Trip Notes: In My Life

Into nature with old friends.

Though it was a large park in the middle of Tokyo, a gentle scent of trees floated in the air, and before I knew it, my breathing naturally deepened. The sky was already dim, and a reasonably chilly wind was blowing. We all gathered fallen leaves with our hands like children and gently set them alight. The flames roared and sprang up like an eager puppy. Eventually, as the fire caught the logs, it calmed down like a well-trained horse. Under the cold sky and in the darkness, we were given the gift of warm light. That alone made it feel like the world had changed completely.

We shared a slow and gentle time together. We grilled meat and vegetables over the fire, seasoned only with salt. We took turns playing songs that brought back memories, laughed, and talked endlessly about things that weren’t particularly productive or important. At times, we even talked about truths of the world. We fetched water, nurtured the fire, and took our time to brew hot coffee. As I gazed at the flames and sipped slowly, my glasses fogged up and the world became a soft blur. I felt as if I had slipped into another realm.

One of my friends played “In My Life” by the Beatles. The nostalgic intro and the warmth of the song seemed to wrap around the entire space. I remembered the scene of that song playing on the car stereo when I was little, riding in my father’s car. My father, behind the wheel, was quiet and shy, but always kind, like the moon. My mother, sitting behind the front passenger seat, had passed away suddenly a year ago due to illness. But she had always been cheerful and could get along with anyone—like the sun. My younger sister sat next to her, chatting and laughing loudly. In the very back seat sat my two older brothers. One stared at his phone, his eyes looking like he was deep in thought—or perhaps not. The other focused on the music, trying to distract himself from getting carsick. We were heading toward a certain destination, and yet it also felt like we were just heading home. While part of me wanted to arrive soon, another part of me wished we could stay just like this forever.

With a sharp crack, the red-burning log sent a few sparks flying into the air. The glowing orange dust drifted momentarily, then vanished without hesitation. A friend carefully placed a new log onto the fire. The cup of coffee in my hands was still warm. Memories, when recalled, can feel like they happened just moments ago—or like they belong to some far-off galaxy. And when I think they’ll never happen again, I’m overcome with a strange mix of tenderness and sorrow.

Then I noticed a mysterious feeling rising inside me. I didn’t know why, and there was no proof. But somehow, I couldn’t shake the sense that we’d lived this moment, with th