My Grandfather in Tokyo

I first encountered the "Yubido sign" about 30 years ago.
I had just moved to Tokyo, and I was clumsy at everything—transferring trains, gauging the distance between people, and everything else.

The "Yubido sign" at the long-established picture frame shop in Kanda Ogawamachi was faded and nearly gone, looking almost like a painting by that famous Impressionist artist. If I squinted, I could just barely make out that a Mount Fuji was depicted on it.

Honestly, it couldn't be called beautiful, but it had the dignity of having survived the history of this city, and for some reason, it made me feel at ease, as if it were watching over me quietly.

From then on, every time I came to Kanda, even if I had no business there, I would come to the front of the "Yubido sign" as if to visit the only acquaintance I had in the city.

Perhaps it was like a "grandfather" to me in Tokyo.

I grew older.
I got used to my job, made mistakes, and little by little, I became a "Tokyo person."
The Yubido sign grew older along with me.
Even so, Yubido always welcomed me, never changing.

Then, one day, it changed!

It had been renovated!!

It had turned white, become clean, and transformed into a "cafe" with a modern look.

It's beautiful!
But it looks like a stranger.

And then, I suddenly thought.

Wait a minute?!
Aren't I the one who looks like the "grandfather" now?

Yubido had rejuvenated.
I had simply aged properly.

In the past, I felt like I was being watched over by a grandfather, but now, it feels like I've become the older one, and I feel as if our positions have reversed.

That makes me feel just a little bit lonely.

Cities are reborn.
Buildings are reborn.
But people don't rejuvenate so easily.

Today, I walk past the renovated Yubido again.
And in my heart, I say this to the old "Yubido sign."

"Thank you for watching over me all this time."