#i need to get my hands on some ~glutinous rice flour~ and make myself a mochi cake

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

To bring up your mood a bit here's a question about you! What's your favorite sweet treat?

hm... good question im not much of a Sweets guy... i would say... either kettle corn or black forest cake! or maybe mochi... i do love me some mochi!

[growingstrongorsomething]

4. I have a robot inside me.

Original prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bo0yiq/wp_youre_a_little_slower_than_others_but_its/ If you like my story, please support me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/storyforger

“The whole time you have been whispering. You are scaring people off.”

“What, I did?” Walid looks at his boss. Her face is filled with wrinkles, some from old age, some from worry.

“Yes, you are also looking at Waruna. She is crying in the freezer because she thought you are still angry at her.”

Walid slaps his face a little, trying to mold it to a more presentable look. His face now has a bit of a smile, and his eyes doesn’t gaze as sharp as before.

“She already paid for the damages. After all, I wasn’t angry at all. I just...”

Now Walid’s boss is the one massaging her face, mostly around her forehead. “Whatever it is, hold it in for now okay? We are all on the rush season. I will close this bakery for a week after Festival. Deal with your problems, get a psychiatrist, or meditate or something. Okay?”

“Yes, Mdm Kamisah.”

She holds Walid’s face and smiles broadly. “Work hard. The Festival is just three days away. I promise, we will get a big fat bonus, hm?”

“Yes. Well, I need to carry the pastries.”

“Good! That’s the spirit.”

Mdm Kamisah enters the office. Walid turns to the tray of tepung puluts. The smell of glutinous rice and pandanus flour mix in the sweetmeats are alot for him to handle. Walid thinks he is going to eat it all.

If you eat it all, you will have stomach problems again!

Walid sighs. “I am carrying food,” talking to himself again.

Oh you will, see the puddle you will flip!

[I won’t wait what oh god!]

Walid slips and almost fall flat on the tray. The floor where cakes are baked is made rough to prevent slipping, but the floor to the presentation aisles are made from smooth tiles. At least the cakes are safe.

Hamid takes the tray from Walid and places it on the counter. He then lifts Walid up, whose legs spread too far for his level of joint mobility.

“God you’re heavy!”

“Oww, oww, oww, my thighs.”

Hamid steadies Walid, who is groaning slightly from the gymnastics. “Well, I’m sending the tray.”

“No, wait.” Hamid gets a dry towel and wipes the floor from the accident to the aisle until it’s dry. “Ok, go.”

“Thanks!”

Their work that day is rather hard, and all workers are tired. Walid isn’t as tired, but his limping isn’t making things more comfortable either. At least the cleanup is made easy by the dishwashers and bots.

“That’s a wrap for the day. See you tomorrow!”

“See you!”

Walid hails a Grab and lets himself be carried to his flat. The city lights are pretty at night, especially when we are sleepy. The Grab driver thanks Walid too soon. Walid grumbles his thanks and clumsily walks up the stairs.

[Oh yeah, elevator] Walid goes to the elevator only to see that it is under maintenance. “Augh! Today?” He really wants to kick the door, but the last time someone did, that is how the elevator stopped working. Dejected, Walid winds wearily to his bed and falls asleep without even changing clothes.

Yo, how’s life?

[Life-threatening, thanks to you.]

You slipped, and I’m to blame? LOL GG.

[You’re my subconscious. How do you even know what is LOL GG?]

I am not blind when you control this body. I see what you see, I learn what you learn, I am aware of what you are aware. Well, and other things.

[What do you mean?]

We. Need. Diagrams.

Walid’s dream now forms a room. It is cozy, with two blue long sofas facing each other and a lamppost standing guard next to it. The table in between the sofas has a jug of lychee drink. Walid knows it by the smell. He pours a cup and pours the liquid into his mouth. The sweetness slams his tongue, and it flows into his body, making him... happy. He sits on the sofa, drinking more lychee juice.

You like what you’re seeing?

[Yeah, pretty much.]

Now! I will introduce myself. The subconscious slithers from behind the sofa and towards Walid. It is like the root of a ginger tree, only that it has a single straight shaft and many root fibers jutting through it. One of the larger root fibers extend a hand, as if in greeting. Walid shakes it. It does not show its face.

Subconscious, glad to meet you.

[Walid, pleasure’s all mine?]

The ‘ginger root’ slithers to the other sofa, its body reclining regally upon the sofa. Tired, Walid lies down to imitate the ‘ginger root’.

I think you have a lot of questions.

[Are you a ghost? Will you kill me? Is this poison?]

No. I need you alive. I can’t really tell you what I am yet, it will only create more questions. But I am ready to show you.

Walid thinks of the ginger root unzipping its costume and a pretty woman’s leg jut out of it.

No, unfortunately, I am not that sexy. But let me show you.

[How are you going to do that?]

I am going to take over your body. Just for a day. You will have my word, you can get full control of it once I have done my business.

Walid chugs down the lychee. The entirety of his life’s lessons flash before his eyes. All his life, his parents never told him what to do when your subconscious wants to take control of your body. Don’t open the door if the parents don’t expect guests, don’t touch other people’s breasts (and dicks once he came out), don’t steal, don’t show your private parts on the internet, and most importantly, if the offer is too good to be true, turn it down and run like hell.

I am twenty and honest to God, I need an adult.

[As frightening as it is, I am an adult. I assure you, your good health and functioning body is in my best interest.]

Come to think of it, the stress of his life isn’t going away anytime soon either. He still have to work hard tomorrow at the bakery. And he had to take Chinese exam next week, just so employers will consider him a worthy job candidate. Walid pours another cup. He raises it. To the last possible day of me being the conscious mind.

[To a more fruitful Walid.]

They both chug down the lychee. Walid sees the ‘ginger root’ face for a split second before the dream ends.

The next morning, Walid finds his body to be moving to the fridge. It dips some wholemeal bread into the black coffee and sends the bread into its mouth. Walid tried to move his body but it can’t.

Ginger root, are you controlling me?

[Yes, I do. You want answers. I am in the process of showing you. But first, your body needs some fuel and coolant!]

Fuel? Coolant? I am not a robot!

[Oh you’ll understand. By the way, you have a sick leave today. Convenient!]

Convenient for what? Hey, why are we walking?

[To the Doctor!]

The body washes itself. It washes its muscular body with water, then lathers soap on it. The body cleans everywhere, including the nether regions. Walid feels a slight pain as that area is stil a bit overstretched from yesterday. Walid can feel how clean his body is. And how it hurts to almost slip again from water puddles.

The body then pats itself dry with a towel. Walid tries wipe his face a bit more but the body doesn;t listen.

Ginger root, wipe my face!

[Alright, fine!]

Walid feels the intrinsic itch to his soul scratched for now. The body wears a tight T shirt and a sports trousers. Walid always feel comfortable wearing the trousers, but the tight T shirt is chafing his nipples.

Can we get a looser shirt?

[No, I always want to show off this awesome body.]

Walid would like to huff, but it only manifests as the word ‘huff’. He spies to the side of his eyes. There are numbers and letters, some jumbled.

Are those coordinates, distance in kilometers, and name of The Doctor?

[Yes! Now be quite and observe!]

The body hails a Grab and calmly enters the car. The body chats with the driver a bit. Walid thinks the mouth is moving but the language isn’t what he is used to.

“Ni de shangban meiyou mang ma?”

“Aiya, zui mang! Quanbu ren bu yao mai che, he quanbu de shangdian hen yuan la!”

And they both laughed. This son of a bitchy ginger root, he actually knows Mandarin!

The chat ends as the car arrived before the clinic. The sign says ‘The Doctor’s Swig’. This isn’t a clinic, this is a bloody pub.

Wait! I am a Muslim, I can’t drink alcohol.

[Oh come on, we’re meeting a doctor, not drinking!]

This is a pub!

[Oh god, just watch!]

The ginger root moves the body. Well, the insides is a pub. People are eating sunflower seeds and pistachios while watching the news. And drinking beer. There is a blackboard with a chalk drawn picture of a jar and ‘Lihing Limited Edition’ hanging above the bartender’s head.

“Bear with me bro, I need a help.”

The bartender winks. “What help?”

“Health Care.”

“One sec.” The bartender gives a call. “Number?”

Ginger root gives a small paper. The bartender whispers to the phone, and burns the small paper. The bartender then whispers to Ginger Root. “The Doctor is available now. Please come in.”

The Ginger Root smiles and nods. The back of the pub has three doors. Two unisex toilets and one closet. Ginger Root presses the code and the closet door opens. He enters the room, which is littered with brooms, mops, and scoops for the dust. Ginger Root places his hand on a brick, and pushes. A door swings open, away from the body. The body bravely marches through the darkness.

The dark path isn’t very dark to Walid, but he’s still afraid. He instinctively makes command to jerk his foot, but the body remains stoic, moving forward without flinching. They make their way down some stairs and more dark alleys, some branching.

Ginger Root, where are you taking me?

[Oh I’m Ginger Root now? Well, like I always said, just watch. We have a checkup AND a job.]

Walid is too afraid to complain further.

The darkness ends at the end of the tunnel, where the body pulls the door open. Inside is a room. Bodies of men and women are hung, suspended from the ceiling with ropes and hooks.

AAAAAAAHHHHH!

[Stop shouting, I almost jumped!]

A young man, barely 20, rushes forward and shakes the body’s hand with much enthusiasm. “I am always honoured to service you sir.”

“Hello to you too. Please check this body first.”

“Yes, this way.” The room of bodies gave way to a few beds. Ginger Root lies the body on an empty bed, the eyes pointing upward.

“Sir, we are about to begin checkup. Please leave the body.”

And Walid lose consciousness.

SYNCHRONISING NERVOUS SYSTEM... 100%

SYSTEM ERROR? ... RESOLVING... 100%

MUSCLE MOVEMENT? 100%

AUDITORY SYSTEM? 100%

VISUAL SYSTEM? 100%

TOUCH INPUT? 100%

STARTING AUXILIARY FUNCTION...

AUXILIARY FUNCTION ON. ERROR?

...

...

NONE. SYSTEM STARTING.

Walid finds himself still unable to control his body. The body is strapping some belts and pouches.

Wait, what time is it?

[10 am. We have a mission. Rescuing hostages.]

Wait, I am not a soldier!

[I am. Sit tight, you’re my mecha. Switching off auditory output, Auxilia HI.]

Wait, don’t shut me... And Walid can only see and think, not form words. The eyes emits a small screen of the ginger root. His face like an odd, jagged, jack-o-lantern, but Walid doesn’t feel a thing from it.

[I need you to listen closely. I am on a high risk mission to rescue fellow, well, ‘ginger roots’. They are stuck in some continents away. You must trust me that I will bring us alive okay.]

Walid would like to say yes, if only from desperation.

[We may get injured. Yes, even me in this cockpit. You will have extra functions in the fight, but mostly for your brainpower. Just remember, even if you lost all four limbs, you can be repaired.]

[Switching on auditory output, Auxilia HI.]

I thought I was human! Well... if I survive whatever comes, I need a lot of questions answered.

[OK, fair enough. I need to concentrate, so... Switching off auditory output, Auxilia HI]

Ginger Root meets with a few other people. Men and women, they are well-equipped with weapons and body armour.

“Listen up, our hostage situation has turned sour. The kidnappers decided not to further negotiations, and will kill all hostages this midnight. We have to save them. We do not have to kill all of the kidnappers, but we will kill anyone standing in our way. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Their voiced are lowered, but their voice are filled with fire.

“Good. We Drive Humanity Forward...”

“... So Our Survival’s Assured!”

The team raced to a truck and is driven to an abandoned building. There they dismounted and fan out to secure the perimeter. “The police has been notified of our mission and they will not stand in our way. If you see any uninfected policeman, rescue them. Reports shown that some are held hostage after a failed assault.”

“Our target is 200 meters southwest. We will have to secure a rooftop entry, Damit. Then, Hamidah, Rizal, Shafwan, you three enter first and get a foot hold. We will enter as soon as it’s clear.”

The team races to the top of the abandoned building. To the southwest, they could see three men chatting and drinking coffee on a rooftop balcony. Damit scopes with the sniper rifle. “Three men, mostly bored.”

“Are they armed?”

“No, I don’t think so, Ikhlas.”

Walid knows the name doesn’t refer to him, but Ginger Root. Ikhlas eh?

Ikhlas looks intently with a binocular. “They are, I could see their rifles resting on the wall, behind the sitting man drinking.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Shoot the sitting man first. Then the two.”

Damit pushes the sniper stock close to his shoulder, aims at the sitting man’s neck. He holds his breath, and shoots.

The sitting man falls on the rifles and the two other fumbles to grab their guns. Damit shoots their heads clean off with one shot.

“Double headshot at 200 meters. Easy gg lol.”

Damit sighs. “That isn’t how humans speak.”

Ikhlas writes down the kills. “I know. Still funny though. Shafwan, the rappel.”

Shafwan shoots the rappel rope with his crossbow. The bolt buries deep into the wall. Shafwan slides down first, with some equipment. The others slide down one by one, Ikhlas being the last. They switched equipment amongst each other, as they had carried others’ equipments too.

Walid sees the map screen appear before his eyes. Ikhlas gives the signal to huddle.

“Everyone have maps and possible enemies?”

Everyone nodded.

“We stick together. Rizal at front, Shafwan and Hamidah center, me and Damit behind. Get to the target, fight our way out to the ground floor. Then we evacuate.”

Ikhlas points at the door. Rizal rammed the door with the butt of his gun and the rest streamed in. They move quickly downstairs, but stop before the first door facing the stairs. Two gunmen gets out from the door, laughing along the way. Rizal throws a smoke grenade.

Instead of shouting ‘Boogies’ or something, the two writhed in agony. Their bodies twist and turn, coughing out blood and mucus. Soon, some organisms escape their mouth. It tries to wipe itself clean from the smoke, but it drops as it shouts a small screech of pain.

The two gunmen lays unconscious. Ikhlas’ team moves forward. A few minutes later, they are stopped by three kidnappers running to them. The team manages to take cover behind the walls as the kidnappers shoot to kill. They only stop to reload.

Shafwan takes the opportunity to shoot them in the head, but they do not drop. Instead, they keep firing. Shafwan remains unfazed as a bullet rips through his right upper arm. Some wires frayed out, but his movement isn’t hindered as he reload. Hamidah is about to throw another smoke grenade, but Ikhlas stopped her. Ikhlas waits until they reload again, and turns to shoot.

He aimed at the stomach of the kidnappers. They drop dead as soon as the bullet hits them. Damit moves forward and pumps another bullet in the temple to each of them. Rizal takes the forward position and the team keeps moving forward.

Rizal raises his fist, a signal to move forward. They stopped before the turn of a hallway. Rizal watches the other side with a mirror. “Four men. Standing guard.”

Ikhlas nods to Hamidah. She hands over a defragmentation grenade to Rizal. Rizal removes the pin and moves forward to throw it. The four guards points the gun at Rizal.

They centered their fire Rizal’s head, but Rizal ducks while throwing. Instead, his right arm is severely riddled with holes as the grenade flies. The four is about to jump, but the grenade explodes. The four disintegrated into the smoke. Ikhlas’ team fires forward, as Rizal slings his rifle. He looks at the uselessly hanging right hand. He rips it off. The fingers wiggle uncontrollably as the hand is separated from the body. Rizal holds his rifle on the left hand and joins Ikhlas.

Ikhlas leads the team forward. There seems to be no more kidnappers left. It’s... too quiet. Walid begins to feel uneasy. He wants to ask Ikhlas what is going on, but he can’t say anything. They entered an open courtyard, with doors flanking it.

The silence is finally interrupted a few minutes later. Two kidnappers storm out of a door, but Ikhlas manages to shoot them both before they could open fire. Ikhlas is about to walk forward to the target area, but he is suddenly thrown away by an explosion. Ikhlas almost lands at the other side of the courtyard wall.

A large man, about 9 feet tall appears before the team. Rizal fires his rifle at the man’s face. Its face is chipped away as the bullets ricochet off from the metallic skeleton. The rest pumps their gun dry to the robot. But all their bullets do not even dent it.

Hamidah jumps to give the man a flying kick.  Her shin hits his neck. The man calmly grabs her leg and throws her straight through a wall. Shafwan jumps to the man’s shoulders, stand on it, and pumps a new magazine worth of bullets between the chest and the shoulder blade. The man grabs Shafwan and slams him a few times. Sounds of twisting metal can be heard from Shafwan’s body as he tries to stab and sever the wires in the robot’s hands. The robot throws Shafwan and he is impaled on a pole by the left chest. Shafwan tries to remove himself.

The robot is shaking, it finds itself hard to straighten its body. The robot walks to Shafwan, but he isn’t as fast as he was a few minutes ago.

Rizal and Hamidah pumps more bullets into the robot. But this time, they try to aim at the joints. Hamidah fires all her bullets into the left knee, circling to the front and back. The robot swings his fists to Hamidah but Hamidah can easily evade the robot. Rizal aimed at robot’s right shoulder. The robot turns his attention to Rizal and is preparing to launch himself to him.

The robot sprints towards Rizal. Rizal turns to run away, and the robot is running at full force.

Suddenly, the robot’s trajectory is thwarted by a shot to his head. Damit fires more sniper rounds at the robot. The robot turns and runs towards Damit. He holds his ground, but the robot still charges forward.

Ikhlas bodily throws himself at the robot, pushing the robot away. The robot is flat on its back, and Ikhlas desperately tries to reach his shotgun. The robot grabs him by the leg, and pulls Ikhlas towards him.

Walid feels all the past actions of his flood back to him. His killings of animals, his bullying of other kids, his angry rants against his parents’ He wants to say sorry for all he has done, and he can’t even say in it his inner voice!

Ikhlas the Ginger Root is sweating in its cockpit. He can feel all the anguish that Walid has. Added to his own, he is almost mad from all this. None of his training ever prepared him for this, and none of his experiences ever will. What can he do?

The robot tries to stand, but the connections in its body is too damaged to command his legs for the proper procedure. Instead, the legs dig into the soil erratically. The robot grabs Ikhlas by the neck and raises him up.

“Damit, its elbow!”

Damit aims at the elbow. The robot’s right hand plops uselessly as the bullet hits the joint but Ikhlas still can’t remove himself. He drags the robot’s right hand with him as the robot tightens its grip. But the grip gets looser and looser with each wire ripped from the robot’s hand. Ikhlas’ team gives the robot a wide berth.

The robot tries to stand up with its remaining appendages. But it only ends up wriggling and writhing.

Ikhlas looks for something in his back pouch. “Hamidah, you have anymore grenades?”

“I only have two, and it’s all used up.”

Shafwan has extracted himself from the pole. He hands to Ikhlas one smoke grenade.

Ikhlas throws the grenade to the robot, and it gives out a lot of smoke. When the smoke clears, the robot is still writhing.

“We have to deactivate it, it’s not an exosuit.”

Damit pumps a few sniper rounds to the robot’s left shoulder joint. Shafwan ties his bayonet to a stick and cuts all the wires from a few feet away, far from the robot’s grip. The robot’s hand almost come dangerously close to snatching the stick, but Shafwan deftly retracts it. Soon, the robot is uselessly moving its appendages. Rizal steps forward and jams his left hand to the robot’s neck. He pulls the here and there a bit, and soon the robot stops writhing. Its eyes loses its blue colour, fading to transparent black.

The hostages are brought outside by Shafwan, while Damit checks the perimeter. “It seems like all the kidnappers are dead or have fled. The hostages are just behind me.”

One of the hostages rushes forward to hold Ikhlas’ hands. Ikhlas raises his hands to meet it, but the right hand doesn’t budge.

The hostage looks at Ikhlas’ right hand. Shee shakes her head, but then shakes Ikhlas’ left hand vigourously. “All you have risked your lives to save us. I assure you, the High Root will reward your team well.”

“Thank you, madam, but we aren’t necessarily in the clear yet. We should get out of here quickly.”

They allow the hostages to leave from the front door. The police receives them and hands them to the healthcare unit stationed behind the blockade. Ikhlas’ team goes to the back gate. Along the way, they passed through one of the guard’s body. One being of goo is breathing weakly as the body writhes weakly.

“This... isn’t... over... We... will... be... victors...”

“It never is.” Ikhlas shoots the goo with his pistol.

The team gets into the extraction truck. Rizal holds his severed hand, while Damit ogles Shafwan’s large hole in the chest. Shafwan slaps Damit’s hands as he try to touch his dangling wires.

[Switching on auditory output, Auxilia HI.]

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

Aaa... Aaa... Aaa...

Walid could hear a small screeching on the screen. Is that the ginger root shouting too or the echo in the suit?

[Well, any questions?]

Lots. Wh... Well, what the fuck? I’m a robot? Was my memory real? Did I signed a waiver? Why does all this have anything to do with me?

[Your body is a robot. Your mind is from a human brain, taken from your body. You signed a waiver, but it’s because you are losing all use of legs and hands. It had nothing to do with you, you are just my mecha. Your service to us is how you pay back for the surgery. You also get some money on the side, but from bonuses or bounties.]

Bonuses? Bounties? So I am what, an army equipment? Whose army?

[Yeah. You’re a medium grade military equipment. We are the military arm of Court of Mother Zingiber, Grand Commandery of Lady Goddess Halya of Earth. We have branches in other planets. But in recent centuries, battles are mostly forged here.]

[That goo organism you see is one of our enemies. Just call them Oozes of Doom. As if we want to call them by their regal name, hah!]

So, what happens to me?

[You will be repaired of course. I always intended for you to know about this sooner or later. Having a human on our side helps us to blend in. We can mimic human behaviour, but we aren’t always successful.]

This is too much for me to take in now. You’re in charge I guess, Ikhlas. But can I ask one thing?

[What is it?]

I want to be conscious to see the repairs. I need to see for myself what I am.

[Okay.]

Ikhlas takes the body down to The Doctor. Walid sees the ginger root climb out of his abdomen. The Doctor sets up the machinery as they chat. The language isn’t like any on Earth, so Walid stopped bothering to listen.

The Doctor then starts checking Walid’s right hand. He massages the hand to find where to slice, and starts slicing. Soon Wires are pulled out, reattached, and returned into the body. The Doctor continues with repairing the rest of the bullet injuries. Finally, the damaged body tissue are removed and pastes of new body cells are placed on spots.

The operation as a whole is quite soothing. Walid doesn’t feel any pain, and The Doctor’s movements are as smooth as silk. Soon, Walid’s body is as good as new. Walid extends his right palm to Ikhlas and Ikhlas creeps on to the palm of his hand.

“So that’s how I got my muscular body.”

“These days. Even before the surgery, you’re rather muscular.”

Why I didn’t remembered that? But Walid remembers another thing.

“Why I didn’t feel pain during the firefight just now, but I felt pain from my fall yesterday?’

“Pain reception can be switched on and off. Usually when we take over the body from you, we shut off the pain reception so you won’t go mad from it.”

“Can you make it stay off?”

“No, we want to blend in, and includes you having to feel pain in normal life situations. Can I get into your body now?”

Walid shrugged. “Sure.”

The ginger root presses some buttons on a small key that he holds. Walid’s stomach split into two, and door hinges opento both sides. A small podium with a seat extends out. Walid places his palm before the podium and Ikhlas takes his seat. He presses a button, and the podium pulls back in and Walid’s stomach closes shut.

Walid can move his body again. “Hey, Ikhlas, you there?”

Yeah. Enjoy your bodily autonomy for now. We may be called for next mission later.

Walid sighs. Now he has two jobs, one a part-time back breaking work, and the other a part-time body-breaking work. At least this one has good healthcare benefits.

The team is escorted by The Doctor to a door. “Well, this is goodbye for now. I am always honoured to service you. Your pay will be sent to your accounts by this week. And here are the MCs you require should your bosses question you.”

Walid takes a piece of paper from The Doctor. An MC from... Yang Yang and Co. Clinic?

Walid fishes out his handphone from the pocket. Funny how it survived the carnage. Walid hails a Grab and lets the car carry him to his flat.

[decouvrir-le-monde]

I guess I’ll admit, I had my concerns about Japan. It being the first non-Western country I’ve really ever visited, I balked at the language barrier, worried about inadvertently committing some unforgivable faux pas, or not being able to order food. Despite my anxieties, or perhaps because of them, Tokyo was the destination I was most excited about. A goal for this trip was to experience the world outside of my comfort zone, and Tokyo has been where I’ve felt that the most vividly, and it’s also been the most rewarding.

But of these existential cultural fears, my most immediate concern on arrival was figuring out the dizzying labyrinth of colors and lines and numbers and characters that is the Tokyo subway system. At midnight, when we arrived, we were afraid that some lines would be closed. Luckily for us, the staff at the airport information desk was extremely helpful and nice, and they had a helper stationed by the subway ticket machines (the kind of ticket machine that has online tutorials for foreigners) to help confused souls like us. We were taken care of.

I suppose I only realized that taking care of others here extends beyond airport officials just trying to make everything go smoothly when we were transferring trains, and a man who had ridden the same subway car from the airport saw me looking at a map, and went out of his way to ask where we were going in order to help us find the right platform.

Following this, acts of common graciousness towards us foreigners have not stopped; a cashier helped me count out exact change when I was struggling with their currency, a restaurant owner offered to give us an umbrella when it started raining outside, and another woman held the door open for the elevator for the subway and when I proceeded to face front, she kindly let me know that the doors would be opening behind us. And these are all accompanying smaller things.

It is still intimidating to enter a restaurant, being unable to effectively communicate (I only know about a dozen words and phrases), but those few who don’t speak English are still very committed to trying to figure out what they can help you with, without getting annoyed. I never want to be presumptuous about what others are willing to help me with because I came to their country without being able to speak the language, but my concerns have not come to fruition, and at this point I don’t expect them to in the slightest.

This common courtesy extends beyond foreigners; I have yet to see one person litter, jostle the person next to them, or be a public nuisance in any way. The streets and subway are impeccably clean, and the people are considerate and keep to themselves. It’s also—incredibly, considering the population—one of the safest cities in the world; the crime rate is one of the lowest. Tokyo prioritizes safety, and it seems to me, especially for young women. There are entire subway lines for only women (certain ones allow men if they are accompanying women), there are female-only bars, and lone men are prohibited from entering purikura (cutesy, editing photo booths aimed at teenage girls) as a way to protect the intended clientele. All of these precautions seem to have had an actual real effect on the way women are treated outside of these safe spaces, and I see young women walking casually by themselves very late at night, with earbuds in and unconcerned about those around them. This all feels somewhat liberating, especially compared with Rome (as well as Paris to some degree, not to mention the US) where it’s hard to go anywhere alone without having to deal with unwanted attention. Here, I can go out alone without it being a big deal, and that truly is enfranchising.

Tokyo itself is like New York but much cleaner, more polite, and with more bright lights and video advertisements. There are jingles and advertisement screens on the subways and there are parts of the city where no square footage goes to waste where advertisers are concerned; every building is covered in flashing lights and billboards. Central Shinjuku—about a 15 minute walk from our apartment—is one certain hub. Walking among the large screens flashing advertisements about one thing or another, navigating between arcades leaking smoke, bright, colored lights, and aggressively happy music, and negotiating the crowds of a big city is a sensory experience in itself. Even after having visited NYC, I can honestly say I’ve never experienced anything like it.

a typical street in Shinjuku

golden gai

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streets and streets of advertisements

the view from our apartment

But I have to say, my favorite parts of Tokyo are the small backstreets and corners hiding tiny yakitori and soba bars that seat five people at a time. It’s in these cramped tangles of alleys in between buildings that locals find themselves looking for a meal after work or a night in the city and this is where we found ourselves, partly by accident, late at night one day. One soba bar in particular recommended itself by the six-seven person line of young, smartly dressed businessmen waiting for a quick seat to slurp some noodles at the end of their day. We ended up eating at a dumpling shop nearby that day, but the next time I was looking for a place to eat (Andrew had eaten a particularly big meal earlier that day), I was surprised to somehow find myself again at the shop and this time, there was no line. The shop itself is on a corner so it fits a few more seats than the average shop around there; about nine people can eat there at a time, but by the time I got there (it was quite late), only four seats were taken.  The two granite bars enclose what can only be described as a very cramped kitchen, but I might say the word “kitchen” is generous. There’s a rack of portion-sized tempura vegetables, “fried balls” (I have no clue what those are), eggs, and some other ingredients, and on the other side, a huge pot of hot broth with a specialized strainer in it, and standing room for the shop owner to make everything. Using the Japanese word for “I would like”, I clumsily ordered their special: soba broth and noodles with a harf boiled egg and tempura vegetables (sic.). It came quickly—hot and steaming—by the expert hands of someone who has clearly been here so long, his hands no longer need instructions. I asked him, as he handed my my bowl, if I could have “mizu” (water), but unable to pronounce it correctly, the older woman next to me and her daughter translated then told me you get it from a little container next to her, and she filled up a glass for me. The older woman asked if I liked my food, and when I told her how amazing it was, she translated my complements to the chef, who bowed and smiled. Then we made small talk for a bit, and she gave me bits of advice. When they left, she held my shoulder and said it was good to meet me and wished me the best of luck. I paid a little while later and when I stood up, I bowed and said domo arrigato (thank you) and sugoi oishii (very delicious). 

The size of these restaurants make sense when you see how many people dine alone. Even at full size restaurants, there are often those eating alone; it’s a Western cultural faux pas that does not exist here in the least. We went to a ramen bar yesterday, and the entire restaurant is geared towards solo eaters, and designed to mitigate human interaction. It was so incredibly different from anywhere I’ve ever been before. And it is one of the best meals I’ve ever had. We found it (mostly due to luck) and descended a flight of stairs to be greeted by two ticket machines. After paying and ordering at the machine, you are given tickets for each item and you find a booth. Each stool along the bar is separated with a wooden divider, that you can fold away if you happen to come with more than one person, and separated from the kitchen by a wall that cuts away just below chin level so that you can hand over your tickets and get your food (without making eye contact). After taking a seat, we were passed small order forms in Japanese. After struggling for about five minutes with Google Translate and best guessing, someone came around on the other side of the wall and passed us English forms. After filling out what toppings, spice-level, and level of noodle softness, our forms were swiftly taken and our food came a few minutes later. Once we got our steaming ramen topped with green onions and spices, and an egg on the side, our waitress turned sideways, bowed low enough that we could glimpse her red kimono, said something in Japanese, and brought the shutters down so that we were now facing a solid wall. Very little human interaction at all. Then came the first taste. It was the best ramen I’ve ever had, and our local ramen restaurants are pretty amazing. All I can say is that this was the first time I’ve ever finished an entire bowl. Sugoi oishii.

Speaking of sugoi oishii, I want to mention two street foods that I had while visiting Sensoji temple in Asakusa yesterday: agemanju and dango. Agemanju are warm bites of fried rice batter filled with red bean paste. The one I got was sesame rice batter, and it was crispy and warm and perfectly light, sweet, and substantial and I’ve wanted another one since. After walking a bit to try and get a bit more hungry, I decided to try dango: skewers of grilled rice flour dumplings glazed with a sweet soy sauce. These spherical dumplings are crunchy and browned on the outside and warm, glutinous, and gently sweet on the inside.

age manju: grilled rice balls glazed in sweet soy

red bean paste pastry from the supermarket

the amazing soba noodles

an unidentified (but delicious) edamame and bread concoction from the bakery

the. best. ramen. I’ve. ever. had.

At Sensoji temple, I got my first taste of old Tokyo. The street food is only the first thing. I’ve never been to a buddhist temple before and there were many traditions that had not been included in the articles I read about how to visit respectfully. There was a washing/purification basin and a structure burning incense that I expected, but there was also a wall lining the pathway to the temple filled with drawers that you could pay 100 yen to shake vigorously. I still do not know what this was.

Koi pond next to the Sensoji temple

Sensoji temple

Sensoji temple

The last thing I can talk about Shinjuku station. The busiest in the world, it is truly dizzying. There is a maze of food, clothing, and trinket stores accompanying restaurants and bakeries interspersed with entrances to vast numbers of different subway lines as everyone bustles and weaves their way to their own individual destinations. Each time I’ve gone into the station, I’ve ended up going around in circles until finally finding what I’m looking for.

I wish I had a few more months in Tokyo. The days are going by so quickly, and I’m still constantly discovering things. The other day, for example, I was sitting and reading in the Shinjuku-Chuo park quite early in the morning (so early that there was no one around me) when I looked up and found myself surrounded by senior citizens all wearing loose-fitting white shirts. I decided to get up and walk around, and a few minutes later, music started emanating from the center of the park and everyone had got up and begun stretching. There were probably hundreds of seniors spilling out from the center, following directions from what I later learned is called radio taiso. It’s a form of stretching and conditioning that is broadcasted on the radio every morning, and projected in the parks. I will miss that sense of wonder and discovery when we go home. In a few days, we’re off to Kyoto, and then our trip comes to a close. I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around that.

Tokyo, Japan: I guess I'll admit, I had my concerns about Japan. It being the first non-Western country I’ve really ever visited, I balked at the language barrier, worried about inadvertently committing some unforgivable faux pas, or not being able to order food.

[samjesseskid]

Winter’s End 2017 Update

Go to the Bible

“Does the Bible say anything about who I am?”

This question came from a young man, lingering behind after our small group discussion had ended. Every February/March, the BFA high school small groups and their leaders take a retreat to the heart of the Alps—Lenk, Switzerland––to rest and focus on the Lord Jesus. This year I [Samuel] tagged along with the small group I co-lead, a group of 11th grade boys who tend to care more about computers than sports (very different to my previous small group). The guest speaker was a former BFA grad who is now a pastor in Italy. He taught four sessions on Matthew 13, each time reminding the students of their need for the salvation wrought by Jesus. Also, between songs, the lead singer in the worship band would speak about our need for Christ. The entire weekend was Gospel saturated!

All of this led to some good discussions with our small group boys, and this one in particular opened up. He told me how he has been waiting on God to speak to him but that he never hears anything. I explained that if he wanted to hear what God wants him to know, he needs to look no further than the Bible. We had a great talk about how the Bible tells us about who God is and about who we are! Please pray for this student with us, that he would find the answers he is looking for in God’s Word! Please also pray that God would open the ears and hearts of all our students to respond to His irresistible grace.

By the end of the retreat, the small group leaders were swapping stories about how well the weekend went, and it was refreshing to hear how the Lord is working in these students’ lives. Thank you so much for joining us in this ministry by supporting Black Forest Academy and its programs such as the high school retreat. Please pray for the students at BFA as they hear the truth of God and that they would respond in repentance and belief.

Refugee Ministry

“Warning: never bring a parachute.”

The freshman laughed in agreement, sharing this memory when asked what stories they had from the local refugee ministry. They had taken the classic P.E. class parachute with them to play with the kids there. “They loved it so much that we had to pull it from their hands when it was time to go!” But what these freshman loved was making crafts, sharing candy, playing games, doing henna, and just hanging out with hyper, carefree kids. “How do you communicate? Arabic? German? Or English?” “No,” they answered. “We communicate with smiles. It goes a long way.”

Later, I [Jesse] asked some upperclassmen what experiences they had with the refugee ministry in our area. Here are a few replies I received:

We are an MK school, and God brought them to us! I’d be annoyed with myself if I missed this giant opportunity. I can sympathize with moving to a place where you don’t know anyone nor the language, but I’ve never moved to flee a war zone. My family was called by God to leave our home, but they were just kicked out.

Going to the refugee center made me happy. I thought it would make me tired, but it gave me more energy. My parent’s ministry in Turkey is helping with refugees, so I wanted to do something too.

I don’t want to be an ignorant Christian. I want to learn all about their culture, hear their stories, know what beliefs they have grown up with. You can’t help someone accept [Christ] if you don’t understand where they are.

Getting hungry (our class is right before lunch), one student–a culinary enthusiast–pulled out a tupperware full of her latest creation: matcha green tea mochi! Passing them around, she described how, while experimenting with the new recipe, a mere 2 Tablespoons too much of the glutinous rice flour threw off the texture significantly. “The dough was sticking to everything. It was so tough that it took me forever to mold it into balls.” Her neighbor commented, “I wonder if God feels that way about wrestling with our hearts, ‘I’m just trying to make you beautiful!’”

That thought stayed with me all week. My final student conversation concerning local refugee ministry produced the following testimony:

At first, helping at this ministry was not what I expected, and my motives for going (curiosity, desire to be a hero and look good, fulfill my community service requirements for school) caused me guilt. After skipping a few weeks, God gave me courage to return and I gradually began to see the world more from their perspective. I was convicted. When I finally let go of my expectations and frustration, I was satisfied–it really wasn’t me, it was God who worked! He changed my heart about it. One evening, at a worship night at school, I shared all these things. Some refugee parents came with a friend who translated for them, and they wanted to talk to me afterward about what I shared. That really pumped me up to interact with the children and adults there more. It is still hard sometimes, with our language barrier and different cultural backgrounds. But I really started to love these people.

Who knew sharing his testimony at school would lead to disciple-making opportunities among refugees? Please pray that further conversations–via smiles and translators–occur among our multicultural community as God uses Black Forest Academy students to make disciples. This student’s heart is clearly in God’s hands and, like imperfect mochi dough, is being made more beautiful.

Springing Forward

After the snowiest winter we have had in Germany, Kandern residents are all excited about Spring. Spring Break is fast approaching, and the BFA service project trips will be here too. Many of our students spend a week of their Spring Break in a distant country helping with medical aid, constructing facilities at a school, or helping teach English to local children. Please pray for the trips, the students and staff, and the locals they are serving, that God would grow everyone involved to be more like Him and use their efforts for His glory. Thank you so much for your prayers and partnership with us in our past trips to Romania, and we are praying for this year’s trips as well.

Next Up

With Spring Break nearly here, Summer is around the corner. Jesse and I are looking to find out where we will be going next. Currently we have a few options: moving to Dallas in order to finish seminary at Dallas Theological Seminary, or interning at a church in Colorado. Both are too far off to tell if they will come to fruition. Leaving BFA will be difficult (we have spent the majority of our marriage and relationship together in Germany!). We can’t thank you enough for how you’ve joined us in serving the students and families through Black Forest Academy these four years. Please be praying for us and for our marriage as we navigate the next phase of our lives, seeking what the Lord wants from us next, and desiring to trust and obey until we have answers.

Tschüß!

Samuel & Jesse