awkward initial introductions and halting conversations. The kitchen was almost immediately kick started into action, Sean skillfully whipping up three dishes for dinner, a fine premonition of things to come. The meals that followed were nothing short of amazing in terms of presentation and taste, though the nutritional values were borderline questionable as with most taste worthy food. Not normally a breakfast person, the fragrance of freshly fried eggs, toast and sausages would waft up every morning to the second floor where we slept, arousing my olfactory senses before my eyes even had the chance to make sense of where I was.
The all too familiar starting notes of 'I Can't Make You Love Me' would echo through the hall, repeating countless times during my stay there anytime the mood arose, each of us taking on the shared responsibility of pressing the 'start' button once Bon Iver's soft falsetto brings the song to an end. That vinyl player has become an integral part of my time at Isle of Dreams, my memories engraved with the theme song from Ghostbusters triggering an uncoordinated father daughter dance off, the atmospheric soundtrack of 'Her' lulling us into a pensive melancholy, the groovy blues of Otis Redding that reminded me of the movie 'Perfect Days', and the smooth tunes from Japanese records that were probably produced when we were all still kids.
Surrounded by dusty, raindrop stained glass windows that stretched across three sides of the house, the light that landed on the tiled bar counter and wooden floors was gorgeously soft and poetic. The frosted glass panels on the wooden door on either side glowed orange at the break of dawn with the mesmerizing dance of light and shadows, drawing my attention like a moth to a flame, threatening to consume all of my attention if I allowed my mind to drift away from the hearty breakfast that was laid in front of me.
It was evident from the endearing way that they cared for Luna the selfless depth of love they had for her. In them I saw the love my parents must have had for me when I was a child. As I watched them play with, feed, and at times unsuccessfully negotiate with her to get into the shower, I wondered if she will one day grow up to realise how blessed and fortunate she was to be surrounded with such tenderness and love.
In this space, I've come to marvel at what the seemingly ordinary surface can so casually conceal, where nothing or no one is actually ordinary underneath. The folks that cycle through the space each secretly harbour some sort of hidden talent; similar to the wooden platform supported by an intricate system of wood joinery, or Sashimono, painstakingly carved and adjusted by handheld chisels, saws and planes over the course of a year. I was fortunate enough to see the culminated effort come together halfway through my stay. Every corner, flooring, blank wall, countertop has been touched with ingenuity and creativity.
During my last days, there was an artist who, within the course of a day, magically conjured up a painting of fire wizards riding atop a giant salamander, it's head bursting out into the blue sky from a grove of seaweed. An old lamp hanging from the roof was taken down and, amongst the soft shredding of colored paper, transformed into something that breathed new life into the space. But I wouldn't be able to write about it like how Ash did, her words effortlessly flow with a magical ability to infuse scenes in my mind and weave emotions in my heart whenever I study them again and again with awe.
Her writings open new realms of perspectives to see life itself in poetically crafted light. And how coincidental is it that only two months ago, I plunked myself down on the seat at Casual Poet Library, pulled out a book from the shelf next to me, and subsequently went on to have my mind blown away by the personal handwritten introduction on a piece of paper slipped behind the front cover. I spent the entire afternoon pulling out each book in hunger for more, each introduction an infusion of her thoughts and a profusion of love for those particular books, understanding the reasons for her attachment to them and the detailed importance of their roles in various points of her life.
Such is the benevolence of fate that I had gotten to know my inspirations as real human beings and not just a piece of work I've come across on a screen - to have shared moments, communal meals, lived together, and have honest conversations where we allowed our fabricated walls to disintegrate and talked about the things that truly mattered. How fortunate is it that I'm able to call friends those whose work and being had saturated my soul with life and gave me a reason to keep creating and to keep on living.
I am thankful for how they have pulled apart the curtains and allowed me to impose on their own everyday, private lives within this cherished space. In the midst of the relentless and sometimes unforgiving nature of constant travel, the solidity of routine, the freedom to rest and be, a peaceful space to write in the stillness of the night and the nourishment of home cooked meals are nothing less than an answered prayer.
But above all, and as always, I'm thankful for the graciousness of friends.
But above all, and as always, I'm thankful for the graciousness of friends.
