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Portland, Oregon, USA

I've been obsessed with Japanese culture since I was a kid. The discipline, the honor thing, the whole concept of saving face — it fascinated me. Still does.

Then there's Portland. This weird, chaotic city that's basically the opposite of everything I learned from Japan. And somehow, it grabbed me just as hard.

I spent so much time wandering through Portland's grime and weird corners. Found coffee shops with no signs, tucked behind doors you'd walk past a hundred times. Stumbled into flea markets selling the most bizarre knick-knacks you've ever seen. The city doesn't try to be anything — it just is.

The rain here hits different. There's something about the unhurried way this place breathes that got under my skin. I didn't plan to fall for it. But here we are.

What really messed with my head was discovering the Japanese felt the same way about Portland. They're drawn here too. Something about this city resonates outside their daily routine. Made me feel less alone in my contradictions, I guess.

I've lost count of how many times I've been back. Every trip across the country, I carve out time to visit. Grab a worn paperback from Powells, nurse the perfect cup of coffee, watch the faces drift by while the city hums its strange melody. The sounds here stick with you.

Leaving always hurts. But each time I return, the city's different — morphed into something new while keeping that underlying chaos. Old and new colliding, shadows wandering through the streets.

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