A Narrative Essay On A Strange Place

The plane was late by 1 minute… What a disgrace. “Remind me to sue Emirates later”, I told my father. I walked out the airport thinking of playing with all the snow I saw outside but walked into the hotel with a bleeding knee. Stupid concrete...

The huge crossing of Shibuya was massive, the temples were extraordinary, and the snow that fell on the ground gracefully was as comforting as falling face first into a pile of marshmallows.

Every bit of Japan was wonderful, except for the pavement of course. From my 3 weeks there, they were another ruinous event that happened, but in Mt Fuji. After skiing and ice skating on frozen lakes, we decided to go rowing on a lake. My parents thought it was a good idea, but boy was they wrong.

Rowing a small, timber boat down a stream. What could go wrong? The relaxing swish-swoosh of my boat rushing through the water was so satisfying. Too satisfying, that I might (say in unsure tone) fall asleep. And that’s exactly what I did. While the rest of the group was following the leader, my brain was like “I could follow, but NAH!”. I felt exactly like a character in Ice Age 4, where the family get separated. While my eyes are closed, I creep closer to the jagged black rocks.

My small wooden boat couldn’t handle it. The

I did some investigating. I saw a huge pump. Round and industrial looking. To this day, whenever I think about them, elixir pumps from Clash of Clan flow into my head. I figured the pump put air into the balloon. But there were no pipes. I was shocked. I was outraged. I had to find how this complicated mechanical engineering worked. I soon guessed that the air was coming from the bottom, where the base was. I was right. You know what’s funny? If I encountered that same balloon 3 years later, I wouldn’t’ve had cared and just walked straight