melancholy
Claudia Cheng In Tokyo, the rush hour begins after five pm every evening. The subway cars fill with people young and old making their evening commute home. Your seat by the door allows you to watch them squeeze into the crowded car. Overhead, blue light softens. Flashing advertisements and subway maps line the walls, bringing color to the space so clean that it’s almost strange. Despite the large mass of people, the car remains relatively quiet, the only sounds being the hum of the subway itself and the hiss of air each time the door opens and closes. Two young women are in quiet conversation near the doorway, though you can barely see them past the other bodies. You turn up the volume on the music player in the pocket of your school uniform jacket, the music playing louder from your headphones, enveloping your world in slow beats and melancholic vocals as the subway continues on so smoothly one would not be able to notice they were moving. A few stops later, as several more enter the subway car, you smell the damp coolness of rain on their clothes—rain that breaks the heat of this spring day, warmer than in previous years. In a soft female voice, the speaker announces Shibuya Station. The doors slide open, and people move with a sense of purpose. Lost in your own world of music, you rise from your seat and slip through the people, past the doors. The doors slide closed. Then, the subway pulls away. When you insert your subway ticket into the turnstile, the machine clicks, and you walk through the station. You take the busy escalator to the street level, right in the heart of Shibuya Crossing—the world’s busiest pedestrian intersection in Tokyo. Even in the rain, the crowds do not cease—thousands of men and women in black and white business attire walk through the streets. They hold umbrellas that reflect the colors of the iconic neon signs. When the traffic lights change every two minutes, vehicles from various directions make their way through the intersection, and the next crowd of people watch the crossing lights, waiting for the spectacle of Shibuya Crossing to begin again. Despite the chaos, the scene before you seems magical—almost peaceful in a way. The statue of the loyal dog Hachiko strands strong. Cherry blossom trees sway in the wind, casting their silky petals onto the wet pavement. The whole world floods with the sweet smell of rain and the fragrance. Despite the cars and people and blaring advertisements, all are drowned by the music. You stop in the middle of the crossing, turning your face up to the rain and taking in the scene before you, your eyelashes wet with rain. The warm lights pierce through in your vision. The music quiets. You are frozen, though rain falls and the rest of the world moves. You smile. Then, you continue to walk into the blinking neon glow. |