Narita, Japan
Literal translation: Moving through the air with wings in some way or manner for a thing previously mentioned or easily identified. Begin at least one more time by looking at the presence of qualities rather than their absence.
We begin, questioning. Why are we flying? What is “it?”
The locale of Japan’s largest and busiest airport, Narita is both aorta and vena cava, streaming in masses of foreign visitors and rushing out Japan’s own wanderers. Each, in their own way, is flying somewhere, someway for “it.” Whether that “it” is quality time with a partner, securing a business deal, tasting new forms of deliciousness or bearing witness to the beauty of architecture abroad, flight is one way to attain those easily identifiable “it”s. However, it’s definitely not the only way. Fresh encounters can be happened upon everyday by changing up routines, knowledge can be expanded through deeper engagement, wheels of understanding can whirl through words spoken with unfamiliar people. All this in our own communities. Even if we want to leave, we can often find what we’re looking for by staying.
That being said, I consider myself exceedingly fortunate to be able to travel to countries not my own. While exploring and living in Southeast Asia, I’ve noticed many foreign people, especially young people, who are looking for an “it” that is less easily known that that of the average tourist. Something perhaps they are missing from their lives at home: inner peaces and happinesses, profound relationships, gods, nirvana, love, answers to questions about the world or about themselves. Undoubtedly some are simply actualizing a capacity for escape.
It’s possible all of these journeys begin someway with a negative: what is absent from my life? Some find their answers, their enlightenment. Some don’t.
No matter the reason one searches, the act of leaving our backdrops — blending our bodies into the scenery of another culture — surely brings us closer to “it.” We fill our hearts, minds, bodies, spirits, and memories with presence, with the imprint of somewhere else. We expand, we learn, we share, we sink roots in these new places.
Our second sentence of “Start again to be bositive way” therefore becomes a mirror to our first, “flying someway for it.”
Ever more so because the ‘b’ and ‘p’ keys are their own mini-flight away, suggesting this is not some egregious typo. We must therefore investigate it as the semiotic clue that it is.
That means we have to be technical for a hot sec. The /b/ / /p/ switcheroo boils down to something called voice. In phonology, the word voice is used to talk about different sounds of speech. A phone is the smallest, most simple sound that distinguishes one word from another: like the /d/ and /m/ in ‘day’ and ‘may.’ Phones can be either voiced (vibes on your vocal chords) or unvoiced (no vibes). You can check out the absence when you make an /s/ sound and feel those good vibes by making a /z/ sound.
The /b/ and /p/ phones are in fancy phonetics terms called bilabial plosives (a stop that uses both your lips). Basically your vocal tract stops the flow of air and then releases it, making the sound. Crucially, /p/ just happens to be the voiceless bilabial plosive, enjoying a piña colada on its voice vacation, whereas the /b/ that makes up the lovely ‘bostive’ from our shirt is voiced — voice positive, voice present. In this light, ’bostive’ functions to literally and figuratively add voice to the voiceless. It’s a word that allows us to feel something inside — even if it’s just the vibrations of our vocal chords.
When we travel, when we try new things, even when we wake up to another day of this wonderful thing we call life we are given the opportunity to start again. We are given a chance to once more look for the presence of (good) qualities rather than their absence. If that’s not a metaphor for the eternal “it,” then I don’t know what is.
Habby voicing.
