My Friend of Twenty Years is Gone.

The Yokohama Busking: What I Chose Instead of an Empty Room.

*A story from our contributor, Mr. Kim.

한국어 버전을 보고 싶거나, 이야기를 계속해서 받아보길 원하시는 경우 아래 페이지로 이동해주세요.
(작가 블로그 가기)

The Silence of Twenty Years

Twenty years. The time it takes for mountains to change twice. My small friend, Baba, crossed the rainbow bridge.

내 친구를 닮은 구름 — A cloud that looks like my friend.

The space he left behind was immense. The lingering warmth, the silence where his paws once clicked. The stillness of that empty room threatened to pull me down into an abyss of endless grief.

But that only lasted a moment. A far greater emotion began to rise—a quiet warmth. It was the immense gratitude for two decades of unconditional love.

The Singer’s Unique Farewell

Most people observe grief with silence and tears. But I am a singer. As a vocalist, I am a being who must express sorrow and joy through sound to find release. It is through creation—shaping that formless emotion into expression—that the inner turmoil settles and returns to stillness.

At this pivot point in my life, I felt I simply had to express this grief and gratitude. I needed to close this chapter with the unique language of song.

Familiar Unfamiliarity: Yokohama

I slung my guitar over my shoulder and boarded the plane to Tokyo. People might ask, “Why Japan?” But for me, Japan is the root of my courage.

In 1998, it was the first place I dared to venture, holding my mother and sister’s hands. It was where we learned to face the world, relying on each other in an unfamiliar land where we couldn’t speak the language.

Now, having sent off a dear friend and standing alone again, I knew I had to return to that root of courage. I headed straight for Yokohama—a city both familiar and foreign.

Ditching the glamorous lights, I set up my microphone stand on a street corner in Yokohama, where the sea wind blew. I’ve stood on countless stages, but busking was different; my heart pounded.

사전 현장 조사. 이름 모를 연주가들을 향한 동질감. — Pre-scouting the location. A sense of camaraderie with nameless street musicians.

On this strange corner, without waiting fans, only my voice and guitar mattered.

The first song was ‘Way Maker.’ I projected the words into the air, a prayer for the path of the last 20 years, for Baba’s new journey, and for the road ahead.

A Couple Approached as the Song Ended

They had listened intently from beginning to end.

“Your song... it holds such earnest feeling. What heart led you to sing it?”

It was a burst of warmth on an unfamiliar Japanese street. I answered haltingly in my imperfect Japanese:

“It is out of gratitude. For the friend I sent off, and for my life. That is why I sing.”

Their eyes filled with a deeper melancholy than before. It was as if my raw emotion had completely resonated with these strangers I had just met.

And then, they offered an unexpected proposition.

“That spirit is precious. May we join you in your song?”

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Miracle of the Ensemble

What happened next still feels like a dream. I played and sang again, and the wife pulled two pieces of blue fabric from her bag and began to dance.

In the sea breeze of Yokohama, the fluttering cloth looked like the wind over the fields where Baba used to run, and the wings of his ascent to the sky.

Our languages, nationalities, and backgrounds were different. Yet, standing on that resonant frequency of emotion, we formed a perfect ensemble on the unfamiliar street.

Passersby stopped and watched the peculiar, peaceful scene. When the final note faded, we held hands. The warmth from these complete strangers felt like a blessing sent from the heavens—and like Baba’s final, quiet ‘thank you’ to me.

Epilogue: What You Only Find When You Leave

If I had chosen the silence of the empty room, I would have been trapped, becoming stagnant water.

But I chose to leave. I chose the flow. This journey taught me: We are beings meant to move. We are not stagnant pools, but water that flows without ceasing.

There are times when the thought of taking the next step feels too daunting, and we want to stop and pool somewhere safe. There are times when we don’t know where the current is taking us, and we are afraid.

But when we refuse to stop flowing and instead press on into the unfamiliar, we are rewarded with unexpected miracles. The wind of Yokohama, the miraculous meeting with the couple, and the quiet consolation—these are the rewards of flow.

We must leave when it is time to tie a knot in life. We must choose thorough solitude, confront ourselves, and then carry the beautiful essence that has settled in our hearts—that quiet crystal of truth—and flow back into the world.

푸드트럭 맛집 — A food truck serving local delicacies.

To find my true self, and to properly say goodbye, I urge others to leave the empty room.

I cheer on all those who leave the empty room today. May you find the true essence of life at the end of your own current.

(End. The Yokohama Busking)

This Friday, the final episode of <Himalaya Odyssey> will be published.

A World Traveler’s Small Stories & Insights Published every Monday and Friday.