Ervin's

I don’t know this for a fact, but I was told before (and it’s not hard to believe) that Japan has the most violent, perverse and subversive content available on various media that is legalised. Yet, the country has one of the lowest crime rate in the world.

It’s something fascinating to think about. Hedonism essentially argues that pleasure is the only intrinsic good. If a society provides sufficient outlets for hedonistic needs of every conceivable kind, does it translate to a safer, more tolerant and ‘pleasurable’ living environment?

There’s something rather bent about the whole notion of Japan being a ‘happy’ society because there’s an outlet for every hedonistic desire. By the same accord, it’s erroneous to simply label it as ‘sad’. What’s important to grasp is that it’s something that’s entirely acceptable for an individual living there – as long as the same individual functions in the ‘normal society’ and carries out his duties as a citizen and colleague.

I’m drawing very loose associations here. The complexities of Japanese cultural and social realities clearly go much deeper, but it’s just another facet of this country and its people that is endlessly intriguing.

Tom and I walked around a lot, observing people and their behaviour and pretending we’re part of a bigger sociological experiment when in fact we were mostly just lost.

At one point, on Saturday evening in Shibuya, a woman actually went up to Tom and asked, “Sir, do you want to fuck?” Tom didn’t, and I did not encourage him. She was a pimp of course, but such economy with words and intent isn’t something most people might be used to. Just sayin.

Another time we were convinced to ‘check out’ a strip club in Roppongi by a very persuasive black man named Coker, who was literally pulling prospective clients off the street. Apparently if you’re black in Tokyo the default job is a bouncer in Roppongi.

We went up to the club, stepped in and took a quick look. I imagined if the world was just recovering from an apocalypse and rebuilding itself, that’s how a strip club would look like in that world. Naked women stood around us, their breasts fighting gravity. There were a couple of lookers, to be fair, but let’s just say we didn’t feel quite at home with the profile of the patrons there.

We got back to Coker, and gave the lamest kop-out anyone could think of. Really, it was a sign of how little game we had, that we couldn’t conjure up something better.

“Hey, Coker. Erm, we’re meeting some friends first, but we’ll come back later, ok?” Awkward smile. Coker gave us a look that was the facial equivalent of one huge eye roll.

These little random adventures aside, it was a pretty relaxing trip, those five days in Tokyo. We attempted some shopping, but it wasn’t as productive as we had hoped. Firstly, it’s winter season. Secondly and perhaps more pertinently, we are not Arab princes. Damn, it’s expensive  to shop in Tokyo.

And we talked about stuff going on in our lives. Over ramen, coffee, even while watching bad TV shows in the hotel room (separate beds, just so there’s no confusion).

Tom and I talk often, of course. But maybe because men are just wired differently, we don’t typically go too deep into what’s personal to us on a daily basis. Guys in general are very good at getting ourselves distracted, and in our natural environment back home, distractions are aplenty.

But in Tokyo, maybe it’s the sense of isolation that induces one to reflect more, though more likely it’s the fact that there was no one else to talk to, and so we naturally chatted in depth about a few things.

The following may be useful to know if you’re looking to assess how close you are to a person, particularly that prospect you’ve been dating for a while and trying to get a handle of where you guys are at. Again, just to avoid confusion, Tom and I are not dating. We’re straight as arrows, even though our fletchings may be a bit ruffled. But enough with unnecessary metaphors.

Now, there are broadly 4 levels of ‘conversational intimacy’.

Level 1 is when you talk about recent events, the news, the weather, what you did on the weekend, your immediate environment or circumstance.

Level 2 is when you start to share personal opinions about some external factor. How you feel about non-personal things.

Level 3 contains mainly your personal dream and goals. Your passions.

Level 4 is your deepest fears and regrets. Things you’re ashamed of or embarrassed by. This points out your vulnerabilities and your flaws.

Different people take different periods of time to reach the various levels. If you’re talking on all 4 levels, you’ve clearly built up a good level of emotional connection. If you’re finding it hard to break through to levels 3 and 4 and sustaining it,  it could be that the trust still isn’t there yet.

I don’t know where Tom and I are at in terms of the 4 levels. After a friendship that spanned a good part of 20 years, that’s not so important anymore. We talked about the year that was, the year to be, and the years ahead. Yeah, real adult stuff.

In many ways its been a year to remember (or forget) for many reasons for both of us. I can’t speak for Tom here, but it’s been a difficult year for me – perhaps the hardest one yet – both personally and professionally.

We’ve all been let down, disappointed and suffered through heartaches and failures of different magnitudes in our lives. I know people always say there are others who are going through worse things, and it’s tempting to simply reduce ourselves to specks of detail in a world of problems where each of us is but a statistic.

But it doesn’t always make it easier, does it?

They say everything happens for a reason. I’ve always found that kind of a stupid thing to say. Yep, there’s a reason for everything.  It’s called a “cause”.

‘Everything happens for a reason’ amounts to nothing more than “every cloud has a sliver lining”. You could also say that nobody is completely useless – if nothing else, you can always serve as a bad example. But does this sort of loose, motherhood perspective really help to repair the damage done to you and the recovery you need?

Many friends no doubt have given you similar words of comfort before, and we should always be grateful and appreciative to those who do so. In this context, if I have to subscribe to optimism of such kind, I’d rather think in broader terms – that we fall so that we may learn to pick ourselves up; that we fail so that we may be stronger for it when sterner tests come. Tests of true character are never easy. And life is, in a sense, entirely about character.

With that I leave Tokyo behind and wish everyone a 2012 that’s full of character, good conversations and hedonistic indulgences.

Taking the priority seats, because we’re badass. No, of course we gave it up. Deep rollers with heart.

On Friday night Tom and I found ourselves wandering into a dark neighbourhood in Shibuya, away from the busy lights at the crossing. We came to an inconspicuous block, passed a stiff-looking bouncer, walked up a few flights of stairs, stepped through an unmarked door, and found ourselves in a room, beneath a chandelier covered roof and surrounded by mirrored walls. This is the Trump Room (named after Donald Trump. Yes, it loses its underground aura considerably once that fact sinks in).

Stas and Tiffany, by sheer coincidence, happened to be in Tokyo. And so we had accomplices as we raid this popular haunt of Tokyo’s electro / techno / hipsters club scene.

The vibe was actually closer to a house party. There were three floors – two decked out with the chandelier and mirror motifs, and another with a more pre-club feel. The crowd was a mischievous cocktail of hipsters, expats, locals and other bizarre personalities. At one point a couple of girls started caressing my face with 3-foot long feather dusters. I was tickled, but not quite amused.

We quickly downed a couple rounds of whiskey sodas, hoping to adjust our game levels. And It helped. The party kicked in at around 1am. All night it was a solid blend of techno, electro and mashup. The crowd was energetic and a good sport. People came to dance, and that’s always a good sign.

There were other bigger, super clubs on our list that we had wanted to check out, but for logistic reasons and sheer laziness, we skipped them. There will be other opportunities. And Trump Room was just an oddball of a joint that had personality to the brim. It was one of the craziest night outs and a worthy memory.

As with life, sometimes the best way isn’t to pack everything into a trip. It’s better to savour and remember the few places you’ve been and moments you’ve lived with clarity, perspective and insight rather than treat life as a zoo where you just move from exhibit to exhibit and try to see every animal before dinner time.

Will keep this one short. To be concluded.

Like finely aged wine, matured cheese and intelligent, hot women, good ramen must be appreciated, savored and at all times revered.

Tom and I dabbled in both the finer cuisines as well as food court fare, but nothing in Tokyo quite sears itself into your memory like a perfect bowl of ramen.

Health food it is not, but few calorie-packed meals comfort the mind and sooth the body like this feat of culinary engineering.

Seriously, my last meal would be a toss up between the Far East Plaza #5 Hainanese Chicken Rice and a bowl of authentic Tonkotsu ramen with accompanying gyozas.

After walking for half a day and wrecked with tired legs and hunger, diving into a big, steaming bowl of ramen done right is a marvel that can only be felt by the soul. Your entire body feels it; every nerve seems to chant in unison with each slurp of the broth, as the soup and noodles twirl around your tongue like lovers in a dance, while the condiments and pork slices add to the explosion of flavours and textures that rock the very foundation of your senses, bringing the meal to a soaring crescendo.

Ok, I’m being slightly fictitious but if this shit ain’t soul food, I don’t know what is.

Tom and I are not connoisseurs by any stretch of the average imagination, and we certainly can’t separate different ramen by regions or even the type of broth or noodle.

For us, it’s instinctive, almost primal, when it comes to ordering our ramen. That is to say, we pick the meanest-looking, artery-choking, heart-stopping bowl of ramen on display, be it on the menu or ticket machine buttons.

We like to pretend that’s how real, hungry men order in self-respecting Japanese restaurants. You trust that whatever the chef puts in front of you is worthy of your appetite. And you live with the consequences.

How often in life do we make instinctive decisions? Some feel that making a decision based on your instincts, gut feelings, and intuitions are often the best way to choose.

In fact, research found that instinctive decisions were accurate about 95% of the time. The more connected to one’s feelings, senses, and ‘Higher Self’, the more able we are to make accurate and quick decisions without relying on the conflicting nature of the so-called “rational”.

It all sound very Jedi. Personally, I think reason keeps the world sane, and if you’ve got enough information to make decision – use it. If you don’t, you still make a decision. Even instincts are honed, shaped by a life well-lived a mind ably-developed.

I don’t really want to get into anything deep about instinct vs reason (my instinct tells me not to, and my reason tells me I don’t know shit), but consider the simple observation of a person who takes an eternity to decide what to order from a menu, looking through every item with the meticulousness of a forensic scientist, thinking back if he ate something similar two days ago, scouring the menu for a choice that is both familiar yet ‘something different’.

Fuck that, seriously. If your guy or girl does that on a regular basis i.e. dissect every page of the menu like it’s their last damn meal on Earth, at least consider changing your relationship status to ‘It’s Complicated’.

Any woman who takes a glance at the menu and is ready to order scores major points in my book. It just shows she trusts her instincts, know what she wants or is happy to be just ‘in the ballpark’, and would rather get down to spending quality time. Sometimes you’ve just got to go with it, or you waste precious moments that could easily add up to half a lifetime.

Of course, if she orders quickly then gets on her phone to text, you’ve got a whole different problem.

To Be Continued.

Tom doesn’t speak a word of Japanese. I can barely scrape through a restaurant order with mine.  The year of Japanese lessons I took have long dissipated.

Not that it’s a real problem, particularly in Tokyo. I’ve heard of people who’s lived for years in this city without speaking much Japanese. Japanese people, by their nature, are extremely tolerant of people who do not speak their language, partly because they know it’s so damn hard.

It’s not just learning the language, but also how to say it. Entire speeches could be replaced by a shift in tone or a twitch of the eye it seems.

It’s strangely crippling because so much of our lives are spent talking – trying to convince people, explaining, getting points across, winning arguments, even swearing. Suddenly you’re put in an environment where words mean almost nothing to people.

But I’m exaggerate. It’s Tokyo after all and most people in the service industry there have at least a passing understanding of basic English. I guess the difference is that we were not able to bring, shall I say, our A-game to the arena. And when you got no game, the world is a daunting place.

That said, despite its populous facade, there’s a curiously solitary core to Tokyo. Almost everywhere, you see people by themselves, alone, either reading a book, listening into earphones or enjoying a cup of coffee – almost in a medidative trance.

Solitude is important. It signifies being at ease with one’s own thoughts. It allows us to check our perspective, to practice introspection so that we may clarify ideas and thoughts.  Being on our own, away from the input of other people’s ideas, gives us the opportunity to come into closer contact with who we are, with our sense of morals, with our character, with our goals and hopes and desires.

We may all be social animals but in essence we are all individuals, with our own capacities to be inspired, love and be hurt. In a way, solitude helps us from becoming addicted to other people, or to break the addictions to others that we may have.

How can we be addicted to other people?  When we use being with others as an excuse not to be with ourselves; when we can’t spend a moment alone without the TV on or iPod blaring – or even tweeting – then we’re addicted to being with, in a sense, others.

Solitude is of course, vastly different from loneliness, which is fundamentally about absence. It’s that transparent look a person has, sometimes even when he is with someone. It’s the feeling that something is missing, even if you can’t specify what: a romantic partner, a friend, a sense of confidence or place, a feeling of purpose. Loneliness is when you want the phone to ring, and it doesn’t. Your friends are not around, and even telemarketers do not love you.

It’s a somewhat thin line, and in fact, if one was to look up ‘loneliness’ in a thesaurus, the synonym given would likely be ‘solitude’.

For me, when negative feelings dominate your solitude, you veer towards the abyss that is loneliness.

When do we feel lonely? Most of the time, when we are in trouble, things are not working out in our favor, the whole world seems to act like an antagonist, at such times we feel lonely if we do not have someone to share these thoughts with.

Everyone goes through that, of course. You might even say at some point in our lives, we will all confront the reality that we are ultimately alone.

Still, more often than not, loneliness is imposed on you by others. Solitude is something you choose and ultimately, it’s about making a choice to take care of yourself and be responsible for your own happiness, rather than rely on others. It isn’t just a matter of turning a frown upside down, or making lemons out of lemonade, or making do with being single as a next-best-alternative to being in a relationship, because as we all know, you can be lonely in a relationship too – perhaps the most bitter form of loneliness.

It’s endlessly fascinating to consider Japanese society in that regard – how it contemplates solitude in a hi-tech, wired dreamland; its relationship with technology; how it navigates the crossroads between tradition and progress; where does its soul really lie?

Actually, as we soon found out, the answer is in a bowl of Ramen.

To Be Continued.

We talked about it but to be honest I never really thought we’d follow through. But we did, and so Tom and I found ourselves in Tokyo for an extended weekend. Just two guys, walking the streets, taking in the sights, slurping ramen and talking about life, love, and what the future holds for two dudes about to grow out of their teenage years.

I’ve known Tom for almost 20 years, but this is the first time we’re doing a trip together. There was Hong Kong all those years back where we rolled with Jaz, and then Sydney where we hooked up with Big Jon and got lost in the outback at night searching for a farm.

Tokyo is pretty unimaginable if you’ve never been there. It is at once boisterous and solitary, uniform and eclectic, traditional and progressive. It is a city that demands your sensory attention, but seduces your emotions. One invariably succumbs under its spell,  more so than fall in love with it. It is, in a word, unforgettable.

I’ve been to Tokyo many times, but this is the first time in a while that I’m there with company – specifically, a dude I know well enough to have a repertoir of shorthands to convey something without saying it. And for most of the 5 days we spent strolling the streets, the only expression we wore on our faces was a combination of awe and disbelief, mixed with a bitter taste of being dealt an unfair hand.

To put it simply, it’s true what they say: in Tokyo, throw a stone at a random direction and chances are pretty good it’ll hit an attractive woman. If not, it’s almost certain to hit someone who knows how to put herself together.

Of course it could hit a man, but we didn’t care much about them. All I know is I’d love to be the only supplier of black suits in this country.

Now, when push comes to shove, I’ll back my my local SG gal any day. But seriously, Japanese women take self-maintenance to a whole new level. We’re talking Olympics calibre. They make the best of what God’s given them, and I can only speak for guys I relate to but we APPRECIATE the effort, always. Yet, Japanese men  – on the streets, on the train, in the park – seem rather oblivious to it.

We imagined grabbing a random Japanese man on the train and shaking him awake from this apparent coma. We thought maybe if we rattle him hard enough he’d realise the hot girl beside him on the train is more interesting than the manga he has in his hands.

To be continued.