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I’m afraid of spaghetti. It’s too easy to prepare and the directions that come on the side of the packet it comes in are virtually foolproof. Every time I browse the isles of the local grocery store, I usually make sure to stock up on spaghetti. I have a favorite brand here in the local grocery store just because it comes in nice packaging and has an attractive texture. I pick up my favorite brand, which translates to ‘GOLD’, on impulse without much thought into the action of purchasing. Not until I am back in the kitchen and have finished the act of cooking the spaghetti do I actually reflect over the spaghetti. I wonder if the act of boiling the soon-to-be limp strands of spaghetti can actually be called cooking. I usually don’t. There are times, however, that I do - especially when I am trying to effusively impress others or pretending to be be busy so that I don’t have to see someone I don’t really feel like meeting.

***

Today’s clouds peppered Tokyo with much missed snow. It had been nearly two years since the last time Tokyo saw any snow. When I walked out of my dormitory I noticed that a family of snowmen - which included the father, mother, two kids and dog - had already been built by either small kids from the neighborhood or drunk university students late at night: there isn’t much of a difference between the two groups, you know. While walking through the snow, I noticed that I wasn’t feeling anything. I know that I usually enjoy a good snowfall because of how it changes the mood of people and mutes the noises of a busy city like Tokyo to an extent. Today, however, I felt nothing. I didn’t even feel anything when I noticed a child walking in front of me in shorts, kicking at little bunches of snow in different directions in an innocent way.

All I knew is that I wanted to go back to my room as soon as I could.

***

I fell into an unusually deep sleep when I returned to my room this afternoon. I had a dream of being in the old bazaar in Manama, walking through an unfamiliar corner in which there were old men building different musical instruments. Most of the customers were Europeans, I assumed. I was not disturbed at all by the fact that the bazaar was filled with foreigners. What disturbed was the fact that I felt completely lost in what seemed to be home.

At this, I woke up from my sleep and remembered that it had been three days since my Oud (Arabian Lute), my best friend here in Japan, had finally learned to walk on its own and asked for permission to go out on a walk about town. Over the last six years, I never went through a day without enjoying the company of my Oud. I did not want to be seen as a tyrant by my friend and eventually agreed to let her go out on a walk. I gave her my finest coat, cloves, hat and boots and asked her to be careful and not forget to return to me. She comforted by promising to return soon.

I looked out my window and noticed that the snow had began to turn to rain, and that the ground would probably be slick in the morning when it freezes over. This caused me to panic a little. I held my breath, went to the kitchen to cook spaghetti again, as I waited for my Oud to return.

***

On my way to the kitchen, a young woman I know stopped to asked me what I was doing later tonight. I told her that I was busy cooking and was waiting for someone to come back to me, through the snow.