Ryan Amor

I hate tours.I hate to be directed, told where to go, what to do and to be spoon-fed information which for the most part, I could have learned by myself. Sure, we put in tons of notes gathered from everywhere but the moment we landed, that was inexplicably out the window.

We were led by fleeting, random choices to go left or right, up there or down, to stop here, linger there. We let ourselves be consumed by pure distraction; no trinket, strange alley, strange smell or flashing lights was any less worthy to be explored, ogled at, held and photographed (via phone, Meta glasses & Nikon camera).

The only thing that bound everything together with some logic was technology (Google maps) a great deal of muscle & endurance and two pairs of expensive shoes meant for all-day walking.

I don’t want to just be on the surface of things. I want to know what a place is really like; on the trains, on another destination to somewhere, I would run scenarios in my head- what if I lived here? Which part of the city would I be? What job would I have? What food would I cook and eat? Where and who would I fuck? What clothes would I wear?

And the scenarios would become more specific: would I be the Comme de garcons wearing type, or would I be a Uniqlo person? Would I have friends and what kind of people would they be? Would I live in Kiyosumi-Shirakawa with its quiet, design-conscious neighbourhoods with the cafes, galleries and canals? Or maybe Yanaka with that old Tokyo charm and the little shops, temples and cats (!)?

I would never, ever feel the need to drive again. I would read books backwards. Dinner would be an Asahi and a bowl of ramen which I never really liked until a few nights ago.

I would be that old Japanese man waiting for the local sento to open, to shed and bare everything in a space full of other men, but not really revealing anything. I do my business, purify my body and calm my thoughts and head home.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.