Lost in Shibuya or just a love letter to Tokyo

Shibuya Crossing isn’t about the chaos. It isn’t about the spectacle of a thousand people moving in perfect rhythm. It’s about something quieter—connection in a sea of strangers. You go for the spectacle, but you stay for the stories unfolding in every step, every glance, every passing face.

It was our last night in Tokyo. I suggested one final walk through Shibuya: a little shopping, some people-watching, and ramen before the flight home. I packed my Mamiya 645, loaded with Ilford HP5 Plus. No digital safety net, no screen to check. Just patience, anticipation, and the gamble of film. Every frame a guess, every mistake part of the process.

There’s a magic in film that digital can’t replicate. Digital tempts you to chase perfection. Film forces you to embrace imperfection—the missed focus, the off exposure. It feels more human, more honest.

One frame stands out. A girl smiling as she crossed—pure joy in the middle of Shibuya’s endless tide. That smile cut through the noise, grounding everything around it. For a moment, everyone seemed present: snapping selfies, laughing, soaking in the city’s pulse.

Tokyo lingers long after you leave its neon streets. That night in Shibuya, I felt its heartbeat—messy, imperfect, alive. A place that doesn’t ask to be conquered, only witnessed.

I know I’ll be back. Until then, I hold the memory, the energy, and a roll of film carrying Shibuya’s soul.

All images are mine and under copyright.