I have always slept lightly. Falling asleep comes easily – especially since I have children -, but I wake up from any sound, of anything unfamiliar. Last night, I woke up because I couldn’t feel I., who slept next to me on the futon. She was gone. She didn’t just roll off the futon—she had moved all the way across the room. I found her under the low table near the entrance. Sleeping. 

She cried when I brought her back to the bed and I was so scared she’d wake up L., who honestly doesn’t look that well. Her body is still covered in mosquito bites, she doesn’t eat and she looks pale and exhausted. I need her to sleep. Luckily she doesn’t wake up. The room is pitch black, and it might help her to finally get some rest. 

A few hours later, I wake up again to Katchan taking a towel, seemingly getting ready for an early bath. I look at L., who lies next to me, but she is awake too. She watches Katchan move through the room. My heart is beating. I wanted her to sleep so badly that I get anxious. It is 6:30, and she went to bed late again, because of the family dinner last night. 

I tell L. it’s too early and take her in my arms. Luckily she agrees. She takes my hair in her hands – she loves holding my hair – and closes her eyes. I kiss her pale small face. I hear the smacking sound of her pacifier. Am I the only mother who loves the pacifier, even though her kid is already four and a half? Sometimes this stupid rubber item is the only thing I have to give my daughter some calm. 

The Onsen, an Hot Water Bath

L. wakes up past just before 8:00. I. woke up before, but I. is easy to keep calm and occupied. I take the girls to the bath and we enjoy it for a long time. Both the girls love the onsen and usually one of the baths is not that hot. There is a cold bath too, and they keep jumping into it, laughing and playing. There is no-one else, no need to worry about their sounds. It’s amazing to see them play and enjoy, knowing that we will need to travel far again this afternoon. We play for so long that Katchan has to come and get us because breakfast is ready.

Breakfast in an Onsen Hotel

Breakfast is a set menu. I worry it might be meaty — no vegan options — but to my surprise, it’s quite vegan-friendly. There is a meaty dumpling, an egg and salmon, which I give to Julien, but apart from that I can eat the rice, miso soup, tofu and some fresh veggies. 

Per usual I. eats like a champ and L. takes two bites of the white rice, a teaspoon of salmon, one spoon of onsen boiled egg and one sip of tea.

“She is only four, but I can’t help but wonder if, like me, she sees food as a way to reclaim control.”

I feel triggered. When I was between 14 and 18 years old, I hardly ate. Watching L. like this, I can only imagine how desperate my parents must have been. She is four, but I can’t help but wonder if, like me, she sees food as a way to reclaim control? Control over a life that changes every day, a life where she wakes up each morning asking: Mama, are we going home yet? How come she doesn’t have the natural instinct to just eat? Last night at family dinner she only ate some ice cream. I really hoped that after a night of good sleep she would devour a bowl of rice at least. 

I tell Julien I might organise another call with a nutritionist. 

We know we can’t put any pressure, we cannot force her to eat. 

But it is so difficult to see your daughter growing smaller. 

“One more bite of rice”, Julien says, “and one more bit of fish. And then I will take you somewhere.” 

She obeys.

Meanwhile I. just finished her second bowl of rice and is now asking for my tofu. I give it to her and go get myself a big, big coffee. The breakfast room is empty. It’s almost 10:00. I also order a hot chocolate for L. and bring it to her. She is in the kids room with Julien, where there are lots of toys and manga. 

The Lost Glory of a Stationary Shop

We are visiting Juliens family in Karasuyama. His uncle and aunt have had a stationary store for decades, but ever since I became part of the family it always seems closed. It probably has been. Back in the days his family served every school in the area, but paper is not being used like before and schools are closing because only elderly people are living in places such as these. The shop is spacious and packed with items.

We sit in the back of the store and eat fresh and sweet summer fruits. The kids are playing in the courtyard. They found a water tap and are splashing each other. It’s very hot today. Every now and then I. comes inside to get some fruit. L. doesn’t.

Udon for lunch

Around noon we go out to have lunch in a udon and soba restaurant not far from the shop. L. has a meltdown and says Julien promised her an ice cream. When I try to calm her, I discover the pocket of her dress is full of colourful, dusty items she took from the shop. In the midst of her meltdown, it’s not the best moment to talk about this.

The lunch is amazing. Japan never ceases to surprise me when it comes to food. Especially out here, in these forgotten villages, with their small, local restaurants. The tempura veggies are crispy and fresh. The soba is so good. I. eats udon and loves it. L. doesn’t eat one bite. She doesn’t even want to try. 

A Japanese Cemetery

After lunch, we say goodbye to the family,  return the stolen goods – of which L. can keep a few dried out stickers – and leave for the cemetery where there is Juliens family grave. From his great grandparents to the family dogs: everyone ends up here. I feel very tired and stressed now. I am very worried about L. and I don’t want to see the family grave. My own mother is still in a jar at my family house because we don’t know what to do with her, and somehow I start to feel angry too. I’m worried, tired and angry and I don’t want to think of dead people. It’s too much. 

Once at the cemetery I tell everyone I need to use the bathroom and I spend ten minutes splashing water in my face, trying to get rid of my sudden vibe. I don’t care if they think I am taking a shit there, in the bathroom of the cemetery, as long as I can lose this feeling that will make me cry soon. 

Of course, it doesn’t work. 

So I hide behind my camera, which is actually for the best. The view is breathtaking. The girls enjoy walking around the graves, picking up stones and Julien is proud to get them acquainted with the rituals that are part of greeting your ancestors. Rituals that are so beautiful that it is okay to cry a little. 

The train to Tokyo and Yotsuya

After the cemetery, we drive back to Utsunomiya Station and take a local train to Yotsuya where Juliens mother lives. He has never been there. It’s too far to go all the way to our next location – the beach – so we decided to spend one night there. 

The trip to Yotsuya is a 3.5 hour ride, of which the last two hours is crossing Tokyo by twilight. I. sleeps on my belly and L. watches a film on my phone and eats lots of chips and nuts. I don’t care. I’m tired of caring for today. Travelling with kids is demanding! I drink a beer and watch the city and all of its  lights flash by. Tokyo Mon Amour. 

Read the previous journal here