Memoirs of Another Kind - Tyson Goddard (100 books to read txt) 📗

My name is Tyson, I’m a boy, I don’t have simple tastes and no I am not your ordinary” guy next door”, but I do not say this with vanity, more so because most people you will find are anything but ordinary.


The story I am about to tell you is a true story in every aspect. I am originally from Australia, but because of a somewhat fleeting chain of events I am now living in Japan.

And the story I am going to tell you is of my first few hours in this astonishingly vibrant and yet at the same time demure nation. You will not find me scrambling over snow capped peaks or getting lost in a forest, nothing so adventurous. I got on a plane, I got off, I caught a bus, a train and then found myself in a hostel.

Yes, not exactly a riveting a read...or is it?

The things that can happen within a few hours is quite amazing, in the space of a day one might only take a walk in the park, head to the shops or just stay at home, but in that day...what sites did you see? What fragrance did you smell? After that you could spend hours thinking about what emotions these sites, smells and sounds evoked within you. The human mind is wonderful creation, it takes the mundane every day object and gives it layers of depth and meaning.

So I now invite you to experience my layers of depth, to see what things give my life meaning.

But.....first things first.


“There are just some things a girl can’t do without her lipstick”

The famous line from, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”, is so true, we each have that one thing that gives us confidence, whether it actually be a tube of the perfect shade of lipstick, a new pair of shoes, hair extensions or even a new gadget like a phone. We each have something that gives us a little boost.

The morning I left for Japan, I began the process I had been doing every morning for most of my teens. I created, I painted, I sculpted.


As I finished with the hair spray, moisturiser and lotions, I wondered how my features might be perceived in Japan.

Pulling the blue chequered scarf around my neck, adjusting the beige vest and pulling the neckline of my shirt up a little I stared into the reflection I had created, the mask that often gave life to the confidence I thought had often lay dormant.

Walking out into the kitchen, my family waited, as did my luggage, we were ready. We prayed together, committing my life into the Lords caring hands, and putting on my large pare of sun glasses I walked out the door into the crisp august air. If my spirit had not already been numb from the impending changes that were about to take place, I’m sure the cold would have done it for me.

Sitting in the terminal with my family as we sipped on our airport standard coffee surrounded by an ongoing stream of arrivals and departures we sat for the most part in a silence that was nervous and of course a little sad.

When the time came for me to make my own departure I felt heaviness in my limbs. Nanny, Poppy, Mum, Dad, and my two brothers Emmett and Robbie had made somewhat of a circle around me as we walked to immigration. When the time came the tears started flowing on everyone’s part, I hugged each of them, trying to remember the smell and feel of each person’s embrace.

I cried all the way across the tarmac. My Sunglasses were hiding my reddened eyes, but failed to hide the tears running in salty rivulets down my cheeks and neck. Clutching to the letters my loved ones had written for me to read on the plane I tried to avoid eye contact with the ever smiling flight attendants.
Sitting in my seat, I didn’t care to look out the window as it took off, all that I knew was that outside that window was everything I’d ever known, and once the planes last fibre left the ground, I was leaving it all behind.

Taking a deep breath I resigned myself to a future that for all I knew was uncertain. But little did I know that getting on the plane was probably the least of my worries, that my ability and my faith in God was about to be tested beyond measures I had not even comprehended.

Checking myself in the bathroom mirror I looked at the calm and collected reflection. I knew that even though this mask had been years in the making, if I faltered in the slightest, at any moment it might shatter to pieces in my lap.

Flicking the end of my scarf over my shoulder, shoulders back, chin out I opened the bathroom door. The staff had noticed me crying, and had been keeping a watchful eye on me, giving me wary glances as they passed by my row. But I would not afford them any more tears, walking down the aisle, with the stride I’d perfected over the years that exuded confidence and a love of one’s own essence and at the same time it betrayed the knotted feelings of loss within me.

Touchdown felt like a whirlwind of movement, you basically just go where you’re told and do what you’re told and then you’re released. If you’ve ever released Gold fish into a pond that’s what it feels like, as you tip the plastic bag they begin to quickly pour with the water and then suddenly they’re falling so fast in a stream of water and air and then suddenly they hit the water and in an instant their lives are slow and gracefully fluid.

That’s how I felt when I was rushed through customs and then was suddenly set loose in the airport throng, a mixture of fear and determination swirling inside me, each emotion struggling to surface as the victor, sometimes one would shuffle its way into the daylight and I’d feel a little over whelmed before its competitor switched places and a new wave of un-easiness would encompass me.

Pushing both to the side I steeled myself, I chose to no longer look in envy at the people leaving the airport who knew exactly where they were going or had someone to pick them up.

As the last few months events would have it, I had booked my ticket to Osaka airport, and unfortunately after a chain of events I now needed to get to Tokyo, which was on the other side of the main island.

Luckily I had heard that you could catch a night bus from Osaka airport to Tokyo, so I set about trying to find someone who could help me find this night bus. I eventually found that I needed to catch a bus to Namba Bus Station and then from there I would go direct by night bus to Tokyo.

Of course, I didn’t know where in Tokyo I would be when the bus dropped me off, I was tired and worried and being summer I was hot and felt disgusting.

Arriving at Namba Station I went to the bathroom to wash my hot face in some cool water, standing in front of the mirror I looked at my reflection, it seemed that Tyson had surfaced, scared little boy Tyson who was lost and hungry and could easily and without shame stand in a crowd full of people and wail for his mother.

No, I couldn’t let my nerves get the better of me, the Lord had not taken me this far for me to fall flat on my face. Somewhere inside me I heard the distinctive “ting” of a silver coin being flicked by some ones finger, the coin spiralled into the air flipping over and over again, Tyson on one side, that un knowable creature on the other, when it landed it was the other “me” that caught it, the one with the perfect hair and immaculate clothing, the one who walked and talked with a contrary lilt to their voice, who never simply “looked” at a person but glanced confidently out from under their eye lashes, the person who never just “smiled” but smirked with confidence at the situation that might otherwise discourage.

He shook his head at me, and we left, him leading, me trailing behind. Confidently I stepped into the garish light of the station, sunglasses on, clothes straightened out. It was mid-night, my bus would arrive any moment.

Sometime in the middle of the next morning, when the world takes on that crisp cold appearance and the Sunrise hasn’t yet become that attractive pink or yellow and it’s still white and shadowy, my night bus arrived into Tokyo. Amidst the creaking seats and stirring passengers I squinted into the darkness of the cabin, all the curtains were drawn and sitting in an aisle seat I dearly wanted to take a glance out of a window but I couldn’t.

When the bus finally stopped in central Tokyo I stepped out of the small door way and into a crawling hive of black business suits and tourists.

Having made it into the country and now having arrived in Tokyo, my goal now was to find accommodation. I’d decided before I left Australia to try the YMCA, all I had was an address from the internet with the broader details saying Kanda, Tokyo.

I barely knew where I was in Tokyo let alone where Kanda might be.

I needed to get to a phone and to ring one of the contacts that my Father had managed to find for me in his little note book full of old friends and friends of friends.

Having now lived here for a time, I’ve developed a bit of a habit, whenever I am in the city or walking around town and I see another foreigner, I like to try and guess whether they too live here or whether they are a tourist. Wandering into (what I now know is) central Tokyo station it was like watching an ocean of bodies move with what can only be described as a fluid confusion.

Too my right there was a group of American tourists all dressed in the same white shirts being led by a woman holding a tall flag on a long thin rod. The way she seemed to be able to deliver loud booming instructions to her group made her look like some Queen Elizabeth the first inspired force, a tornado that whilst small, could deliver cutting damage.

To My left was a stream of seemingly identical men in what appeared to be the same black business suit. I hastened out of the way with my luggage.
I picked up a receiver, opened my little notebook and dialled.

Her nick name is Nobby. I’m not sure what it might be short for. She informed me that I had to catch the Yamanote line and ride the whole way around the line till one stop before Tokyo, then I would be in Kanda, which is the region where the YMCA would be found.

Hanging up the phone I looked