What is a bicycle? A vehicle. A means of transportation.
But it feels like it’s more than that.

Speeding along at night, feeling helpless.
Excitedly touring the first town we lived in after leaving home.
The look on my son’s face as he pedalled with his own feet for the first time.
The sunset we saw with my daughter riding behind us on the way home from nursery school.

No matter how digital the world becomes, we still pedal with our own feet. That’s why we started this series, believing that analog vehicles are filled with the human heart. This is a story that begins with that person and a bicycle.

Emma Maeda:
“I like bicycles. Unlike trains or buses, you can go slowly or quickly, at your own pace. Tokyo has changed recently, hasn’t it? There are more and more nice places tucked between stations. That’s why I think biking around the city is really convenient. And honestly, I’m kind of cheap. If I have to transfer between trains or buses, I start calculating how much it’s going to cost. Riding a bike doesn’t cost anything, so it feels easy and carefree.

When I go to overseas art festivals or city-wide art events, I often rent a bike. It’s perfect for moving around large venues spread across a whole town. So… I’m really glad I learned how to ride a bike.”

Model, writer, photographer, painter. Emma Maeda, who is active in a wide range of genres, deliberately describes riding a bicycle as "being able to ride."

“I’m from Kawasaki. Not the industrial zones or reclaimed land, but a kind of in-between Kawasaki, five minutes on foot and you’re already in Tokyo.

When I was little, bikes were essential for playing with friends. Without one, you couldn’t get to the park or the shopping mall. I remember being three or four years old and seeing my childhood friend zoom past on a bike without training wheels. I was shocked and jealous. That’s when I started practicing. You know how there are kids who are just naturally good at everything? She was that kind of kid. Athletic, quick to learn how to write. I wasn’t like that at all, so it took me a normal, very solid, amount of time to learn how to ride.

Looking back, that was all thanks to my parents. You can’t practice alone, after all. Both my parents worked, so every weekend my mom would practice with me on the embankment in front of our house. ‘Don’t let go,’ I kept saying. I still remember it.”

If there are people who can do things effortlessly and people who can’t, Maeda says she belongs firmly in the latter group and not even the type who improves through effort.

“There are so many things I still can’t do, no matter how hard I try.

For example, I still can’t recite the multiplication tables perfectly. I get left and right mixed up sometimes, and I’m terrible at remembering prefectures or place names.

When you’re an adult, you can usually cover up what you can’t do with what you can do. But as a child, you don’t have that option. At school, everyone has to do the same things. Can you recite the times tables or not? You’re constantly confronted with what you can’t do. If there were ten things we were supposed to learn at school, I couldn’t do nine of them. ‘I can’t do this either. I can’t do that either.’ Every day was just a series of ‘I can’t.’”

“But I didn’t necessarily see being ‘bad at things’ as something negative.

My parents believed that not being able to do something was also a kind of individuality. Usually people say what you can do defines who you are but they thought the opposite. If you can’t do nine things, that just means you have nine unique traits.

Because of that, I think I was able to live believing that I was okay just as I was.” She says there are things she’s continued for more than ten years, even without ever becoming good at them.

“I don’t keep going because I believe I’ll eventually be able to do them. There are plenty of things I still can’t do. But if you keep going, you might understand things just a little better than you did ten years ago. For me, continuing itself, is something I can do.

I started piano lessons in kindergarten and kept going for fourteen years. Kids who started years after me overtook me almost immediately but they quit after a few years. I can still play two pieces even now.

I think there are things you won’t understand unless you stick with them for at least ten years. I’ve worked part-time in restaurants for over a decade, and only recently do I feel like I finally understand how customer service works. Compared to my past self, I’ve definitely levelled up.

I’ve also been studying Korean for a long time. I practice every day, and I still think, ‘Why am I so bad at this?’ all the time.”

Writing. Listening. Talking. Today, Maeda earns her living through what she can do.

“I’ve never thought of myself as being good at writing, but when I reread my recent essay collection, I realised that I probably liked writing ever since I was little. Or rather, I was extremely sensitive to it. I worried that writing might hurt someone, or that putting my feelings into words would make them disappear. I was that kind of child.

I liked reading from a young age too, but I really became absorbed in books during high school. I hated high school. The teachers were boring, I hated the uniforms and the classes, everything. I think reading books was how I built a barrier. Without it, I felt like I’d lose my mind.

I read constantly, about two books every three days. I hid novels under my textbooks during class and read on the way to and from school. There was a small library at school, and I borrowed books one after another. Starting with modern Japanese authors, going alphabetically, Akagawa Jiro first, then moving on through a, i, u, e, o. I had time back then, so I really did read everything. I was happy when I found writers I loved. There were also writers I didn’t understand at all but even then, I never skipped them.

I’m not good at talking to people. I’m shy and bad at socialising. But ever since I was a child, I’ve liked learning that there are many different values in the world, and seeing unfamiliar landscapes through interactions with others.

To understand yourself, you need someone else, don’t you? Feeling discomfort at someone’s words, or sensing something special about another person, that’s how you come to know yourself. I find that interesting. That’s probably why I’ve kept working in restaurants for so long, even though customer service should be the thing I’m worst at. One of the things I ‘can’t do.’”

“I think people are least aware of the things they can do. Because they come naturally, you’ve never stumbled over them.

Take dodgeball when we were kids. I wrote about it in my essays, but I was absolutely terrible at it. I couldn’t understand why we had to play something so cruel at school all the time. I used to think, ‘I hope the ball hits my face quickly so I can go to the nurse’s office.’ But people who read my essay said, ‘I never once thought about it that way.’ If you’re good at something, you don’t feel any discomfort, you don’t stop to think.

Because there are so many things I’m bad at or dislike, I’m always asking myself, ‘Why can’t I do this?’ or ‘Why do I hate this?’ And looking back, maybe that’s how I came to know myself.”

“The other day, I rode my bike to a place I’d been curious about for a while. It was a small counter-style shop with lots of prepared dishes, it was really nice. But I don’t remember which station it was near. I only vaguely remember the shop’s name. Still, as long as I have my bike, I can go back there. So I’m glad I learned how to ride a bike.”

It's okay to take detours along the way and take twice the time instead of taking the shortest route. What if there are many ways to reach your destination? Use what you can do within yourself and move forward step by step. Maeda's way of pedalling overlaps with her way of life.

This journal was originally created by tokyobike Japan and has been adapted by tokyobike London. Read the full article, with words by Kaoruko Seya and photography by Daisuke Hashihara, here.

Styling Courtesy of PERNA (Tulle Gather Camisole, Gray)