It’s quiet in Narita.
To get used to my surroundings, I stayed up for as long as I could. I took to the first ramen spot that popped up on Uber’s search function.
Up two flights of stairs, past a curtain hiding a giggling couple—everything but their joy was obscured. The place was filled with salarymen. I slid into a solo booth with a metal divider between me and the men beside me.
That’s was me. No longer lonely, but still alone.
I had expected to speak with someone on the plane, at the airport, maybe on the train. But you could hear a teardrop on the Narita Express. The two taxis I took looked ready for a 2004 drift race, but neither driver spoke a word of English to me. I relaxed in assuming they weren’t as proficient in language for my question. I really want to tell you a progressive lie—say my level of Japanese was not good enough. But I’m not there yet. Japan is the first country that I’ve travelled to where the average person doesn’t speak, nor has urgent intention, of speaking English to you.
For the most part, I stopped looking for someone to ask. I figured the final chapter of dispatch would find me. A higher power has been guiding my journey thus far; I have succumb to trusting it. I’ve surrendered to it in hopes it has told me that this journey doesn’t include
Rice. Bonito Flakes. Salmon. Pickled & salted daikon. Fruit. Miso Soup. Natto. Coffee.
I sit by the window to get a great view of the planes approaching the runway. My father is on my mind—he used to take me to the pizza place in St. Georges, Bermuda to watch planes land.
That's where the fascination started. Building model fighter planes. Spitfires. Blenheims. Messerschmitt BF 109. Cargo planes don’t hit the same, but I still watch.
Baggage.
And then he arrives.
Daniel.
I heard him before I saw him—peppering a white American couple from Tennessee with questions. He’s telling them about Australia, England, only diverting the conversation to make comments about Trump. The Americans response passively with polite chuckles and “that’s right!”. This is a classic diffuser.
It’s very rare, in a hotel buffet breakfast to find someone with the energy of a preacher from Wall Street. He’s a very positive communicator, as he moves to the next American couple. They give him a colder response, making him with them well and continue on. At least he can read a room—better than I initially thought.
Then he was at mine.
“Hey man, let me guess. American too?”
He puts his phone down on my table. I shake my head and look down at my breakfast.
“France?”
How did I get here? I’ve done nothing this morning but eat my breakfast and keep to myself. Is this my punishment for the unpublished dispatch fumbles? Perhaps reaping what I have sowed in the successful ones. Payback is a dog. Is Daniel my dog?
“I’ll guess all day man.”
At first, I thought this was a smooth strategy to reserve the table for himself once I got up. Wouldn’t be first time it happened, but I caught that his approach was more sincere. He didn’t have food yet and brought nothing else to the table but himself and his questions. As for the attempts, 2018 Dotcom would have been horrified and crucified him on every social media platform available. However, the conquests of Africa by Great Britain & France are not his fault. I rarely talk to people that have such a horrid introduction. Regardless, I invite him to sit with me as I wonder what people like him could possibly teach me.
The torturous questions did not stop. Where am I from? What am I doing in Tokyo? Business or pleasure? Where is your necklace from? Where are YOU from? Every answer opened the door for another question on the other side of the house we were building; totally unrelated. I’ve used that tactic before—to shift the spotlight. The main character fallacy.
This guy wasn’t just nosy. He was on a mission.
The only thought in my mind was that this was my payback for selfishly annoying several travelers on my journey. Daniel was here to humble me in my one moment of solitude; and I graciously accepted my punishment. Call it accountability, if you’re sadistic.
I tell him New Zealand and he responds loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear, “ANZAC brothers”. This man is Australian, ethnically Malaysian. I am New Zealander, ethnically Caribbean. You could feel the stares from nearby close-minded eaters to the idea of global citizens resembling very little of their representing nations.
Slightly budging his way into my life, silence follows. A FedEx plane approaches the runway. We both pause to watch. An exhale through the nose follows the impeccable landing of the ATR 42. He’s a plane guy too.
My body language shifts and I put all my weight on the table that separates us. I am now facing him and eating with my chopsticks slower. I stare at him while we speaks and answers his own questions. Where most people would appear impatient, I remain calm and continue eye contact to unsettle him.
He doesn’t budge. He persists. I am sitting across from my match.
Like a tele scammer, Daniel asks me how old I am. He tells me the birthday of his father to justify asking mine. Evading, he then tries to ask my age. I deflect. He presses.
If you’re reading this and are curious. I can open bank accounts and credit accounts with information like this. More often than not, Daniel is not the scammer. Someone eavesdropping in will be.
Once Daniel retrieved breakfast from the buffet, we sat for an hour. For reasons you will understand, I will not share all information about his story. I asked him the question 4 minutes into that hour. His response was;
Do everything you want to do, to your hearts desire. Do it while you have no wife or kids. Do everything you want to do without the baggage.
He’s currently separating from his wife after more than twenty-five years. He retired at 53 to enrol in Bible College. This prompted the word ‘divorce’ to be used commonly in their disagreements. Asking him how often, he describes the ratio as 98:2.
He has investment properties, a happy family + a business to his name. He explained his decision to do Bible College simply.
I have spent 30 years building Daniel’s kingdom. God spoke to me and said it is time to help build His.
As if God had looked down, seen the sheer scale of Daniels’s kingdom that he has now contracted him to his own; the grand poacher. This has made his wife made and caused a separation. Convincing him that the money that Daniel’s kingdom provides is all that she was really there for.
My interest peaked.
What struck me wasn’t the story—it was the certainty of his statement. Instead of remorse he spoke about it as fact—as if he always knew.
The advice fell flat, but the story of his journey explained everything. He’d gone to the Toyosu Tuna Auction that morning—at 5:30AM. The first trains run just after 5:00AM. There are no nearby hotels, no direct taxi drop-offs. It takes grit to get there. For a tourist, there takes a moderate level of determination to get to this auction.
He arrived to see men struggling to get up the stairs in time to watch. Grown adults who have wanted to see this auction their entire lives but left it too late in life for it to be a comfortable viewing. Disappointed tourists whose bodies got the best of them before they even reached Toyosu; falling asleep in taxis or getting their directions mixed up.
To him, 53 is young enough.
He’s made his money. Two children. He describes it as the perfect pairing— boy and a girl. Built a business travelling the world and is retired very early. He is convinced he has been blessed with this because he has given 10%—his tithe to the church. All of his successes he dedicated to God.
The confidence of Daniel will always stay with me. He is the type of person I would avoid in an airport but have gravitated toward for this moment in my life.
Still, something didn’t add up.
When I asked him why he was in Tokyo; he responded with the story of his wife and the potential separation. God. Bible College. The tuna auction. The next kingdom he’s building. A man like that doesn’t just travel. He’s running. He’s searching. He’s in the middle of leaving something.
Daniel isn’t just here to travel.
Daniel has spent his entire time in the restaurant actively asking others questions about their lives; their travel. The people he questioned before this never returned the question; likely because of his erratic personality. Finding someone who engages is rare for him, and you can see he’s fond of it. He’s not afraid of asking a question with great vulnerability. I’ve been writing notes about his story in front of him like a frantic student journalist; I know he has no issue with me writing this down.
We both finish breakfasts and another plane comes into land. Before it touches the tarmac, Daniel pulls. He stares at me emotionless.
“What are you really travelling for?”
It’s taken one year for me to pull of the veil. For a man going through a separation, he has seen right through me. In this conversation that has become a chess game, my tactics are his tactics. He dodges, I duck. He presses. I stall.
I thought I had him worked out, but he’s seen right through me. I have no where else to hide. This is Daniel from the lion’s den. This is a man who has poured his heart out to me. Something no one else in this series was able to do. He was meant to find me. Fate has put us together in this moment.
I look at him, holding back tears. For the first time, I decide to go further.
Asking:
As someone who has also left something they once loved— something you signed up to forever. How do you handle living without it? How do you go forward?