Kintsugi Hearts (Audio Script)

Stories

I always thought the day I finally made it to Japan would be the best day of my life.

But I just feel gross.

Which makes sense, I guess, since I’ve been travelling for 25 hours after that awful layover in LA.

I’m just ready to get where I’m going and…

“Ouch!”

My arm jerks back when my bag snags, and it’s the last straw of what I can take on this day that just won’t end.

To my horror, my eyes well up, tears falling without my permission.

This is so far from how I imagined this moment. But… It’s okay. It’s okay to cry, and I’ll never see any of these people again.

Everything is overwhelming. Tokyo is louder and quieter than I expected, and everything has a scent and a feel and a brightness that is both beautiful and unfamiliar. It’s all just… a lot.

Even as the words leave my mouth, I don’t know why I’m acting like this. It’s so unlike me, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

My backpack, slung over just one shoulder, falls forward as I shift to right myself and he extends an arm to steady me. I feel the touch like it burns me as he flips over my luggage tag, reading quickly.

I’m nodding curtly, ignoring his outstretched hand and ready to turn away when he reaches for my suitcase.

Even as I walk away, I know I’ll regret the way I handled this… But honestly, I think I’m just glad I’m handling anything at all right now.

When I make it to the top of the steps and find myself standing in Shibuya Crossing, I’ve already forgotten everything.

Bright lights are enchanting and overwhelming, assaulting my senses with neons that are so vivid they barely feel real.

People move, in huge masses, with a quiet focus I’ve ever seen. I watch them without really seeing them, trying to take in the larger-than-life intensity of being in Japan, standing in this place I’ve only dreamt of.

There is so much sound, and so many people… but it’s nothing like I’m used to. Instead of a restless cacophony of car horns and hold ups, this is the hustle of a city coordinated with efficiency and beauty. The neon lights seamlessly blend into the sharp architecture of tall buildings, and the fluid shift and pace of a tailored crowd... Everything with its place and a purpose.

The scent of fresh food, rich broth and a heady sharp undertone of… something… catches my attention as a door opens to my right, and it snaps me out of the awe I feel at being here.

I can’t believe this is happening.

It’s everything I hoped for and I just hope I can be everything I hoped for, too.

After a couple hours sleep and a shower in my adorable AirBNB, the bright and busy streets of Tokyo feel more magical than they did when I arrived…

The insistent buzz of possibility that charges the air makes me feel more alive, more… I don’t even know the word for it.

I just know that it’s reminding me I’m alive too. Something I’d forgotten over the last months and years as I let my job consume me.

A wave of melancholy washes over me, my body suddenly feeling heavy as I slow my steps and remember what brought me here.

Losing my career was hard enough, but realising that somewhere along the way, I’ve tied everything I am into my work until it’s all a tangled mess… that’s really where the heaviness is.

Because until getting off the subway today, I don’t think I’d been present enough in my own life to recognise overwhelm… much less cry about it…

Except of course, for the last time I got overwhelmed and cried. Which is exactly how I ended up here.

The streets around me are beginning to empty as I turn a corner onto a smaller, but still neon-blurred side street.

All the signs are in Japanese here, the English advertisements having disappeared somewhere along the way as I was lost in thought.

It’s a bit quieter here, more mellow and pensive, and the cool night air is rich with the scents of restaurant doors propped open along the pavement.

My body seems to notice the familiarity of the scents, and my stomach reminds me that even though it’s the middle of the night in Japan, I’ve hardly eaten.

And the distinct scent of ramen broth calls to me like a siren song, so I follow my nose to the source, a small door, lit with neons of beer brands I recognise but have never tried.

A sense of comfort wraps around me like a hug as I take in the space: leather bar stools and lacquer wood counters, the tap of glasses as drinks are set down and the laughter of strangers stopping in and looking for connection.

I’ve never been to this exact place before, but the sign on the door tells me it’s an izakaya, and the sense of familiarity of a pub makes me feel right at home.

A man near the kitchen offers me a friendly smile and gestures to the small space with a nod, so I choose a seat near the bar that looks out onto the street.

The server joins me, menu in hand.

I smile at him, briefly wondering what gave me away as not speaking any Japanese, and turn to the menu. It’s in Japanese, but- a-ha! There, near the bottom, is an option for English and a QR code. I pull out my phone and scan it gratefully.

Everything looks so good, it’s hard to choose.

But tonight, I decide that I’ll try something familiar in a new place. Half comfort, half adventure…

The sounds and scents of a pub, even so far from home, dull the edges of my restlessness, and I find myself relaxing as I people-watch and wait for my ramen.

My attention catches at the sound of someone else speaking English, a rich voice that carries across the small izakaya like a melody.

I turn toward the voice, feeling drawn to someone else speaking English in this tiny quiet corner pub somewhere in Tokyo.

It’s… the bartender, and when he sets drinks down in front of the table to my right, he catches me watching him and offers a small smile before heading my way.

Well, yes, to both. I just got in today. I couldn’t sleep, and this place looks so inviting.

Yes, thanks to this. A QR code is a great idea, you must get a lot of tourists.

Oh, thank you.. Um, duomo?

I’m charmed by his hospitality, and caught between the urge to overshare and to keep to myself as he smiles at me and turns to walk away.

He bows lightly and makes his way across the small space until he disappears into the kitchen. As he goes, I note a sense of soft pride settling in my chest.

I did it. I ordered my first meal, spoke to my first stranger on this adventure. And I did it just for me. It’s been so long since I did anything just for me. It feels… good.

And as I look out toward the neon dream streets of Tokyo, awaiting the first solo meal I’ve ordered in years, I can’t help but smile.

I’m here, really here, and even if I’m tired and unsure, and yes, a little bit scared… I’m here, and this is real, and it’s mine to decide what happens next.

The steam from the soup rises, obscuring the lights reflecting through the window and I find comfort in the warm glow and the rich scents as I let myself get lost in what’s to come.

Tomorrow, I promise myself, is a new day.

Two days in Tokyo went by faster than I imagined. Well, after that first night at the ramen bar at least.

But that night was the turning point for me. Getting out of my own way, trying something new… and I don’t just mean the ramen. Before this trip, I’d never been brave enough to take up space in the world for the sake of myself.

I know it was just a small thing, but the kindness of the bartender felt like approval, like I was arriving in my life for the first time. It gave me something… a spark of an idea that I hope will continue to blossom if I nurture it.

Which is why I’ve started this daily journaling practice.

It helps that there was this incredible little stationery store under my AirBNB and I’d found this gorgeous journal, and bought a new pen to prove to myself that I’m committed to this, and I’m worth the effort it takes. It’s small, but it’s something, and everyone’s got to start somewhere.

As the train begins to move, I watch out the window, marvelling as we pick up speed and the scenery of urban Tokyo begins to fly past, blurring like my thoughts. It’s remarkably quiet in the train car, and even though it’s a little weird, I’m grateful for it as I begin to write about whatever comes to mind.

This trip already feels like a dream. It’s exactly what I was hoping for when I left home, hoping that being brave and saying yes to new adventures might give me back the pieces of myself I lost over the last three years.

I keep thinking about that first night, first in the train station- the way I acted with that handsome stranger was so unlike me, and even now it makes my cheeks heat with shame. Then, outside the ramen shop… standing in a bustling city and being reminded of how lost I’ve become, and all the ways my life felt empty… it was stark in a way I’ve never felt before.

I’d worked hard for 8 years to get to the height of my career, and somewhere along the way, I forgot what I was working for. I’d become a shell of myself, a data point on a spreadsheet, lost in the pages of a story that didn’t belong to me. Yet I was opening myself up, pouring every ounce of creative and productive energy into the soulless machine of a corporation that would just as soon dispose of me when some higher-up’s son needed a new job after college.

There’s probably a truth that’s hiding somewhere in the depths of my subconscious to remind me that I’m more than my job. There must be, since I decided to take this trip... But I don’t know where to look for it anymore.  I’ve long since stopped looking for the version of me that felt present enough to know what she wanted, and brave enough to go after it.

That thought hits me square in the chest, because writing it is really the first time I become aware of it, and it’s a bit too much to process.

Lucky for me, the view is an incredible distraction as the world flies by outside the train windows. The scenery has turned from the blur of urban busy-ness to rolling hills and soft serenity at high speed.

It makes me sad to realise how much of myself I let disappear for the sake of someone else’s dream. The little girl who dreamed of a job in a big city wearing fancy suits with her name on an office door wouldn’t even recognise the woman I am now. Yeah, I achieved her dreams, but at what cost?

But I’m making it up to her now. Making it up to me, because I’m here. I’m taking chances and making my dreams come true. Like the Japanese art of kintsugi. I spent months reading about the ancient art of taking something broken and repairing it with gold so that the flaws became something beautiful. So I’m choosing to believe that even though something’s been broken, it can always be made beautiful once more. The gilded threads of possibility in all the kintsugi pieces I’ve seen made me believe that perhaps, those same possibilities could be waiting for me in my own life if I could learn to look for them.

The train begins to slow, and it’s only then that I notice my thoughts have slowed too. After that journaling session, I’m feeling almost… relaxed.

Something about this train journey, and the time it gave me to pour my heart onto the page of my journal, has given me the chance to breathe a sigh of relief.

And as I step off the train, the last tendrils of Tokyo’s neon dreams drift away, into the cool, clear skies and sakura-scented breeze outside Kyoto Station. And I’m feeling almost hopeful.

When I booked this ryokan, it felt like an indulgence and I worried I might regret it.. But since I arrived an hour ago, the only regret I’ve had is that I can’t stay here longer.

Everything about this resort is stunning, tucked away in the Japanese countryside and it feels as if I’ve stepped out of reality and into something straight from my daydreams.

The room is… Unbelievable, really. All natural textures and soft linens that make me feel like I’m being wrapped up in the gentleness of the peaceful surroundings. It feels like a hug from the space, and I can feel my body relaxing and my thoughts lulling into a peaceful murmur as the open-air bath on my private balcony begins to fill.

It’s breathtaking inside and even more out so here, where nature and privacy create a perfect retreat. Everything is so calm, and this moment is exactly what I hoped for. I watch the steam rise from the water that pours from a wide bamboo tap.

I sink into the steamy water, lotus blooms floating around me as I relax immediately. The pre-bath shower felt nice, but this.. This is everything.

Being immersed in nature like this feels like a sensory massage, and I haven’t been this aware of myself like this in so long.

The sights and scents of nature surrounding me are so soothing. The peaked mountains and dense trees on the horizon calm my mind, and the heated natural spring water is the perfect temperature to heat my skin and soothe my muscles at once. It’s a delicious combination of awareness and absolute calm.

“Mmm, god, this is magic.”

As I relax into the moment and focus on being here and nowhere else, I’m beginning to notice how it feels to be exposed like this.

It’s vulnerable and empowering, freeing and grounding… it’s everything.

I close my eyes and let the calm wash over me as I focus my attention on my body. On the tips of my toes, tucked into the edge of the tub, and my legs, stretched out in the water.

My hips and rear anchoring me into this position, my back curved along the tall stone edge to where my head is tipped back, neck resting in the curved arch of the deep tub’s edge.

It’s comforting and sensual, asking for nothing except for me to notice.

As I coax one of the lotus blossoms toward me, the waves rock against my skin, rippling at the peak of my breast as I lightly trace the edges of the bloom.

I trace the petals, their soft and almost satiny dense edges furled in toward the centre of the bloom, and the way it feels reminds me of the way it feels to touch myself with this much reverence.

It’s been forever since I’ve thought about my own body as something to be touched and treated delicately, but now… in this place, it feels like a reminder.

I shift my hips beneath the water.

It feels good to notice my own body and the way that it feels to exist in my skin.

My hands move beneath the water until my fingertips skim along the tops of my thighs, and a spark of heat races down my spine and pools in my belly.

It’s been months since the last time I touched myself. Even longer since the last time anyone else did… And probably years since anyone else has cared about my needs.

My body has been little more than a machine, one I’ve cared for by moving and stretching, feeding and sleeping and ticking all the boxes… at least, I thought I had.

I guess I forgot about one box entirely. Pleasure just didn’t register on my endless to-do list. But now…

I part my thighs, taking up space in the warm water as I let the freedom of nature and the privacy of this open-air bath, and doing so makes me very aware of the way the water moves against my breasts. It feels… incredible, actually.

As I trace the inside of my thighs just like I traced the petals of the lotus, I let my inhibitions fall away with every gentle caress.

My fingers find their way to the apex of my thighs, and my back arches at the slow delight of my own intimate caress.

Every stroke and circle stokes the spark of desire, lighting up my body from the inside out. The frisson of awareness flares across my skin, my toes curling and the tips of my breasts tightening in anticipation.

I take my time, fingers moving slowly and delicately over my folds as I feel myself grow slick in a way that has nothing to do with this bath.

Just the warm water, a soft breeze, and the gentle pressure of my fingers reminding me what it feels like to let myself feel good. To make myself feel good.

One finger swirls gently around my entrance, teasing my sensitive skin.

It feels so good to be gentle with myself, to be curious and explore—

“Ohh, mmm.”

To explore my own pleasure… just because I can.

Because it feels so good.

It feels so, so good to just feel.

There is no fantasy here, nothing I need to imagine…

Just being here, chasing my own pleasure like this… just because it feels good…. Mmm… that’s enough.