I had an amazing time in Japan. I’m back in Seattle now, after a whirlwind tour of Belgium, Spain, a bit of Holland and two lovely days in London thrown in there too. Of course, a weekend in Cali. Now it’s back to the PNW (Pacific Northwest, for the uninitiated).

It’s three days into class and I realize I’m tired. The weight and energy of the past six months is catching up with me and I am ready to realize it.  I also think I’m becoming a morning person.

Little things remind me that, even though I’m no longer in Tokyo, Tokyo is still with me. I take off my shoes instinctively pointing them towards the door, the heels lined at the border between foyer and living space. I wash my hands compulsively. I have difficulty with fork and knife. And peace signs seem to creep up whenever someone brandishes a camera near me.

How many times can one say thank you?

Thank you to my fellow Sophians.

Thank you to my Abercrombie Crew.

Thank you to my host family.

Thank you dear friends.

Thank you my family.

Thank you Tokyo.

I was MIA for the majority of the month of February because my mom visited for two weeks, my friend Tom for one, and I had back to back shifts alternately dancing my ass off and practicing my honorific Japanese. On days I didn’t have work, or when I wasn’t playing tour guide, I was either sleeping in late or dancing til dawn. Both practices achieve the same result – not facing reality. A windowless club, with its pulsing throngs, throbbing bass, and shimmering glass helps you forget that there’s a world outside, with responsibilities and people to face, in the same way that the curtains of your eyelids let you hide behind vivid dreams,  ambient music, and pitch black. Maybe it was the weather – Tokyo gets dark around five, the wind whips relentlessly, especially in the tunnels created between the cold, towering buildings. Maybe it was the realization of time running out. Maybe it was my credit card bill. Probably all of those things, in cahoots with the chemicals in my brain. Whatever it was, I want you to know, depression happens, even when you’re having the time of your life.

And I have had the time of my life.

Mommy

My mom came on her birthday, February 2nd and stayed until the 16th. Due to both felicitous and dastardly acts of happenstance, we spent more time together than intended. We had moments of frustration, one such in which I collapsed upon my luggage in the middle of Tokyo Station, bawling my eyes out and cursing the entire staff of Japan Rail, my mother haplessly patting my shoulder. We had moments of shock, for example watching my 92 year old great aunt climbing a steep hilltop by herself and informing us, “It’s ok, I rode a motorcycle until my eyes went out seven years ago!” We had too many laughs, usually regarding my chibi cousins, aged six and two respectively, who favor copious amounts of fine grade sashimi to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We shared memories, well, more vicariously for me, of the Kansai region, her birthplace, as we traversed up and down the area. But most of all, we had moments together, which was most precious. There were moments, like ones that have occurred sporadically over the past five years, that jolt me to the unsettling realization that your parent is a person, with an identity separate and increasingly restricted from you. My mother is not just family, she’s my best friend, and not in the way that most family members are automatically inducted into the friendship circle, but in the way that, had I met her outside of the womb, I would probably still think she was amazing and want to hang out with her.

I cried when I said goodbye to Kelley in Shibuya Station. When that smile, you know the mournful smile of memories flooding back and the realization of distance, crept up on my face, she sharply turned away, “Ok, bye!” I feel like I left my long-lost, long-longed-for sister behind.

The second time: Sera and I were talking at the table the morning I left. She folded my clothes for in this way, in this loving way that one would imagine four months could not produce.

I got on the plane satisfied. My time was up.

Today’s word of the day is re-entry permit:

I remembered it was Black History Month only last week. But I never forget that I’m black. So I think we’re even.

I will remember Mizuki and we will reminisce about Tokyo and laugh at our recollections over drinks in DC this summer.

I will smile every time I think about Sera and my slumming days.

I will never forget the look in my mother’s eyes as we rode the train together through Kansai.

I’m so glad Tom is here and that he is as I have always known him to be.

I want to remember every moment of this last month in Japan.

Happy Birthday indeed. I’m 22 now and still young and yet sometimes I feel so old and weathered. But what makes me feel old are the worries and concerns made all the more worrisome due to my youth. Like what to do with the rest of my life. Or at least the next year.  This will be full of tangents by the way.

I saw Kyungbung today. It made me realize how much I must cherish these fleeting moments these times, Mizuki’s blog posts, the sun coming through the window this morning, all these things, so precious. Kyungbun and I got lost on the Nambokusen today, and while my head pounded with fever and I wanted to go home, I was also really glad to have the extra time to share hugs and smiles and squeezes of the hand with my dear friend.

I was reading Mizuki’s blog the other day, and once again I was struck by the naked honesty of her words. Often she translates conversations she has straight into English, and while I do that too (to a minor degree, due to my limited skills), I usually adapt the English words to more standardized way of speaking. But in that, some of the meaning, no something deeper than that, the spirit, fades in translation. But Miichan, she stays true to the word.  This amused me at first, because, and this is hard to capture, but the meaning of the words are just different here. Words have a meaning apart from culture and untainted by time and sometimes that honesty seems awkward when translated. Still Miichan, she keeps it. She stays true.

In her recounting of childhood memories, long embedded in the walls of these harried lives we lead, I found myself sitting with her in the back of the car, looking out the window together, tears welling in my eyes. I wondered if her eyes welled up too. I was struck, slapped in the face by the urgency of the past. I have to remember what happens, I have to be present to every moment, because this pain of forgetting, it stings with the desperation of regret. I also realize I don’t say thank you enough, out loud at least.

Every month or so my host mom and I sit down and have a spontaneous heart to heart. They are always exactly what I needed but didn’t realize I wanted kind of things. In that sense, all moms are the same even if they aren’t your own. It started off with a discussion about the concert she held earlier in the day. I started feeling sick last night and by the intermission of the early afternoon concert I had to go home. When I finally came down this evening, she apologized for making me sick with her bad performance. I assured her the concert definitely wasn’t the cause but she insisted. Our harshest critics are always ourselves. The concert was much better than the first concert of hers I attended, and I am no classical music expert, but I could see where things could be improved. But still, I enjoyed what I saw and wished I could have stay for more. She mused about aging and how it was affecting her technique, how she’s being outsung by younger people, how she needs to practice more, but then she ended with, “These are only excuses. At least I’m doing what makes me happy, even if I’m not good at it.” Then she turned to me and said, make sure you don’t do what’s expected of you. Find out what you want to do with your life and make sure you do it. It’s important that you figure that part out first before you fulfill all the things you’re “supposed” to do with your life, like get married, be a housewife and have kids (remember we’re still in Japan).

We talked about her husband and her daughters, all extremely driven and successful people in their own ways who are yet unfulfilled. Arisa is an event planner at a very prestigious firm, but she really wants to be a photographer. Haya is a PhD candidate in agricultural chemistry, but the work is boring. Toshio started his own consulting firm, but he misses the camaraderie of his old company. Compared to them, Mamasan is the least successful, but she is by far the happiest. And because of the kind of work she does, the kind that makes her happy, she is so driven and disciplined. The woman easily spends ten hours a day in her performance hall, practicing and perfecting her technique, of her own accord. The rest of us, we drag our feet out the door to face another day.

She looked at me with tear glinted eyes and said, “We have this house, we have so much money, but what do we have in our hearts? If you don’t find out what makes you happy, you will never be able to make others happy and you will never enjoy what you have. It is meaningless.”

When I blew out the candles on my mango birthday cake, I wished that everyone gets what they want. I didn’t mean myself. But I’m thinking I should have.

I have my final itinerary for the rest of my days til April: Japan until March, then Korea for three days, and then two weeks in Europe, visiting Zach in Belgium, Kristen in Spain, and Alex in London. After that, Boston for a couple days, then Cali for a week, and then back to Seattle. I will be back in the states on March 23rd, back in Seattle by the first day of classes.

I’ve been so stressed out I’ve made myself sick, thinking about the final tests I haven’t studied for and papers I haven’t started, what to do for the rest of my life, thinking about how to do the things I should do for the rest of my life (i.e, pay off credit card, DC or Jersey, dating, return to Japan, family, whatever), damning my proletariat background, and I just realized: fuck it. To hell with money, and decisions, and shoulds and should nots, I’m going to be happy.

Thank god for January birthdays, my wishes join the resolutions I could never keep, save for the weight of hope.

Thanks to THE INTERNET. I typed the word in capital letters in imitation of my friend Sera, who always remarks with wide-eyed wonder the magic revealed through her high speed connection.  I go about my day, speaking another language, gazing at a skyline not Seattle, conferring with dictionaries as I would a friend, I am in Japan. But when I come home, sit down at my desk and turn on my computer, I’m back in the States. I know I’ve talked about this before, but it astounds me sometimes. I feel it so much it aches. It aches out of equal parts longing – for home and for here.  I want to be fully present in this space and time as it will never happen again. But I also want to know what an Orszagasm is, what the Stranger thinks about Avatar, and what my college-sophomore brother looks like these days.  The wonders of THE INTERNET. When I log onto Gmail, Facebook, and The New York Times, I get that old feeling. That this desk is not in a room on the third floor of a house in Tokyo but actually in a studio on the third floor of a building in Seattle. That I have work to do, plans to make, emails to return, things to keep up with. I hate that old feeling sometimes. And the reason why it is so strong is because I’m NOT at my desk in Seattle.  I am here.

It’s my own damn fault I know.

Everyday is a bit of a journey for me, so it’s really hard to reflect on this past year. I think I did most of that before I left for Tokyo because the first half was such a whirlwind, and the culmination of those first six months manifested in the next six.

But it’s all good. 2009 was great, 2010 will be even better! Here’s how I celebrated the End of the Year:

My amazing host family took me on their annual family trip to the mountains in Yamanashi-ken (Literally, Mountain Pear Prefecture) where we indulged in both modern and antiquated interpretations of Japan’s most beloved pasttime, bathing. We went first to a membership resort nestled in the side of the mountain facing Mt. Fuji. The rooms were ridiculous. I felt like I was in a movie. From the bathtub, I watched the sun rise and fall behind Fuji-san’s symmetrical silhouette. My host family (and my real family) teased me a lot this winter break, “You’re such a grandma!” They all said. Why? Because I lingered in the geothermic springs like an old woman, cooing and sighing over my aching muscles and how good the hinoki (Japanese cypress) smelled. We spent the end of Christmas and my host family’s youngest daughter’s birthday there. So we celebrated appropriately: getting drunk, taking too many pictures, and stuffing ourselves.

After that, I went straight away to Kyoto, to spend New Year’s with my family – Grandma, Aunt, Uncle, Cousin’s and Cousin’s kids (in the US, we’d say 2nd cousins, but in Japan they’re my nieces and nephews). I am so grateful to be able to see my family after such a long time and so often! We had a wonderful time together – we went to another onsen, my favorite, (もう、江梨加チャンはやっぱりおばあちゃんみたい、本当だろう！), I got to dress up in kimono (the proper way to celebrate the first day of the New Year), and we all reminisced about my mom and her Osaka-ben (or her waruikutchi “bad mouth” as my aunt and cousins say). My family lives in Kyoto, which is in central-eastern Honshu, and they speak the regional dialect, Kansai-ben. But my mother was raised in another part of Honshu, Osaka, and speaks the local dialect of that region, Osaka-ben. Well, she normally speaks standardized Japanese, but when she’s flustered or mad at me, the Osaka-ben comes out She’s reading this too I bet, haha. She knows what I mean. Anyhow, she’s coming at the end of the month and I can’t wait! Anyway back to the kimono. My uncle made it – my family used to have a kimono and silks business – and my cousins have worn this robe for their seijinshiki (Coming of Age) celebrations. I missed mine because I was in Uganda at the time, so I made up for it in a big way this year. My aunt did my hair and dressed me up – Kimono is such a complex ritual that it requires a license, which my aunt has.  I was so stoked about it!

We celebrated by eating ozouni, a miso soup with mochi (rice cake) and vegetables in it, and watching Kouhaku Uta Gassen, the annual singing competition that pits the top female artists (akagumi or red team) against the top male artists (shirogumi or white team). Shirogumi won but it should have gone to the ladies.  Japan is notorious for their horrible pop music. The guy’s team demonstrated the truth behind this notorious opinion to an undeniable degree. I blame SMAP. Anyhow, Susan Boyle was the special guest for the akagumi, come on! That should have been a shoe-in. Oh well. Here’s to the New Year! Usually people go a temple to pay their respects and pray for blessings in the New Year, but because my family is Christian and I kind of had my fill of temples in Yamanashi, I paid my respects to the gods of commerce by going shopping in the famous Nishiki-dori.

But now I’m back in Tokyo, finishing homework I should have done earlier, getting ready for school and work tomorrow and thinking about what to do with the rest of my life. Once I start turning that wheel, I know my vacation has come to an end.  Winter break is definitely over, but it was a good one!

Today’s word is  冗談  (じょうだん) pronounced, “Joe-dawn.” In English, “joke.”

Sorry it’s been a while. I’ve been sick, busy, etc. Basically, I’ve been living up the most mundane aspects of life on the regular. I was talking to my friend Zach about this, and we concluded that people on the outside looking in don’t realize that very quickly on, when one lives abroad for an extended period of time, the everyday mirrors the everyday of home. Just in a different place, a different tongue, and in my case, a different time zone (Yes, I have seen the future, and the future looks bright!).  I was sick for two and a half weeks, in fact I still feel a tickle in the back of my throat, and I encountered the Japanese health care system for the first time. As we in the States struggle with the passage of decent health care legislation, I couldn’t help but think how felicitous it is to live in a country with nationalized health care. Like I said, America, I have seen the future – it’s called socialism! While Japanese national health care has a little bit more protectionism worked in than the average socialized country, my visit was still vastly cheaper and more convenient than any visit I’ve had in my past four years of college. It also made me realize how much I’ve taken my personal health for granted.

I walked home from Shibuya after an exciting day full of unexpectedly good conversations with interesting people, such as the Daily Show-featured reporter, Jake Adelstein, in a deliriously jovial mood. But all of that dissipated as I walked to the east end of Tokyo University, my usual short-cut, to find the gate locked and the streetlights out. I peered down a dark pathway that I often walked, Ryuu-chan’s leash in hand, assisted by light. But that night, it was dark, foreboding. The campus was eerily silent and the wind rustled fall leaves around my feet. I rationalized, this is Japan, one of the safest countries in the world. Walk through. You have nothing to fear. And then I remembered all of those restless, nicotine and caffeine-fueled nights roaming the streets of Seattle’s central district, usually at the inappropriately late (or early, depending on your persuasion) hour of 3am. What the hell was I thinking? Especially as news comes of increased robberies, murders, even the street executions of cops in the seemingly quaint city of Seattle, I can’t help but think of all the times I unwittingly beat the odds.  Actually, I thought of a lot of things that I’ve done that looking back displayed a flagrant disrespect for life. At the time, I probably justified it as proof of life, but I’ve only just begun and there was nothing to prove.

I realize there’s so much more when I have days like yesterday, when Mii-chan and Sera and I eat taiyaki in the middle of Shibuya, when we dance on the roof of Costa Latina praising the existence of South American food in Tokyo, when I scratch on Kouta’s turntables, and when we pour our hearts out over tequila. I’ve seen so much, and nothing at all; whenever I am reminded of this; I can’t help but feel regret for all the times I wished it would be over. But more than anything, I rejoice that my wishes weren’t granted.  Thank you, Tokyo, for the gift of life.

I should be writing up notes for a presentation, or maybe sleeping, but I missed this. I needed this. I’ve become so connected to the Internet in my time here, more so than I have ever been before, even more than the middle school days of AIM and Napster. I just read an article that announced a recent study shows that loneliness increases your risk for breast cancer by three times. Hopefully, all the Facebooking, emailing, tweeting and Youtube-viewing I’ve done in these three months pays off. At first I was weary of my growing connectedness, but now I embrace it. I have to. I think we all do.

But what does this all have to do with my Faustian title? Nothing, really. Someone in my Japanese class accused me of this when I explained my current job… Haha. Don’t get excited.

]]> http://passingpresent.wordpress.com/2009/12/10/apparently-ive-sold-my-soul-to-the-devil/feed/ 0 abee Japan 5 021 http://passingpresent.wordpress.com/2009/11/24/in-the-middle/ http://passingpresent.wordpress.com/2009/11/24/in-the-middle/#comments Mon, 23 Nov 2009 15:11:32 +0000 ablogger http://passingpresent.wordpress.com/?p=164 ]]> Today’s word is 真ん中 【まんなか】mannaka, (maw-naw-kuh) or “middle”

It’s just passed the two month mark – I got here September 17th and it is now November 23rd – and I am at the halfway point… possibly. I’m considering staying here for a bit longer, through March. I like it here enough to want to know it.

I’m such a centrist. I like to play devil’s advocate with myself, which often leads to agonizing indecision and a last-minute coin-toss. Or, at best, feigned indifference. Okay, I’m going to admit that what it really means is that I hate being wrong, which inevitably happens a lot. It also means I have yet to buy my plane ticket to anywhere, cement plans to anywhere, or give anyone a firm “yes” in a long time.

As I blipped on my Facebook page, here’s a recap of the past week/and a half:  I got a job, joined an environmental social group, saw the opera “Wozzeck” (incredible interpretation, more on this in a sec), went to “our spot” Casa del Bueno,  joined the political science club, mc’d an event with a leading Japanese politician, got lost in a cemetery, edited a paper for publication (hopefully!!), got sick (but no swine!), and made new friends!

Green Drinks is a worldwide network that seeks to inculcate environmental activism through social networking, good food, and a good buzz. Companies, non-profits, artists, community members, travelers, anyone is welcome to join or launch a chapter in their city. Tokyo has a Green Drinks chapter (but with a Z) and I joined this month. The event was held at a graphic design firm’s office – a sleek building of glass and steel with trees growing along the stairwell. Canadian Green Party deputy leader Melanie Mullen spoke to us about her green artist community campaign. An awesome endeavor, basically it’s a project that seeks to retain the affordability of up-and-coming neighborhoods, usually artist communes or areas subject to gentrification, while improving the eco-efficiency and sustainability of the buildings. It’s been really successful near Niagara Falls and Mullen hopes that the idea will take hold in places like Tokyo. I hope so too. There are so many cool little artist enclaves in Tokyo, neighborhoods like Naka-meguro, Shimokitazawa, and Yoyogiuehara that are home to artists of all stripes, delicious hole-in-the-walls, cleverly-themed bars and funky-super-cheap boutiques. There’s a boutique in Shimokitazawa, for instance, where you can watch the designer make her clothes in the window of her storefront. The hipsters in Seattle would go crazy. We need a Melanie Mullen to protect places like these.  Oh, I got lost on the way there (in a cemetery!) thanks to a policeman’s horrible directions (he told me they would be bad, but I figured his guess would be better than mine – wrong), and there I met a blogger for National Revolution- Japan and an architect whose husband was lead singer of Sugarbomb . National Revolution sponsored the event, hence the blogger dude, and the architect was there to learn about green architecture. The buffet was all local organic – sooo delicious!!! I felt awkward taking pictures, so I’ll just let your imagination run wild.

“Wozzeck” was incredible. This German/Austrian opera, the first to be dubbed, “avant-garde,”written in 1920, explores the pathology of poverty in post-war recovery/stagnation. A soldier for an unnamed but obviously defeated army is subject to ridicule, public shaming, paranoia and even medical experimentation because of his low financial and social position. He responds/revolts/gives in to the situation by killing the mother of his child and then himself. In light of all the fluff in Japanese media, including some of their opera and ballet productions, I was expecting a superficial interpretation of this intense thinking piece. I was pleased to discover the opposite. It was visceral and yet spiritual, the subject matter intense but its motifs effectively subdued. Perfect metaphor for the state of the world today. Check it.

To return to the “middle” theme,  I have midterms this and next week. That I’m taking five classes has finally sunk in. Wish me luck, or as they say in Japanese, “Ganbatte!”