"Where is the restroom?" I asked with a straight face.
I stopped my usual smile and tried speaking with a neutral face. Somehow, I wasn't liked.
Eggs are first-come, first-served for breakfast
I woke up at 7:30 a.m. It's just barely enough time to make the 8:00 breakfast. It feels late, but considering we're on a tour, I even thought to myself that it's pretty healthy.
Breakfast was a buffet again today. As usual, there were only enough eggs for the number of people. Where Japanese people would think everyone takes one each, the foreigners seemed to have a first-come, first-served mindset. Some people took three eggs for themselves, and even then there were leftovers. In situations like that I can feel my lingering Japanese mindset. Because I wanted protein, I ate three eggs too.
While we ate, everyone was quiet. The sleepy silence after waking up seems to be universal.
Words accumulating in the notebook
While eating breakfast, I had them write messages in my notebook. Maciek, Tim, and Massimo each wrote a short note.
Then I had Tim and Elzhan, the Kyrgyz people sitting on the bench, write in Kyrgyz. Their handwriting was so beautiful. I wasn't sure if Elzhan was a friend, but when I asked, they were apparently 30 years old, which surprised me. They looked that young.
After they wrote, I told them "thank you." That was enough.
The long road to Bishkek
With that, we boarded the bus and set off for Bishkek.
On the bus, I was thinking about this.
Communication in Japanese places a strong emphasis on protecting the other person's self-esteem. Thanks to that, there are few conflicts, but it also means you sometimes can't put your own assertions into words smoothly. In a small community, just saying something a little different can make people tense, so you end up staying silent. But being silent is also suppressing yourself, and that's painful. The truth is, I should be allowed to express my feelings more honestly.
I don't really like the part of me that holds myself back. I understand the "everyone's enduring it" argument, too. But life only happens once, and I don't want to compromise easily. Above all I want to stay true to myself, no matter what.
Apparently the distance to Bishkek is roughly like going from Aomori to Tokyo, or from Nagoya to Fukuoka in Japan. Being able to travel that distance at all feels like such a luxury. When you travel, you meet new people every day and learn all kinds of emotions. Each time you realize new sides of yourself, sides you dislike, and sides you want to fix.
The girl I met yesterday by the lakeside showed up. She had hitchhiked this far but couldn't find a ride back to Bishkek. There was one extra seat, so she ended up riding with us.
Trout set meal in the mountain valley
For lunch, we arrived at the same restaurant as yesterday.
We ordered one trout and decided to share it among three. Maybe because Kyrgyzstan is rich in nature, the trout was incredibly fatty and surprisingly delicious.
I ate with Tim and Maciek. We all liked the skin too and ate it cleanly. The group next to us didn't eat the skin at all, which was a bit funny.
While eating, we talked about the German girl's beer and about how hard it is for Adilet to work in Silicon Valley. "You get a lot of money, but you lose your life," he said. I also asked Chanela from Sri Lanka what she usually eats.
The way Adilet steered the conversation was truly professional. His give-and-take in communication was precise; the timing of his prompts and the way he looked people in the eye were polished. I thought that's what you get from working in Los Angeles. The environment changes people, for better or worse. That made me once again realize how important it is to choose where you place yourself.
An afternoon when I tried not to smile
We boarded the bus again, heading to Bishkek.
Lately I've been influenced by the way Maciek, a Polish guy living in the Netherlands, talks and carries himself. Maybe because I'm Japanese, I end up adapting to people too much. I tend to be a people pleaser. But he doesn't mind being alone, and when he joins a group he speaks properly. He's full of confidence and I think he's cool.
So I decided to stop my usual smile and try interacting with a straight face. I asked the tour guide, "Where is the restroom?" with a straight face. I tried to speak as if I didn't care, with an indifferent expression.
As a result, somehow I wasn't liked.
In the end, I think being myself is the best. Speak as you want and say aloud what you feel in your heart. That might be the quickest way to be liked. If you like smiling, then smile; if you prefer a straight face, then that’s fine. I still don't really know what kind of personality I have or which is my true self.
That's exactly why I want to go through various experiences and establish my identity. One thing I do know is that I'm like the sun that makes everyone smile. Because I'm cute, I've had many experiences of being mocked or treated lightly. But in the end it depends on the person. The worst thing is building yourself up artificially. What you construct that way will break easily if its roots are wrong. First, know what your roots are, accept them, and be yourself as you are. That seems like the happiest way to live. Of course you'll be disliked sometimes. And it's impossible to be liked by everyone; trying to make everyone like you feels wrong in the first place.
A field of yellow flowers and sunflower seeds
After about two hours of driving we stopped once in a place surrounded by mountains, and everyone went outside to relax. There's a river nearby and yellow flowers swaying in the wind.
There are so many small lives even in a place like this. I think how vast the world I live in is. If flowers had feelings, I could talk to them for tens of hours, I thought.
Nearby, Maciek gave me a sunflower seed, so we chatted while munching on it. The German girl had the same Osmo Action 5 Pro as me, and we got excited, "We're the same!" Her body was covered in colorful tattoos, and I couldn't help doing a double-take.
Through meadows like the Alps
We got back on the bus, heading for Bishkek. Between here and Bishkek there's really nothing but mountains, rivers, and plateaus. It was beautiful, like the Swiss Alps. We drove through the stretches where the mountains line up.
Occasionally horses and cows were grazing, living peacefully as they ate grass. A horse's legs and rear are beautiful like a model's. Their muzzles are soft and cute. I love horses.
Today the temperature was high and I sweat a little. The others occasionally opened the windows above the bus and the breeze felt nice.
At the parking area, I talked about various things in Russian with Elzhan. She asked, "Japan doesn't even have plastic bottles lying around, right? It's so clean." I answered that's true, but recently with more foreign travelers, it's gotten a bit messy at times. We also talked about each country's image. I'm proud that I can do this in Russian. I didn't go to school for it; I learned this much because I fell in love with one girl.
A notebook conversation with Chanela
On the way back, I exchanged messages in the notebook with Chanela from Sri Lanka. She's shy, but we eventually became friends. She was a very good person—compassionate and a good listener. I think many introverted people are like that.
I also had Adilet and Beknur write in the notebook. After several toilet breaks, we arrived safely.
I shook hands with everyone and left saying thank you. Walking back to the hostel, I talked with my mom on the phone for the first time in a while. She was telling me about someone at work who had a low salary and how she had gone to the company president to consult about it.
Bishkek night, words accumulating
When I arrived at the hostel there was a pair of Japanese people. It seems they work in Uzbekistan and came to travel in Kyrgyzstan. Aya at the reception welcomes everyone like family. "Tomorrow we're going to Ala-Archa," she said. Since Liza's last day is tomorrow or the day after, they're climbing a mountain and drinking at night. So tomorrow I have to go to the mountain, apparently.
While we were talking, a Japanese man named Hiroki called out to me. He said there had been a timing when the Pakistan border was closing, so he extended his stay. In the end we ordered delivery together for dinner. He had lagman, and I had rice and chicken.
While eating together in the kitchen, Hiroki wrote a message in my notebook—the first from a Japanese person.
At night I replied to an email about a Turkmenistan visa application and wrote in my diary. My hostel roommate was a Polish doctor who's been traveling for seven years. His Russian was so fast I couldn't understand it at all.
