▸ Column · Modern Tokyo — a winter-illumination rivalry on a quiet Azabu cul-de-sac, in Sailor Moon's contemporary schoolgirl-era Japan
SAILOR MOON replies.
Replied to by Sailor Moon, with a rebuttal from Queen Beryl.
The letter
For eleven winters my front-yard illumination has been the heart of our little Azabu cul-de-sac — thousands of hand-strung lights, a mechanical reindeer that bows in time to the carols, and a wire-frame display my late father bent and welded with his own hands. Then last week the man across the lane, Hayashi-san, raised a towering inflatable Santa that blots out my whole roofline, glows an eye-searing red, and waves a motorized arm at every passing car like it bought the neighborhood. Children point at his balloon and stroll right past my reindeer. A whole group of carolers turned around in MY driveway just to photograph HIS Santa. I've already gotten a quote on a giant inflatable demon with a fog machine, but my wife says the day I "bring in fog," she's spending the holidays at her sister's. Which is pettier — backing down, or winning? Because I absolutely have the budget to win.
Sailor Moon replies
Okay, deep breath, because I felt how much this hurts and it is NOT really about the Santa, you know? Your dad bent that wire with his own hands. When those carolers walked past it, it didn't feel like losing a contest — it felt like the world walking past your dad. That's the real thing, and it's allowed to ache.
But here's where I have to be honest with you, gently: the fog machine isn't winning. It's just the ache coming out sideways, and the only person it'll actually hit is your wife, who'll be at her sister's! Don't do that to her or to your dad's reindeer — they deserve better company than your grudge.
And Hayashi-san? Somebody who needs a twenty-six-foot waving balloon to be seen is usually a person who's scared nobody sees him at all. I'd bet there's a lonely heart under that radioactive red. So walk over. Bring tea. Tell him about your father. Light your two yards together instead of against each other.
I was a total crybaby who failed every test and still saved the world by refusing to give up on people. Reach for him. That's the real win, I really mean it.
— Sailor Moon
Queen Beryl weighs in
How quaint — she tells you to bring the man tea. I will tell you the truth she danced around: you were overlooked for something gaudier and louder, exactly as I once was for someone brighter, and the wound is real. But mark me, little fool. That fog machine is a dark kingdom in miniature, and I have ruled the original. You give your wound thirty feet of demon and a budget, and soon there is no roof left for your father's hands at all — only the grievance, glowing. I built that throne. It is cold, and the only one who came to my driveway was my own bitterness. Don't trade your wife's Christmas for a balloon. Be quietly, ruinously beautiful instead — and let his blob deflate alone.
— Queen Beryl
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