The years I has spent in Japan could be summed up in three words: drinking, eating and sex.
Not necessarily in that order.
Most people spend their twenties doing all that. I had spent it with an eating disorder which meant no alcohol, no junk food (or much of anything that I didn’t class as ‘good’ food) and absolutely zero contact with any man.
I had literally had all my Christmas’ come at once in Japan. I guess I had become the person I was supposed to be; an ordinary human who has needs and wants and the real me I had tried to keep suppressed.
When I lamented my bad habits or moaned to my mum about my misadventures she simply told me I was making up for lost time.
I knew now I had more than made up for it and to be honest, I just wanted my boring and predictable life back.
I wanted security, with one man who loved me to pieces and who (to the shock and horror of my feminist self), would take care of me, protect me and love sex just as much as me.
I was starting to think he didn’t exist. Or if he did, he was very, very, very late.