The sunlight is low for mid morning and there's a hint of fall in the fields outside. The haziness in the sky reminds me of my childhood, of hot summer skies thick with humidity.

This is the first summer in seven years that I have not spent some time in Asia. A few weeks ago I was haunted by a feeling that I was missing something. Everything was reminding me of somewhere else; that smell, those trees, this feeling, but I couldn't place it. It took a few more days, a few more experiences for me to name it.

Asia. Japan. Hot stuffy Tokyo and cool adventurous Takayama.

I can't help but miss the night walks along the dirty seaweed covered beach to the red lighthouse at the tiny fishing village, clamoring up the side of the slippery lighthouse with my brothers and watching the boats come in. Tak by far isn't the most beautiful spot in the world. The hazy summer sky blocks out the stars and lulls the countryside into a lazy indifference. The sea itself is filled with seaweed and random articles of trash, both which wash up onto shore and must be carefully avoided.

Not your dream location but still mysteriously wonderful for a girl from the concrete jungle. And something about the place has been imprinted on me. No matter where I go and what other beautiful beaches I walk along, every summer Tak still calls to me.