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Dépaysement (French) — (n) the disorientation felt in a foreign country or culture, the sense of being a fish out of water
The lights flicker, and the sound of cars never leaves your ears. Even when you fall asleep at night, you dream of the city, the vibrant scene, the colorful characters. There are people from all walks of life in Ikebukuro, from the shop owners to the students, from the gang members to the police officers.
And then there are those of a stranger nature. Those like Celty Sturluson.
You feel that in Ikebukuro, the night never really leaves. That is when the reapers strike, the sullen hand of fate that boldly raises its finger. There are rumors of even darker forces at work, demons that haunt the night with calculated steps, stalking their victims.
But there is an odd sort of satisfaction here, the kind that puts you at the center of the universe, like you are no longer just a small part of the world. You are here and part of something bigger. There are many destinies intertwined at the center of the city, among its towering buildings and glowing lights.
The fear of threat is not on your breath, for there are greater things to dread — like being insignificant, like being someone led throughout each step in life, never to carve out your own prospects.
You want nothing more than to make certain your future. Ikebukuro brings chances of a destiny, the opportunity to rewrite your fate in the constellations wheeling above your head. You may not feel like you belong here, but you do appreciate the energy that seems to circulate in the city, the waves of change and distortion, the uniqueness of the air and water.
The adventure that you seek is among you, yet you never seem to be able to find yourself at the center of it.
"It is dangerous," Celty types when you express your concerns. "An eventful life may not be what you're searching for."
"I just want to find a place in the world," you admit. "And it seemed like this place was a good start, with so many things happening and so much going on."
"Our hearts are often drawn toward the exciting and unusual."
"I guess that's why I'm here. I just want something different, to experience something that brings out that feeling of being alive, you know? I don't want to be normal."
"And why is normal so bad?"
You take a sigh, glancing up at the darkened skies. It is covered in smog from the city, polluted with light, and void of any stars. "I don't know. It just doesn't feel like it's enough."
Celty stands up and paces toward her motorcycle, this thing that seems to have a life of its own.
"Come on," she types. "I'll take you home."
You glance up at her, your elbows on your thighs, your chin in your hands. You feel petty because you know all that Celty has been through. She is a strong woman who has experienced the most heart-wrenching, wistful journey, pursuing a task that would be quite impossible for any humans. And here you are, wanting adventure — is it not enough to have all that you need and then some?
As you zoom through the streets, head covered in the helmet that Celty created for you, you wonder just why you so badly want an adventure.
It is because you feel different, so you want something different for yourself. Ikebukuro is a place where people come for the drama, the scene, the event of experiencing a phenomenon greater than what the world is deemed to be. But as you hold onto Celty's waist from behind, the wind rushing over your body while her motorcycle surges forward, you begin to think that maybe there is nothing wrong with being normal.
You feel so much like a foreigner even though Ikebukuro is where you now live and work. Maybe if you just accept yourself as a member of the community, straying away from the episodes that seem to define the city, you would be able to truly call this place home.
Perhaps then you will realize that the only normal is being different — and that you have already achieved both far sooner than you have led yourself to believe.