After a week of being in Tokyo, I was at Haneda Airport once again. Not because I was returning home, but because Reza’s mom was KL bound, bringing along with her several luggages filled with his clothes (which was shipped from Kofu to Haneda a few days before) and a bag full of fabrics she’d bought at Nippori. We bid her farewell at the departure gate.
Shortly after, Reza and I went down to the arrival hall. According to the information board, my brother had just arrived.
Of all the members of the household, my brother has the strongest connection to the Japanese culture. Like many other kids, he was exposed to it at a very young age. For him, though, the connection never stopped. He was exposed to it continuously – from watching Ultraman, reading Dragon Ball, playing Digimon and Pokemon (even now), subsequently developing an interest in a vast amount of anime, manga, songs, drama and the language as he grew. So it’s quite ironic that he’s the last among us to step foot on Japanese soil.
It was almost midnight. Reza and I waited for a fair bit before we saw him at the gate.
He’d shaven his head, as I’d directed earlier. Knowing how unkempt his hair can be, I’d actually told him to get his hair shaved, including any facial hair so he’d be somewhat ready for this place called Tokyo, where most people are prim and polished.
He couldn’t believe he was finally there, he told us.
In a bid to save cost, I didn’t book us a room that night. We were bound to miss the last train anyway, so the three of us slept at the airport, wrapped in our jackets and scarves.
The boys were excited, they knew they were going to otaku haven the next day.