The last time I really blogged for myself was in Hiroshima, when I started to tire of travelling in Japan after a mere month. Well, it didn’t stay that way, I assure you, but before I recap some Japan moments (“for memory’s sake,” as aptly described by my best friend Mandy) I’d like to address some more pertinent things. Call it a hot take, if you will.

Upon returning stateside on Saturday the 29^th, I immediately pretend-gagged at my first glimpse of Seatac: literally washed-out grey tones on the airplane runway, the whole image oozing lazy rain droplets rendering all outlines indistinct. The passengers numbered few; they couldn’t be described as tight-knit, due to COVID-19, of course, but I still tried to catch some eyes to commiserate while observing the dreary scene, the message being, “Darn shucks, Seattle, back with her shitty weather again!” I didn’t succeed, though.

Just like us, any inkling we’d gathered from our phones at that point re: George Floyd was simply suspended, Up in the Air, muffled from the sounds of land dwellers, if only for an 8-hour journey. I doubt anyone, distracted by the robust in-flight movie selection, unlimited free sake, and scrumptious hot Chelsea buns, expected anything other than a sleepy day amid the strong winds and mildly annoying rain.

Instead we caught wind of an insurrection like none before. After my parents dropped me off in my condo near downtown Seattle, I succumbed to the miserable day and mourned the distance traveled by taking a nap. I woke up to Seattlelites and area-wide comrades-in-arms challenging their reputation as fair-weather protestors, storming the drippy streets, freeways and private businesses with red in their eyes.

After traveling relatively freely in Japan (more reflections on that in subsequent posts), I expected shock from the massive decrescendo of joining everyone’s already Corona-accustomed life—one with the sound turned down—as I had abstained from the initial transitional stages. It was jarring, to say the least, to plunge right into a moment that was unusual even for Corona times but a side effect of it nonetheless.

For context: I had moved most of my stuff out of this Seattle condo and into my parent’s home with the vague idea of hauling myself somewhere else, soon: a necessary if not nebulous life transition. My dad, being the owner, had taken residence in the condo every so often while renovating it during my leave. He installed a non-electric, pipe-based bidet new light fixtures, shower heads, and faucets, brought in a Roomba, and rearranged the kitchen appliances and the bed to a much more logical configuration. Still, however, the cancellation of WiFi since mine and roommate’s departure remained in effect, and my dad had unplugged the TV for some reason.

So, here I am, assigned to quarantine myself from my family while so much is going on around me, with downtown and the police precinct both a few blocks away. I hear whisperings of looting and car fires that happened in the afternoon while I napped. But the neighborhood doesn’t sound unusual, as I live near a hospital and am used to ambulances rushing through all day. Around 4pm an Amber alert shines on my phone, and I quickly brush off my sense of unease and disapproval, supposing that it’s just Washington state being hypervigilant about Corona virus. I had just gotten home, after all.

Saturday largely passes in a blur as I stay at home without much of a second thought. By the morning I’ve come to realize the curfew was not related to Corona. Stripped of TV and WiFi and vaguely discouraged from going outside, I’m starving for information and fresh air. It’s only the second day of my return. I use up a ton of data scouring Twitter and YouTube for news coverage, but the fact I’m so close to the action gnaws at me.

So, about half an hour before curfew Day 2, I gear up and go, under the pretense of taking a walk to get groceries. (I have plenty of food already, but it’s never a bad time to pop to the store for an exotic bar of chocolate, right?)

It’s certainly a memorable first venture outside. I’m greeted by scores of rabbits skipping across sidewalks, humongous trees I’d never see in Japan, and only the occasional rogue cyclist and errand-runner. It’s an utter ghost town; I’m shocked to see even grocery stores boarded up for the night by 6pm. Given the leniency around mask-wearing in Seattle, I was surprised that businesses would heed the curfew. I started to feel naughty for being out, like I was taking advantage of the citywide emergency.

Those twinges of guilt felt especially strong when I passed by police barricading certain roads in Capitol Hill, soon to be replaced by fear when I noticed an incoming crowd in the distance, walking toward my same direction. In this moment I fancied myself the protagonist of a zombie apocalypse film, or an unlikely hero being chased out of town by an angry mob. Looming in broad daylight was the thing we’ve all been conditioned to fear most during this pandemic: a crowd.

I had to escape their scent, running past the same cops with a bemused determination to take the long way home. I assumed the protestors were doing the same. However, after taking a break at home, i.e. napping and checking Twitter, I sat down in my dining room for a late dinner only to witness a large procession of protestors, police and National Guard down below my window. They passed through somewhat quickly; a few altercations on the side left some officers to stay behind a while longer. AMVs on my boring, hospital-flanked street? What a sight! I was so caught up in these events, but how would I make sense of it all in the end? Find out…once I regain the energy to re-enter such emotionally fraught territory.