I had recently turned 18 and set off on a journey to the metropolis called Tokyo. I had always been fascinated by the exotic and traditional Japanese culture. The samurai, the yakuza, the food culture, the language and like many others, of course, the anime. I looked forward to the brilliant lights at night and the beautiful Sakura blossoms throughout the day. Like most things in life, you don’t know reality until you experience it yourself. But reality, while not always beautiful, had always been something that I wanted to experience. I arrived in Tokyo. A humid tropical air took over my sense of smell. The language reigned in my ears.
I explored Tokyo. I visited the noisy, crowded arcades full of middle-aged, smoking men who did nothing but pull the lever repeatedly to find their ticket to a better life. The streets were full, as were the shops and restaurants. However, it still felt like people had no real presence in the streets. Many wore masks and hid, which was unusual at the time. My Tokyo’s fantasy came alive at night. Bright colored street signs, noises from restaurants, music from the clubs and drunken Japanese men with loosened ties. People are shaped by their addiction to consumption. But in the night, bitter humanity crawls out of its cave and takes over the city. Consumerism and humanity are no longer kept in hiding at night.
One morning I took the Tokyo subway. People were on their way to work. Half of them slept on the subway to catch up on their two hours of sleep. All men wore the same black suit with a white shirt, black tie and black shoes. The women wore a black skirt with a white shirt and black shoes. It was also customary to wear the exact same beige coat over it. You couldn’t see their faces. They hid behind their white, clean medicine masks. The wagon was full to the inch, the people were empty. The only sound I could hear was wheels grinding on the rails. Tokyo’s Subway Ghosts.