And… I’m back!

Whoa. Time flies when you’re having fun studying your ass off and moving to a new apartment.

Last week was nuts. I have only myself to blame, and blame I will. Last Thursday I took my final exam for Japanese class and emerged from the black hole of kanji flash cards just in time to pack up my apartment. The weekend whirlwind of boxes, movers and new landlord knocking at my door (6 times!) had me wishing I had retained more of the previous week’s Japanese, but we stumbled through and got all of our belongings from point A to point B.

2 years ago, when I started this little blog, my apartment looked like this:

Very empty. I’m chuckling because I just realized I’m in the same place as I was 2 years ago — sitting on the floor of my empty apartment in Azabu juban, still a bit unsure of what I’m doing in Japan but slightly better at ordering from a menu. Though the scenery of my life is a bit different, the feeling is the same: nervous, excited, sore butt.

Yesterday morning things looked like this:

How did I acquire so much stuff? 26 boxes plus suitcases and a tool box (not my husband, a real tool box, geez). It took me about a day and a half to pack and the movers just about 2 hours to move it across town where this was waiting:

And this:

My new shower room is about the pinkest thing I’ve ever seen. To recap, this is what I left behind:

Our new place is in Sangenjaya, just about 7 km west (4 1/4 miles) of Azabu juban. Not far, but it feels like a different world. Why the change? To be honest, because Azabu is expensive. It’s the land of expats and French bakeries and gourmet supermarkets, and while nice, a bit too fancy. Living in Sangenjaya will force me to read and speak Japanese, we’ll save on rent, it’s an exciting neighborhood to explore, and I’ll get to live in an adorable old lady apartment with pink walls. The choice was easy.

One final thought before the bottom half of me turns completely numb from sitting on the floor: Though I hate moving, every time I do it I get a little bit better at it. This time I learned the value of hiring movers, and I don’t think I can ever go back. 20 year old boys are much better at carrying things than I am.