2` Still 6'1"

Even after the once familiar concept of degrees lay trampled beneath my feet, I was still unchanged. All around me highrises erupted, eyes narrowed, complexions darkened, hairs straightened. The place was different. But I was still the same pasty white, the same blonde, standing at a consistent and resilient 6'1", not bent like the pavement that suffered through my countless steps. No matter how much the natives butchered my name, it was still Anton, or at least some variant. The similarity between Anton and Ahn-tohn brought a sobering consistency to the whole situation.

Whatever I was supposed to find in Tokyo, I had to do it of my own accord. The mutated degrees were not willing to do it for me. Change would be wholly internal, if it were to be at all. I took a look at the Japanese signs surrounding me, with English subtitles under almost half. The combination of not being able to understand the incomprehensible scribble-like images, and actually understanding the routine English alphabet only served to reinforce the immutability of my being. My body was stuck with my mind, inseparable regardless of the location. A body stuck in (or on?) a mind, so to speak.

I was there to visit the girl I love. Meet the family for the first time, make a summary judgment of Tokyo in particular and Japan in general, and take a return flight a week later. I extended my ticket for several days after my scheduled return. It didn't cost much, as though something wanted me to stay. As though anyone cared, I thought. Only I could be so selfish to assume that anyone, anything, was at all interested in where I was or what I was doing. As though the world wasn't spinning without me. I was just lucky Gravity still remembered me. Then again, "remembered" isn't exactly the word I was considering at the time. I was lucky that Gravity hadn't singled me out in any way, that I was still a faceless nobody to the world of nature.

Relieved that I was still in good standing with Gravity, I walked with a renewed confidence to baggage claim. If omniscient Gravity didn't care, what right did anyone else have to give a damn? So I was different from everyone else; I still did not matter. So my steps felt sure and steadfast, my direction certain despite the fact that I could not understand half the signs that pointed to where I was going. As I strolled along, I felt my eyes narrow, my hair darken, my frame shrink. I felt my complexion change a hardly noticeable hue, I felt myself meshing into the crowds and the streets. I saw myself on the streets of Shibuya, undistinguishable from the rest of the suit-wearing mobs. I was on the streets of Akasaka, the alleys of Shibuya, the plaza at Roppongi Hills. And I was just like everyone else.

I took a detour and stopped at the bathroom. I didn't stop at a urinal or stall, but went straight to a mirror and stared at the reflection, or what should have been the reflection. But what I saw was not who I imagined. That man was 6'1", blonde, blue-eyed. I even noticed the minute change in skin color that I knew had become mine. The man facing me could not have been a reflection. I could not have been this abnormal thing, this out-of-place barbarian. This was not me, I was sure. So I shrugged, as did the man before me, and walked out of the bathroom. What was that, I thought? I forgot what I looked like, what the man in the mirror looked like. In my mind, my face disappeared. I was a blank, a freshly scrubbed canvas. It was up to me to fill the white with something of value, something worth selling. I wasn't on sale, but I would paint as though I was preparing the art gallery that would represent my life's accomplishments. And it had to be done in ten days.

"What was that?," I thought.

3` What Was That? >>