What You Need to Head to the Jungle

"We're going to Omiya next week."

Omiya... did you say?
I opened my eyes wide at my friend's words.
The balloon of pride I had felt just last week, when I mustered up immense courage and spirit to go to the big city of Takasaki and proudly carry home a shop bag, instantly deflated.

"You're going... without your parents before even going to Takasaki?"
I asked in a tone as if I were questioning, "You're going into the jungle... without any weapons?"

My friend also nodded strongly, with a face full of excitement mixed with fear and longing, as if they were stepping into Omiya after having conquered the mountain that was Takasaki. It was back when our uniforms were still crisp and clean.

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The Shinkansen line from Tokyo Station to Nagano Station opened when I was in the sixth grade of elementary school. Until then, the only way to get to Tokyo was via a limited express train, a journey that took over five hours, making Tokyo a very distant place. That sense of distance even gave birth to the famous song Azusa No. 2 by the Hunters.

With the hosting of the Nagano Olympics, tunnels were bored through mountain after mountain, and many people came to Nagano Prefecture from Tokyo.

At school, lessons on "what to do when asked for directions by a foreigner" were actively conducted.
We crammed simple English conversation into our heads, muttering "Go straight... turn left... by bus..." every day, waiting for foreigners with the expression, "Come on, if you don't know the way, feel free to ask me."

When the Olympics actually began, there were more foreigners overflowing into Nagano than we had expected, and I became nervous, wondering what I would do if I were actually asked for directions.

The Shinkansen brought many people to Nagano Prefecture.
And it took even more people to Tokyo.

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Crossing the mountains to what lies beyond

By the time we became middle school students, some kids started taking the Shinkansen by themselves to Takasaki Station in Takasaki City, Gunma Prefecture. Since Takasaki was more urban than Nagano, many kids admired it. Shopping at stores not found in Nagano and carrying around those shop bags was a kind of status symbol.

Once everyone started going to Takasaki, the bold ones moved on to Omiya. And that leads to the words at the beginning.

Once you reach high school, your destination goes beyond Takasaki and Omiya to Ikebukuro. At the time, the drama Ikebukuro West Gate Park was a huge hit, and Ikebukuro had an image of being a dangerous place. The moment I stepped off the train, I genuinely thought gangs wearing red, yellow, or black clothes, led by a guy in a tank top and bandana, would attack me with bats and knives.

Whenever I heard friends say they had been to Ikebukuro, I congratulated them on making it back safely. I thought going to Ikebukuro alone as a child was like going into the jungle wearing nothing but underwear.

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Pigtails trembling in the station building

The first time I went to Tokyo alone was in my first year of high school. It was Hachioji, where my older sister was boarding. I didn't know where Hachioji was located in Tokyo, but I knew for sure it was Tokyo. My mission for the day was to shop at the station building until my sister finished her university classes and then go to her boarding house by myself.

The Hachioji station building was big and spacious. I was surprised that the clerk at the women's clothing store was a man, and because that male clerk told me, 'It's all about dresses now! All the girls in Tokyo are wearing dresses,' I bought a dress just as I was told.

The clerk asked, 'Do you want to wear it?' so he cut the tag off with scissors, and I changed into the dress I had just bought and went back out into the city.

I was wearing a dress bought in Tokyo, walking through the streets of Tokyo...! I was half-excited, and the other half was so nervous I thought my heart would jump out of my mouth. To avoid being pegged as a country bumpkin, I walked through the streets as if it were nothing. Yet, it seemed those who knew could tell there was something I couldn't hide, and I was approached by guys in suits and guys with golden manes. It wasn't until they asked me things like, 'Where are you from?' or 'Do you have a place to stay tonight?' that I realized I hadn't blended into Tokyo at all. The person reflected in the shop window, who I thought was dressed as stylishly as possible, was wearing pigtails for some reason. I was, in every way, the very image of a country girl.

I got scared and thought I wouldn't be able to make it to my sister's boarding house. So, I hid in the women's restroom on the third floor of the station building and called my sister. I couldn't even bring myself to throw away the business cards from strangers, so I kept them clutched in my hand.

Hello, Sis? I'm scared, come pick me up!
Where are you?

Inside the station building!
Which building?

Um... OIOI? I'm inside OIOI.
What's OIOI? Where is that?

I don't know. Maybe it's not OIOI. It might be zero-one-zero-one.
Oh. Is it round?


It's not round! It's a rectangular building!
No, not the shape. Didn't it say Marui?

It doesn't say that! It's a building that says OIOI or zero-one-zero-one.
That's why I'm telling you, that's Marui. Just wait there.

She said that and hung up, and a while later, my sister came to pick me up. Without knowing it, I had made my debut at the famous OIOI. I truly wished they would write 'Marui' above the OIOI. After my day in Hachioji, a certain resolve was born in my heart.

I will not go to Tokyo

Tokyo was scary after all. Having become completely intimidated by Tokyo, I decided to attend university and find employment locally, commuting from my parents' house. No matter who I dated, they were always a friend of a friend, or our parents knew each other. This was fine. If I never left my hometown like this, I would eventually marry someone from here, raise children in the town I was used to, and perhaps we would even attend the same elementary school as parent and child.

Even if I didn't know who I would marry, I believed that living in my hometown of Nagano forever was an unshakeable future.

……And yet.
By some twist of fate, I met a man from Tokyo who had come to Nagano on a three-year transfer. He would be returning to Tokyo before long.

If I marry him, I go to Tokyo.
If I choose my hometown, we break up.

That ultimate choice was thrust upon me at 22.

I didn't want to leave my hometown. I wanted to stay with my parents. Tokyo was scary. But I realized that losing this person was even scarier.

So, I decided to get married and live in Tokyo. I was 23.

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Heading toward whatever future awaits

After living in Tokyo for six years and moving around the country due to my husband's transfers, I now live in a place where it's like, 'I'm right near Shibuya.' I find myself in a future that seemed impossible, like bumping into a friend in Shinjuku or just popping over to Shibuya on a whim. Omiya has become further away than those places now.

Moreover, despite claiming to be so intimidated by Tokyo, I am clinging to this place even to the point of letting my husband go on a solo assignment when he was transferred to a regional area.

There have been times when our daily lives were threatened by sudden, unimaginable dangers like earthquakes or the COVID-19 pandemic. Life is full of unforeseen circumstances. Whenever we faced situations not in our original plans, we discussed as a family what to do. Even the resolutions and beliefs I thought were non-negotiable can be easily overturned.

What is it that I value most?
It iswho I live with and where.

The past where I chose to leave my hometown to be with my husband.
I thought that even if I jumped into the scary world of Tokyo, I could overcome it if my husband was there.

Conversely, the present where I chose to stay in the Tokyo suburbs instead of following my husband to a regional area.
I chose to stay here for the sake of my children.

We don't know what the future holds. The future is an uncharted jungle, and we all have to survive in it empty-handed. Perhaps a natural disaster, an overseas assignment, or something even more unimaginable might strike our family one day. The day will also come when we are forced to make an ultimate choice we would rather not make.

However.

What is it that I want to protect right now?
What am I willing to let go of for that sake?

As long as I keep that at the center of my heart, I know now that I can overcome the things I once feared and the things I once thought I was bad at.

I feel like I can hear someone's voice, as if it were a mixture of fear and longing.

We are heading into the future, into the jungle, from here on out.

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