The Even Greater Tokyo Region

Uncovering my Jeanealogy

I pride myself on having a reasonably good memory. I mean, I won't necessarily always remember trite details like what someone's hairstyle was the day before, or a close friend's name. But then, who does? I do excel, however, at remembering events. With a single reminder, I could recount the events of a day, or a weekend. I could possibly be a professional reminiscer.

Last week, I got a box from the postman. Despite the fact that I had sent to myself, a few months ago. It was full of books and posters and stuff that I couldn't bear throwing out. Basically, it is stuff that I will never really use, and will be dead-weight for the rest of my life.

Still, I made like Christmas and tore the box to shreds. I was pleasantly surprised to see some clothes in there too. I didn't recall putting them in, but my laundry cycle is already short enough, and I can use a few extra clothes.

However, one of the items of clothes, was a pair of jeans. Not only did I not recall packing them in the box, I didn't recognise them at all. Look, if you hate to go shopping as much as I do, you remember where you got every single purchase. My clothes get their mileage. I still have undershirts from 9 years ago.

So, considering my memory, and my profound hate for shopping, where did these jeans come from? This was a deep mystery, and I would have to solve it in the style of NYPD Blue, Law and Order, Criminal Intent, House, CSI, CSI:Miami, CSI New York, NCIS, Six Feet Under, Bones, Tru Calling, Numbers, LA Law, Ally McBeal, The Practice, Missing, Inspector Gadget, and Dude Where's My Car.

Material Facts:

1. They were straight-legged blue jeans.
2. They were relatively new and unused, as the faded portions were still crisp and new.
3. No other item in the box was unknown to me.
4. I personally packed and sealed the box before taping it shut and posting it. (Take that terror!)
5. The box did not appear to be tampered with before I tore it open.
6. The postman who asked me to sign for the box was very courteous. Perhaps too courteous...
7. The rear-right pocket contained a folded piece of same type of tape as was used on the the outside of the box.
8. The jeans did not smell particularly bad. Which is lucky, because I did sniff them.
9. They were "wrangler" jeans, which apparently is a decent brand. Too classy for myself, for sure.

and most oddly:
10. They fit me perfectly.

The plot thickens.

First of all, I needed to be sure that they were not my own jeans. I shouldn't read too much into them fitting me perfectly. I am a human coat-hanger: thin, wiry, long, one drug-addiction short for the fashion runways. However, it is unlikely that these jeans come from Japan. The only time I tried to buy pants in Japan was a complete disaster. I told the store clerk that I needed jeans. She asked me what my size was. I didn't know. She measured my waist. She handed me some pairs to try on, led me to the changing room, and shut the curtain for me. Every single pair came down to halfway down my shins. Each time, I walked out feeling more and more sheepish. The clerk called over another clerk - to laugh together, and to try find some new pairs. It was a complete failure.

I found out that it sometimes is possible to find jeans long enough, but they are usually far beyond what I'd imagine to pay for human-gift-wrap.

I had one last reasonable theory. Maybe... someone gave these jeans to me just before I left Japan. I mean, many of us were leaving at the same time, and possibly they didn't want to send those jeans home. I know I was trying to give away many things. One extra helping hand of credibility to this hypothesis: That entire month before leaving, I was drunk.

So I asked the relevant friends, and they all denied any knowledge. Without seeing them face-to-face, I couldn't tell if they were lieing. Internet interrogation still has a long way to go.

I guess this will be remain an unsloved mystery in my life.

Last week, I was idly looking through my old photos and I came accross my Shanghai photos, where I went 1 1/2 years ago. This was a self-portrait I took at the People's Park. It was the last day for me. It had been an incredibly strange four days. My father was supposed to meet me at the hotel on a stopover back from Germany to New Zealand, however, the Chinese Customs voided his visa, and he wasn't let into the country. In fact, he wasn't even allowed onto the plane. At least I didn't have stay a night at the airport. But it did become a very lonely trip. In fact, this led to the perfect conditions for me getting scammed by three girls claiming to be "Inner Mongolian students of English in Shanghai for holiday"... Let's not get into details again. However, in Shanghai, I walked and wrote all over the city. I went to and saw so many things, and then I found a seat somewhere and wrote. Seeing this photo again reminded me of how wonderful those four days were. Japanese cities weren't really walking-friendly places, but now I am in Holland (Which is so small, you could start to walk around its borders on monday, and be home again for dinner). It was a reminder that I need to do this more often. Just me, my feet and a pen. And, as weather may dictate, a jacket and je...


That's them! Where did these jeans come from? Now have photographic evidence from a cloudy past. This only makes things more complicated. Why don't I remember these jeans? Was purchasing them so traumatic that I blocked the entire memory out? If anybody can help me; either with the number of a good pyschologist, or information or sightings of these jeans (photographs?) please do.