When I was a child, my parents gave me a small porcelain statue of a geisha. It belonged to my father’s mother who passed away before I could form a memory of her. The statue was all white with pale blue and pink markings. The geisha knelt with a small drum beside her as if she were about to play it. Her hair curved high above her head in a beautiful sweep and a small dab of color formed tiny heart shaped lips on her face. That one impression of a beautiful culture so different than my own, planted a seed in my child’s heart, growing a love for all things Japanese.
I arrived in the mighty metropolis of Tokyo after a sleepless ten hour flight from Australia. Dazed by the bright morning light, I heaved my bags through a sea foreign faces. Unknown to me, I was walking into a spring holiday and people had flocked to the Asukasa area to celebrate. It was one of those rare, first warm days where everyone feels the need to escape outside. The change of season finally sets people free from winter’s cold confinement.