Home Is Where There Are Friends
<p>The past two weeks have been surreal. Last week was one of the most memorable weeks of my life, and the week prior I spent with my dad who was visiting me in Japan. We cruised around my home in Osaka, visited Kyoto and then spent several nights on the island of Miyakojima.</p>
<p>I was sad to say goodbye to my dad, but I still had a week off of work when I touched back down in Osaka, so I wasn’t totally overwhelmed with emotion.<em> Not yet.</em></p>
<p>I thought I’d spend the week getting back on my routine and relaxing. In a sense I did, but it turned into more. So much more. I’ll start at the end.</p>
<p>Monday. I set out to buy my first <em>chasen</em>, the bamboo whisk used for brewing matcha, the ancient and bright green tea.</p>
<p>I walked out of the second story shop onto the bustling streets of Shinsaibashi, Osaka. The old and sprightly man who ran the store with his son bowed as I turned down the road.</p>
<p><em>“Goodbye, teacher!” </em>he said, waving.</p>
<p>For the last thirty minutes, I’d been perusing his store which sells matcha related goods.</p>
<p>This father son duo seemed surprised that I was there, their shop showing scant signage or anything resembling a shopfront.</p>
<p>I did my best to converse in Japanese while sweating profusely in the small store, wiping my forehead with my trusted handkerchief.</p>
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