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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Japan

  • I Was Already On My Way – A Poem About Identity, Travel, and Finding Your Direction

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some things don’t arrive all at once.

    They show up in fragments–small moments, passing interests, people you meet, places that linger in your thoughts longer than they should.

    At first, it feels random.

    Disconnected.

    But over time, patterns start to form.

    This piece comes from recognizing one of those patterns.

    Looking back and realizing that what felt like curiosity… was actually direction. That the pull I kept feeling wasn’t new–it was something that had been building quietly for years.

    And maybe that’s what alignment feels like.

    Not a sudden shift.

    But a slow realization that you’ve been moving toward something long before you understood why.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing at a crossroads with signs pointing toward distant cities symbolizing life direction and travel.
    Some paths don’t begin when you choose them—they’ve been forming long before you realize you’re on them.

    They say—
    you’re an American,
    you can’t change it.
    It runs through the blood,
    burrows in the marrow.
    You’re an American today,
    you’ll be one tomorrow.

    Sure—
    that’s true.

    American is the label
    I wear.

    But it’s not the one
    I claim.

    These are the lands
    I was born in—
    but they’ve never
    been home.

    I’ve known
    since I was fourteen
    I was meant
    to leave.

    Started planning
    at seventeen.

    Eighteen—
    applied for a job
    in Japan.

    I pictured
    walking Tokyo’s streets,
    slipping through alleyways—

    a quiet life
    in a city alive.

    Nineteen—
    felt the pull
    of Korea,
    the hum of Seoul
    in my soul.

    Twenty—
    I wandered China
    in my mind.

    But it never felt
    quite right.

    So I kept searching,
    listening
    to the shifts
    inside.

    And then—

    a pattern emerged.

    I didn’t notice it
    at first.

    Manila.
    The Philippines.

    A thread
    that’s been there
    since I was eighteen.

    Subtle—
    at the start.

    Two kids
    I took
    under my wing.

    That’s how it began.

    And then it kept appearing—
    in the friends
    I met online,

    in the people
    I was drawn to.

    It felt like
    a magnetic pull.

    In the last year—
    maybe more—

    it’s become stronger
    than ever before.

    And somewhere
    in that pull—

    is her.

    Not the reason—

    but proof

    that I was already
    on my way.

    This doesn’t feel
    like curiosity anymore.

    It feels like alignment.

    Like something in me
    has been pointing
    in one direction
    all along—

    and I’m only now
    choosing
    to follow it.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [121° East]
    A single line of longitude becomes something more—a reflection of distance, identity, and the quiet decision to become who you were always meant to be.

    [Coordinated of Escape]
    A deeply introspective poem about overthinking, emotional loops, and the desire to start over. Coordinates of Escape traces the journey from internal chaos to a deliberate destination—both physical and personal.

    [Of No Single Nation]
    What if belonging isn’t tied to where you’re from? Of No Single Nation explores identity beyond borders, reframing home as something found in connection rather than geography.

    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]

  • Polyjamourous: A Love Letter to Music, Culture, and Connection Across Oceans

    Rowan Evans

    The Introduction…

    Sound has always lived differently in me.
    Being autistic means the world sometimes reaches me at full volume —
    too much light, too much noise, too much everything.

    The static hum of a fluorescent bulb,
    the electricity whispering through the walls when everything else falls silent —
    it’s constant, it’s aggravating, and it overwhelms me more often than I’d like to admit.

    But music?
    Music has always been my calm.

    It’s the one constant that never demanded I make sense of myself.
    With every note, I could breathe again.
    Certain songs still hold the fingerprints of who I was the first time I heard them —
    I can feel the exact ache, the pulse, the quiet hope that hummed beneath my skin.
    Music has always been my way back to myself.

    Over the past twenty years, that love has stretched across oceans.
    I fell for Japan’s wistful melancholy,
    for Korea’s raw confessions,
    for China’s grace and discipline,
    and for the Philippines’ warmth and heart.
    I didn’t need to understand every word — I could feel them.
    Emotion translates without permission.

    What began as listening became belonging.
    These cultures gave me soundtracks for my healing,
    and languages that somehow spoke me fluently
    before I ever learned to translate them.

    This poem is my thank-you —
    a devotion to the music and the lands that shaped me.

    — Rowan Evans

    A dreamy illustration of a woman surrounded by glowing lanterns shaped like musical notes, each representing Asian cultures, as she stands in a sea of sound waves with her eyes closed in calm reflection.
    “Music is how I pray — across oceans, across languages, across lives.”

    Polyjamourous
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I am polyjamourous for music,
    polyamorous for culture—
    I love across language,
    love across oceans of distance.

    Japan whispers in my bones,
    Korea hums in my veins,
    China flows through my pulse,
    the Philippines lingers in my breath.
    Each a lantern in the corridors
    of my heart,
    each echo a thread of home
    woven into who I am.

    I am polyjamourous for music,
    polyamorous for culture—
    I love across language,
    love across distance.
    I bow to the lands
    that shaped me,
    even from a thousand miles away,
    even from a thousand lives away.

    And to them, I murmur—
    ありがとう,
    감사합니다,
    谢谢,
    salamat po,
    thank you—

    Each syllable, a soft flame,
    a quiet devotion
    carried across the world,
    across time,
    across the chambers of my soul.

    Soundtrack of My Heart

    The music that shaped me, that carried me through nights of stillness and storms of thought, is more than sound—it is devotion. Here are a few threads of that tapestry, songs that held me, lifted me, and made me feel home during my 20 years of listening to music across oceans:

    The GazettE – “Filth in the Beauty”
    The soundtrack to my 17-year-old chaos—every riff, every scream etched into memory. The GazettE taught me that beauty can thrive in filth. R.I.P. Reita.
    XG – “WOKE UP”
    A reminder of why I fell in love with K-Pop—the raw energy, the pulse, the feeling of waking fully alive in music. Language doesn’t matter; what hits the soul never needs translation. XG’s fire makes me feel every beat, every pulse, alive.
    By2 – “Don’t Go Away”
    I was 19 the first time this song became part of me—each note, each line a mirror for the ache and hope of that age. By2 showed me the power of longing, of holding on and letting go at once. Even now, it hits me right in the chest, a familiar heartbeat across time and distance.
    BINI – “Pantropiko”
    Instant sunshine—bright, unstoppable, impossible not to move to. Pantropiko reminds me that joy can be loud, colorful, unapologetic. Every time it plays, it lifts me, fills the room with warmth, and makes me feel fully alive in the moment.

    Each song is a lantern, each beat a heartbeat, each melody a language of the soul. Listen, feel, and know—my polyjamorous heart beats across these lands, and perhaps yours will, too.

  • Threads of Home I Never Touched: My Journey Through Asia’s Cultures and Music

    Rowan Evans

    An homage to the places, people, and music that shaped me

    A mashup of Tokyo, Manila, and Seoul cityscapes with floating musical notes representing cultural and musical inspiration.
    Asia has shaped me for over twenty years—through music, language, and the people I’ve met. This is a reflection on the connections that have inspired my life and poetry.

    Some places leave marks long before we ever set foot in them. My love for Japan began when I was fourteen, watching Hi Hi Puffy AmiYumi for the first time. By fifteen, YouTube was a doorway into a world of music, culture, and imagination I had only glimpsed from afar. At sixteen, the GazettE’s Nil album arrived just after my birthday, and with it, a new intensity—a love for the artistry, the language, the heartbeat of Japanese culture—that has persisted for over twenty years.

    At eighteen, my journey with the Philippines began. I met two young girls, five years my junior, and they became like nieces to me. Watching them grow, witnessing their lives unfold, I took on a protective role, and in doing so, my admiration for the people and culture of the Philippines deepened. Around this same time, I met a girl who captivated my mind and heart. We became close quickly, drawn together by a shared intensity, yet our paths diverged. We wanted different things, and the connection, though brief, burned brightly, leaving a mark that kept my love for the Philippines alive in my heart.

    During these years, my fascination with Asia expanded. KPop introduced me to the vibrancy of Korea, its music and culture, while Chinese Pop offered another window into a world I was eager to understand, free from the narrow perspectives often presented around me. These interests were not casual—they were devotion, curiosity, and care, each note and lyric shaping the way I saw the world.

    Over time, my connections with people from the Philippines grew deeper, reigniting my love for the language, the culture, and the people who had first opened my eyes. And then I met my muse, the woman whose presence has inspired all of my love poems, whose influence brought the Philippines, its people, and its culture back to the forefront of my mind.

    Asia has been a part of my life for more than twenty years. It has shaped me in ways I struggle to explain—through music, language, friendships, and fleeting yet powerful connections. It has influenced how I see the world, how I feel, and how I write. I carry the warmth of these cultures, the lessons of these people, and the spark of inspiration they’ve left behind, wherever I go.