Intersections and Swallows


Is the journey of a wanderer a mere fantasy? It is homesickness; a strong desire to go home without knowing a returning path. The farther one is away from home, the more vivid one’s sense becomes. The most random ideas suddenly become crystal clear when one is being situated in a particular setting, for instance, when being on your own in a foreign land.


停在十字路口 我抬頭看

Intersections and Swallows(十字路と燕) is a book about seven unnamed places and one type of homesickness. No matter where the writer of the book went, he would see swallows in the sky whenever he looked up. “If we could fly, does this shorten the distance we have from home and make us miss home less?” I wondered.

“At the end of the road stands a small town.
Every journey is bound to end at a small town like this.
Stopping at an intersection, I looked up
And saw a swallow flapping its liberal wings in the sky.
Do you want to spend an afternoon here?
I sat down at a corner of the square to think.
I heard the sound of an envelop falling outside of someone’s doors.”



While reading his poem, I realized we are all like swallows that watch the writer from high above and follow his steps to the strange places that once belonged to the imagination. Delving into our own memory, we all have similar chapters in our lives. The last time when this thought came to me, I chose to put on my headphones and kept walking, which got me swallowed by doubts, as if I were burdened by all the sickness I had from living a life. Standing at the crossroad to observe the drizzle did not help to wash away the negative emotions. Then I hopped on a taxi, wishing to break away from the city I was in. Only until then did I realize I misled myself into believing I was enjoying my solo journey. In contrast to how I usually see myself, I began to feel a sense of failure.

Not all changes are beautiful, but all of them would someday turn into a unique scenery that is solely owned by you. Just restore it to how it was, return to where you were. Familiarity is a feeling not to be grasped by others, just like the intimate sound of your shoes rubbing against the carpet every time when you return home.