Chaos and Quiet in Tokyo

Chaos and Quiet in Tokyo

was a movie that first attracted me to Tokyo. You probably
know the one; a vision of pink wigs, sharing sushi and Japanese
whiskey with Bill Murray. I craved to be Scarlet Johansson, sitting
above a city of twinkling lights, walking silently through streets
of neon lights and salmon streams of faceless, suit-wearing bodies.
That feeling of being inordinately Lost in Translation, overwhelmed
by the size of the world and my own insignificance in it is a
feeling I’ve felt many times when travelling. As an introvert,
something attracts me to these big, brash places. Perhaps it’s that
sheer contrast of personality: silent, creative girl seeks loud,
reckless city for confusing whirlwind romance. Enquire within and
send flight tickets.

It’s a feeling which left me craving Japan, and soon enough I
was there, breathing it, walking its streets, wig-less yet
attempting to take on another personality. Could I be that Tokyo

Yet, as the days went by I found myself increasingly comfortable
in the city, and in my own wall-flowered skin. I was never really
able to find my way around, but still, Tokyo settled within me and
I lived in that city for six days as if I would never leave.
Despite its lavish appearance, its core is deeply introverted. It’s
not the neon skylines which define the city but the inner workings
and the hidden backstreets. Tokyo exists in the eyes of the
yakitori grillers down alleyways in Shinjuku, in the morning
traders at the Tsukiji fish market and the blossoming alternative
culture of Shimokitazawa. It’s a city of neighbourhoods, each
honing unique personalities, cuisines and sub-cultures.

In the end, my vision of the city was one of contrasts. And
somewhere between those twinkling lights of the night sky, the
veins of the city, the politeness of the people, and my own lonely
wanders, I captured a Tokyo that is not seen in the movies, but one
which is unique to me.

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