“Underground shoyu (soy sauce) Ramen” in Matsue.

As the day wound down, I found myself standing on the edge of Lake Shinji, seconds to sunset—an eternity. There were people all along the embankment: Families with their kids, couples in love, and everyone in between. Walking to the water’s edge, the waves lapped quietly at my feet and everything around me was drenched in a brilliant golden hue, the cool autumn air still with anticipation and inevitability. I’d be returning to America soon and the gravity of such a thought caused my great inner trauma. Breathing deeply, I drew in the salty essence of the lake as if it were Matsue itself and felt a dueling sense of profound longing and burning optimism at the thought of returning. As the distant mountains gobbled up the last morsel of sunlight and last traces of fire fell from the sky, a night deeper than I can remember descended on us with certainty and finality. I couldn’t explain why, but I felt that I had waited for this moment my entire life and I struggled to hold things together. Like losing one life and gaining another, I knew I wouldn’t be the same. Nothing would really.