In Isumi, I experienced what it meant to indulge in the pleasure of simply living and being.
Some of my most vivid memories include nights out with friends, bringing homemade bento sets and sitting by the beach in darkness. We would run splashing into the cold sea water and float on our backs, gazing at the stars, the waves gently lapping against the nearby shore. There was a certain sense of surrender and peace that I had never experienced before.
Smoke of green and red filled the beach of Taito as we lighted up fire sparklers and danced around in an unrestrained joy. As the last spark came to its end, I expected everyone to stand up and leave. Yet instead, no one moved. There was a gentle stillness in the air as everyone sat in a circle with eyes closed in a meditative silence for a long while. It was a magical moment that I remember until this day.
On our days off, Kuma Chan and I would take our bikes and make our way to the beach under the hot summer heat, a thirty minute ride filled with scenes of rice fields and pine trees. We would surf for an entire day, stopping by for bubble tea on the way back; sunburnt and tired, but elated. Week after week, we would hunt for waves, and on our last session together, she caught a wave entirely by herself. I don’t recall feeling more happiness and pride than that very moment.
Some nights, Tommy would grab a whole bunch of firewood and head into the teepee. Those nights were filled with fire cackling, smoke drifting upwards into the night sky, homemade sake and ume juice. Sen Chan would play songs on the guitar, and Kuma Chan would sing, her head on Sen’s shoulder; a sisterly love that was so precious and beautiful to witness.
No one complained about the dirt, nothing was taken for granted, everyone was simply living.
Writing about these memories is harder than I was ready for.. It made me remember the beauty I experienced when I was living there, and the sadness I felt when I left the place.
I recently conveyed of this sadness to a friend who is living in Isumi, and in return she said -
'You’re missing the time because it brought you joy too.'
'The sadness, the joy…they are a part of each other. Try leaning into that joy too. It’s always within you.'
...
Kuma Chan, thank you for all of the beautiful memories, of your smile, your laughter, of surfing together, it was some of my happiest times there.
Sen Chan, thank you for your kindness. Although you didn't speak much English, and my Japanese was terrible, you were always so warm to me. I will always remember your smile, how you are able to take a nap anytime and anywhere, and your expression when you eat good food.
One of my favourite memories in Isumi would be playing beach volleyball at O'hara, a quiet and oddly peaceful long stretch of sand with breakwaters dotted along the coast. The beach would normally be empty except for a few surfers and almost every week, I would see a familiar face; such is life in a small town.
Most Tuesdays, Shoh would get all the workaways from the nearby camping site down to the beach in the late afternoon, and some of us would head over from the farm, just as the sun was beginning to set behind a long line of pine trees on the left. We would carry our own net and bamboo poles and hammer them into the sand.
None of us are volleyball players, so the games were often filled with heaps of silly mistakes and laughter. Strangers at first, we slowly bonded over music, beer, goofiness and good vibes all around, week after week.
The sunsets there were always beautiful as we played into the last bit of dying light - a strong orange glow on the right and on the left, blue and purple skies with wispy clouds.
Sometimes, we would even see the moon.
After a game or two, all of us would run across the wide stretch of sand with the sun setting behind our back, splashing into the water, the cold sea water washing away all the sand and tiredness from the summer heat. We would dive into the crashing waves, and I would float on my back, just looking at the sky and thinking how blessed I was to experience that wonderful moment.
At that moment, I looked up and saw Kamila on my right floating on the water, the warm sunset diffused by sea mist outlining her face and casting an orange glow across everyone. I glimpsed Shoh standing to my left sweeping the water from his hair, and Hugo in front of me diving headfirst into the waves.
It was exactly like a movie scene, and one of the best moments I've experienced in my life.
I will never forget it.
Most Tuesdays, Shoh would get all the workaways from the nearby camping site down to the beach in the late afternoon, and some of us would head over from the farm, just as the sun was beginning to set behind a long line of pine trees on the left. We would carry our own net and bamboo poles and hammer them into the sand.
None of us are volleyball players, so the games were often filled with heaps of silly mistakes and laughter. Strangers at first, we slowly bonded over music, beer, goofiness and good vibes all around, week after week.
The sunsets there were always beautiful as we played into the last bit of dying light - a strong orange glow on the right and on the left, blue and purple skies with wispy clouds.
Sometimes, we would even see the moon.
After a game or two, all of us would run across the wide stretch of sand with the sun setting behind our back, splashing into the water, the cold sea water washing away all the sand and tiredness from the summer heat. We would dive into the crashing waves, and I would float on my back, just looking at the sky and thinking how blessed I was to experience that wonderful moment.
At that moment, I looked up and saw Kamila on my right floating on the water, the warm sunset diffused by sea mist outlining her face and casting an orange glow across everyone. I glimpsed Shoh standing to my left sweeping the water from his hair, and Hugo in front of me diving headfirst into the waves.
It was exactly like a movie scene, and one of the best moments I've experienced in my life.
I will never forget it.
I first met Shoh at the summer festival and immediately thought he looked super cool. And though he had left the farming team before I arrived, we ended up hanging out quite a fair bit during my time there.
So much of my cherished memories outside of Brown's Field includes Shoh - beach volleyball, music festivals, meals, outdoor sauna, bonfires. Us not working together didn't stop him from extending his friendship to me unreservedly from the start, and it was a friendship I cherished deeply. On my last night, Shoh also organised a bonfire and invited everyone, as a farewell.
Shoh and Sharan, thank you for your openness, your friendship, your kindness, I will always remember it.
Life in Isumi was always interesting.
There would be music events, various summer festivals, or some activities to do outdoors. I somehow always found myself out in the sun, cycling, swimming, surfing, cooking, going on a road trips - crusted sea salt and sand on my sunburned skin was a constant reminder of the life I was blessed enough to experience.
The surrounding scenery is breathtaking often filled me with disbelief. Japanese houses nestled on the foot of hills neatly grown with tall pine trees, golden rice fields that ripples in the wind, the Ghibli-like blue sky and clouds, and of course, the ocean. After living in Isumi, I finally understood that the scenes from Studio Ghibli movies weren't out of imagination - they were real.
In Isumi, I met a few people whom I formed a close friendship with.
Tommy is probably my closest friend there, not only because we were both on the farming team, but because he is such a great person who was really open to me the moment we met. He really helped me get accustomed to life there, and helped me so many ways. We spent a lot of time together; pulling out weeds, watching sunsets, harvesting rice, having conversations after meals, playing beach volleyball, drinking cocktails and beers, having bonfires - a real life Tarzan boy.
Most of my cherished memories of Brown's Field in one way or another, include Tommy.
A dear friend once said to me -
'Some people, we connect with instantly and we know it lasts forever. We have that kind of friendship. So let it be easy, let it flow, let it move with our lives, no matter what shape they may take, where we might be. Proximity isn’t the most important aspect of a friendship. Intent is.'
I'm really grateful that I could meet you during my time in Isumi. I will always remember those days we spent at Furuya, watching the sunset.
Even if we may never have the chance to meet again, I will never forget your kindness and your friendship.
A friend and I were sitting in omoya one ordinary afternoon, quietly going about our individual tasks, when I casually asked her what her favorite Japanese word was.
After pondering for a while, with a genuine smile that she always carries, she said that her favorite word was Komorebi (木漏れ日), which means - The sunlight that filters through the trees.
How delicately light flow and weave is so essential in the feelings contained in photographs, yet I never once knew that there was a word that could so beautifully describe it.
After pondering for a while, with a genuine smile that she always carries, she said that her favorite word was Komorebi (木漏れ日), which means - The sunlight that filters through the trees.
How delicately light flow and weave is so essential in the feelings contained in photographs, yet I never once knew that there was a word that could so beautifully describe it.
...
こんちゃん、
あの朝の日の出、あの夜私たちがコテージに座っていたときの満月、覚えていますか？
こんちゃんの気遣いと優しさをいつも覚えています。私はすべての会話を大切にしました。かき氷と温泉を食べに遠征したあの日は、いつまでも特別な思い出です。
いつもお世話になりありがとうございます。
今でもまた会えることを願っています。
The smallest bit of daylight had began to appear at 4.30am, lifting up the dark night.
As the world continued sleeping, Kyo was already hard at work in her bakery, putting in chopped wood to fire up the oven. It was laborious and hot, reaching in with her hands to place the wood with a glove that barely protected her from the heat.
She then started weighing and cutting up the dough she had prepared the day before for the various types of bread to be baked that day - I counted about six trays.
Over the next four hours or so as day started to brighten, she continued to prepare dough and watch the fire.
Normally smiling, her gaze instantly transformed into a deep flow and concentration that was mesmerising to watch. Even the air in the bakery felt different with a quiet intensity.
Having apprenticed for a year under one of Japan's most famous baker in Okinawa, she and her husband, a barista, came to Brown's Field as guests, and a twist of fate led them to stay.
When I asked her what was the most difficult part of being a baker, she said that making bread was the easy bit; it was only a matter of mixing flour and water and the various ingredients.
What was hard was reaching the image she had in her mind, about the type of texture and flavour that she wanted to achieve.
To close that distance between imagination and reality, is the hardest barrier to cross.
She then started weighing and cutting up the dough she had prepared the day before for the various types of bread to be baked that day - I counted about six trays.
Over the next four hours or so as day started to brighten, she continued to prepare dough and watch the fire.
Normally smiling, her gaze instantly transformed into a deep flow and concentration that was mesmerising to watch. Even the air in the bakery felt different with a quiet intensity.
Having apprenticed for a year under one of Japan's most famous baker in Okinawa, she and her husband, a barista, came to Brown's Field as guests, and a twist of fate led them to stay.
When I asked her what was the most difficult part of being a baker, she said that making bread was the easy bit; it was only a matter of mixing flour and water and the various ingredients.
What was hard was reaching the image she had in her mind, about the type of texture and flavour that she wanted to achieve.
To close that distance between imagination and reality, is the hardest barrier to cross.
...
My fondest memories include sitting on the porch every weekend, watching golden fields of rice ebb and flow with the wind, sipping on a cup of Acoustic Cafe's delicious milk brew, with the fragrant scent of freshly baked cinnamon roll.
Those moments filled me with much peace and happiness; a cup of coffee and a bag of fresh bread. It was the simplest joy in life that I looked forward to every week, and I remember them fondly.
Those moments filled me with much peace and happiness; a cup of coffee and a bag of fresh bread. It was the simplest joy in life that I looked forward to every week, and I remember them fondly.
I would never have gotten to know about Brown's Field if it wasn't for Jacinda.
Jac.. our lives have crossed paths in such mysterious yet serendipitous ways. From having a meal at your house for the first time, to becoming friends, and you being there through the break up, our lives intertwining in Japan, Singapore, Malaysia. Long periods would go by when we wouldn't hear from each other or know our places in the world, but our paths would cross again when the universe intended to.
As we get ready to set out again into the world, thank you for everything. Thank you for your kindness, for your generosity, for our honest conversations, for your friendship.
There's nothing quite like having someone from the same culture in a foreign land.
Cynthia, thanks for being a friend, and for easing me into life in Isumi. I can't express how grateful I was having you and Maina there. For all the dinner invites at your place, onsen trips, summer night festivals, and even taking care of us when Daiwen was there and treating us like family, I can't thank you enough.
Throughout the last week in Isumi, I felt little tinges of sadness here and there. Yet, even when I was saying goodbye to everyone, it almost didn’t seem real, it didn't feel like I was going to leave Isumi and Japan. As the plane was making its way to the take off on the tarmac, I was listening to Sayonara Colour on repeat, and thought about the times when Tommy and I worked at Furuya, pulling out weeds by hand, Tommy singing Sayonara Colour in the field as the sun was setting, watching the planes flying overhead, one after another in a straight line, and us enjoying the sunsets in near silence as the days come to an end.
At that moment, a surge of emotion came up and I teared up.
I didn’t want to leave Isumi.
I didn’t want to leave that life behind - the beautiful sunsets by the ocean, the good times with everyone, the silence of nature, the wide open space, the friends I’ve made, the routine we’ve both created in the short time together. But that's life, isn't it? Nothing really last forever, everything is impermanent.
It felt so surreal, to be coming back to the concrete jungle.
It almost didn’t seem real that one day I was there and the next I am here.
Until the day I die, I will never forget these memories and the time I spent there.
