Memories, Randomly Accessed
(Note for those scrolling past: this post contains a gallery of snapshots from Tokyo in 2014. Click “read more” to view.)
A decade ago, nearly half a kilometer above the most populous metropolis in the world, a conversation began between a professor and student of English from two different worlds. The professor was Japanese, born and raised in Tokyo. He was treating his grandkids to a day atop the capital city, their faces eagerly leaning as far as they could towards the slanted glass that overlooked the concrete jungle. The student was Canadian, by citizenship it should be said; attachment to national identity already too nefarious a notion to adequately stomach. He was on a vacation and had come to the tower to spend a few hours photographing the vast steel lanes and their skyscraping endpoints, in light from above during the day and when lit from below at night.
“I do not teach grammar, I want to be clear about that,” the older man explained in a soft tone, “I teach literature.” How to read human beings and their complexity through discussions of their textual output.
The two chatted while the kids ran through people’s legs, mostly young couples, as the evening view transformed from ‘diurnal smog’ to ‘twilight neon’. They spoke about how students approached their studies and of their seriousness in attending to life’s challenges. The professor was empathetic and non-judgmental. He had been born after the big war and lived through the Japanese adoption of global (mostly American) culture. The influx of democracy and capitalism – of modernity and its customs – alien from the pre-war empire but only separated from it by “a few years”. He had watched his neighborhood’s wooden roofs subsumed by a growing encasement of metal, glass, and machinery. He did not own a vehicle, simply stepping outside and catching a train two minutes from his doorstep that took him straight to campus.
The student, a visitor, did little talking, choosing instead to ask questions. A lecture voluntarily attended and with great enthusiasm, in a classroom within the clouds.
There was a particularly funny moment in the exchange when the student asked the professor where ‘downtown’ Tokyo was. The professor laughed, “This is downtown Nippon!” He gestured around at the never-ending grey sprinkled with green.
Once the sun dimmed, they took the elevator down to the café, now only 350m above the landscape. They got ice cream with the kids, who were watching the curious stranger with the brown skin questioning their grandfather with suspicious eyes barely visible over the scoops of strawberry and chocolate. The professor lamented the gap between generations – more on how it was portrayed in popular media than one that really manifested. He talked about how the young may stray far from the traditions of their elders, but that it was grossly exaggerated. The weird cultural expressions and colors of youth were simply a façade. Ephemeral fades that let up with age as responsibilities grew and realities overwhelmed.
The professor asked if the student had ventured to Scramble Crossing. The student replied in the affirmative. He asked him what he thought of it. The student’s response must have been unsatisfactory because the professor asked him to visit again. To view how young and old alike behaved as the lights changed. He said this was a helpful demonstration; everyone’s fashions and consumptions were unique, a mixture of broad fads and technologies readily gauged and mappable to generations. But respect for the lights, the dedication to a certain, rushed pace and movement, the comfort within a largely homogenous society lightly imposed upon by the outside (tourists, Starbucks, etc.) – these were all parts of a living parable.
The student understood the perspective but did not know enough to judge its merits. They exchanged pleasantries soon after and parted ways. The professor thanked the student for being curious, while the student expressed his gratitude for the stories shared.
Far below and now encased in a more visible, luminous pollution, the Golden Week crowd stayed rapt in activity. An urban conglomeration like no other.
The video above, of Shibuya’s famous Scramble Crossing, features “Motherboard” from Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories. I thought the elements of the track, contemporary throughout with regular intrusions of aged beats, effectively underscore the urban flow showcased. This is a low-resolution copy of the original video, currently inaccessible, but one I hope to upload at a future date in its true definition. Though, I thought it would be poetic to share the blurrier version with the above chronicle. A couple obvious reasons being its reconstructed state and primary refrains.
Random Access Memories is a superb album. It dives simultaneously into the future and the past, evocative of the 80s and stretching into times yet to ensue. “Giorgio by Moroder” is another favorite of mine.
Anyway, the story ends here for now. Enjoy these shots taken ten years ago from within the Tokyo sprawl:
Hover over the image to see the slideshow controls.