Every time I buy beer at precisely 9:55 in the evening I feel nostalgic, almost wistful. I begin to think about all the things I’ve done with my life, the myriad of things I’ve dreamt about that I haven’t even begun to get close to.
I start to plan and plot the months and years ahead. I make promises to myself. I challenge myself to do more with my time here in Japan, to take risks, travel and throw myself into the culture, to spend my money on something innately Japanese, to save more money for the day I eventually go back to England.
All these things pile up around my head as I make my way to the checkout, hand over my points card (it’s the second Japanese economy), exchange pleasantries with the staff who now know my face well enough to smile and bow from three tills away, hand over my cash, drop the six pack of Japanese lager into my reusable shopping bag and make my way to do the door wondering why all Japanese supermarkets have to play the tune of ‘Old Lang Syne’ at closing time.
Then I open my first can and forget every single resolution I just made in the ten minutes it took me to walk to the supermarket and back for a few beers after work.
Until the next time I’m greeted by an alcohol free fridge at least…
Marshmallow Sensei 