Brutus and I

　

The first time I met your difficult face was in Sapporo, Hokkaido, shortly after I started living alone.

　

　You look like Akira Nakao or Russell Crowe.

　

My first impression of you was subtle, but I soon fell in love with your noble expression. I tried my best to keep up with my rivals by carefully tracing the shadows of your face over and over again, trying my best to bring you closer to me.

　

Time passed, and I returned to my alma mater, the University of Fine Arts. It is a contradiction in terms to give "advice" to students while putting myself on a very high shelf as a student. You never know what will happen in life.

　

One day, as I was finishing up my usual assignment checks, I casually glanced out the window of the hot water heater room and there you were. More than a decade had passed since we last met, and I saw you again.

　

You, who had basked in everyone's admiration, were no longer there. You were in a place where the sun never shines, forgotten by everyone, standing quietly in the shadows. You were there on rainy days and windy days.

 

Looking at you, I felt an indescribable sense of emptiness, thinking that the tremendous amount of time I had spent here would be disposed of with the unclassified papers by the time the new semester started.

 

Finally, I decided to put you back "where you belong”. One fine day, I carried out my plan. As I approached you with trepidation, I saw that your head was peeling off and mushrooms were growing on your beautiful face. I lifted you up carefully so as not to hurt you, covered in mud, and hurried to rescue you as quickly as possible.

　

Set on the stand, you looked alive, as if you had regained your former radiance. I strongly wished that you would remember that time, even if only for a moment.

 

 

Making omelets on Easter Island

 

Easter Island is an isolated island located five to six hours by plane from Santiago, the capital of Chile in South America. The island is home to about 6,000 people, and the most prosperous village on the island, Hanga Roa, has a handful of modest souvenir shops for tourists. Think of the off-season in a desolate spa town. That is the atmosphere of Hanga Roa and its near equals.

 

There are some small stores selling foodstuffs, but they are as dark and cramped as the stationery and candy shops I used to frequent as a child. Most daily necessities are available there, but prices are high. Most of the food is imported from outside the island, so it can't be helped, but I don't feel like shopping so often because I feel that I can buy "fresh food that has been in the refrigerator for about a week" for about the price of "Seijo Ishii”.

 

The owner of the hotel lent me a bicycle, which made my stay even more exciting. Instead of playing "Pokemon Go", which was popular in Tokyo at that time, I was going around the island every day for "moai statue hunting”. Unlike Tokyo, where you are confronted with entertainment and temptation as you walk, that is about all there is to do. The pocket Wi-Fi I had brought with me for my overseas excursions and the Internet at my accommodation were almost never connected.

 

I wonder if there is a name for this strange symptom of wanting to do things when you are in a situation where you can't. "I've actually experienced it with my own eyes", I wondered. As I repeated the input of "actually seeing and experiencing with my own eyes" every day, the "desire to create something" began to show its face. However, there is no Tokyu Hands here, only moai statues and wild dogs.

 

In such a situation, "cooking rice" became the only act of "creating something”. Because of the limited ingredients, I only made sandwiches, soups, curries, spaghetti, and other easy-to-make dishes, but even so, I was able to kill two birds with one stone because the "desire to create something" was relieved and, more importantly, I could eat the food afterwards.

 

One day I made an omelet. I like eggs because they are nutritious and easy to cook. I added some leftover tomatoes and mushrooms. The contrast between the yellow and red colors is dazzling and cheers me up just by looking at it. The sound and the change in texture from baking to hardening are also interesting. Since my stomach gets upset easily, I make sure the eggs are cooked safely and properly. It is a laughably bad omelet, but it will become "more of a mess in my stomach when I eat it”.

 

When I start cooking rice, the dogs all start barking at once. And occasionally the chickens cluck. I learned for the first time when I came here that chickens cluck not only in the morning.

 

Let's go to bed early today. Tomorrow, a beautiful Rapa Nui named Vai, whom I met at the tourist information center, will drive me to "Ahu Tongariki" at dawn.

 

 

Birdman

 

It was near the end of my month-long overseas training program when I arrived in the city of Chania on the island of Crete. We left the port of Piraeus in Athens at midnight and landed at dawn. It was an island full of nature, surrounded by a relaxed atmosphere unique to the island.

 

There was a bus service from the port to our accommodation. I was so entranced by the dawn sky that I noticed it too late. I hurriedly bought a ticket and boarded the bus. The change I received from the man at the ticket booth was soaking wet for some reason.

 

The owner of the accommodation was a warm person with a nice smile on their face. They had finished cleaning the room in time for our arrival, so we were able to check in right away despite it being early in the morning. The room we were shown to was in a perfect location overlooking the city along the Venetian Harbor.

　

In front of us was the mosque, the symbol of the city, and its dome was full of pigeons grooming themselves in the pleasant sun. After gazing at the view and the tasteful decoration of the room for a while, the pigeons that had been there earlier had disappeared before I knew it.

 

I spent the next two days in this city and was captivated by the people I met, the atmosphere of the city, and the delicious food. However, I could not solve the mystery of the pigeons.

　

On the morning of my next visit to the city, I had my camera ready. I was sure that today would be the day I would be able to see why the pigeons disappeared from the mosque, and I had an approximate time frame in mind.

　

　Then a man appeared.

　

All the pigeons flew out to the mosque all at once and landed right in front of him. With the appearance of the man at last, it was time to solve the mystery of the great migration of the pigeons. At the thought of this, I was so excited that I forgot to fix the screws on my tripod. I regretted it now, saying, "I should have brought the heavy but screw-tight tripod from the lab instead of the cheap one I bought in a hurry at Bic Camera."

　　

The man took food out of the bag and began to feed the pigeons as he was accustomed to doing. The pigeons also began to nibble as if they had become accustomed to it. I guess he does this every day. The man's behavior was so natural that I knew instantly that he must be doing this every day. I wondered if he came to feed the pigeons before going to work. The man's melancholy appearance reminded me of Michael Keaton's "Birdman.

 

　I wonder if the man's family knows that he feeds the birds here every morning.

　Does the man have a family to begin with?

　Does he work happily at his job?

 

The feeding had been going on for a long time. When I prepared for my trip, the man was no longer there. In the meantime, it was already time to leave. I thanked the owner for all the help they had given me and headed for the next town.