RANT 'N' RAVE
Noise Deficiency
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Illustration by Dot |
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As I sit in my quiet room, overlooking the
trees and garden that make up my backyard, I can't help but feel a little nostalgic about
my time in Japan.
A gentle breeze rustles the leaves and the wind chimes emit dulcet tones. The occasional
squirrel or raccoon stirs and ambles by, either unaware or unconcerned about the presence
of something in the shadows. The cool night air brings with it the fragrance of nature,
fresh, clean, alive, allowing the mind to wander back to another time. And yet, none of
these things bring back any fond memory of Tokyo. Instead, it is the unrelenting quiet
that I must bear that makes me long for a more clamorous existence.
Generally, I can sit out on my deck and take in the quiet night sounds. After a while,
however, I find myself straining to hear the soothing notes of a traveling van selling
baked sweet potatoes. Yaki imooooo! Oishi sooooooo! The sweet siren's song. Of
course, I would be negligent if I didn't at least mention the existence of all the other
door-to-door vendors and their peculiar ditties. They vary from neighborhood to
neighborhood but they are there as part of the fabric that makes up the tight knit
community.
I'm also at my leisure to use public transportation in relative tranquillity but every so
often, I long to hear vociferous babble that, while incoherent, somehow contributed to my
inner peace by allowing me to know exactly where we were at almost all stages of the
journey.
I want to walk into a shop and have the staff address me at a deafening volume, even if it
is only to say "Hello." I want to walk past a shop and enjoy the tumult that
greets each passerby, particularly in electronic goods stores.
I want to hear that pachinko song again. You know, the one that accosts your ears each
time you venture near the brightly lit, smoke filled palaces of chance.
I want to be awakened at 7:30am during the election season by the rantings of a madman (or
madwoman, for that matter) in a language that I can't understand or at the very least, be
acoustically assaulted as I leave the train station by well dressed minions standing on
the roof of a van.
And, unbelievably, I yearn to live next to a high school tennis ground, where I would be
entertained, day in and day out, by students playing "soft" tennis, bellowing
"Hai!" or "Onegai!" with every stroke of the ball for approximately
eight hours a day, every day, while all the spectators sporadically yell
"Gambatte." Oh, how I miss my good amenity life!
Many thanks to reader Herb Irving for this Rant. |
RANTS AND RAVES: