the pictures I didn't know he took
08 May 2006
07 May 2006
Hamamatsu
...the famous Hamamatsu kite festival, perhaps the biggest in the state -- millions of people, hundreds of kites, pounds of fried noodles and gallons upon gallons of beer...
06 May 2006
"In the Neighborhood"
...no-it-is-not-a-love-hotel (just bars and restaurants), my favorite store-front painting on a sweet shop (owned by a teacher's relative), koinobori (carp streamers) for the childrens' festival...
28 April 2006
But Here I Am
Inspiration for this post has been "lifted" without permission from Adam Hollowell. Hopefully, however, I have not directly copied any of his passages. No one has offered me half a million dollars for my blog yet, but this also means nobody is ordering me to pull my writing off the net.
I'm sitting here barefoot in a Sunshine Will t-shirt, nursing a sinus infection, "Son of a Sailor" by Jimmy Buffet playing on my iPod, knees and feet tucked under me saza style, cool tatami reeds lightly biting my shins, a bowl of sticky rice and baked pork in one hand, chopsticks in the other, the smell of pan-warmed soy sauce and sugar tapping my nose...and I ask myself with a laugh, what events in my life led me to this place?
I remember a few years ago in a Seattle bookstore, I saw a book called "Everything Zen." Japanese architecture, Japanese religion, Japanese tea ceremony, Japanese gardens. I have no idea why, but I was riveted and had to own this book. I didn't have any previous interest in Japan. But the book spoke to me. The copy was tattered but I couldn't even wait for the store to order a fresh one. I bought the tattered copy. At the time I had no idea that I would one day live in Japan.
Last week I was sitting on the floor of a restaurant with Meegan, cooking Japanese pancakes. Eggs are included, but instead of butter and sugar, you add cabbage, pickled ginger, beef, tiny pieces of squid. "No, like this," I said bossily, instructing my friend to sprinkle on the seaweed after she painted on the sauce.
I'm sitting here barefoot in a Sunshine Will t-shirt, nursing a sinus infection, "Son of a Sailor" by Jimmy Buffet playing on my iPod, knees and feet tucked under me saza style, cool tatami reeds lightly biting my shins, a bowl of sticky rice and baked pork in one hand, chopsticks in the other, the smell of pan-warmed soy sauce and sugar tapping my nose...and I ask myself with a laugh, what events in my life led me to this place?
I remember a few years ago in a Seattle bookstore, I saw a book called "Everything Zen." Japanese architecture, Japanese religion, Japanese tea ceremony, Japanese gardens. I have no idea why, but I was riveted and had to own this book. I didn't have any previous interest in Japan. But the book spoke to me. The copy was tattered but I couldn't even wait for the store to order a fresh one. I bought the tattered copy. At the time I had no idea that I would one day live in Japan.
Last week I was sitting on the floor of a restaurant with Meegan, cooking Japanese pancakes. Eggs are included, but instead of butter and sugar, you add cabbage, pickled ginger, beef, tiny pieces of squid. "No, like this," I said bossily, instructing my friend to sprinkle on the seaweed after she painted on the sauce.
Today I stood in front of 42 Japanese students, waving a blank bingo card in their faces, telling them in Japanese, "Anywhere is okay. Please choose any box and write the words in whatever order you choose." The words, of course, being English ones. I stepped back for a second, staring at their Playboy pencil cases and striped bow ties and stern expressions, and asked myself with a laugh, "What events in my life led me to this?"
I sat there at my desk, hunkered over a bowl of tempura and white rice, Japanese words and school uniforms and test papers floating around my head...and as I bit into a piece of vegetable tempura I realized it was one of my favorite foods from childhood: fried okra. I grew up in the American south. But I was staring out the window at Mt. Fuji, eating the same food. I traveled this far to come back to the same food. And I wondered, are we really that different? That time I stole fried okra from my brother's dish when he wasn't looking, 15 years ago...there could have been a sneaky sister in Japan doing the same thing to her younger brother.
So how did the events in my life lead me here? It's one of those beautiful questions I don't actually want to answer. I feel like I forged my own path, yet at the same time, I never saw this coming. Two years ago I just never would have dreamed this. France, maybe. Asia? No. Yet here I am. I can't imagine my life now without this experience, and I am already realizing how much I'm truly going to miss this place. I'm not Japanese, but there was a seed inside of me I didn't know about. This place sprinkled that seed with water, and now whatever is growing will never be cut back. Like kudzu. That beautiful, winding, all-consuming vine of my childhood--a part of my happiest, earliest memories--it came from Japan.
Mom and Dad...
are in Japan!!!!! I leave for Tokyo tomorrow, and will spend the next week celebrating Japan's Golden Week by traveling, talking, and eating Japanese food with my parents. I'm so excited to see them. B I wish you were here too.
24 April 2006
True Evil
I'm sick. I left work an hour early, came home and went straight to bed, then woke up long enough to take a pill and eat a piece of bread. I felt like I'd stuffed myself.
Then I decided to reach out beyond my sick bed and type a quick post. I walked to school this morning, because when I get sick, I like to deny it for as long as possible. I believe that if I tell my body everything is fine, the problem will go away. I always do this yet always to no avail. So I walked but still felt awful after the breeze and sunshine. But sickness is not the "true evil" to which I refer.
The true evil was the bugs zooming around my head this morning. Things literally happen overnight in Japan. You sleep, and boom, typhoon season. You sleep, and boom, your apartment turns into a refrigerator. You sleep, and boom, cherry blossoms are everywhere. You sleep, and boom, the spawns of wasps and Darth Vader form clouds on the sidewalks you have no choice but to cross on your way to work. These bugs were everywhere this morning, yet I've never seen them any other day of my 8 months in Japan. None of them stung me but every time I walked through a cloud of black I prayed. The weirdest part about these solid black wasps was that they weren't shiny. They weren't hairy, but their black bodies were distinctly dull. For some reason this really disturbed me. Bugs with matte-black exoskeletons are much more frightening than bugs with shiny skins.
I have no idea why. But they looked really evil.
Then I decided to reach out beyond my sick bed and type a quick post. I walked to school this morning, because when I get sick, I like to deny it for as long as possible. I believe that if I tell my body everything is fine, the problem will go away. I always do this yet always to no avail. So I walked but still felt awful after the breeze and sunshine. But sickness is not the "true evil" to which I refer.
The true evil was the bugs zooming around my head this morning. Things literally happen overnight in Japan. You sleep, and boom, typhoon season. You sleep, and boom, your apartment turns into a refrigerator. You sleep, and boom, cherry blossoms are everywhere. You sleep, and boom, the spawns of wasps and Darth Vader form clouds on the sidewalks you have no choice but to cross on your way to work. These bugs were everywhere this morning, yet I've never seen them any other day of my 8 months in Japan. None of them stung me but every time I walked through a cloud of black I prayed. The weirdest part about these solid black wasps was that they weren't shiny. They weren't hairy, but their black bodies were distinctly dull. For some reason this really disturbed me. Bugs with matte-black exoskeletons are much more frightening than bugs with shiny skins.
I have no idea why. But they looked really evil.
20 April 2006
Earthquake, The Sequel
I don't know about aftershocks, but there are definitely beforeshocks where I live. A day or two ago I was talking to Dan when I felt a small earthquake. It was very short and not very strong, but it was enough to trigger my fear instincts. My whole body was tense and I was ready to run (even though running somewhere solves nothing in an earthquake). Even when they're small, they frighten me. I tend to get dizzy a lot, so maybe I'm more sensitive to a moving ground than most people. Last time I felt an earthquake I blamed it on "just getting dizzy," until my supervisor asked me if I had noticed the earthquake. But the way to test it is by looking up at the light strings. When I was talking to Dan, I looked up at my lamp. And the string was definitely swaying.
Little earthquake, for sure.
Well last night I woke up to a strange noise, a rattling of metal and glass and wood, and fairly violent shaking even though I was horizontal in my bed. This time the instincts kicked in, but I froze. I was alone, it was 2 or 3:30 in the morning (I don't remember), and I was terrified because it was my biggest earthquake yet. At the time I couldn't really tell if I was awake or dreaming about it. But the fear was definitely real. I remember telling myself, "I sleep right under a window, that's not good," and making a mental note of where my shoes and earthquake kit were, in case I needed to leave the building after. And I also remember thinking, "This is how it could happen, earthquakes can happen in the middle of the night like this, when you're not dressed, it's dark and cold outside, and you're very, very alone." And I remember crying a little bit for no reason in particular. Still, I wasn't sure if it was real or not. I was still half asleep. I thought to myself, "When an earthquake happens in the middle of the night, it will be like this." I thought I was dreaming instead of actually experiencing it.
It was scary. Scary enough that everybody at work (experienced earthquake veterans) said it was scary. Yet a lot of teachers (mainly the older men) didn't wake up at all.
Little earthquake, for sure.
Well last night I woke up to a strange noise, a rattling of metal and glass and wood, and fairly violent shaking even though I was horizontal in my bed. This time the instincts kicked in, but I froze. I was alone, it was 2 or 3:30 in the morning (I don't remember), and I was terrified because it was my biggest earthquake yet. At the time I couldn't really tell if I was awake or dreaming about it. But the fear was definitely real. I remember telling myself, "I sleep right under a window, that's not good," and making a mental note of where my shoes and earthquake kit were, in case I needed to leave the building after. And I also remember thinking, "This is how it could happen, earthquakes can happen in the middle of the night like this, when you're not dressed, it's dark and cold outside, and you're very, very alone." And I remember crying a little bit for no reason in particular. Still, I wasn't sure if it was real or not. I was still half asleep. I thought to myself, "When an earthquake happens in the middle of the night, it will be like this." I thought I was dreaming instead of actually experiencing it.
It was scary. Scary enough that everybody at work (experienced earthquake veterans) said it was scary. Yet a lot of teachers (mainly the older men) didn't wake up at all.
You Are (Where You) Eat (It) ?
With about 340 new students and 2 classes to plan and teach entirely on my own, the work has finally returned. And I'm happy about it. Feeling needed, productive, creative, and useful makes me feel GOOD. Spring vacation is nice and all, but feeling purposeless with no kids to teach is not much fun. Now the students are back! And I love them!
I can't stand American Diet Coke. Recent newspaper articles have acknowledged what is fairly obvious: all "global" products are not created equal. Some people were upset when they discovered that the fat content of McDonald's fries varies from country to country. As you globe-trot and see the same golden arches, you assume you're getting the same product. But fries are more likely to kill you in some countries than in others. Because of various regulations, costs, etc., there are disparaties between American fries and FRENCH fries and Dutch fries and Japanese fries. And maybe you think this is "unjust," or at least worthy of newspaper report-age.
But how else can companies succeed on a global scale? They survive by adapting their products *just* enough to suit the preferences of the people without having to change the name of their brand. Did you know Haagen Daaz (sp?) makes "red bean" and "green tea" flavored ice cream? Would you ever find "red bean" ice cream in America? No. In Japan? Yes! So of course McDonald's fries will be a little (or very, according to those fat percentage charts) different depending on where you are eating.
Well so is Diet Coke, and this is the main one I care about. It shows how we could potentially become DIFFERENT PEOPLE based on the overall taste preferences of a country. Consumerism taken to the extreme, you say? I think not, considering how much people can be judged by their food preferences. (It's ridiculous!) Consider this example:
American Diet Coke is terrible. French Diet Coke is quite delicious. Japanese Diet Coke is alright. Now pretend I'm out with a bunch of friends on a picnic, and someone else was in charge of the drinks. Say they brought only Diet Coke. In America, I could be labeled the "picky" one, the "spoiled" one, the "difficult" one, because I would choose to drink nothing over a nutra-sweet-after-tasting gross American Diet Coke. It could also exclude me from the "sorority girl" stereotype because I would prefer REGULAR, calorie-laden Coke to the calorie-free kind. So people could make all these judgments about my personality, without even realizing it, because this idea of me becomes an intangible, unchanging FACT in their minds: LAUREN WILL NOT DRINK DIET COKE, therefore she is X. I find this example amusing, and extreme, but I will have trouble believing anyone who tries to dispute the fact that they make assumptions and judgments about people's personalities based on the foods they eat. What if I told you I never drink beer? What if I said don't like "bitch" drinks? The mere TERM "bitch drink" associates a whole stereotype and personality and gender with a food preference. I'm talking about alcohol but it applies to everything. Read these words and think about the images of people that come to your mind, and the personality traits you automatically assume they have: tofu. steak. lentils. Red Bull. cotton candy. meatloaf. grits. pizza. thin-crust pizza. strawberries. I could build entire people on these single words and I bet you could too.
On with my original point. If the exact same picnic situation occurred in France, or in Japan, I would gladly drink the Diet Coke. And all those assumptions or stereotypes or images that people might have made about me in America simply would not have been made in France or Japan. So to my friends, I could seem like a different person. Lauren, picky? What are you talking about?
I can't stand American Diet Coke. Recent newspaper articles have acknowledged what is fairly obvious: all "global" products are not created equal. Some people were upset when they discovered that the fat content of McDonald's fries varies from country to country. As you globe-trot and see the same golden arches, you assume you're getting the same product. But fries are more likely to kill you in some countries than in others. Because of various regulations, costs, etc., there are disparaties between American fries and FRENCH fries and Dutch fries and Japanese fries. And maybe you think this is "unjust," or at least worthy of newspaper report-age.
But how else can companies succeed on a global scale? They survive by adapting their products *just* enough to suit the preferences of the people without having to change the name of their brand. Did you know Haagen Daaz (sp?) makes "red bean" and "green tea" flavored ice cream? Would you ever find "red bean" ice cream in America? No. In Japan? Yes! So of course McDonald's fries will be a little (or very, according to those fat percentage charts) different depending on where you are eating.
Well so is Diet Coke, and this is the main one I care about. It shows how we could potentially become DIFFERENT PEOPLE based on the overall taste preferences of a country. Consumerism taken to the extreme, you say? I think not, considering how much people can be judged by their food preferences. (It's ridiculous!) Consider this example:
American Diet Coke is terrible. French Diet Coke is quite delicious. Japanese Diet Coke is alright. Now pretend I'm out with a bunch of friends on a picnic, and someone else was in charge of the drinks. Say they brought only Diet Coke. In America, I could be labeled the "picky" one, the "spoiled" one, the "difficult" one, because I would choose to drink nothing over a nutra-sweet-after-tasting gross American Diet Coke. It could also exclude me from the "sorority girl" stereotype because I would prefer REGULAR, calorie-laden Coke to the calorie-free kind. So people could make all these judgments about my personality, without even realizing it, because this idea of me becomes an intangible, unchanging FACT in their minds: LAUREN WILL NOT DRINK DIET COKE, therefore she is X. I find this example amusing, and extreme, but I will have trouble believing anyone who tries to dispute the fact that they make assumptions and judgments about people's personalities based on the foods they eat. What if I told you I never drink beer? What if I said don't like "bitch" drinks? The mere TERM "bitch drink" associates a whole stereotype and personality and gender with a food preference. I'm talking about alcohol but it applies to everything. Read these words and think about the images of people that come to your mind, and the personality traits you automatically assume they have: tofu. steak. lentils. Red Bull. cotton candy. meatloaf. grits. pizza. thin-crust pizza. strawberries. I could build entire people on these single words and I bet you could too.
On with my original point. If the exact same picnic situation occurred in France, or in Japan, I would gladly drink the Diet Coke. And all those assumptions or stereotypes or images that people might have made about me in America simply would not have been made in France or Japan. So to my friends, I could seem like a different person. Lauren, picky? What are you talking about?
13 April 2006
Anatomy Lesson
"Some people won't dance
if they don't know who's singing.
Why think with your head?
It's your hips that are swinging."
--Propellerheads
And I'll admit -- I love the James Blunt album.
if they don't know who's singing.
Why think with your head?
It's your hips that are swinging."
--Propellerheads
And I'll admit -- I love the James Blunt album.
10 April 2006
Chiru
(chiru: the verb Japanese people use to describe cherry blossoms falling from the trees)
The only living things that ignore me in this country are the cats. God bless them and their stereotypical kitty style.
The hardest thing about living where I live is the complete and total lack of privacy. I watched "The Big Chill" yesterday and couldn't help but laugh at the line, "I feel like I'm never alone. Didn't they do a study on lab rats who went crazy from lack of privacy?" Yeah, I know why. (And no, I'm not alone when I type most of these blog entries!)
On to the real reason I'm writing:
Nothing in Japan makes me feel instantly transported to my childhood like the baby-pink snapdragons I pass on my walk to work. I see snapdragons and immediately feel 5 years old, and suspect that a cat is hiding in the shrubs somewhere for me to drag out and carry around, and that my brother is behind me in the yard riding a small vehicle with an odd number of wheels. Never have I felt safer in my life...an unexpected illusion in a foreign country. And the owner of the snapdragons doesn't even know that I exist.
Yesterday I walked home through light rain and mist because I wanted to feel refreshed. The smell of greens welcoming the rain almost knocked me out it was so thick. (I love that smell.) And then I realized walking home that day would look totally different to me because of the scents that would reach me through the water in the air. Yesterday the air was a totally different canvas and the paint seemed completely new.
It was a small square park lined with cherry trees still in bloom. The petals, saturated by mist, appeared pinker than usual. I saw no birds, people, or other moving things in the park; only the plants, so the rather large, old cherry trees took over with this frozen, regal quality, so proudly but so quietly displaying their blossoms.
That in itself was not so unusual; I'd been accustomed to the lovely cherry trees for at least a week. What caught my eye this time was the only movement in the whole park: it was snowing.
But not snowing everywhere. Onto me fell only small taps of rain. There was a very distinct line between where it was snowing and where it was not, and this is probably what made me feel like I was looking into a picture instead of living in the reality of it.
It was the snow of big, fat, beautiful flakes, that fell so slowly they seemed to defy gravity, so silently they seemed to defy anything mortal. They fell and decorated the plants like confetti, stuck in place by the dampness of the rain.
These delicate chips of whitish-pink silk kissed the sidewalk and the street pavement and just stuck without melting. Then I looked up past knarled tree trunks, past branches spread widely, asymmetrical but balanced, past the browns and greens into the pink and white clouds of that little sky. The cherry trees were snowing their flowers. That's why nonoe of the flakes dissolved on contact. It wasn't snowing frosted ice; it was raining flower petals in that little fantasy world beneath the trees. I couldn't believe how slowly yet how steadily the petals fell. My sense of time and seasons became confused. It was the 2nd time in my life I'd seen it snow in spring, but the first time I'd seen snow without feeling cold.
Of course the cherry trees would have been the cherry trees, regardless of my presence or lack thereof. But I stood there like I was watching a performance, a celebration that was put on just for me. I felt like the trees weren't mourning the loss of their blossoms, but instead celebrating the spring...and like the whole display had been silently orchestrated for me -- modest, but at the same time desperate for someone to stop and notice.
I know I've gone on and on...but it was truly one of the most amazingly beautiful and natural things I've ever seen. I felt like the tree was talking to me. And I'm not even a hippie.
People who think you have to camp to truly appreciate nature, who think you have to pitch tents and iodize your water and stay dirty to really know what nature is...those people are only seeing one color in the prism. I don't think people should be expected to dig holes with trowels before others will believe that they love things about the outside.
This morning after walking to work over sakura-lined sidewalks, I had to scrape cakes of cherry blossom petals from my shoes. It's a miracle I didn't slip on all that silk.
The only living things that ignore me in this country are the cats. God bless them and their stereotypical kitty style.
The hardest thing about living where I live is the complete and total lack of privacy. I watched "The Big Chill" yesterday and couldn't help but laugh at the line, "I feel like I'm never alone. Didn't they do a study on lab rats who went crazy from lack of privacy?" Yeah, I know why. (And no, I'm not alone when I type most of these blog entries!)
On to the real reason I'm writing:
Nothing in Japan makes me feel instantly transported to my childhood like the baby-pink snapdragons I pass on my walk to work. I see snapdragons and immediately feel 5 years old, and suspect that a cat is hiding in the shrubs somewhere for me to drag out and carry around, and that my brother is behind me in the yard riding a small vehicle with an odd number of wheels. Never have I felt safer in my life...an unexpected illusion in a foreign country. And the owner of the snapdragons doesn't even know that I exist.
Yesterday I walked home through light rain and mist because I wanted to feel refreshed. The smell of greens welcoming the rain almost knocked me out it was so thick. (I love that smell.) And then I realized walking home that day would look totally different to me because of the scents that would reach me through the water in the air. Yesterday the air was a totally different canvas and the paint seemed completely new.
So I was walking along inhaling hard with every breath. I wondered if these Japanese smells would be good combined in perfume. If Angel included chocolate, and tons of perfume contained ambergris, I'm convinced that I could turn natto and mirin and maybe even sticky rice into something attractive.
I was mainly focused on my nose, until I came across a still-life in motion -- frozen but moving, more so a part of nature than the houses and sidewalks surrounding it, yet so isolated and seemingly cut off from the reality in which I was standing. The scene was like a fantasy turned virtual reality and I was on the edge of the fantasy looking in. Everything with this surreal quality that made me think if I tried to touch it, my hand would sweep through trees and plants as if they were holographic projections.
So, instead of pushing my luck, I stood on the edge of the sidewalk, and peered in. For at least 15 minutes I stood motionless, just staring at something so beautiful I felt it was only created for the hope that someone would stop and notice it.
It was a small square park lined with cherry trees still in bloom. The petals, saturated by mist, appeared pinker than usual. I saw no birds, people, or other moving things in the park; only the plants, so the rather large, old cherry trees took over with this frozen, regal quality, so proudly but so quietly displaying their blossoms.
That in itself was not so unusual; I'd been accustomed to the lovely cherry trees for at least a week. What caught my eye this time was the only movement in the whole park: it was snowing.
But not snowing everywhere. Onto me fell only small taps of rain. There was a very distinct line between where it was snowing and where it was not, and this is probably what made me feel like I was looking into a picture instead of living in the reality of it.
It was the snow of big, fat, beautiful flakes, that fell so slowly they seemed to defy gravity, so silently they seemed to defy anything mortal. They fell and decorated the plants like confetti, stuck in place by the dampness of the rain.
These delicate chips of whitish-pink silk kissed the sidewalk and the street pavement and just stuck without melting. Then I looked up past knarled tree trunks, past branches spread widely, asymmetrical but balanced, past the browns and greens into the pink and white clouds of that little sky. The cherry trees were snowing their flowers. That's why nonoe of the flakes dissolved on contact. It wasn't snowing frosted ice; it was raining flower petals in that little fantasy world beneath the trees. I couldn't believe how slowly yet how steadily the petals fell. My sense of time and seasons became confused. It was the 2nd time in my life I'd seen it snow in spring, but the first time I'd seen snow without feeling cold.
Of course the cherry trees would have been the cherry trees, regardless of my presence or lack thereof. But I stood there like I was watching a performance, a celebration that was put on just for me. I felt like the trees weren't mourning the loss of their blossoms, but instead celebrating the spring...and like the whole display had been silently orchestrated for me -- modest, but at the same time desperate for someone to stop and notice.
I know I've gone on and on...but it was truly one of the most amazingly beautiful and natural things I've ever seen. I felt like the tree was talking to me. And I'm not even a hippie.
People who think you have to camp to truly appreciate nature, who think you have to pitch tents and iodize your water and stay dirty to really know what nature is...those people are only seeing one color in the prism. I don't think people should be expected to dig holes with trowels before others will believe that they love things about the outside.
This morning after walking to work over sakura-lined sidewalks, I had to scrape cakes of cherry blossom petals from my shoes. It's a miracle I didn't slip on all that silk.
Aries
In honor of my approaching birthday, I thought it would be fun to share some common Aries traits that I believe are accurate descriptions of me. I can't speak for Jess, but in my opinion, she exhibits these traits too.
Yay for fiery spring babies.
- Aries has an intuitive fire that burns the astrological signature of "I Am" onto everything she does.
- Aries will favor danger over boredom because boredom is a risk greater than death!
- Body language that says, "What you see is what you get." This simple, direct style is an Aries trait, and with Aries you usually know where you stand. This straight shooter practices the dharma of right action, staking his personal actions on his basic integrity. Although human nature is complex, Aries rarely wears a mask, so conflict noticeably twists him in knots.
- Anxiety, fear, tension, and stress are invitations for Aries courage.
- It's a rarity to find an Aries that isn't controversial at one point or another.
While many people may not associate spirituality with the sign of the ram, their spiritedness puts the spirit in spiritual. (um maybe not Jess) - Aries has a strong sense of ego self-hood, which is necessary for his important sense of mission. When he breaks new territory for the greater good, the Ram uses his pioneering will for all of us.
--msn.com
And hopefully the baby picture made you laugh...I have no idea how the colander got on top of my head. (Compliments of Tudy! :) )
09 April 2006
Question of the Moment...
(or month, or season, or early 20s...)
How important is it to be important?
Responses welcome.
How important is it to be important?
Responses welcome.
Overheard in Japan
Late 20s guy to early 20s girl: The truth is, international relationships just don't work. I don't want to marry a girl and then have all conversation be, "Ah, ohashi, sugoi ne?"
Japanese teenagers: Wow, look at that girl. She's really pretty, isn't she. Where is she from? Germany -- she must be German. (to girl, in Japanese): Excuse me, where are you from?
American girl: America.
Japanese teenagers: America? No. Aren't you German?
American girl: No, I'm American.
Japanese teenagers: You don't look American.
Late 20s girl to early 20s girl: I'll sit in Starbucks and talk about sex in a normal voice, because I just assume nobody can understand me. I should probably re-think that one and lower my voice.
Middle-aged Japanese women: Whoa! A foreigner! Look at that foreigner! She's eating a rice cake! That's AMAZING!
Japanese man, late 50s: My wife has no idea how much money we have. She won't know until I die. Before I die, I'll ask the bank to hand over the account statement to my wife, so she'll know. But she won't know until I die.
American girl, early 20s: So she doesn't care?
Japanese man: What?
American girl: She's not interested? She doesn't want to know how much money there is?
Japanese man: Of course not.
Japanese woman, in Japanese: Excuse me, would you like me to take the picture for you, so you three girls can be in the picture together?
American girl: Sure, thanks a lot!
Japanese woman, to her Japanese friends: Wow! That girl just spoke in Japanese!!
Australian girl, to American girl: Uh, they spoke to us in Japanese.
American girl to new coworker: Hey, I recognize you. You play tennis, right?
Japanese guy: Yes, I play tennis.
American girl: Oh that's great! Would you like to play doubles with us sometime?
Japanese guy: Um, I can't.
American girl: Why not?
Japanese guy: Because I will marry in the fall.
Japanese teenagers: Wow, look at that girl. She's really pretty, isn't she. Where is she from? Germany -- she must be German. (to girl, in Japanese): Excuse me, where are you from?
American girl: America.
Japanese teenagers: America? No. Aren't you German?
American girl: No, I'm American.
Japanese teenagers: You don't look American.
Late 20s girl to early 20s girl: I'll sit in Starbucks and talk about sex in a normal voice, because I just assume nobody can understand me. I should probably re-think that one and lower my voice.
Middle-aged Japanese women: Whoa! A foreigner! Look at that foreigner! She's eating a rice cake! That's AMAZING!
Japanese man, late 50s: My wife has no idea how much money we have. She won't know until I die. Before I die, I'll ask the bank to hand over the account statement to my wife, so she'll know. But she won't know until I die.
American girl, early 20s: So she doesn't care?
Japanese man: What?
American girl: She's not interested? She doesn't want to know how much money there is?
Japanese man: Of course not.
Japanese woman, in Japanese: Excuse me, would you like me to take the picture for you, so you three girls can be in the picture together?
American girl: Sure, thanks a lot!
Japanese woman, to her Japanese friends: Wow! That girl just spoke in Japanese!!
Australian girl, to American girl: Uh, they spoke to us in Japanese.
American girl to new coworker: Hey, I recognize you. You play tennis, right?
Japanese guy: Yes, I play tennis.
American girl: Oh that's great! Would you like to play doubles with us sometime?
Japanese guy: Um, I can't.
American girl: Why not?
Japanese guy: Because I will marry in the fall.
02 April 2006
Walking Home from Work
As the seasons change, so does the time -- I am now 13 hours ahead of America's east coast.
29 March 2006
America
I don't know what's worse -- the current immigration debate, or the fact that some people actually think Bush's stance could help keep Republicans in office. I don't even want to discuss how furious the immigration issue can make me -- forget immigration. I don't care what Bush does from this point on, if a Republican is elected next, I'll flip.
Faith in the government?? Where is my faith in THE PEOPLE? COME ON, USE YOUR HEADS!!!
Not to mention the current problems in France...
Faith in the government?? Where is my faith in THE PEOPLE? COME ON, USE YOUR HEADS!!!
Not to mention the current problems in France...
Hina Doll Photos
In Japan, March marks the coming of spring, as well as a time for families to celebrate the health of their daughters. Parents set up a large, extremely expensive, hand-painted and hand-crafted Hina doll display. Every day in March, little girls can admire their dolls (without touching, of course) and on special days, wear kimonos to 'match' the dolls on the display. My supervisor has a 2-year old little girl named Hinako. Essentially, her name means "little girl of spring," because she was born during the same month as the girls' festival. It was Hinako's first year to have a doll display, and my supervisor was kind enough to invite me to her house, to see a doll display in person. Unfortunately I couldn't meet Hinako, because she was in kindergarten, but I hope to go back again. I love my supervisor. When the new school year begins in April, I have to move to a new desk, like all other teachers -- but that means I also have to change supervisors!! No!!!!!
In this display (as in most), the Emperor and Empress sit on the top, with servants underneath. Notice the many layers of kimonos -- in the past, members of the court would actually wear these 12 layers!! Carrying all that silk must have toned some royal muscle.
The Egg Vending Machine
The quintessential offspring of technology and traditional Japanese life...one block from my apartment!
27 March 2006
Most Beautiful Tanka...
Of all the tanka I have read recently (over 200), I think the following is the most beautiful. It uses so few words to say so much, and the effect is quite powerful. Once the implications sink in, they hit me like a bunch of bricks.
A day will come
when my eyes
no longer see.
To me my husband whispers,
"It will be alright."
--T.K.
A day will come
when my eyes
no longer see.
To me my husband whispers,
"It will be alright."
--T.K.
Back to Japan
Recently my mind has been in many places. Japan is only one of those places, which is a change from how things were a few months ago. But nothing stays the same, ne?
Indeed, nothing has remained the same. Some things are predictable, but still different. Early morning frost has been replaced by cherry trees in full bloom. The blossoms, which were pink buds only a few days ago, are now white flowers with all the grace and fluffiness of giant snowflakes. When I look into a cluster of cherry trees, it's like looking into a freeze-frame snowfall -- the kind with fat, feathery flakes that seem to build resistance and slow down as they float to the earth.
I ran into a plump brown lizard yesterday. I haven't seen any of these guys since you could sweat just resting in the shade. The lizard startled me so I yelped, but then I laughed, because his presence could only mean one thing: heat is coming! He stuck his pink tongue into the air as a greeting, then dove into the nearest ditch.
So spring is coming, but it's not quite warm. This means that my camera batteries won't stay charged, because my apartment is still too cold. But as soon as possible, I will take cherry blossom photos to share.
For the first time since summer, I have no work to accomplish at school. I can get a head-start on some lesson plans, but there is no need. If I get a head-start on work now, there will just be more free time in the future, free time that I would appreciate filling up with work that I have not already completed. The other teachers are busy--not everyone is sitting around with as much free time--but since I am an ALT, I don't have as many responsibilities. I will actually be glad when spring vacation ends, and I can once again fulfill my purpose of being an English teacher. (But have no fear, I am finding plenty to do in the "free" time. I don't allow myself to stay bored all day.)
In other news, the teacher changes are officially complete. Mayumi and Jun are gone, which makes me sad. They will return on Thursday for a teacher party and a final goodbye. Then the desks in the teachers' room will be rearranged, and a new school year will officially begin, complete with new staff.
It occured to me this morning, as it has many times before, just how small your world can be. No matter how many things you learn, or how many places you go, your world will always be as big or as small as you make it. When classes aren't in session, my world at work consists of set patterns and routes and routines. I thought this while washing my hands in the teachers' room. There are 2 sinks, but I always use the same sink. I use the exact same sink and wash my hands the exact same way, every time. I'm in Japan but sometimes your world can be only so big. I thought the same thing when I was in Paris on the metro: "I ride the exact same route to the university every day; I see the same strangers and I recognize the same people who take the same route as I do. I have come all the way to Paris, but in many ways, my world can stay so small." Funny, isn't it? Expansion doesn't happen without a conscious effort.
This weekend I'm going to a concert with Mayumi in Nagoya. Yay!! Then I'm going to a hanami party (cherry-blossom-viewing festival) with a few other teachers. The batteries will be charged by then, so I hope the blossoms will still be there for me to photograph!
Indeed, nothing has remained the same. Some things are predictable, but still different. Early morning frost has been replaced by cherry trees in full bloom. The blossoms, which were pink buds only a few days ago, are now white flowers with all the grace and fluffiness of giant snowflakes. When I look into a cluster of cherry trees, it's like looking into a freeze-frame snowfall -- the kind with fat, feathery flakes that seem to build resistance and slow down as they float to the earth.
I ran into a plump brown lizard yesterday. I haven't seen any of these guys since you could sweat just resting in the shade. The lizard startled me so I yelped, but then I laughed, because his presence could only mean one thing: heat is coming! He stuck his pink tongue into the air as a greeting, then dove into the nearest ditch.
So spring is coming, but it's not quite warm. This means that my camera batteries won't stay charged, because my apartment is still too cold. But as soon as possible, I will take cherry blossom photos to share.
For the first time since summer, I have no work to accomplish at school. I can get a head-start on some lesson plans, but there is no need. If I get a head-start on work now, there will just be more free time in the future, free time that I would appreciate filling up with work that I have not already completed. The other teachers are busy--not everyone is sitting around with as much free time--but since I am an ALT, I don't have as many responsibilities. I will actually be glad when spring vacation ends, and I can once again fulfill my purpose of being an English teacher. (But have no fear, I am finding plenty to do in the "free" time. I don't allow myself to stay bored all day.)
In other news, the teacher changes are officially complete. Mayumi and Jun are gone, which makes me sad. They will return on Thursday for a teacher party and a final goodbye. Then the desks in the teachers' room will be rearranged, and a new school year will officially begin, complete with new staff.
It occured to me this morning, as it has many times before, just how small your world can be. No matter how many things you learn, or how many places you go, your world will always be as big or as small as you make it. When classes aren't in session, my world at work consists of set patterns and routes and routines. I thought this while washing my hands in the teachers' room. There are 2 sinks, but I always use the same sink. I use the exact same sink and wash my hands the exact same way, every time. I'm in Japan but sometimes your world can be only so big. I thought the same thing when I was in Paris on the metro: "I ride the exact same route to the university every day; I see the same strangers and I recognize the same people who take the same route as I do. I have come all the way to Paris, but in many ways, my world can stay so small." Funny, isn't it? Expansion doesn't happen without a conscious effort.
This weekend I'm going to a concert with Mayumi in Nagoya. Yay!! Then I'm going to a hanami party (cherry-blossom-viewing festival) with a few other teachers. The batteries will be charged by then, so I hope the blossoms will still be there for me to photograph!
Camping in Japan
...by Sara Ursin. This "Top Ten" was published in the same journal that published one of my blog entries. I thought the list was hilarious and strikingly realistic.
Top 10 Reasons Why Living in Japan is like Camping
10. Garbage must be carried with you wherever you go.
9. Inside and outside are the same temperature.
8. Cooking is done over an open flame.
7. Raingear is brought everywhere.
6. The neighbors hear and see everything you do.
5. The neighbors invite you over for a cold beer.
4. You sleep on the floor.
3. The floor is made of grass.
2. Bugs, bugs, and more bugs.
1. The Squatty-Potty.
Honorable Mentions
Top 10 Reasons Why Living in Japan is like Camping
10. Garbage must be carried with you wherever you go.
9. Inside and outside are the same temperature.
8. Cooking is done over an open flame.
7. Raingear is brought everywhere.
6. The neighbors hear and see everything you do.
5. The neighbors invite you over for a cold beer.
4. You sleep on the floor.
3. The floor is made of grass.
2. Bugs, bugs, and more bugs.
1. The Squatty-Potty.
Honorable Mentions
- BYOTP - bring your own toilet paper
- the large variety of meat on sticks
- like a campfire, people huddle around a kerosene heater
- laundry is air-dried for all of the neighbors to see
24 March 2006
The Feminine Mystique
"Girls must make a lifetime commitment (call it a "life plan" if that dirty word career has too many celibate connotations) to a field of thought, to work of serious importance to society...As boys go on from the liberal arts core to study architecture, law, the arts, science, girls must be encouraged to go on, to make a life plan. It has been shown that girls with this kind of a commitment are less eager to rush into marriage, less panicky about finding a man, more responsible for their sexual behavior. Most of them marry, of course, but on a much more mature basis. Their marriages then are not an escape but a commitment shared by two people that becomes part of their commitment to themselves and society. If, in fact, girls are educated to make such commitments, the question of sex and when they will marry will lose its overwhelming importance. It is the fact that women have no identity of their own that makes sex, love, marriage, and children seem the only and essential facts of women's lives."
--Betty Friedan
1963 and again in 2001
--Betty Friedan
1963 and again in 2001
22 March 2006
Mc, Wal-, Star- -- Did I Stutter?
Wal-Mart has moved to China, and it pisses me off. Certain aspects of American culture wouldn't be allowed to take over the world if the rest of the world didn't buy (and buy into) the crap. How many times do people have to see "Fight Club" before they get the message? When did people start believing that crap defined them? (In Japan, the answer is always, "After World War II.") I don't understand how the world can hate America so much yet continue taking their kids to McDonald's. The people who complain about strip malls and overconsumption and franchises are the same people ordering fried potatoes or buying seafood and pigs' ears from Wal-Mart instead of their neighborhood markets. Damnit people, if you let American consumerism succeed, it will. This is not a hard equation.
Japan is definitely a consumer culture. What is "cool" to buy runs the gamut, but usually the more Western and "exotic" something is, the better. McDonald's is still a little too fatty for Japanese taste, but you can hardly find a place to stand in a Starbucks. It's always packed.
Now, what about picking and choosing your franchises? I haven't set foot in a McDonald's, but I have gladly walked into these crowded Starbucks, a place I would not be caught dead if the country had its own good coffee (Italy, France, etc). So if I'm pissed about the Wal-Mart in China, but relieved to stumble across a Starbucks in Shizuoka, does that make me a hypocrite?
Evidently, picking and choosing is not a good idea, because you can pretty much guarantee that if you're sitting in an American-owned franchise, somebody somewhere wants to bomb it - even in Japan. I couldn't help but question my appreciation of Starbucks, a decidedly Western space with a Western feel in an Eastern land, when I read a tiny sign in the bathroom one day (see below - I was so struck by the clear but delicately-implied message that I got out my camera and took a photo of the sign.) But as for my new-found appreciation for Starbucks.... Could that nostalgia for America, for Western atmosphere, even my poorly-sated nostalgia for a Parisian cafe, one day cost me my life? What if someone decided he hated Starbucks as much as he hated America?
The difference in consumer culture in Japan and America boils down to a lasting gift from our founding fathers - Puritanism. Maybe I speak too much about myself here, and what I say can't be generalized for fellow Americans. But after shopping with Japanese friends, I noticed a difference. They buy the thing, revel in their newfound happiness, and then move on. Whoo, an accomplishment, isn't purchasing power great. I buy the thing, revel for a few minutes, then move on to an inevitable cycle. Yeah, this is great, but it doesn't change my reality at all; it doesn't define who I am; it doesn't make me more capable or smarter or more beautiful; it doesn't make me more fulfilled, don't I know not to put that much stock into a thing? into a luxury? If I get too excited about this, it will just make me feel empty, because it doesn't fulfill any kind of real need. Gee, I should be ashamed for even getting excited about this in the first place. In fact, I might even be a better person WITHOUT this thing. It just adds to the clutter.
Case-in-point, pre-purchase: one day I was shopping with a friend. I was looking for a new sweater, which I found almost immediately. It was expensive but it was comfortable, sexy, fit perfectly, and looked unlike something I could find in GAP or the usual places. I bought it. Ah, a brief moment of satisfaction and excitement as I daydreamed about donning my new purchase.
But my sweater only caused my friend grief. "Oh, I need something," she said. "What are you looking for?" I asked. "Well nothing in particular, but you got something, so now I just NEED something. I want to buy something too." Was she kidding me? That blatant, blind desire to buy something for the sake of buying something wouldn't pass in America. Maybe I'm an oddball or maybe I hang out with weird people. But I couldn't believe my friend was saying that with no trace of guilt or shame. Even if the thought had crossed my mind, I never would have shared it aloud. I think the major reason for this is the complete lack of Christianity in Japan's history. (And currently, only about 2% of Japan is Christian). There are no Christian or Puritan values. (One of the strangest things about Japan for me is the obvious lack of "rest" on Sundays.) The reason Japan is so easily a consumer culture, why this tiny country "boasts" the highest Louis Vuitton market in the world, is the same reason abortion is often a perfectly acceptble method of "contraception." Japan does not distinguish between a "baby" and a "fetus," yet there are no moral consequences to terminating a pregnancy. The birth control pill was introduced only recently, and I have yet to hear of any woman actually interested in using it. Why dump your body full of "unnecessary" hormones when the problem is easily solved by abortion?
From Wal-Mart to abortion in one post? I must have been pissed off for a while.
Disclaimer: I am not against abortion.
For some reason I had trouble uploading the Starbucks bathroom photo, which is of a sign that reads, "Please let our staff know if you see any suspicious packages."
Japan is definitely a consumer culture. What is "cool" to buy runs the gamut, but usually the more Western and "exotic" something is, the better. McDonald's is still a little too fatty for Japanese taste, but you can hardly find a place to stand in a Starbucks. It's always packed.
Now, what about picking and choosing your franchises? I haven't set foot in a McDonald's, but I have gladly walked into these crowded Starbucks, a place I would not be caught dead if the country had its own good coffee (Italy, France, etc). So if I'm pissed about the Wal-Mart in China, but relieved to stumble across a Starbucks in Shizuoka, does that make me a hypocrite?
Evidently, picking and choosing is not a good idea, because you can pretty much guarantee that if you're sitting in an American-owned franchise, somebody somewhere wants to bomb it - even in Japan. I couldn't help but question my appreciation of Starbucks, a decidedly Western space with a Western feel in an Eastern land, when I read a tiny sign in the bathroom one day (see below - I was so struck by the clear but delicately-implied message that I got out my camera and took a photo of the sign.) But as for my new-found appreciation for Starbucks.... Could that nostalgia for America, for Western atmosphere, even my poorly-sated nostalgia for a Parisian cafe, one day cost me my life? What if someone decided he hated Starbucks as much as he hated America?
The difference in consumer culture in Japan and America boils down to a lasting gift from our founding fathers - Puritanism. Maybe I speak too much about myself here, and what I say can't be generalized for fellow Americans. But after shopping with Japanese friends, I noticed a difference. They buy the thing, revel in their newfound happiness, and then move on. Whoo, an accomplishment, isn't purchasing power great. I buy the thing, revel for a few minutes, then move on to an inevitable cycle. Yeah, this is great, but it doesn't change my reality at all; it doesn't define who I am; it doesn't make me more capable or smarter or more beautiful; it doesn't make me more fulfilled, don't I know not to put that much stock into a thing? into a luxury? If I get too excited about this, it will just make me feel empty, because it doesn't fulfill any kind of real need. Gee, I should be ashamed for even getting excited about this in the first place. In fact, I might even be a better person WITHOUT this thing. It just adds to the clutter.
Case-in-point, pre-purchase: one day I was shopping with a friend. I was looking for a new sweater, which I found almost immediately. It was expensive but it was comfortable, sexy, fit perfectly, and looked unlike something I could find in GAP or the usual places. I bought it. Ah, a brief moment of satisfaction and excitement as I daydreamed about donning my new purchase.
But my sweater only caused my friend grief. "Oh, I need something," she said. "What are you looking for?" I asked. "Well nothing in particular, but you got something, so now I just NEED something. I want to buy something too." Was she kidding me? That blatant, blind desire to buy something for the sake of buying something wouldn't pass in America. Maybe I'm an oddball or maybe I hang out with weird people. But I couldn't believe my friend was saying that with no trace of guilt or shame. Even if the thought had crossed my mind, I never would have shared it aloud. I think the major reason for this is the complete lack of Christianity in Japan's history. (And currently, only about 2% of Japan is Christian). There are no Christian or Puritan values. (One of the strangest things about Japan for me is the obvious lack of "rest" on Sundays.) The reason Japan is so easily a consumer culture, why this tiny country "boasts" the highest Louis Vuitton market in the world, is the same reason abortion is often a perfectly acceptble method of "contraception." Japan does not distinguish between a "baby" and a "fetus," yet there are no moral consequences to terminating a pregnancy. The birth control pill was introduced only recently, and I have yet to hear of any woman actually interested in using it. Why dump your body full of "unnecessary" hormones when the problem is easily solved by abortion?
From Wal-Mart to abortion in one post? I must have been pissed off for a while.
Disclaimer: I am not against abortion.
For some reason I had trouble uploading the Starbucks bathroom photo, which is of a sign that reads, "Please let our staff know if you see any suspicious packages."
11 March 2006
Spring
After the coldest Fuji winter in 60 years, and my first winter without central heating, there is nothing like pink plum tree blossoms and the songs of little birds.
But the real testament to the coming of spring is that the bugs are back.
But the real testament to the coming of spring is that the bugs are back.
07 March 2006
Life Lessons, Love Lessons
I think as women, America teaches us that if we need someone, then we are not worthy enough to have someone. If we need it, then we don't deserve it or haven't earned it. So we learn to be super independent, which ultimately backfires because we don't learn how to receive or need in a relationship, and that results in a lack of relationships (or a lack of satisfying ones).
What I learned in Japan is totally unrelated to romance, but hugely applies. (Hugely, it's a word now, for all blogging purposes). When I first came here I was totally illiterate, I had no car, and I didn't know about the local transportation. I have never needed anyone else so much in my life.* I needed help grocery shopping, getting anywhere, creating hot water for my shower, using the crazy public restrooms, reading labels, understanding the train schedule....EVERYTHING. At first it was a huge cause of frustration because I hate feeling helpless or dependent in any way. But let me tell you, if you try to live in Japan but can't speak Japanese, you have no choice but to suck up your pride, because you can't do things alone. This is because you are illiterate, and because Japanese society is built to make everyone need everyone. So never in my life have I needed other people like I have here.
What I realized is that, despite needing so much from other people who owe me nothing, they still loved me. I needed them but that didn't make me unworthy of their care. It didn't make me needy or annoying or a drag. This was a major change and understanding that I never expected to gain from my experience in Japan -- that you can need so much, and be given so much, and eventually find a way to give back while still receiving, so you discover a balance. And I think that balance will pave the way for all kinds of amazing relationships.
* This discussion completely excludes my family and especially my parents, because it is taken for granted how much love and support--both emotional and financial--I have needed from them. My family has been there from the start, so needing them was not something I had to learn, it was simply innate. To really need friends and significant others, however--this has taken a lifetime of lessons.
What I learned in Japan is totally unrelated to romance, but hugely applies. (Hugely, it's a word now, for all blogging purposes). When I first came here I was totally illiterate, I had no car, and I didn't know about the local transportation. I have never needed anyone else so much in my life.* I needed help grocery shopping, getting anywhere, creating hot water for my shower, using the crazy public restrooms, reading labels, understanding the train schedule....EVERYTHING. At first it was a huge cause of frustration because I hate feeling helpless or dependent in any way. But let me tell you, if you try to live in Japan but can't speak Japanese, you have no choice but to suck up your pride, because you can't do things alone. This is because you are illiterate, and because Japanese society is built to make everyone need everyone. So never in my life have I needed other people like I have here.
What I realized is that, despite needing so much from other people who owe me nothing, they still loved me. I needed them but that didn't make me unworthy of their care. It didn't make me needy or annoying or a drag. This was a major change and understanding that I never expected to gain from my experience in Japan -- that you can need so much, and be given so much, and eventually find a way to give back while still receiving, so you discover a balance. And I think that balance will pave the way for all kinds of amazing relationships.
* This discussion completely excludes my family and especially my parents, because it is taken for granted how much love and support--both emotional and financial--I have needed from them. My family has been there from the start, so needing them was not something I had to learn, it was simply innate. To really need friends and significant others, however--this has taken a lifetime of lessons.
Guest Blogger: Chris Manz
"Just Another Day"
written by Chris Manz
edited by yours truly
So, I went to New Jersey today and came back via the Port Authority. Now, the L is down yet again, so I needed to take the ACE to the JMZ, then get a shuttle to where I live. Not so bad. It began strangely when there was a D train running on the ACE line, but no matter, I took it anyway. Then in the middle of the ACE line, the D train--which was pretending to be an A-- decided to become an F train, for no apparent reason. Unusual, but not a big deal for me, as it was still going where I needed it to go. Things would only get more interesting when the poser F train decided to stop little more than halfway across Manhattan, making its last stop at a station where there were no other lines. And it stopped on the uptown side of the tracks. After crossing to the other side of the station, I waited for a real F train to take me one stop further, which is all I needed, and waited for quite a while, staring at something that resembled a tusk from a decent sized cat, or perhaps really large rat. But the train eventually came before I could figure out exactly what it was. As we crossed over the Williamsburg bridge into Brooklyn, there was a somewhat crazy woman sitting near me. She was seated next to a man (who I think was with her) when she proceeded to stick her pinkie in her ear and shake it vigorously. Then she pulled her pinkie out slightly and whisked the air toward the man, as you might have done as a child, when you farted and wished to blow the foul air towards someone else. Lovely imagery. I made it to brooklyn only to get on a bus with a bus driver who resembled a cross between Matt Dillon (who I always thought was kinda creepy) and the main guy from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, with a thin moustache of the former and the "I'm tripping on acid" look of the latter. I wanted to put on a seatbelt, but alas, there was none. All of this occurred as I was transporting a backpack full of brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and a delicious roast beef, compliments of my dear aunt.
written by Chris Manz
edited by yours truly
So, I went to New Jersey today and came back via the Port Authority. Now, the L is down yet again, so I needed to take the ACE to the JMZ, then get a shuttle to where I live. Not so bad. It began strangely when there was a D train running on the ACE line, but no matter, I took it anyway. Then in the middle of the ACE line, the D train--which was pretending to be an A-- decided to become an F train, for no apparent reason. Unusual, but not a big deal for me, as it was still going where I needed it to go. Things would only get more interesting when the poser F train decided to stop little more than halfway across Manhattan, making its last stop at a station where there were no other lines. And it stopped on the uptown side of the tracks. After crossing to the other side of the station, I waited for a real F train to take me one stop further, which is all I needed, and waited for quite a while, staring at something that resembled a tusk from a decent sized cat, or perhaps really large rat. But the train eventually came before I could figure out exactly what it was. As we crossed over the Williamsburg bridge into Brooklyn, there was a somewhat crazy woman sitting near me. She was seated next to a man (who I think was with her) when she proceeded to stick her pinkie in her ear and shake it vigorously. Then she pulled her pinkie out slightly and whisked the air toward the man, as you might have done as a child, when you farted and wished to blow the foul air towards someone else. Lovely imagery. I made it to brooklyn only to get on a bus with a bus driver who resembled a cross between Matt Dillon (who I always thought was kinda creepy) and the main guy from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, with a thin moustache of the former and the "I'm tripping on acid" look of the latter. I wanted to put on a seatbelt, but alas, there was none. All of this occurred as I was transporting a backpack full of brownies, chocolate chip cookies, and a delicious roast beef, compliments of my dear aunt.
Waiting for Moss
This is a re-vamped, edited version of an old blog. The beginning and the end are the same, but the thought process in the middle is different. It's an important one, I think.
I’d spent a packed weekend with other teachers playing volleyball, eating a gluttonous steak dinner, and squealing out multiple hours of karaoke. In the prefecture-wide volleyball tournament I injured my thumb; at the steakhouse I was the only one who chose steak instead of hamburger and potatoes instead of rice; and in the karaoke room, only four songs in four hours were sung in a language I could understand. Yet when the pictures were developed and circulated through the teachers’ room, I smiled inwardly at the undeniable expression on my face: in this place so far away from home, I was happy.
With little time to recover after a busy weekend, Monday was challenging. The third-year students were preparing for college entrance exams. With test day looming, they wrote short English compositions that I was responsible for correcting each day. The afternoon was spent with my good friend and fellow English teacher, Mayumi, as we struggled to come up with a grammar rule that explains why you can say “this summer” and “in summer,” but not “in this summer.” My grammar knowledge is strong, but as a respected language teacher you must limit the use of “because it sounds right” as a satisfactory explanation.
By that evening I needed to unwind alone, outside of my apartment. I wanted a coffee-shop atmosphere, but as I live among tea fields in the suburbs of Fuji, Mos Burger was my best bet. It was a rare occasion and I decided Japan’s native fast-food chain, along with a good book, would help me relax.
I ordered oshiruko, a sweet, red bean soup with rice cakes, and pulled out a novel. A few minutes later, two uniformed girls plopped down in my booth. I looked up to greet them with a shocked face – I was amazed they sat down without even speaking to me first. Usually young students are too shy and polite to approach with such nonchalance. But in Mos Burger the girls were more willing to speak English, as if being off school property gave them more leeway to make mistakes. We had a great discussion about pet rabbits, cram school, and traveling in Australia. It was a special opportunity to know the students better, without a list of rote phrases for them to memorize.
The girls downed their burgers quickly before biking to cram school. We said goodbye and once again I was alone with my book. About two hours later, I felt someone staring at me. So many people stare outside of Tokyo that I didn’t take notice, until the man did something no stranger had done before: he spoke to me, in English.
“Excuse me, may I talk with you?” the man asked politely. He was a fairly attractive, middle-aged businessman. In his tailored, expensive suit, he looked out of place behind a burger wrapper and a crinkled paper cup. I realized that he finished eating some time ago and had been staring for longer than I thought.
My reaction to strangers who approach me unsolicited is to totally reject them, especially if I am alone and the stranger is male. I’ve never felt unsafe in Japan, but I’m not one to throw such caution to the wind, so I was annoyed and nervous when this man spoke to me. Who cares how nice or affluent he looked? I’m a young, single female; can’t he see that I’m alone? How rude of him to put me in this uncomfortable situation. His language skills were far too advanced for the “I just want to practice my English” excuse.
“Actually, I have to finish this,” I said, pointing at my book with urgency. I made my expression as pained as possible. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I see,” he responded, looking incredibly disappointed, and worse, lonely. Turning back to my book, I started to feel guilty.
Guilty! Why did I feel guilty? I began to rationalize. All the kindness you have been shown by strangers in this country, and you can’t even speak to this man in a well-lit, public place. Maybe he looks lonely for a good reason. Maybe he was just trying to add a little variety to his boring night at Mos Burger. Maybe you should put down the book and talk to him. Besides, your bus comes in 30 minutes, so you have an excuse to leave.
I looked up at him then, debating whether or not to get his attention after turning him down. But soon the man glanced back at me, made eye contact, and said, “May I just ask you one question?”
So I agreed, and ended up having a very pleasant, entertaining conversation with this man who had just moved from Tokyo. He missed the big city, and he was bored. Although he had never lived abroad, his English was superb and he was obviously an intelligent, well-spoken man. Towards the end of the conversation he asked my name. The fact that he never asked for my contact information made me feel safer. So I told him my name was Lauren, and then I sang a tune just loud enough to reach his ears. Japanese people tend to pronounce my name like “rolling,” and during more than one introduction, men have burst into song with, “Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’, rawhide!” When I sang the chorus I was hoping to make this man laugh. But instead, he seemed quite serious, almost sad, and said,
“What does that mean, anyway, “rolling”? I know it means moving on…” he made a forward-rolling motion with his hands. “So that must mean you have a wandering spirit – never in one place for too long.” And for only the second time, he looked straight into my eyes.
I didn’t say anything but just smiled at him. I felt oddly exposed after his comment, as if he’d unexpectedly pegged my character 20 minutes into the conversation.
“Wandering spirit,” I repeated. “Yes, maybe so.” While the idea made me happy, it only seemed to make him sad.
In my experience, the Japanese barely express their emotions in public, much less to someone they hardly know. The secret is to watch their eyes. Even if they don’t make eye contact, you can gather a lot of information not only from inside them, but also from around them; for many Japanese people, stress or sadness will show in the fine, delicate skin above the cheekbones. And I could see, just barely, that his muscles tensed when I said that.
Much later, I remembered a conversation I had with Mayumi. We were running through a temple garden like children, excited by the discovery of such a beautiful place so close to our school. The grounds were green and lush even in winter, fed by water that trickled down from the clean snow atop Mt. Fuji. Bright green moss fell over the smooth stones like a long velvet gown.
“Look,” I demanded. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Mm-hmmm,” Mayumi agreed. Then she knitted her brows. “Don’t you say, ‘A rolling stone gathers no moss?”
I smiled at her and laughed as the peaceful landscape blurred with my visions of Mick Jagger and that huge red tongue.
“Right,” I said, returning my attention to the green fuzz.
“That’s one example of how our cultures can be totally opposite,” she pressed. “You think it’s good to keep moving, because gathering moss means you’ve been in one place for too long.”
“Yeah,” I blinked. “Moving is adventure, and adventure is exciting.”
That movement is a crucial exercise of freedom. At least, this is my Americanized, individualist point of view. Leaving everything behind to live someplace new was in large part why I came to Japan. My main goal was to learn more about Japanese culture – what motivates these kind and generous people in a world so different from—yet so connected to—my own. But the other reason I came to Japan was because I didn’t have to stay in America. I had to take advantage of that freedom, so I accepted the challenge, and I moved to a strange new country.
Every day I try to appreciate the immense privilege it is to be here: to step inside another culture and immerse myself in a different world, all the while knowing that I possess a very special trait perhaps Japanese people do not: if I start to gather moss, I can choose to roll. I can leave Japan for another place the same way I left my home for Japan. As a JET participant, this is ultimately what distinguishes me from others in this country. Most JETs come knowing they will leave in one to three years.
Many times I’ve thought that I could settle in Japan, because I’m happy enough to consider it a home. And many times my friends in America have asked me, “How do you do it? How did you pick up and move to this place where you knew no one, where the customs were different, where the food was unfamiliar? You’re so brave.”
Perhaps the strength to jump into something new comes from the knowledge that I can choose to leave it. And I ask myself, is this actual bravery? Have I really earned a badge of courage? The rolling stone may seem impressive, but the truly courageous rock is the one that gathers moss. This was never as clear to me as when I sat in zazen (Zen meditation) at the same temple. With a modest knowledge of Zen Buddhism and a far cry from any stage of Enlightenment, I learned something during meditation that might have never occurred to me otherwise. My third time sitting in zazen, I finally noticed a pattern. Very soon into the meditation—indeed, within the first three minutes—I would begin to panic. The temple interior was quiet, the monk was kind, and the rain outside was soothing; yet in those initial moments of sitting still, my heart rate would increase, my breathing would become labored, and my head would scream with the desire to wiggle, shift my weight, clear my throat, scratch my nose – anything to move. It had nothing to do with comfort, for I could sit another twenty to thirty minutes without any lasting problems. On the contrary, it had everything to do with a fear of sitting still. I feared the chains of immobility and the (albeit temporary) suspension of freedom; I feared time moving too slowly and even stopping; I feared that thirty minutes would become an eternal commitment I could not escape…in short, I feared I would gather moss. Surrounded by old stones who couldn’t speak my language, one of them carrying a large stick to whack anyone who moved, I had no choice but to accept it, and sit still. Eventually I could simply watch the panic rise in me, knowing that it would subside, and that sitting still would later bring a deep sense of peace.
Before I could make this connection, however, Mayumi had to teach me something.
“In Japan, we think the moss is beautiful. We have the same expression, but with a completely opposite meaning. We also say ‘a rolling stone gathers no moss.’ But we want the moss. If you never stay in one place, you’ll never grow any. Sometimes it’s good to be still.”
I gazed at the stones, lost too deeply in her words to respond.
I thought moving to Japan required courage, and to a certain extent, this is true. But perhaps the real test will come when I leave Japan, when I commit to a career and a place, perhaps a significant other, and choose to settle. Then I must forge a lifestyle to incorporate the wisdom gained from rolling down foreign soil and from gathering moss elsewhere. Perhaps that part of life will be more painful than sitting in zazen – but I hope that it will be equally rewarding.
It wasn’t until much later, relaxing at an onsen, that it occurred to me why my “rolling” joke may have dampened the Japanese man’s spirit. Maybe he was hoping I would just sit still.
I’d spent a packed weekend with other teachers playing volleyball, eating a gluttonous steak dinner, and squealing out multiple hours of karaoke. In the prefecture-wide volleyball tournament I injured my thumb; at the steakhouse I was the only one who chose steak instead of hamburger and potatoes instead of rice; and in the karaoke room, only four songs in four hours were sung in a language I could understand. Yet when the pictures were developed and circulated through the teachers’ room, I smiled inwardly at the undeniable expression on my face: in this place so far away from home, I was happy.
With little time to recover after a busy weekend, Monday was challenging. The third-year students were preparing for college entrance exams. With test day looming, they wrote short English compositions that I was responsible for correcting each day. The afternoon was spent with my good friend and fellow English teacher, Mayumi, as we struggled to come up with a grammar rule that explains why you can say “this summer” and “in summer,” but not “in this summer.” My grammar knowledge is strong, but as a respected language teacher you must limit the use of “because it sounds right” as a satisfactory explanation.
By that evening I needed to unwind alone, outside of my apartment. I wanted a coffee-shop atmosphere, but as I live among tea fields in the suburbs of Fuji, Mos Burger was my best bet. It was a rare occasion and I decided Japan’s native fast-food chain, along with a good book, would help me relax.
I ordered oshiruko, a sweet, red bean soup with rice cakes, and pulled out a novel. A few minutes later, two uniformed girls plopped down in my booth. I looked up to greet them with a shocked face – I was amazed they sat down without even speaking to me first. Usually young students are too shy and polite to approach with such nonchalance. But in Mos Burger the girls were more willing to speak English, as if being off school property gave them more leeway to make mistakes. We had a great discussion about pet rabbits, cram school, and traveling in Australia. It was a special opportunity to know the students better, without a list of rote phrases for them to memorize.
The girls downed their burgers quickly before biking to cram school. We said goodbye and once again I was alone with my book. About two hours later, I felt someone staring at me. So many people stare outside of Tokyo that I didn’t take notice, until the man did something no stranger had done before: he spoke to me, in English.
“Excuse me, may I talk with you?” the man asked politely. He was a fairly attractive, middle-aged businessman. In his tailored, expensive suit, he looked out of place behind a burger wrapper and a crinkled paper cup. I realized that he finished eating some time ago and had been staring for longer than I thought.
My reaction to strangers who approach me unsolicited is to totally reject them, especially if I am alone and the stranger is male. I’ve never felt unsafe in Japan, but I’m not one to throw such caution to the wind, so I was annoyed and nervous when this man spoke to me. Who cares how nice or affluent he looked? I’m a young, single female; can’t he see that I’m alone? How rude of him to put me in this uncomfortable situation. His language skills were far too advanced for the “I just want to practice my English” excuse.
“Actually, I have to finish this,” I said, pointing at my book with urgency. I made my expression as pained as possible. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I see,” he responded, looking incredibly disappointed, and worse, lonely. Turning back to my book, I started to feel guilty.
Guilty! Why did I feel guilty? I began to rationalize. All the kindness you have been shown by strangers in this country, and you can’t even speak to this man in a well-lit, public place. Maybe he looks lonely for a good reason. Maybe he was just trying to add a little variety to his boring night at Mos Burger. Maybe you should put down the book and talk to him. Besides, your bus comes in 30 minutes, so you have an excuse to leave.
I looked up at him then, debating whether or not to get his attention after turning him down. But soon the man glanced back at me, made eye contact, and said, “May I just ask you one question?”
So I agreed, and ended up having a very pleasant, entertaining conversation with this man who had just moved from Tokyo. He missed the big city, and he was bored. Although he had never lived abroad, his English was superb and he was obviously an intelligent, well-spoken man. Towards the end of the conversation he asked my name. The fact that he never asked for my contact information made me feel safer. So I told him my name was Lauren, and then I sang a tune just loud enough to reach his ears. Japanese people tend to pronounce my name like “rolling,” and during more than one introduction, men have burst into song with, “Rollin’ rollin’ rollin’, rawhide!” When I sang the chorus I was hoping to make this man laugh. But instead, he seemed quite serious, almost sad, and said,
“What does that mean, anyway, “rolling”? I know it means moving on…” he made a forward-rolling motion with his hands. “So that must mean you have a wandering spirit – never in one place for too long.” And for only the second time, he looked straight into my eyes.
I didn’t say anything but just smiled at him. I felt oddly exposed after his comment, as if he’d unexpectedly pegged my character 20 minutes into the conversation.
“Wandering spirit,” I repeated. “Yes, maybe so.” While the idea made me happy, it only seemed to make him sad.
In my experience, the Japanese barely express their emotions in public, much less to someone they hardly know. The secret is to watch their eyes. Even if they don’t make eye contact, you can gather a lot of information not only from inside them, but also from around them; for many Japanese people, stress or sadness will show in the fine, delicate skin above the cheekbones. And I could see, just barely, that his muscles tensed when I said that.
Much later, I remembered a conversation I had with Mayumi. We were running through a temple garden like children, excited by the discovery of such a beautiful place so close to our school. The grounds were green and lush even in winter, fed by water that trickled down from the clean snow atop Mt. Fuji. Bright green moss fell over the smooth stones like a long velvet gown.
“Look,” I demanded. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Mm-hmmm,” Mayumi agreed. Then she knitted her brows. “Don’t you say, ‘A rolling stone gathers no moss?”
I smiled at her and laughed as the peaceful landscape blurred with my visions of Mick Jagger and that huge red tongue.
“Right,” I said, returning my attention to the green fuzz.
“That’s one example of how our cultures can be totally opposite,” she pressed. “You think it’s good to keep moving, because gathering moss means you’ve been in one place for too long.”
“Yeah,” I blinked. “Moving is adventure, and adventure is exciting.”
That movement is a crucial exercise of freedom. At least, this is my Americanized, individualist point of view. Leaving everything behind to live someplace new was in large part why I came to Japan. My main goal was to learn more about Japanese culture – what motivates these kind and generous people in a world so different from—yet so connected to—my own. But the other reason I came to Japan was because I didn’t have to stay in America. I had to take advantage of that freedom, so I accepted the challenge, and I moved to a strange new country.
Every day I try to appreciate the immense privilege it is to be here: to step inside another culture and immerse myself in a different world, all the while knowing that I possess a very special trait perhaps Japanese people do not: if I start to gather moss, I can choose to roll. I can leave Japan for another place the same way I left my home for Japan. As a JET participant, this is ultimately what distinguishes me from others in this country. Most JETs come knowing they will leave in one to three years.
Many times I’ve thought that I could settle in Japan, because I’m happy enough to consider it a home. And many times my friends in America have asked me, “How do you do it? How did you pick up and move to this place where you knew no one, where the customs were different, where the food was unfamiliar? You’re so brave.”
Perhaps the strength to jump into something new comes from the knowledge that I can choose to leave it. And I ask myself, is this actual bravery? Have I really earned a badge of courage? The rolling stone may seem impressive, but the truly courageous rock is the one that gathers moss. This was never as clear to me as when I sat in zazen (Zen meditation) at the same temple. With a modest knowledge of Zen Buddhism and a far cry from any stage of Enlightenment, I learned something during meditation that might have never occurred to me otherwise. My third time sitting in zazen, I finally noticed a pattern. Very soon into the meditation—indeed, within the first three minutes—I would begin to panic. The temple interior was quiet, the monk was kind, and the rain outside was soothing; yet in those initial moments of sitting still, my heart rate would increase, my breathing would become labored, and my head would scream with the desire to wiggle, shift my weight, clear my throat, scratch my nose – anything to move. It had nothing to do with comfort, for I could sit another twenty to thirty minutes without any lasting problems. On the contrary, it had everything to do with a fear of sitting still. I feared the chains of immobility and the (albeit temporary) suspension of freedom; I feared time moving too slowly and even stopping; I feared that thirty minutes would become an eternal commitment I could not escape…in short, I feared I would gather moss. Surrounded by old stones who couldn’t speak my language, one of them carrying a large stick to whack anyone who moved, I had no choice but to accept it, and sit still. Eventually I could simply watch the panic rise in me, knowing that it would subside, and that sitting still would later bring a deep sense of peace.
Before I could make this connection, however, Mayumi had to teach me something.
“In Japan, we think the moss is beautiful. We have the same expression, but with a completely opposite meaning. We also say ‘a rolling stone gathers no moss.’ But we want the moss. If you never stay in one place, you’ll never grow any. Sometimes it’s good to be still.”
I gazed at the stones, lost too deeply in her words to respond.
I thought moving to Japan required courage, and to a certain extent, this is true. But perhaps the real test will come when I leave Japan, when I commit to a career and a place, perhaps a significant other, and choose to settle. Then I must forge a lifestyle to incorporate the wisdom gained from rolling down foreign soil and from gathering moss elsewhere. Perhaps that part of life will be more painful than sitting in zazen – but I hope that it will be equally rewarding.
It wasn’t until much later, relaxing at an onsen, that it occurred to me why my “rolling” joke may have dampened the Japanese man’s spirit. Maybe he was hoping I would just sit still.
05 March 2006
01 March 2006
Dan's Visit
Dan and I had an awesome time and crammed everything successfully into 6 days - Tokyo, Kamakura (awesome!!), Izu Peninsula, onsens, food, temple visit, tea ceremony lesson, zazen meditation, more food. It was great. In this case, though, the pictures tell the best stories.
22 February 2006
Language Skills
Learning Japanese is a slow process because 1) the written language is ridiculously complex, and 2) I haven't been studying enough - I've been too busy doing and living and asking people what different Kanji characters mean. So while comprehension is a priority, studying a book has not been. And when I'm surrounded by fluent speakers, I feel that I know nothing.
But yesterday that changed a little bit. Hattori Sensei, the librarian and tea ceremony manager, asked to show me something in her office. It was a children's book about being grateful for the little things in life. Hattori Sensei bought the book for her grandchildren but thought I could read it, too. The illustrations were adorable, and I looked up from the cover to smile at her with pity. I could just imagine her disappointment when I'd sit down to read and wouldn't understand a thing.
But I pretended everything was fine and sat down with her anyway. I cracked the cover, admired the pictures, and stumbled through the foreign syllables. Reading outloud was a slow process. Slow like the ice in my chest that melted and the joy that grew up in its place when I realized I could understand the book. I tip-toed through Hiragana and said thank you to the sun, the flowers, kitty cats, moms and dads, zoo animals, and the night sky...and I was so grateful to Hattori Sensei for simply showing me that I could do it.
After that small milestone she suggested I start a journal in Japanese. She offered to correct my mistakes and teach me new verbs and phrases. "Is she crazy?" I thought. "I don't know enough to write a journal." But again I smiled and told her I would do it. Her offers to help me were really generous so I didn't turn her down. I still thought it was impossible though.
Today I bought a small notebook and wrote my first entry in Japanese. I'm sure it's riddled with mistakes, but the message was solid, and once again I was surprised -- I could say more than I thought:
Today I'm excited because my friend is coming from America. He is a friend from my university. Now he lives in New Jersey.
Yesterday Iizuka Sensei gave me a small speech about how instant soup is bad for your health. This is disappointing, because instant soup is good and cheap, and I eat it almost everyday.
Not bad, eh? Then I decided to keep up my French while I'm at it, so I flipped the page over and wrote the same thing in French, with a little elaboration. I think this will be great practice and a great way for me to learn. Thank you, Hattori Sensei.
But yesterday that changed a little bit. Hattori Sensei, the librarian and tea ceremony manager, asked to show me something in her office. It was a children's book about being grateful for the little things in life. Hattori Sensei bought the book for her grandchildren but thought I could read it, too. The illustrations were adorable, and I looked up from the cover to smile at her with pity. I could just imagine her disappointment when I'd sit down to read and wouldn't understand a thing.
But I pretended everything was fine and sat down with her anyway. I cracked the cover, admired the pictures, and stumbled through the foreign syllables. Reading outloud was a slow process. Slow like the ice in my chest that melted and the joy that grew up in its place when I realized I could understand the book. I tip-toed through Hiragana and said thank you to the sun, the flowers, kitty cats, moms and dads, zoo animals, and the night sky...and I was so grateful to Hattori Sensei for simply showing me that I could do it.
After that small milestone she suggested I start a journal in Japanese. She offered to correct my mistakes and teach me new verbs and phrases. "Is she crazy?" I thought. "I don't know enough to write a journal." But again I smiled and told her I would do it. Her offers to help me were really generous so I didn't turn her down. I still thought it was impossible though.
Today I bought a small notebook and wrote my first entry in Japanese. I'm sure it's riddled with mistakes, but the message was solid, and once again I was surprised -- I could say more than I thought:
Today I'm excited because my friend is coming from America. He is a friend from my university. Now he lives in New Jersey.
Yesterday Iizuka Sensei gave me a small speech about how instant soup is bad for your health. This is disappointing, because instant soup is good and cheap, and I eat it almost everyday.
Not bad, eh? Then I decided to keep up my French while I'm at it, so I flipped the page over and wrote the same thing in French, with a little elaboration. I think this will be great practice and a great way for me to learn. Thank you, Hattori Sensei.
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