Gaijin

The word means "outsider". Its use is often derogatory. It applies to me wherever I am.

I used to think that the distance I felt between myself and the rest of the world, the layers of numbness that separated us, lent me a degree of objectivity, that it made me a disinterested observer, and that this in turn would one day help me become the writer I wanted to be. And then there were the bad days... Of course, I had considered that maybe I was suffering from depression. Considered and dismissed it. Depressions was a serious condition and what I had was the occasional case of the blues. To even contemplate the two together was to denigrate the more serious condition. But then the bad days became more frequent, they lasted longer and the gaps between them grew shorter... And yet I continued ignoring it, year after year, until I finally had to admit — after ticking almost all the boxes on a couple of different "spot the signs" checklists — that maybe my problem had a name after all.

Travelling alone was probably a mistake, but I didn't really have much choice. I've always wanted to travel, but it wasn't until very recently that the opportunity — the confluence of money and spare time — presented itself. And of course I was alone, so if I wanted to travel I would have to do it — as I have to do everything — alone. But you're never really alone with depression, and so I found myself walking the streets of one of the greatest cities in the world, a black dog slinking along at my heels, close to tears at how wretched I felt.

I'm sure that there's an aphorism about travelling in order to discover yourself. I discovered that on the streets of Tokyo I was the same pathetic individual as I am in London. I shied away from so many of the new experiences there were to sample. I should have learnt more of the language before I went. I should have pressed harder against the boundaries of my comfort zones. Instead I cowered, ran away, hid. Every evening I was tucked up in my hotel room nice and early, telling myself that watching local TV was more in keeping with my goal of immersing myself in the culture of the place than would be sitting ignored in the corner of some bar. I never go out alone in London, either.

The worse thing is the lack of memories. I have copious photographs — which in due course I will sort through and post online — but that's not the same. They mean something only to me. I can share snapshots, but the original moments were shared with no one. I always carry a notebook with me — I hope it will help me become the writer I want to be — and I note down observations, thoughts and snippets I hope share in my writing someday, but that's not the same, either. There was no pointing out things to a companion; there will be no "do you remember...?"s in the years to come. But again, this is no different from London, either. Being alone is shit wherever you are.