As with most romantic relationships that blossom, they usually evoke feelings of warmth, well-wishes of goodwill or even disdainful eyes with envy. But seldom are there wails in disbelief, jeers of mockery or chaos and confusion. Walking on the tightrope is a difficult task in itself, as much as we want to give our cheers and support to the acrobat, or as much as we want to throw words of insult at his poor performance, we should give a thought to the man up there, who is hardly much interested in anything else apart from finishing the rope-walking stunt.

And so it happened, to the pleasant surprise of the innocent, and the utter disgust of the not-so. It is not our job to plead for guilt or to find a scapegoat.

Shut the critics and the noisy crowd up and away; let time pass the verdict.

With Christmas around the corner, and illumination in all shapes, sizes and colours along the streets, we decided to hit the roads in search of warmth in the cold winter. The sky was clear, save for some white drapes of clouds clinging on to the atmosphere.

Daikanyama is one of my favourite spots in Tokyo. The style in silence, away from the oblivious and noisy crowds. The shops lining up in tranquility, in no desperate need for customers. The people strolling past are naturally lured to the mysteries of its style. The wooden structures connecting the clusters of shops let out a silent creek with every step on it. A rhapsody of creeks and taps plays on, unheard to the musicians themselves, but only to the observant ones, distancing themselves from the picture and enjoying the performance.

As we shudder in the chilly afternoon air, we decide to seek solace in the cozy sanctuary half-hidden beneath the ground. It says, Chocolate Cafe, a name simple enough to be understood yet imbued with attractiveness that every girl would gravitate towards it.

The variety of menu available makes every girl scratch her head and frown, indecisive as to what to get.

The interiors were gorgeous. Chandeliers, a Christmas tree and a shelf of miniatures. I found myself rooted to the ground, smiling to myself, as the waitress pauses and hesitates to usher me to the seat. She must be used to the uniquely cool, calm and chic flow of air in this sanctuary, but she knows every new customer finds a breath of new air in this little  space.

Strawberry White Mocha, Chocolate Parfait, and Queen’s Hot Chocolate.

Queen’s Hot Chocolate was interesting. Dropping chips of chocolate into the milk heated by the candle beneath, was as fascinating to us, as remote-controlled cars to kids. The chocolate melted in the lukewarm milk is then stirred and sipped by the metallic straw. We were almost dumbfounded by the complexity of simple style.

As the day drew to an end, we found ourselves in Ebisu with darkness embracing the city, yet illuminated by bulbs joined together. There was a performance in the open. Couples shuffled their feet to the seats and cuddled together in the cold. A lady stepped up on stage in an attire that looked somewhat insufficient to battle the cold. Yet she spoke without a shiver, in fluent Japanese and English, before starting a string of original self-written songs, as well as Christmas songs.

“Merry Christmas” was the last message by Shimamura; as soon as she stepped off the stage, the audience stood from their seats and went indoors within the blink of an eye.

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