Japanese people are bystanders. Mom's bag feel over, right into the feet of a man standing. He didn't help, in fact he cringed and looked so uncomfortable as my mom's bag entered his personal space. A few days ago, we saw a very unwell woman—probably unconscious—laying near the entrance of a really busy train station. Her friend was trying to attend to her but no one was helping. Mom and I became bystanders as well, but not willingly. We wanted to help, but realized the language barrier and lack of working phones would hinder rather than help the situation. And a few days before that, I was standing in line for noodles. People were looking over at me occasionally and I make anything of that because that is nothing out of the ordinary. I slowly started to realize that everyone had gone inside to receive a ticket before standing in line. But no one thought to try to tell me! 

This weekend, I saw the prettiest hue of orange and blue I’ve ever seen. A lot of the trees we drove by had white bark and orange leaves. And the river that the road ran alongside was a surreal deep teal. The color of the onsen water was my favorite shade of light blue—a color that use to be the color of my walls in high school. 

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