Sayonara

I walked home in the pouring rain; the echo of karaoke songs still reverberating in my head and my shoes filled with water. It was 5.15 am. I had said goodbye to my drunken friends and students as they sheltered in the doorway of a McDonalds that was preparing to open for breakfast. They were waiting for the first train. It was still dark.

My apartment was a mess. A half packed suitcase sat at the end of the room. The hallway was filled with bags of rubbish and the floor was strewn with clothes and farewell gifts. Why is it that you always have more stuff than you think you do and things always take longer than you anticipate I wondered? I took a hot shower and put a dry T-shirt on and sat on my bed. This was it. In 48 hours I would be on a plane bound for the Motherland. In the meantime I had to extricate myself from this existence - which was proving to be a strange process.

The week had been one of parties, presents and goodbyes. I feared that arriving home would be one long emotional hangover. Would I experience reverse-culture shock? Or would seeing all my friends and family again compensate for all that I was giving up here? Oddly, as far as the present moment was concerned, I was aware only of a certain 'numbness of being'. Not sadness, not fear or regret, not excitement, just nothingness. I felt calm. I was thinking only about doing what had to be done.

I had no concrete plans for when I got home, just some ideas. I wanted to go to Las Vegas in April for the World Series of Poker and perhaps enrol on a journalism course and pursue a career in that field. I had given it a lot of thought since I graduated and now felt certain that would be right for me.

Many people wondered why I was giving up a decent job, friends and a life in Tokyo. I think the main one was that I had got what I wanted out of the experience. I wanted to go somewhere different and experience living in a new culture. I also promised myself that I wouldn't return until I had made a decision about what kind of career I wanted to pursue. There was also a part of me that wasn't as happy as I knew I could be, so I felt it was time for a change.

The sun was shining the next day and by lunchtime I was sitting in an empty flat. A guy from the airport came to collect my suitcase. It was heavy. He could hardly lift it. A short while later I had an amusing exchange with the gas man who came to settle up my account and switch my supply off. Despite (or perhaps because of) the language barrier I was actually given some money back. Just when I thought I might be vacating in profit, the doorbell went again. I could see a uniform in the video monitor. It was the electricity man. He presented me with a sheet of paper to sign with my hanko stamp, and a bill for 7,500 yen.

I sat looking out the window for a while or flicking through the channels on the TV. This was my last day in Japan. At five, Jason, Erika and Koki came round. We took a couple of things to the school and Jason helped carry my guitar. We took the train two stops to Tachikawa. We spent the evening at Za Watami izakaya. The last supper.

It was the second morning I'd been walking the streets at 5.30 am. The difference this time was that it wasn't raining and this time I wasn't going home. At least not my home in Tokyo. A tiny hunch-back was sweeping the pavement in the dark and cold. The streets were quiet except for the distant clatter of the trains. I had stayed the night - what there was of it - at J's. Stations are always depressing at this time. The two of us stood shivering in the glare of the electric light. A grubby looking woman was sleeping standing up against a wall.

A steady trickle of commuters started passing through the ticket barriers. Another day in Tokyo was just begining. Life just continued for all of them. Another day at the office. Another day walking through Shibuya. It was all about to vanish from my reality. My eyes would no longer see these things. I would no longer smell that smell of ramen in the air or hear the now familiar mélange of Japanese voices.

I saw Erika running towards us. She had come to say a last goodbye. We all walked down to the platform and after a few minutes, a couple of hugs and farewells, the Narita Express pulled in. Jason ran along beside it waving me off as I disappeared from view. The rest of my journey was a solitary one that took me half way across the world.

I drifted into the airport in a daze, pushing a trolley. I was too early to check in so I had a coffee and people watched. I love airports. I love watching the screens with all their flickering times and destinations. The constant migration of peoples to places. I reminded myself that to move forward you have to leave things behind. It is a gamble. And a gamble is what I took when I decided to move to Tokyo. Lucky for me it paid off. I just couldn't believe it was over. I sipped my coffee. I remembered something I read in a book by Paul Auster. "The places you have been become part of who you are." So, in a sense, you never really lose anything

With that reassuring notion in mind, I finished my coffee and headed for the departures board. I like the sound it makes when the letters change. After spotting which desk I was to check-in at I collected my suitcase from the far end of the hall. I was beginning to worry about the weight of it. Plus the zip was a bit broken. I went through my bags double-checking I didn't have any blades, liquids or drugs on my person. (I got caught with a Swiss Army knife coming through customs on my way back from Amsterdam. I denied all knowledge of it vehemently of course - because I had forgotton all about it - which led to a search which proved me wrong. Oops.)

Check-in proved to be a nightmare. My fears were not unfounded. I heaved the case onto the scales and held my breath as the red numbers flickered back and forth and then finally rested on 37.5 kg. Oh my god. My baggage allowance was 20 kg. I had my guitar too in a hard case to check-in as well. I would have no choice but to pay excess baggage. The problem was I was over the excess baggage allowance too - 35 kg. I asked how much it would cost for the extra fifteen kilos. I was trying to think what I could dig out and throw in a bin. She told me it would be £50. Fine! I thought. No problem. Phew! Er, no. Sorry wait a minute, she had made a mistake. That would be £500. Oh dear.

There was a queue of people behind me (as there usually is at check-in desks in airports). I wasn't going to pay 500 quid. The woman suggested I post some things back so I lugged the 37.5kg suitcase off the scales as best I could, and, with the other arm, carried my guitar. On my left shoulder I had a very heavy bag and my handbag. I don't know how I managed to get to the exit gate but I did. Unfortunately, I didn't get much further because I got stuck in the turnstile. I stood there for a moment or two looking sheepish with my guitar held out in front of me and my suitcase wedged behind me. Thankfully, a couple of helpful Japanese men rushed to my aid. I felt a bit stupid though, not to mention stressed with my 'crisis'.

I located the post office and purchased the biggest box they had. I then proceeded to dump as much of the contents of my suitcase as it would accommodate into it. They weighed it. It was about 18kg if I remember rightly. I made the decision to send it back to England by ship, as opposed to plane, because although it would take two months, it was a quarter of the price.

Back at check-in, it was time for the dreaded 'weigh-in'. With the guitar as well the final count was 27.2kg. In spite of my (feeble, I have to admit) protests they charged me a further £150 for a measley few extra kilos. I was livid. I felt like asking how much they charge people who are overweight. Not only had I missed out on my bonus which would have covered my flight, I had to pay out all this to get my belongings home. Still, travel rarely goes smoothly. I tried to be philosophical and hope that this was my dose of bad luck which would mean the plane wouldn't crash somewhere over Siberia.

And miraculously it didn't. Five films, a stop-over at Schipol and a few security checks later I was back in London. Everything was comfortingly familiar. I could smell coffee and read all the signs, and there were westerners everywhere. In fact I was rather disappointed that I wasn't overcome with 'reverse-culture shock'. It all felt very easy. I was greeted by my dear parents who I must say, I was very pleased to see. I just couldn't believe I was back home again. I don't think I will ever get over how time really does go by and things always seem to.... just end.