My Last Day in Tokyo

Ginkgo trees at Keio University, Tokyo, Japan, December 2025

It was colder today, yesterday’s cloud blanket giving way to a clear blue sky. Ginkgo trees lined the streets, more yellow than ever in the sunshine. As I breathed in the soft ginkgo scent, I let the urge to take a picture go and tried instead to memorise how the leaves shimmered in the wind. Today was my final day in Tokyo.

Two navy-dressed ladies pushed green carts; inside sat eight kindergarten children with yellow hats. I chuckled, admiring their plump cheeks and expressionless stares crossing the intersection. Tokyo revealed itself in its details: trains’ departure jingles linked to local culture, umbrellas waiting at every entrance, salarymen quietly dissolving in the eat-in konbini corners at midnight. 

For my final meal, I half contemplated going to a gyudon (beef bowl) chain for nostalgia, but opted for reserving a beautiful, highly rated restaurant to mark goodbye. I had a toro-ke-ru hamburg steak made from top wagyu beef — a place I’d bookmarked on my first day, convinced it would be unforgettable.

By the time I finally sat down to eat it, I’d hyped it up so much that the impossibly tender wagyu tasted… well, perfectly normal. My fault, not theirs.

Lunch at Torokeru Hamburger Steak Fukuyoshi, Tokyo, Japan, Dec 2025

After lunch, I wandered toward Ueno Park, one of Japan's most famous, historic, and popular public parks. On a street corner, a ceramics shop spilled over with people, baskets filled with cups, chopsticks, miso bowls, charms... The owner called out, “Many good things today! More upstairs. Matcha cups upstairs!” 

A turquoise plate caught my eye; its radial burst pattern looked like outer space. And even among teacups with the same design, no two were identical: the washed brushstrokes, the lines, the tiny hesitations of a hand. I could almost picture the maker slowly filling each shape.

A selection of bowls and plates at Dengama ceramics store, Tokyo, Japan, Dec 2025

Reaching Ueno Park, wooden caravans sold warm drinks and Christmas-tree sponge desserts, a festival stage rising beside them, and decorations dotted the area. It felt odd seeing an inflatable Santa against ginkgo trees. Tall buildings with anime and karaoke signs bordered the park. 

Continuing along the park’s pathway, numerous travelers, families, and business people passed by. Kids ran between the trunks and people tilted their cameras up at the brightest foliage. When the wind blew, I regretted not bringing an extra layer.

I found warmth in the Tokyo National Museum, which stood at the park's north end. It offered a vivid glimpse into centuries of history — thousands of objects on display, though I probably saw only a few hundred. 

Three traditional Japanese Buddhist sculptures, Tokyo National Museum, Japan, Dec 2025

The samurai armor and weapons were so intricately designed. One helmet’s golden crest resembled both antlers — deer are seen as sacred — and a Buddhist sword believed to provide divine protection in battle.

Another section held chawan (tea bowls), chashaku (scoops), and mizusashi (water containers). For tea ceremonies, the host chooses a unique combination of bowls and utensils to suit that particular gathering. There’s a phrase “ichigo ichie” — “once in a lifetime” — a reminder that this exact tea ceremony, with these exact people, will never happen again. I thought about that for a while.

With my flight looming closer, I hauled my suitcases onto the Asukasabashi line to Narita Airport, a slower, but oddly comforting local line train. The carriage kept reshuffling itself: uniforms, business suits, school bags. I noticed the soft wrinkles on an older woman’s face and the neat side plait in a schoolgirl’s hair. The train brightened as we exited tunnels into open air — the vast sky, wide rivers, and buildings all flashed by. The train’s interior turned gold and the horizon shone with the sun. Between buildings, a soft full moon hung in the pale blue sky; I could understand how millions of poems could be written about it, like the ones described at the museum today.

Soon enough, darkness settled and the carriage grew calm. The windows held only our reflections now. “Narita Airport,” the train’s recorded voice announced. I stepped onto the platform and blended into the airport’s flow. When tomorrow began, I’d be looking at pohutukawas instead.