i heart the silent commotion that happens in the fish section of the supermarket

with people sort of pretending they don't know but fully aware of what is about to happen

just before the lady adds the 20% off yellow sticker to the sushi

to make room for the new incoming fresh fish from the fish market.

i heart the 5 pm melody that plays across the city

that sounds like someone playing an old fashioned church organ

announcing that it is time to close the computer or have serious inclinations to do so.

and for kids in parks to know that it is time to let your parents know if you are on your way home to dinner or not

that you have succumbed to the legendary famichiki from family mart yet again and is no longer hungry.

i heart the nameless soba standing-room-only place under the train tracks in my neighborhood

that has a line outside after 1 am

and the generous metal box in front of each bowl

with free of that fried crispy thing to help with the crunch

and make the whole bowl more filling at that hour of the early morning.

i heart that

the neighborhood coffee shop

takes six minutes to toast a single slice of bread

—no matter how long the line is—

to achieve perfect toastness magic.

i heart that when the neighborhood sake store closed after 46 years

on its very last day—as i passed by to thank the owner for always being so kind

he asked me to wait--

went inside and came back with a can of the same sake

he once saw me pick from his shelf—when we first met

i offered to pay. he refused.

i heart the standing sushi place next to my house

where i often point to fish i can’t pronounce and say ‘no rice’

so they know i want the sashimi version of what’s in the photo.

lately, i found out they call me ‘no rice’.

i only realized when i walked in one day and someone behind the counter shouted, ‘no rice!!’

and everyone joined in, welcoming me that way: no rice!!

i heart how the complete and total unpredictability

of the cherry blossom season

makes it predictably magical,

every single time.

i heart the 7-11 smoothie machine--

which is the perfect mix

of 80's ingenuity and colorfulness

with 2020's technology.

i heart the memory of a rain drenched afternoon in shibuya--

when a couple approached and gifted me one of their umbrellas.

i waved, they nodded and we all smiled.

i heart that after asking a bartender at 'golden gai' to play purple rain by prince on my birthday --

from a selection of over a thousand vinyls --

every time i return --

he plays it again -- when i order the last round.

i heart the listening bars —

where people always respect the golden rule of silence —

but are discreetly 'shazamming' every record —

to discover the name of the song and album.

i heart the mythical reverence people have for the shinkansen--

the bullet science fiction-like trains --

that zig zag through japan --

silently and always on time.

i heart the tokyo pastel color palette —

of street signs, far from the city center houses, and 'family mart' food packaging —

that instantly activate the memory flux capacitor —

to time travel to sun-soaked corners of springtime portugal.

i heart the generic paper covers that come fitted with every new book in japan —

giving people the option —

of not revealing what they read —

while riding public transportation.

i heart that in the bakery next to my house —

the staff wear name badges featuring pictures of their wide smiling faces —

and the message: "just so you know we are smiling under our masks."

i heart the memory of an old lady —

who silently guided me for three full blocks —

after i showed her an address on my phone that not even the gps could find.

i heart the sushi restaurant —

where the chef and i communicate through a very unique language —

made of eyebrow movements, nearly imperceptible smiles —

hummms and ohhhs.