Mt. fuji, Yakitori alley

Late afternooon, nishi-shinjuku

myself and mike poppa, also from racine, dinner in yakitori alley

The flower okaasan left in my room

Train ride home

Dog Walking

A tribute to years ago, click here

Anago

Best Sushi Ever

Roasted Chestnuts

Favorite Otoosan pics.

Soba noodles, cold and hot. yum.

Okaasan and the grandkids

Horse sushi...no thank you.

Hope and Peace

Day trip to Magome

The family

Okaasan made my favorite..nabe

This would sum up the first shoot and why I'm sick

Back Again

Back in Tokyo for two separate jobs. The first was only a week shoot, then had a week off in which to visit my Japanese family and recover from the debauchery of the first job. Now, I'm back in Tokyo waiting for the next job which will last about a month. I've had a nasty cold for about a week so will just post some pics.

Okaasan ,me, Otoosan

Okaasan ,me, Otoosan

Election Day

It's almost midnight here. Many miles away. Hopefully, we will be celebrating tomorrow.

Tonight, I'm sitting in the modest main kitchen in the ryokan in which I've been for the past three weeks. We've worked all day and night for the past few days and although the work has been stressful and exhausting at times, I feel like it is worth it. It has to be worth it, because as of yet, it isn't worth money.

My secret documentary project I don't dare blog about, but is making me very happy. My Japanese sister, Megumi came to visit last night and today she helped me with translation for work. My two weeks of Japanese were wonderful, but now I realize that when i'm around English speakers, I'll do the same thank you very much.

It must be the electricity of the city, I feel clear, but never totally relaxed here. I've had several of my predictable up and down bell curve swings with Japan since I've been here. I love it, I don't get it, I love it, I'm annoyed, I love it, I want to go back to America, be loud and eat cheap food with and obnoxious amount of cheese. Or get a wheat grass shot and organic carrot juice, after doing Bikram Yoga. In Japan, I'm low maintenance, I wear the same couple of outfits, go running by the river and enjoy my food from the convenience stores. It's an easy decision, because the other options are beyond my finances. In fact, they are beyond most peoples' finances and i still don't really understand how they do it. Japan's economy is not much better than any other countries at this point. But, Megumi's husband did tell me that Japanese stockbrokers are trying to get Japanese investors to buy American real estate right now. He was offered a package deal for 10 houses in an unnamed American middle class town.

It is nice to reconnect with Japan, although I can't just up and leave after a couple of days if it gets to be too much for me. The distance and cost dictate that. I feel more connected with my family here than I have in a long time. I call them my Japanese family now, I've found it to be the easiest to explain the relationship. Okaasan still calls me her American daughter and is still just as amazed as she was three years ago that I like nato and still enjoys making fun of the grammatical errors I make. Megumi came to Tokyo to visit and see what I do for work. I was glad she got to be a part of it and see me in action, because it is hard to explain all the random things one does when making a low/no budget documentary. Megumi and her husband brought myself, okaasan and a friend of okaasan to on onsen in Gero when I visited them last weekend. We ate kaiseki ryoori ( traditional meal of many different little, tasty foods) and drank everything in sight. Being not the typical Japanese mother, Okaasan got drunk and when she came back into our communal room that night, jumped on top of me and hugged me, and announced to everyone how much she liked me and hopes that I will be able to live in Japan. She always calls me her American daughter. That hasn't changed. " I have two daughters, one Japanese and one American".

I have only five more days here. I am ready to go back in a way. I want to laugh out loud and throw my head back instead of cover my mouth. I want some really good cheese. I want good wine, getting tired of asah super dry. But I'll be back soon enough. The next projected forecast is March. We shall see. Matte imasu. That's what okaasan said three years ago when I left. It means, I'm waiting for you. She's called me several times since i've been in japan, just to check on me and she always ends with Matte Imasu. It does leave an image in my head. Of her standing on the front step of the house, just waiting.

fugu

Kaiseki

okaasan , me

the room

megumi, me, okaasan, soba

Familiar?

Japanese Class

Tadiama, I’m back. Again. This is the second month this year I have spent in Tokyo and I’m trying not to question how I’ve been so lucky. Well, this time isn’t really luck, I just charged the plane ticket and made a reservation at a hotel. The time before was luck, I had a job for a month in Tokyo on an American tv show that was filming here. Needless to say, that time did re-inspire me to return. This time around is some work and some pleasure. I’m taking two weeks to just be and take some intensive Japanese classes, which have proved to be too intensive. The last ten days will be spent with some friends with whom I’ll be working on a film project that will hopefully bring us back here next year.

I decided to try to intensively study Japanese as I never had the opportunity to do before due to work. And although I did learn enough to get by three years ago, my speech is still inadequate and riddled with errors. In the midst of my two week, five day a week, three hour a day class, I’m deciding that I’m just not a great student.

Honestly, three hours is too much and signing up for this five day a week, three hour a day class is the equivalent of an emotionally starved American adolescent loading up at the buffet table or taking up smoking. (This is a metaphor everyone gets, right?) It is honesty more than I can handle, but I booked and in true Japanese style, I signed the sheet that said no schedule changes nor refunds and prepaid for the two week intensive course. On day two and it actually crossed my mind to just run away. Forfeit the large chunk of cash and pretend it never happened. Go to a couple museums, continue to be baffled at the magic digestive tract that allows Japanese women to eat giant bowls of ramen noodles and still qualify in America as anorexic and call it a cultural experience. All I have to do is remember that my next favorite country should have a language based on Latin.

Around hour two, I feel like I’ve been drugged. The part of my cortex that is not exhausted and remains active reduces my perceptions to three sensations: The deafening hum of the fluorescent lights, the echo of my own voice . This I can’t stop hearing, and it makes me pause between everything while I wait politely for the echo to end before I begin another sentence. The last heightened sensation is the robotic look of my teacher staring back without ever blinking. Surely she wonders , “ Hmm, she seems to dress ok and manages to make it on time to class everyday, I never would have guessed she was slow!” Having been a teacher in Japan previously, I know that I am milking the life out of every second of her existence. But she is much better than I ever was ( as are most) and the slightest opportunity she sees to praise me for something she will immediately jump on it.

The more interesting thing about these lessons is not my slow learning ability, but how I appear to the outside world. Learning Japanese is all example and repeating, my repetition and her reaction to my answers has been a funhouse mirror for me and I now believe that if inmates are encouraged to learn another language through this message, the world will become a better place.


I kid you not, we went through all these fine examples in the span of one painful,( but I didn’t cry damn it), lesson.

Sensei: ( In Japanese) Ok, so, when you cook at home, what do you make?

Me: I don’t cook at home, I go out to eat

Sensei; You never cook?

Me: No

Sensei: You are alone?

Me: Yes

Sensei: ok, so repeat. I am alone, so I don’t cook, I always go out to eat.

Me: I am alone, so I don’t cook, I always go out to eat.

Sensei: What do you eat?

Me: I eat a sandwich

Sensei: so….

Me: I am alone, so I don’t cook, I always go out to eat and I eat a sandwich.


Next we studied introducing ourselves in the form of a brief biography.

Sensei: Ok, so here is my example, and then you do yours. I was born outside of Nagoya. I lived in Nagoya and went to college, I graduated college and got a job. After I got a job, I got married and moved to Tokyo and got a different job. Then, I had a baby. When I had the baby, I started a different part time job so I wouldn’t have to work so much. I have never been divorced and I am not happy in Tokyo. Ok, your turn.

I’m looking at the sheet of paper on front of me and thinking, I don’t even need to use half of these verbs, this is going to be short. Good.

Me: I was born in Wisconsin, I went to college in Wisconsin and graduated. After I graduated, I had many jobs. I lived in Atlanta, Japan, Los Angeles, New York and now I travel. I have had the same job for three years.

Sensei: Wait, you did it wrong, you said that you lived in all those places, but you don’t live anywhere now? Try it again.

Me: No, that’s right.

Sensei: You don’t have a home now? You just stay in hotels?

Me: Yes

Sensei: So no home?

Me: Yes, no home.

Sensei: oh! Ok good then, let’s go onto the next lesson.

You can only wear a fake smile for so long in a 6x6 room where you are staring at the other person in the room nonstop for three hours. We had one more exercise for the day. Thank God.

Sensei: Ok, have you ever found any money on the ground

Me; Yes, I have, I found fifty dollars once!

Sensei: Really, what did you do? ( her face actually lit up a little bit at this point and I was excited to talk about something fun)

Me: I went shopping!

Sensei: You went shopping! Wow! I found one hundred dollars once and I brought it to the police station. I had to fill out some papers, but then, after three months, I got to keep the money! I was so excited. The original money I found was kind of dirty because it was on the ground, but when I came back three months later, they gave me a new hundred dollar bill!

Talk about bursting my humble bubble. I wanted to ask her how to translate, I live and empty and shallow life, because this sentence would probably get me through the rest of the lesson just fine and I’ll also learn a practical phrase for my time in Japan. I’ve gotten to the point where I just don’t want to give any more examples about myself. I’ve just decided to act and create a fictious character on which to base all of my answers. The darling Nozomi, who’s adorable ignorance gets her through life just fine. This way, nobody gets hurt.

I'm back.

Update

Well, things are always changing for me. I've loved the comments and encouragement. I'm in L.A. now. I'd love it if you kept in touch.

http://startingoverinla.blogspot.com/

bye

Last night in Japan

A lot has changed with me over the last month.

I have had a change of plans.

Tomorrow I will fly to Hawaii. I will spend three months living and working at a small raw food/fasting retreat that uses therapy, relaxation, healthy foods and juice to help people in a better state of mind and body. I will work for a naturopathic doctor and also do a bit of apprenticing to see how I like the business. After three months, well who can tell.

It came about rather quickly and was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I'm completely excited about this.

Nope, I'm not kidding.

Tomorrow I will fly out of Nagoya to Honolulu and then to Big Island.

I'm all packed.

Good-byes

Tonight, I said good-bye to Megumi and Isomu. At lunch I said goodbye to Keiko. Two days ago I said good-bye to Tomo, Waca, Kayo, Megumi and Ayako san. Two and a half days ago I said good-bye to Otoosan. Eight days ago, I said good-bye to Yuko. Ten day ago I said good-bye to Nicole. Twelve days ago I said good-bye to the teachers and students. Minoura sensei walked me to the front door of the school. She stood and waved until we could no longer see each other.


Tonight, I sit in front of my computer sobbing because I know there is only one last person to whom I have to say good-bye. Okaasan. I am hoping that if I get these emotions out now, I will be functionable on Thursday. But that is not likely. The weight of this departure has crept up on me little by little and I have tried to ignore it, but there is no use. In these last two days, she has taken me out for every meal to a different restaurant, dressed me in the kimono that her mother made so I could have pictures of myself in a real kimono, she has talked to me non stop about food, old times and how she will miss me.

I will leave her framed pictures, a pink mosaic tiled silver heart pendant on a long chain and a card thanking her for everything over the past nine months. The words do not exist in Japanese to express how grateful I am, they hardly exist in English.

That Japan has been a rebirth for me. That I am leaving this country freer, wiser, more appreciative and gentler. That she taught me all I know about the beauty of Japanese living and hospitality. That I will never let those lessons go. That she took me in, without knowing me, without me being able to speak the language, without ever having spent time with a foreigner before. That she never got frustrated with me not understanding. That I never felt alone after moving in here. That she saw me off to school every morning like a child. That she worried about me when no one else would know to. That she brought me to her favorite places and proudly introduced me to everyone she knew. That she made me laugh at my mistakes. That everything has been so easy for me because she has sensed when I didn't understand a question and answered for me. That she has single handedly shaped most of my experience and opinion of Japan. That I have lived out this dream I have had since I was a child and it has surpassed my grandest expectations. That she has taught me more than I could learn in years of Japanese courses. That I understand Japan from the inside. That I know the feelings that cannot be taught, only acquired.

That I know why people want to want to be rich: They want to have freedom to do what they want, they want to feel secure, they want to feel loved, they want have the confidence to do things they could never do before, they want to feel powerful, they want to be happy all the time instead of some of the time, they want to believe in themselves and others to believe in them, they want people to be proud and supportive. That somehow, I, managed to win the lottery.

One and a half days left in Japan.

The lottery

Highlights

I do have much I could write about Linda and Sophie's 10 day stay in Japan. But there isn't time. I'm leaving here in less than two days to live in Hawaii. To live in a place and in a way that I have never lived before. I'm a little overwhelmed with leaving here, arriving there and the inbetween. So, here are the hightlights of the trip.

March 25th
8pm Linda arrives, exhausted and overworked

March 26th
10pm Sophie arrives, exhausted and overworked.
Megumi picks us up from the subway stop and brings us home.
Both Linda and Sophie meet Okaasan, who is in a silly mood and excited to have them in the house.

March 27th
Linda and Sophie learn that eleven thirty means eleven thirty and not eleven thirty one. Okaasan tells us it is eleven thirty and we will go now and gets in the car. I act as the intrepreter of Japanese promptness and give the first "ok, we really have to get going right now", to my friends which will be repeated often during our stay here. Okaasan gives us a ride to the bus station.

Accupunture for me. Shiatsu for Linda and Sophie.

We go to my friend Yuko's house for a good-bye party. Yuko said to me a month ago, "why don't you stop by my house for some food and to say good-bye". Based on the invitation,I tell Linda and Sophie not to worry about how they are dressed, it will be casual. I am dressed as some type of reject punky brewester with many bright layers, tennis shoes and pigtails.

We are given a tour of two temples with English explanation by Yuko and her husband Hiro-kun who is a Buddist priest. Yuko presents us with a tea cermony. We are brought into a formal dining room in the temple while we wait for the ten guests to arrive. I assure my friends we will not be eating in this lavish surrounding and that the flat they live in is very casual, otherwise I would not have dressed in my overly casual manner.

I am wrong. It is an amazingly elaborate dinner catered by their friend who is a professional chef. French brie is served as an appetizer, a traditional Japanese dinner follows, interrupted by the occasional tempura, salad and sushi plate. The food is incredible, the company is moreso. Everyone is outgoing and fun. Bottles of Dom Perignon and expensive French red wine are poured constantly. I had no idea.

Yuko calls us a cab and pay for our cab fare to the station. This was all unexpected and I am overwhelmed.

March 28th

World Expo

It is raining. I bought us tickets to this thinking that it would be a once in a lifetime opportunity. It was, thank God. Think of the lines at Disneyland times ten and without the rides. We are all freezing and soaked from walking around outside. The highlight of the visit was passing by the Medicines Sans Borders (Doctors without borders) tent where guided tours of painstakingly simulated refugee camps were given to educate the public about the plight of homeless refugees. Sophie brings up a very important question as we pass then tent when she asks herself outloud, "So this is just a tent full of French doctors?".
In fact, it is and we meet Nicola who gives us a tour of the camp. This later sends us into serious debate questioning the theory that helping the poor can make a person more attractive. I realize it has been quite some time since I have hung out with single girlfriends and laughed so hard.

March 29th

I wake Sophie and Linda up with ample time to get ready in preparation for catching the bus to Kyoto. Okaasan will bring us, but with fifteen minutes to go, I realize I have read the time chart wrong and we have to go now. "ok, we really have to go now". Sophie is upset, but there is no time to listen. We make the bus, everything is ok.

We eat at the tofu restaurant.

March 30th

Starbucks. More French men. There are more French in Kyoto that English speakers.

Sophie takes over and navigates us through the city of Kyoto. We go to out of the way sights and bigger ones.

We eat at a cheap ramen place.

March 31st.

Starbucks again. This time a different one in Gion, good to switch it up a little. I am taking advantage of going out to coffee with friends.

Linda takes over and we end up in Kurama, in the mountains outside of Kyoto. It is a beautiful hike and the weather is perfect. On the train ride out there, I question if it is wrong to drink red wine before noon when on vacation. Sophie says she has had chocolate already, which is all the validation I needed.

For dinner we eat at my favorite cheap eatint place. Kappazushi. 100 yen per plate sushi that rides through the restaurant on a conveyor belt. Due to the lack of fiber in a sushi diet, Kappazushi sells Hello Kitty Grape flavored Fiber Drinks. We buy three on the way out.

April 1st
We wake up early and each have goals of doing our own thing. We go to Starbucks which is the first priority. Linda explains that time must be allowed for not only drinking the coffee but for full absorpsion. It's nice out. That is pretty much all we manage to do.

We take the shinkansen to Tokyo

In Tokyo, I bring them to my second favorite type of cheap eating. A salaryman izakaya. We are the only foreigners, everyone stares. It is mostly drunk young salarymen. I tell Sophie and Linda they will come talk to us, it is only a matter of time and the building of a false sense of confidence through alcohol before it happens. We buy two bottles of our own beer before one finally sits down. Five others follow. The young men practice their high school english on Sophie and Linda and pour us beer.
Sophie berates me for not pursuing some type of quick relationship with the twenty two year old who was talking to me. The meaning behind my response of "What? are you @@@@@@@ kidding me?", is lost on her. I realize I am not French.

Linda and I navigate our way to Otoosans apartment. Linda discovers that I am not only not capable of reading maps, but I don't like to either and I will ask person after the person which way to go until I am about to pass out. She also learns that the subways stop at midnight and we have caught the last one. She gets up close and personal with packed trains full of drunken salarymen and giggling office women.

We arrive at Otoosan's apartment at midnight. He gives me the run through of every appliance in the apartment, the heater, TV, shower, windows, best food in the area, best way to get to tsukiji in the morning, best bus tours in the city of Tokyo and where to put my toothbrush. I am so exhausted I catch none of it.

April 2nd

We wake up at 4:30 am to get to Tsukiji fish market. Linda is reminded that I cannot read subway maps and would be just as comfortable sitting in the subway station reading a book until someone comes along to guide me as opposed to figuring it out on my own. We arrive at Tsukiji at 6:30.

Many strange fish and creatures, cut open, wriggling or frozen. I look forward to being a raw vegan. It is the right time for me.

Linda and every other foreigner has read about the alleged "best sushi in tokyo" at the market. We wait in line for three hours. We eat a sushi breakfast consisting of six pieces of sushi, green tea and miso soup at 9am. I watch the oversized shrimp things in the glass case before me, flipping around and trying to get out. It costs 3600 yen each. I again, affirm my seriousness for my plans for the next three months. I also realize I have just done a very Japanese thing that I have never done before. I have waited patiently in line for something that is supposed to be good according to someone. We meet a man in line who gives us great directions to the restaurant supply district. I scribble down some of the words he says, knowing full well I will not remember and it is too early for me to process the situation.

We look for the restaurant supply district. I can't remember the directions. We get lost. I ask many people, but nobody knows. We go home at 5PM.

Otoosan rushes home to meet us, he takes out out to a a real unagi restaurant. I've never been to one. It is good. I try eel liver. I realize I have lost a lot of my taste for any type of meat product over the last few years.

April 3rd

Otoosan brings us to the restaurant supply district. Lots of fun stuff to buy, not enough money. He and I take turns taking picture of each other in front of random monuments that dot the streets while Linda browses the plastic food. Otoosan teaches us the difference between good and bad plastic food. Wax and plastic.

We all go to Shinagawa station and meet up with Sophie and her friend Hiroka. We buy our tickets and the seller informs us the train is in 4 minutes. We say quick goodbyes and run for our train. Otoosan tells me we don't know when he and I will meet again. He gives me a kiss on the cheek and keeps his face stiff and chin up, but I can see the tears filling his eyes.

By the time we reach home, we are all exhausted. We have one and a half hours of "free time" before we go to my good-bye party with a group of my friends.

At the previously decided pickup time 6:30, both Sophie and Linda are ready with jackets on standing in line at the top of the stairs. In one week they have learned how to do things on Japanese time. I didn't have my camera, I should have taken a picture.

We eat Italian Japanese fusion food. Sophie is cheered up by the abnormally tall and muscular waiter. I receive a beautiful scarf from my friends.

We meet Okaasan at the house, she has been out. She gives me a big hug and tells me she hasn't seen me in a while.

April 4th

Okaasan wakes me up to tell me my alarm is on. I didn't hear a thing. I wake up Sophie and Linda many different times. Sophie demands coffee before she will take her shower. Linda says it will only take her 10 minutes to get ready and she can sleep longer. They both manage the deadline and are in the car at the right time. Okaasan brings us to the bus station and I say goodbye and put them on the bus.

I go home and go back to bed. When I wake up, I start my list of all the things I need to do before I leave Japan.

Sophie finds that Buddism can be interesting for everyone.

Okaasan brings us to the bus station for our big trip

the tofu restaurant in kyoto

sophie and the world expo robot

Somewhere, Kyoto

The lone sakura tree blossoming

I just liked this one

Road to Kyomizu, paved with souveneir shops

Kyomizu washing hands

Kyoto monk in front of Kiyumizu

Kyoto pagoda

Kurama temple

Kurama, in the mountains outside of Kyoto

Kappa 100 yen conveyor belt sushi (my favorite)

Sophie, Okaasan, Linda

Good-bye to Sophie and Linda

I'm back

Back from the whirlwind trip of Japan with Sophie and Linda. Too many stories to tell, many pictures taken. Too tired to think about it. Stay tuned, I will post tomorrow.

Megumi, Sophie, Waca, Okaasan, Me, Linda, Isomu.

Leaving the restaurant. Okaasan, Linda, Sophie, Megumi, Me.

What happens when you go to the World Expo in Nagoya on a cold, miserable, rainy day. And the wine tasting bar is free.

linda's arrival, one very cold, late night

lots of English, lots of Japanese

kuma, errr, ahh, ahh, migi, sophie

sophie, harakun, me, yuko, linda

Somedays,

everything

is a

picture

Wednesday

My friend Megumi who I first worked with has started her own English school. Isomu has just gotten out of the hospital after a 6 week long stay for a slipped disk. Okaasan has 3 more weeks wearing a cast for her carpal tunnel surgery. Megumi is going back to school to be a teacher. Jun will stay at the same school next year, he will marry sometime soon. Otoosan has the option to retire in August. Keiko has her hands full now that she has her second baby. I can't believe Katie has 3. Nicole is going to Australia to be with her husband and his sick father. Melissa and Scott are in Australia to live and work for a couple months. Mercer must have had her baby by now. Alex is living in DC, I miss her. Chris and Grant will stay another year as teachers. They still don't know who will take my place. The world expo officially opens in two days. Linda is coming on the 25th. Sophie is coming on the 26th. We will travel half the country. We will have acupuncture. We will pack two years of talking into one week. We will see the tsukiji fish market at 5am. I wonder how Tim and his gym is doing. Kyoko will return to Heartfriend next year, she will be 12. Tomo wants to buy a house in Australia. Waka still works full time. Kaori will get married at the end of April, they need a foreigner as a priest. Too bad I'll already be gone. I need to hook them up with Grant. Tim is going to live in Cambodia. I want to visit someday. I have to make reservations on the web for what expo event we want to see, it's going to be crowded. Noriko still works at the eikawa where I first met her. Chicaco's Japanese school is doing well. The guy who sits behind me still sneezes while yelling out "aaakkooo" and backing away from his desk without any attempt at covering his face . It still annoys me. Ichikawa san's son will play at a club in Nagoya this summer, too bad I will miss it. Yoko will have my friends and I over for dinner and to tour the temple. The recycle shop downtown will buy old clothes for 50 yen a piece. I will leave mine out on the corner to be burned. I miss Evan, it's hard to keep up with the most popular man in Milwaukee. Meredith must be close to getting married. I am not afraid to speak Japanese, I still make mistakes. I have met someone that I am really excited about. I left my bike at the gym, I have to remember to get it today. I have to cancel my phone. I have to go city hall and pay my taxes. I have to cancel my gym membership. What I am doing is so beyond the realm of thinking for the people that I know here that they don't even know to question it. I have to get rid of everything so that I only have two suitcases. My flight leaves on the 7th of April. It leaves during the day, I will have to take the bus by myself. I think I prefer it that way. My nieces in the Philippines are taking exams. I haven't heard from my niece Rhea in a while, she must be traveling, hope she is ok. My niece in New Jersey is graduating from high school. My mom is having her kitchen remodeled. My brother had his apartment painted. I ran today in the dark, I haven't done it in a while and it felt good. There are some people in my life I have finally let go of. It's liberating to walk from the past. Megumi wants to go to aerobics together tonight, it's a good night, I like the teacher. I really loved having blond hair. I want to have my road bike in Hawaii. Too much bother to ship, I'll buy a cheap one there. I only have one pair of shorts. Too much indulgence this past weekend. Too much eating and drinking, makes me feel fuzzy. I hope John starts to feel better. Mollie should be having her baby at any second. Megumi's birthday is March 31st, she'll be 28. I know I am missing more birthdays. My piano is in Athens. I taught some of the teachers at school today how to use the new coffee/expresso maker. They need espresso coffee though, I won't have time to get any. Visiting my aunt will have to wait until the summertime. I should bring my camera tomorrow. I want more funny Japanese t-shirts. I need to book my flight from Honululu to Hilo. My mom wants to throw away some of my shoes from the 6 bin summary of my life, I hope she doesn't throw away the ones I like. I haven't heard from Pam in a long time, hope she is OK. It was good to talk to Donnie. I want to know how Mish and Toni are, I feel so disconnected from them. It is crazy how meeting people is all based on chance. I am lucky. Dera hasn't written in a long time, I wonder if she reads this. I love the little things that Harriet sends me. I wonder if Cameron will get married soon. I will be the priest in Mollie and Joel's wedding. I want to see Beth's pottery.I really don't like Italian Japanese fusion cuisine, I find the whole experience stifling and it makes me want to yell out loud. Danielle had lasik, another friend is having it also. Don I haven't heard from since last year. I hope he's ok and not working himself into a grave. This chapter of my life is about to close. I need to call the company to find out about my last paycheck. I need to clean and rearrange my room so all 3 of us can sleep in there. I wanted to give that one student a note, to encourage him. He can be mean, but I know he really wants to learn. I need to remember to do that. I have 2 bags of books to sell. The used store close to me will buy them for about 40 yen a piece. I have to give the rest of my english magazines to megumi. I wonder if Beth is pregnant. I wonder if Melissa is pregnant. I think I will leave my hair dryer here, I won't use it for the next three months anyway. It will be strange to say goodbye to Nicole, but I know we'll see each other again, some people you just have that bond with. I hope Jules follows her dreams. It feels good to have all my clothes bagged up to throw away or sell. I've worn the same work clothes for the last year and seven months. I would prefer to burn them myself, but there is no time. Ayako san is busy, but I must see her before I leave. Heather Meadows and Autumn have made my day more than once and I don't even know them. Tomo's parents will come to a goodbye party for me, her grandparents may not though. I think Nik and his family have already left Japan, I lost his phone number. He'll contact me when he feels like it. The teachers are finding out which students did well on their high school exams today, the kids who did well will come to school later today. Sometimes instinct is so strong you can't turn away. I've started singing out loud when I wear my headphones. I have to remember to take my umbrella with me when I leave if it is not raining. I wonder if that gamer who wrote me is coming to Japan this summer. I need to buy more toilet paper for the bathroom. I never did run into Freddie again. I need to see if my backpack is big enough for 7days worth of travel. I don't need much, but it sometimes gets cold at night. I need to buy bus tickets. I need to pay okaasan for rent and expo tickets. I hope Andrea and Sharon are both well, haven't heard from them in a while. Taxes. I got up too early today, I'm sleepy. I need to write back Cindy and Karen and Katie too. I want to dye my hair again. I can't do it though. I need to sell my bike before I leave, I can put an ad online, probably sell it at the used shop though. Too big for Megumi to use. Unexpected surprises in life can be nice. I have to say goodbye to the neighbors, I wish I had some little American toy to give them. Oh well. I have to dress up tomorrow for graduation.There is a guy in Yokohama who takes beautiful pictures, I forgot to ask him what it is he does in Japan. I have to remember to email the Japanese American family in Racine, put them in touch with Nik. I'll clean out the last of my desk tomorrow. I'm worried about Alex, the latest to fall for her sounds like trouble. I will need a ride to the bus station before I leave. I need help because of my luggage. I can always take a taxi. Okaasan might have to work. I wonder whatever happened to Sean. I wonder which bag I'm supposed to put old shoes in for the gargabe.It'll be cool to see Harajuku one last time before I leave. I'm glad I'll have a chance to say goodbye to Otoosan once more too. Recently, I have been laughing a lot, it feels good. I only have two more classes. The last class is my worst class. I imagine they will be terrible today, but they could surprise me. It's warming up, but I wish the sun would come out. I hope everything is ok with Ian's dad. Why is everyone wearing a suit today? I wonder if the anorexic girl will last another year. I should use these copiers to make copies of maps so I don't have to travel with this huge book. I shouldn't have bought that hip hop video. Too expensive and not worth it. I'll give it to Megumi when I leave, good English practice. I've been really happy lately. There are several reasons. I wonder if I will get out of school early tomorrow or will have to stay until four. I think I'll be able to leave early. Then I'll go to city hall. I should write everyone and let them know what I am doing. My little plan for the next three months. I'm not going home quite yet, I have a detour. Hmm. Maybe I'll just see if anyone actually reads this. I should write a list for myself of things I need to do. I taught my last class. They did not surprise me. They were terrible. One hour and ten minutes more for today. Graduation tomorrow. I'm done. I'm done. I'm done.

the bike

roppongi, tokyo sculpture

breathing flower from a modern art museum in roppongi, tokyo

chikusa, nagoya building

Friday March, 18

I know she is not really calling Megumi. Her phone is opened and at her ear, but she I know she hasn't really dialed. She flips it shut and mumbles something about Megumi being busy.

The restaurant Okaasan has brought me to is the expensive sushi restaurant, in contrast to the kaiten (conveyor belt) sushi that we usually visit. I have only been here once before when she brought Megumi and I here for lunch. The wooden bar where we sit only has room for seven people. The small raised tatami area has two tables for bigger groups. It's 5:30 on Friday, we had to come early because by six the restaurant will be full. The owner's eyes widen in surprise when he sees me. The last time was eight months ago. He smiles, says "irrashai" and asks me if I've found a boyfriend yet. I laugh and tell him that he has a good memory and that I haven't been looking.

Okaasan tells him that I will be leaving soon, going back to America. She's glad we both had time tonight because who knows if the two of us will have another opportunity to go out. She tells him of my plans. The two friends will visit and stay at the house, one American, one French. We will travel for ten days and I will leave for Hawaii soon after. There is not enough time to relax and enjoy Japan together, she tells him. She orders the most expensive cuts of tuna to start. The thick piece of fish meat is wrapped around a small clump of rice. It's toro, the reddest, fatty part of the tuna belly.

She tells the sushiya-san the same stories she tells everyone about me. If he does remember them from before, he doesn't say so. I am not the typical foreigner, not a typical American. I like seaweed, umeboshi, the more peculiar foods of Japan. I can tell the difference between the cheap and expensive natto. My Japanese has gotten better. When I leave her notes, they are written in Japanese. When I first moved in with her, I left her a note that read, "Okaasan, you have been so busy , please do not rest". It was supposed to read, "please rest". She reminisces about my last 9 months with her as if it is my entire childhood. The funny things I have done, how I learned from my mistakes, how she has worried about me, how I have surprised her.

Two men wearing gray suits arrive at the door carrying shallow blue plastic bins with more fresh fish for tonight's customers. Out of the bottom corner of my eye I catch movement inside of the glass refridgerated display case that runs along the bar. An oversized shrimp scrapes his spindly legs against the glass and climbs over two of his friends. Okaasan tells me that when eaten alive, the taste is better than when dead. It is the most expensive, would I like to try?. I decline and she admits the idea doesn't appeal to her either. Piece by piece sushi is placed on our wooden boards decorated with thick slices of pickled ginger.When we are finished with our sushi, we are served miso shiro and another glass of warm green tea. Before I leave, the sushiya-san gives me a gift. A folded hankercheif with a picture of sushi on it; English names written below.

One of the izakaya's that Okaasan frequents is down the street. She asks me we can stop in for just a short while. The mama san of this izakaya remembers me as well, even though the last time it was very late and the mama san was very drunk. Okaasan tells her that we have just eaten dinner and will not eat, only drink. Mama san comes from behind the bar and brings us a bottle of beer and two small glasses. She lays down a chopstick rest in front of each of us, which is disguised as a small red koi fish, and places a pair of chopsticks on top of each. The little red fish has fine gold lines that outline it's scales on the flat part of the body and white bumps with black dots on the middle raised up off the squarish head for it's eyes. Okaasan sees me admiring my fish .

Look at mama san, she tells me. She points her eyes in the direction of her friend behind the counter. Isn't she beautiful? a classical Japanese beauty. I agree. Mama-san's eyes are very narrow and the corners sweep up toward her temples when she smiles. Her nose is narrow and delicate; a touch of dark blush shows off her high cheekbones. Okaasan yells out to her friend that I have said she is beautiful. Mama san smiles and looks down while saying that this is not true, but thank you. Still smiling, she uncrosses her arms and with chopsticks, places food from multi colored saran wrap covered bowls that sit out on the counter into two small ceramic cups. She walks out from behind the bar and places the food in front of us.

When Mama-san is back behind the bar, Okaasan picks up her fish chopstick rest and holds it in front of her. She softens her voice and asks mama-san if she will give one to me because I think it is pretty. She's leaving soon, back to America, okaasan says. But she prefers chopsticks and she will still use them in America, she might not be able to buy a chopstick rest in America. Mama-san says that the red fish is the girl fish, there is a boy one also. She disappears into the kitchen and returns with an identical blue fish and places it in front of me. You can't have only one. They come in a pair. I try to refuse her gift and thank her.

Okaasan will be sad without seeing me off every morning. She lifts her feet up off the stool and bends her arms in toward her body like a praying mantis;she leans side to side on the stool while alternating her legs and arms up and down and says "itte ikimasu". This is an impersonation of my morning ritual leaving the house. She laughs at herself. I notice her glass is not full and I pour her more beer while she apologizes and holds her glass out for me. I am the same as Megumi, she tells me. I am her daughter too. Kind words here are often offered out of obligation, but I believe her.

To solidify my position as a family member, she tells me the family secrets. The emotional unseen side of a family that can be explained only by it's history. The details a stranger will never notice in Japan because they are well covered. Why I feel tension when certain people are in the room together. Why some habits have to remain secret. How life will change and why Okaasan is afraid.. She tells me more than she could tell her own family and more than would be appropriate to tell to her friends. She tells me the story of her life. Childhood, high school, marriage, children, growing old, what she wants to do before she dies.

Leaving America for Japan was me shrugging the heaviness off my shoulders. Japanese life has felt light. No worry,obligation, guilt, exemption from social responsibility. Tonight I remember this feeling heaviness. Okaasan has a bad back, she will be lonely when I leave. Jun will marry and move out soon after, her whole body is unhealthy, she tells me. Now though, nothing feels heavy. It must have been the weight of the carrier as opposed to the weight of the baggage. Now, I know how to make myself light. There are times I can help things to flow easier and times is beyond my control. I am lucky. I got a chance to do it all again, to grow up all over again, but this time I have done it with thirty years of experience in my pocket. I stop my mind from thinking of her alone in the house, watching TV in the afternoon without the laundry to fold or asking me about my day.


She asks me if I will come back to Japan. She will be so sad, she tells me, if I never come back. If I never return to visit her. She is looking into my eyes so seriously. I am welcome anytime. Can I stay longer, we should go to Korea together, it is cheap and the food is good. Once I leave Japan, I will not be able to go to Korea anymore, she has not been either, we should go together. I am the same as Megumi. When I write letters home to her, I will have to write in Japanese, she reminds me. The ones to Otoosan can be in English, but hers must be in Japanese. I bring up her coming to America, we can go to Las Vegas where she can see all the shows and the lights. The look on her face surprises me, as it tells me she may never come. She is more interested in talking about me coming home. Back to Japan.

The image of saying goodbye hits me. Okaasan on the fronts steps waving and smiling until she cannot see me anymore." Matte imasu, ki o tsukete, matte imasu". "I'm waiting for you, take care, I'm waiting for you." Matte imasu, literally means, I'm waiting. In Japanese, these words naturally roll off the tongue and provide all the comfort in the world when from a mother. She won't tell me that she loves me. Only, matte imasu, which I finally realize is the same thing. My nose is starting to feel prickly, like it does before I cry. I shake the thought from my head.

Otoosan is coming home from Tokyo tonight. Okaasan looks at her watch gives a yelp of surprise. She finishes the last of her beer and pays the check. She reminds me not to forget my little fish and tells me to thank mama-san again, and I do. Okaasan drives fast, hoping to beat him home. I open the front door and we look to the floor for his shoes. They are there, he has beaten us. Okaasan and I open the door to the main room, he is there in his suit and jacket. He hasn't turned on the heater yet, so the room is just as cold as the entrance. He arrived only a minute before us.

He greets me and immediately pushes an opened photo album into my hands. The the pictures he took from our family vacation. He quickly pages through for me and points out that the pictures with me in them have two prints, one for me to take. Okaasan is speaking as quickly as he is. Nervously explaining to him that we went out for dinner while he shows me the pictures. She won't tell him about the izakaya. Either will I.Otoosan is unconcerned though, he is focused on his pictures and showing them to me. We all still have our jackets on. The heater starts up and the warm air starts to blow immediately.

Otoosan tells me to sit down and relax while I look at the pictures, I take the album from him and sit on the floor. In my right fist I am still clutching my boy and girl fish.

I slip my hand into the pocket of my down jacket, let them go and zip the pocket back up.

Love

My needle addiction

me and megumi, foot onsen, takayama

Trying to prove that I am, in fact, in Japan by standing under a no bike parking sign in Japanese. Didn't work.

funky tree

Friday, March 4th

When I think of the inevitable death, I like to think of it as a transition from one world to another and I hope the script is something like this: My mind has that pleasing dizzy feel one has while still conscious during dreams; I can fly; it smells like waterfalls, roses and apples; I feel the presence of people who I love without even seeing them; there are lots of dogs and the musical backdrop is exactly what I am listening to right now: A river of sound that keeps to the beat of a breeze. Low notes that weep out of the sky like honey. High notes that tickle the back of my neck. Music so tangible that I want to lie back on it and close my eyes so nothing else could possibly command the attention of my senses. All I feel, smell, taste and see is exactly what I am listening to right now.

They fill half the gym. An army of 300 children, teenagers really. All standing at attention, straightened arms at sides, chins up, eyes straight ahead. Talent that could rival the Vienna boys choir, sung like it is just another day or a Friday, or like ninth graders who have graduated junior high and will leave this phase of their life. They are expressionless, except for the circle that their mouths make, which reminds me of the hummels of innocent children my grandmother used to collect. We stand in front of them, all 40 of us, placed in ten columns of four deep. The ninth graders stand five feet away, facing us;girls on the left, boys on the right and an aisle down the center for the honored teachers to make the entrance and exit. We stare at each other and nobody looks away.

There is no show of strain in their voices or on their faces. Even without emotion on their faces, sadness and gratitude soaks through their song. None attempts to reach a note that cannot be sung perfectly. The pitch becomes higher, some of the girls close their mouths and the the rising note is seamlessly picked up by the sopranos; one long length of twisting ribbon. The boys provide the earth under this sky of female voices. Their harmony descends, voices leave and enter the flow without pause for a breath. Together, all the voices crescendo up and scatter into hundreds of different, perfectly harmonized directions. The voices rejoin each other as they rip down through the air around us. I feel dizzy. Every inch of matter and air vibrates from the energy. Then, in the space of one twentieth of a second, it stops. The children close their mouths. The silence echoes and we still stand facing each other, nobody looks away.

The fifteen year old master of ceremonies thanks us again and we are instructed on how to exit the gym. We file out through the aisle in pairs. The teenagers, in unison, turn in toward the aisle 45 degrees and they begin another song. They make eye contact with each of us. It's hard not to look away.

The doors exiting the gym are held open by two girls who repeat "hontoo ni, arigatoo gozaimashita" (honestly, thank you for everything) to each one of us while bowing deeply and wiping away their tears.

For at least a full minute today, maybe even two or three, I knew what it felt like to be the most important person in the world.

bamboo

me, waiting

for the

subway

Alex, this one's for you

Vending machines selling beer and underwear, a plethera of bikes, and crowds of people everywhere that looked more or less the same. My eyes were wide open to these details when I first arrived in Japan. Ironically, these same things can now drive me crazy.

Back in September of 2003,my new friend Alex and I noticed the claustrophobic qualities of our hotel rooms during our work training and the potential of those same qualities in our new jobs. In search of denial, we decided on alcohol as a temporary answer The Japanzine, a local English magazine that caters to the English speaking foreign population, presented us with our options. One ad showed four people from assorted ethnic backgrounds, mouths agape in the midst of their stifling laughter. The thought of others like us and the pictures of a large, dimly lit classy european style bar had our attention.

We figured from the glamorous ad, it was a well known landmark, like the 40 watt in Athens or the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Our tools for navigation were drunken salary men, who's false sense of confidence enabled them to confidently say, "hmm, I don't know" in rusty English after staring at our map and contaminating our breathing space for 5 mintues. We finally found our haven for international glamour at the bottom of a small drab building. Every step we took down the narrow stairwell was another step away from the picture of glossy happiness and a step toward the disulliosionment and evential demise of our newcomer belief that we had left a wretched county and now resided in a country where everything was not only better, but perfect.

The heavy institutional door had no window. The nonchalant walk by, critiquing the look of the bar and fashion sense of the customers to determine our decision of patronage was not possible. Once we were in,we were in. We opened the door together. Time stopped. The techno music that we had heard thumping outside, went from screeching beats to complete silence. The light that we let in from opening the door caused the bartenders and patrons to twist around from their positions to stare. We warily walked inside. To our right, an absorbed dj was spinning records next to a 4 by 4 dance floor lit up by flashing colored lights and a hanging disco ball which reflected off the empty floor. To our left, a row of small tables with some large foreign men sat. In front of us lie the bar, with two men sitting in the middle. Ten men, all foreigners, and from the looks on their faces, they were just as disappointed as we were with the bar and the company.

If nothing else, this place had alcohol. We took seats at the bar and a twenty something man who leaned in toward us to take our order. He barely smiled and instead met our eyes with his a heavy stare that showed he was quite confident in his sex appeal. Unfortunately for him, he had at some point, grossly misjudged the space between reality and fantasy and his display of macho suave was only another laughable disappointment to add to the evening. I ordered wine and Alex an Amaretto Sour. He sauntered away with his eyes locked onto ours until, with the seriousness of a surgeon began to make the drink. He poured the measured out ingredients in the silver shaker, put on the top and proceeded to shake it one time over his left shoulderand then his right, while his hips responded by twisting in the opposite direction, he repeated this while stealing little glances back at us to be sure we were in full awe of his skills. All he needed was a red ruffled tuxedo shirt and he could have passed for a professional maraichi player. This was the first time I had seen drinks made this way, I now know this is how all bartenders in Japan mix drinks. THE way.

Besides him, there were two other bartenders. A thin blonde women who appeared to be the owner and a younger Japanese man. The Japanese man wore a dark T-shirt, safari shorts and a kacki crocadile dundee hat with a leather string that hung loosely under his chin. He stood in front of of us ,leaning against the wall, not talking, and nervously glancing at us. No doubt shy, but.learning how to be a fun loving bartender by the blonde. She came up next to him, put her face in front of his while rolling her eyes and making overly expressive dance faces. She shook her hips back and forth while throwing her arms in the air to the beat of the music. He scampered to attention and a lip twitching expression came across his face that suggested he didn't know how to smile. He then copied the face making and body movements as best as he could. When she walked away from him, he stopped, but the attempt at a smile stayed on his face.

The wine was served chilled (typical) and Alex used words to describe her drink that could also be used to describe an especially troublesome intestinal virus. We wanted to leave right away, but didn't want to make any sudden movements that would bring us any attention.

Suddenly, the room grew pale as the heavy door opened and two Japanese men in their early 40s entered the bar. They were talking and laughing with each other as they walked up sat at the two open seats next to Alex. They were typical looking salarymen, except for the matching outfits they wore: black leather cowboy boots, black leather chaps, black leather vests, and black cowboy hats. With no shame, they looked around the room, to check out who was there. Upon seeing this sight, Alex and I looked each other. Our eyes were wide and involuntarily blinking; rods, cones and receiving brain cells baffled at the authenticity of this spectacle.

Check please.

When we asked the head bopping Japanese boy for the check, he leaned over the bar and his eyes looked up at the corner of the room as he paused in thought. In broken English he said something that was probably supposed to be cute and flirty, but due to poor delivery and poorer understanding of women, it didn't work. He looked back at us, "If you leave, there are no women, all men" he said flatly.

Pissed at ourselves for not carrying smaller bills we had to wait for our change. Then, in one swift movement we got up, collected our stuff and walked out. Once outside, we jumped on our horses and galloped the hell outta there.

Otoosan

My dad called me today. Not my real dad of course. My real dad passed away years ago. The man who called me is the man I refer to as Otoosan, or father, in Japanese. He called to thank me for the postcard which I sent him; the one thanking him for the weekend in Takayama. He responded to what he could make out of my English. Yes, he had a very nice time too. He was glad that I came and it looked like I had fun. I did. Except for the word "Otoosan", I wrote the postcard in English. I knew he would find the process of translating of it entertaining and I don't have the vocabulary in Japanese to express my gratitude the way I can in English. I know he probably doesn't understand it completely, which is fine. I said it all though; wrote it in English on the back of a postcard which had a pink watercolor painted rabbit holding green stemmed yellow daisies and the word "arigatoo" spelled out in Japanese.

Otoosan lives in a two room apartment in Tokyo, where he is an executive for some generic business. Nobody seems to know what the name of this company is, where he has worked the last thirty years. He comes home once a month, for two days. His journey home consists of the shinkansen, (which he catches after work) for two hours, the subway for 30 minutes and a bus for 40.

I know when it is his weekend to come home through Okaasan's barefoot figure scurrying through the house, hunched over the roar of the neglected vacuum cleaner. She vacuums while simultaneously snatching up clothing and papers that hinder this task. In our house, the concept of Japanese minimalism is reflected mainly in the lack of furniture. The house isn't messy, but it's a small space and there is a lot of stuff. Newspapers, flyers for weekend vacations, clothes to be folded, makeup, kimonos strewn on the floor from last nights outing,dishes from Jun's late dinner that haven't yet been cleaned. It is in this one room that the family spends the majority of the time. It serves as the ultimate multipurpose space: kitchen, dining room, dressing room, laundry room, living room and office.

The doorbell rings around 9. It's Okaasan who I hear first. As soon as the door is unlocked, I hear the buzzing of her voice streaming out welcomings and observations. It's cold out, he must be tired, was that jacket warm enough on the bus? As he takes his shoes off and puts on his house slippers, they walk into the main room and it is still she who does the speaking. Offering food, or shall we go out? Here are some picture of Megumi's new dog, they will come over tomorrow. He always seems a little out of place when he first arrives home. As if he has forgotten something, or there is something on the lining of his clothes, a tag or a pin, something small that makes him uncomfortable but he can't put his finger on what it is. She eases him back into his home with her one sided conversation. It is his house after all, he just doesn't live here. Sometimes she cooks, but usually not. If she hasn't cooked, they will go out to eat, often the whole family goes, as do I if I am home.

They stay up late on these Friday nights. If I haven't gone with them and am already asleep by the time they come home, I am awoken by the clinking of ice falling into the small clear glasses. Okaasan places an umeboshi plumb into the glass and sake is poured on top. In complete contrast to Okaasan, Otoosan doesn't drink at all. Her alcohol silliness doesn't annoy him though. At this point his persona of the man who lives in this house is restored. The house is a mess and he comments on it in a joking, but not expecting anything to be done about it manner. Her laughing stops for a second as she looks around her. She doesn't acknowledge it, but instead begins talking of her work and that her hand has been hurting lately. He laughs at the recognizable traits of his family and so do the rest of us. There is no need for courtesies within the family. He and Okaasan go back and forth like old college friends, which they are. Okaasan is never self conscious or nervous, she offers us all more to drink before she pours herself another.

On Saturday, Okaasan sometimes has to work. She zooms off on her little red motor scooter, wearing her matching helmet, to read the water meters of the city. Otoosan find himself alone in his house. The night before, she has mentioned to him a number of small tasks that have waited for his return. Moving the stereo to another room or replacing a broken light bulb. If I am home, he will check in on me. He knocks on my door and brings me a small plate with several slices of persimmon that he has cut and peeled. He asks me typical father daughter questions. Questions about work, friends, my studies, if I'm feeling healthy. On my way out the door he runs after me asking where I am going and at what time I will return. Once, when the weather turned cold I heard him downstairs with Okaasan, insisting that I must be cold at night even though I said I was fine. In the middle of the night after the hum of the television died down, Okaasan came into my room and laid another down blanket on top of the three that already covered me.

Sundays are free for Okaasan and by 10am she is prepared to go out to breakfast in casual clothes and full makeup. If I'm home, she knocks on my door and invites me. If she opens my door, she wants me to join, if not, I know they would like to be alone. He waits by the car with the newspaper under his arm.

Sunday night it is again time for him to leave. He comes up to my room to say good-bye. He has his suit on again and he is wearing the same face he walked into house with two days ago. "Next month", he says in English. He waves good-bye and smiles while closing my door.

An hour later I know that he is leaving. They are in the entryway again and Okaasan is presenting him with the same avalanche of doting words with which she received him two days ago. There must be a sadness to his departure, but it is disguised by her narrative of the more obvious.The weather, get a good seat on the train, be careful in Tokyo. Hopefully these sentiments have distracted him enough that he won't even notice if he is sad. He won't even realize he has left until he is back at work on Monday, at which point the stress of work will cancel out any second thoughts he has had about living away from his family and what it has cost him. Hopefully, her words and the weekend will carry him through the next month.

I can hear her out outside on the front steps, her voice continuing with her good-byes. I don't hear him say good-bye, but I know he is walking away from the house toward the bus, listening to her. She stands on the step, waving and calling out to him until she cannot see him anymore.

The real Maiko (geisha in training) I chased down like some kind of wild animal, and she wouldn't look at me. Huh.

the essence of train travel in japan. beer and sushi.

whole family minus megumi (otoosan in front)

the tatami room and futons (megumi and otoosan)

half of the traditional ryokan dinner, Hida

Isomu enjoying dinner

traditional japanese breakfast, ryokan style, Hida

pounded rice balls roasted on a stick with miso sauce, Takayama

rikshaw and tree, takayama

kite

Ancient Japanese torture devices, Takayama

Sake and shochuu, Takayama

The "welcome spend your money here" kitty, Takayama

Takayama

Some place very historical, Takayama

furukawa lantern

Friday the 18th, still cold

I should have realized that something was different today. How could I be so stupid. Everything I have learned in this country. The details. The significance one's eyes and how they look away. The weight of silence in a room. At this moment my ability to see the atmosphere was more important than it has ever have been and I saw nothing. I wasn't looking. I wasn't paying attention. I was like a clown.The jovial entertainer making jokes to encourage a superficial conversation.

I have to keep looking out the window. Look at something out there. Don't start crying.

I should have noticed that she wasn't wearing makeup today. She always wears makeup. She always looks perfect, as all Japanese women do when they leave the house. Not today. No makeup. The nights of crying have made her face puffy. Her hair looks different. Drab and unbrushed or maybe she hasn't washed it in a couple days. There are a lot of trees outside. It's beautiful.

She's looking at me now. Her smile is a mask for the other teacher to see. What's new with me? She asks. I can hardly focus. I'm trying to smile and I'm looking out the window at one tree. It stands out a little bit more than the others, it's a little darker. It must be the same type of tree as the others though. Maple? Ginko?

She always wears a black skirt, stockings and a sweater to school. Not today. Today she wears a black and red track warm up suit. How could I not notice. She was early today too. She's never early. I'm usually early. It's always quiet in the morning, the three of us preparing for the day. That wasn't different. In hindsight, the quietness was heavy. It's weight kept any small talk from occurring or jokes from being made. I can't believe I didn't notice any of this. These details were slapping me in the face and I didn't feel. It's cloudy out today. The image that the window frames is only the trees, the sky and the clouds. I can't see the ground or any rooftops.

She's waiting for me to answer her question. The sherade of normalcy depends on me. The other teacher walked in and interrupted our conversation. She lifted her eyes from the ground and they dried up instantly. A smile appeared on her face. It's windy out, the tree is being blown around. I wonder if it's going to get colder today. I thought it was supposed to warm up, maybe by next week.

I thought I was so good at it. Deciphering the silence. Even in rooms full of people, the corners where the silence hovers. I can feel it. Today, it is just the three of us and nothing. I noticed nothing. Why is she telling me this. I see you only once a month. I've known you for only a year. I've been to your house one time. I'm nobody. I'm a foreigner, this isn't even my country. In groups, out groups; that is how life is conducted. I'm not part of the group. This isn't my real home. Oh, God. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. It's all I can say. I can't think of anything else. I want to fill the air up with well intentioned words to comfort her, to comfort me. I want to stand up and walk around the table and hug her. I know better. Oh, God. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. I can make out the branches on the tree, from which the new leaves grow. Each branch waving it's own tiny leaves in the sky.

I wanted to stay home, she told me. To rest. But there are only two teachers at this school. I had to come here and I couldn't tell anyone. The other teacher does not know. Of course he doesn't. This winter isn't really that cold. Last winter,I froze, in my little apartment that had hardly any heat. I lined all the windows and the doorway with sheets of plastic.

Nobody knows of this tragedy, not even her friends, she tells me. Only my husband and my family. I want to tell you because you are a woman, we are almost the same age, maybe you can understand. I can't understand. My life is so different than hers. I can't relate. Her eyes. Tears that fall without a hint of her crying. Her forehead doesn't wrinkle. Her mouth doesn't open to take in deep breaths. She holds a folded up tissue in her fingers and places it lightly at the corner of her eyes, it barely touches her skin. The huge teardrops vanish, cleaned up one after another as quickly as they seep out. I can understand. My stomach tightens. I don't mind so much if it stays cold for the next couple weeks. I kind of like riding my bike in the cold. It's not freezing anyway. It's not that cold.

She's looking at me, still smiling. He's at his desk, probably playing a game of solitaire on his computer. I think it is colder out now. The sky is gray and the clouds are low. The same as it looks before a snowfall. That tree is still blowing. I don't think it's different than the other trees. My mind was just playing tricks on me.

I went with my family to the onsen for the first time, I tell her. Onsen! Her eyes widen in excitement. Which one did you go to?

Saturday morning coffee

Even though we're underground, it's still cold outside of this shop. Inside it's warm and cozy. These tables only have about five inches between them. We all sit inches apart but at our own tables. We are all skilled at not acknowledging each other or meeting each others eyes within this confined area. As indifferent as this scene appears, we are all contributing to the intimate feel for which we visit this coffee shop. Sitting close and the smell of coffee. The smell of coffee always makes me feel comfortable.

At the table next to mine, a man is sitting opposite me. He is not looking at me nor is he looking at the young girl who sits across from him. She is wearing a short pleated navy skirt, starched white shirt,with a maroon tie and navy blazer. Her high school uniform. He is wearing a suit, which is a little strange for a Saturday morning at 9am. On second thought, no, it's not strange at all. I think it's strange. The both of them in their stiff uniforms on a Saturday morning, make me feel indulgent in my jeans, tennis shoes and sweatshirt. I fulfill such a stereotype. I don't care though. I cross my legs under the table and settle back into my chair.

He is looking away. Avoiding her and managing to look only at the empty spaces between the bodies that are crowded in here . She is focused on her flying thumbs, texting a message into her cellphone. He drumbs the fingertips of his right hand on the wooden table top. Pinky to thumb, pinky to thumb. He looks nervous, but he is not. He is uncomfortable. His fidgeting is that of a father. This girl is his daughter. He has run out of words for his child who has grown up too quickly. In this meeting, he frantically attempts to know her, before any more time passes. Today, before he goes back to work. She finishes her message and snaps her phone shut, looking away. She takes a second to gather her composure and remind herself of daughter's obligation of kindness to her father.

When her eyes return to his, she is smiling politely. The way one smiles at a new boss or a clerk at the grocery store. It was a friend, she tells him. She will meet with her friend later to study. His fingers stop and he uses the new information to ask her questions. Which friend? He doesn't know her, but perhaps he remembers her speaking of this friend before. Silence. He looks away. His fingers are prepared to start their drumming again. He surprises himself by quickly looking back at her, new questions prepared. What subject? Is it difficult? These are good questions. She can give many answers. She holds on to this topic with the same desperate grip in which it was presented. She knows this conversation well and can speak comfortably. This is how he will become acquainted with his daughter, through polite topics that make neither uneasy, no right or wrong answers. She talks about her teachers, favorite class (English), what classes she will take next year. Her voice is like a song. A melody of softly spoken, uninterrupted words. He doesn't need to ask any more questions. He can just listen and enjoy. His hands are relaxed now, folded one on top of the other, resting on the table. His back is not so straight, he slouches just a little as he listens. He is smiling and relaxed at the same time, which surprises me. I so often see the two separate.

Her singing is interrupted by the buzzing of her phone, an actual call this time. She stops and apologizes, he nods her on to answer it. It is her friend again. Her friend is early, can she make it earlier? The girl says that she doesn't know, but will call her back. She hangs the phone up. The father anticipates the question. He is smiling to himself, pushing together the empty sugar packet and red plastic stirrer from his coffee. She begins to ask him, but doesn't get out even a word. He looks at her without any hesitation and gently reminds her that it is important to study for school. In this last minute of their meeting he is so happy it would not surprise me if he began to cry. She cannot see this. She smiles in relief. For a second her smile fades and regret whispers through her eyes.

They gather their stuff and leave.

The candlestick maker, furukawa

making candles..

red candle

furukawa

Furukawa,snow

I love my funny friends

Hi Joanne,
Any pictures of the
"Stood naked outside in the 20 degree weather with a funny hat on" ?

I love hats!!!

Please send.

Thanks

Jeff

hida ryookan, view from the inside

hot springs bath

megumi, otoosan, jun's girlfriend, okaasan

rickshaw, takayama

river, takayama

snow, takayama

view from the room, Hida

spring water

parasol

tea house

onsen

The hats were like the ones you see in any stereotypical Vietnam War movie. The helicopter view of the women in rolled up pants, stooped over ankle deep in water, picking rice with one hand and dropping it into the basket of the others. Those woven bamboo teepee hats that are distinctly and generically Asian. A tough circle of bamboo on the inside sits on top of your head and keeps it there. I always wondered how they managed not to wobble. The fact that we were naked except for a small hand towel each of us was holding and about to walk this way out into the freezing weather, made the idea of wearing one of these hats so ridiculous that I had to put one on. Okaasan was still holding hers, explaining how in the old days these were, and still are apparently, worn when it was raining or snowing outside. "It's snowing now", she said, looking for a hint of approval. I put mine on, okaasan happily put on hers and Emiko followed suit. I opened up the sliding glass door and stepped into the 20 degree air. The cold hit us immediately and we all screamed, "SAMUII!!" (cold!). We carefully walked down the natural rock stairs holding our arms out to our sides in an attempt to balance. The shock of the hot water from the air was not as painful as I thought it would be. There was no burning feeling. Atatakai. Warm. The cold air must have cooled it off. I sat down on a long smooth rock and eased myself into the water. Hot. Perfect. This was the most expensive onsen hotel in the group of ten that lined the street. Our onsen inn had given us passes to visit another onsen bath in a reciprocal agreement that the inns had together. So far, this natural hot spring was the biggest out of the three we had been in. Dark colored rocks made a odd shaped border around the three foot deep pool. Steaming water poured out of several rocks piled on top of each other . All of the hotsprings were very natural and looked stumbled upon. An oasis that they casually built a resort around.The inns themselves resembeled nature as well. Dark wood, sparce furniture and open spaces. They had to have moved rocks around to make this pool. The men's on the other side of a tall brown wooden fence presumabley, was just as nice.

Thick snow added another layer of nature over the stones. The steam from the water made this snow harder than the snow out on the street. Megumi had already been soaking for a couple minutes when we arrived and laughed at the assorted shaped spectacle the three of us made in our hats. A couple of older women in a corner of the pool smiled to themselves. Megumi reached her hand over the edge of the rocks and grabbed a handful of snow. She ate it and said ,"oishii". Okaasan did the same. Living off the land. Megumi grabbed another handful of snow and when her mother wasn't looking, she threw it at her. The clump of wet snow landed on okaasan's back. "SAMUII!", she yelled and her eyes opened as large as they could. She went to her the corner of the pool and grabbed some snow, but decided a handful wasn't enough. Undaunted, she used the rocks to climb almost completely out of the pool. Okaasans largish 58 year old body was perched with her right leg up out of the water on a rock (which was the equivalent of taking about five stairs at the same time), her arms reaching over her head were pulling her up onto an even higher rock and her other leg still in the water, but only ankle deep. She looked like like one of those great rockclimber posters of a person scaling a cliff, except she wasn't in quite as good of shape, and she was naked, and the teepee hat. Her well fed 58 year old body that she maintained with a steady diet of alcohol and indulgent food was drooping and squishing in all droopy and squishable places. You don't really stare at each other in an onsen, but this was a naked train wreck in teepee hat. Amazingly, she managed to scoop together snow with two hands without falling. She turned around in full on king of the hill position and relentlessly launched pile after pile of snow at us while yelling out, "YEEAAAHHH!". After a couple minutes of this, she finally got cold enough to climb back down into the water and sighed at how warm it was.

We sat out there for about twenty minutes total, until we were our body temperatures reached their max. We dressed back into our layers of yutaka and kimonos and went to the lobby of the inn to meet the men and to drink cold tea. With our oil paper colorful parasols to keep the snow from our heads, we then headed back into the white street, for a last look at the ice and snow sculptures on the way home. At our own inn we sat and poured each other glasses of small beer and ate dried squid, cookies and seaweed.

When we were so tired we could hardly talk anymore we took one last soak in our inn's outdoor onsen. This last soak was not as boisterous. We hardly spoke to each other. We sat in the water feeling warm, cool and sleepy. One by one everyone left and I spent a few minutes alone, watching the snow disappear into the cover of steam that rose from the water. Before I went back into the room, I sat down on an automatic massage recliner and had the kinks rubbed out of my shoulder by the surprising life like mechanical elbows that protruded through the leather chair. It hurt, so I knew it was working.

We all easily fell asleep on our fluffy futons that covered the tatami floor. The feeling of drifting off to sleep was so comforting and peaceful that, throughout the night, any little noise in the room, I took as an opportunity to wake up, just so I could have the pleasure of falling back asleep over and over.

Aerobics class

The man in the center of the room watches only himself. He is wearing white tennis shoes, dark blue baggy shorts that come to his knees, a light blue nike sleeveless shirt and a gray headband. His thick round glasses make his eyes look bigger than they are and I can clearly see when he blinks, which he does often. While the rest of us are covertly checking each other out in the mirrored wall, he stays fixed on his own big blinking eyes. Not in self admiration, rather stuck in some serious and contemplative space. His chest rises and falls with effort. The thought is taking his breath from him. His rounded shoulders give a glimpse into his life. The standard businessman suit, the 80 hour work weeks. Existence defined by the rate at which the piles of papers on his desk transform into senseless numbers on somebody's computer screen. His sense of touch expressed only through his fingers on the keyboard, sight consumed by words and numbers that quickly blur together. Now, he paces like a lion trapped in a rabbit's body waiting to be unleashed from the thought in his head. He paces a little square of wood paneled floor by shifting his body weight from hairy leg to hairy leg, his hands clenching his hips.

She walks in and the tension fades from the room. Her presence is an immediate comfort to all of us. She is one of those people that anyone could have as a friend and everyone would want as a friend. Attractive and fit, but not in a harsh way. Relaxed and smiling with a high voice; genuinely kind. Perfectly average, but fitter, cuter and a whole lot happier. She fits into that indecipherable Japanese age of somewhere between 20 and 40. She plays with the knobs on the stereo and into her headset microphone talks about the weather while making individual eye contact and smiling at every one of us. When she looks at the man in the glasses, he beams the way a child does on a visit to his grandmother. The tightness floats from his face, his body loosens.

The beat driven techno music starts and we begin. The man in the glasses is behind her and his reflection stands next to hers in the mirror. There is nothing creepy or clandestine about his stare. His energy is focused on mimicking her moves. Grapevines, front kicks, side kicks, clapping. He is horribly awkward but that seems to fuel his effort. He practices at home. Every move is strong and deliberate. Stiff arms and legs move painfully conscious of each other. A small kick forward turns into a possible hamstring pull combined with a slipped disk. Arms making a simple circle turn into jutting arms with spread fingers slapping at imaginary flies. As soon as his body settles into one move, he is late for the next and it gives the image that he is being fastforwarded.

Now, we walk forward three quick steps. He puts his head down and throws his entire body into what looks like the start of a clumsy race. She smiles kindly and playfully asks him if he is going somewhere. Her words provoke the same response as pinching his cheeks or poking him in the belly like a baby would. He loses his concentration. He stops, a huge smile spreads over his face and he laughs. He doesn't notice that he's stopped moving. After a couple seconds, he again begins to force his body into their contorted positions. His actions suggest he is oblivious to the rest of us. He is alone in this room with her. She runs into the corner or the room, he follows her halfway before he realizes she is only turning the music up.

When the class is over, she opens the glass door for us and thanks each of us for our hard work.

From my bedroom window. 7:30am

Snow

I walked out of the house at 430am to go for a run and found the town covered in several inches of fluffy snow. There was no one out this morning, no sound of cars, no one walking their dogs. I walked for about ten minutes, tried to run and turned around to go home. After ten minutes I was already covered in snow. More importantly, I felt silly disrupting the purity of the moment by running through it encased in layers of fleece and an ipod playing the Fugees plugged into my ears. So I just stood and watched. One of those moments that you have to take it all in, because you have no choice. It is too beautiful and there is nothing to distract you. I stood for five minutes, feeling absolved. It was just another moment. Before the day starts, this is what it all looks like. People always ask me why I get up so early. This is why. To selfishly have the hour before dawn all to myself.

I walked to school this morning instead of riding my bike. I witnessed all the softened faces of innocence that surface with the first blanket of snow. Everyone was smiling. The elementary school kids I pass everyday, today carried snowballs the size of basketballs to launch at their best friends. At the crosswalk the crossing guard was all smiles, laughing about how cold it was while brushing off the snow that had accumulated on my hat and jacket . "It's beautiful isn't it?", she said with a huge toothy grin. She pointed at dirty sludge in the middle of the road. "The cars make it so dirty, it's already dirty." she frowned. Two school children walked up behind her and threw soft snowballs at her. She laughed in surprise and retaliated with handfuls of snow. I watched her and the kids pass the time waiting for the light to change with this playful exchange. It was such a perfect scene that I felt uncomfortable. I didn't belong there, in the middle of their shared private moment. A high school girl with her red legs and hiked up skirt girl rode her bike past me and I thought, ugghh..I should have ridden my bike. Then I watched her bike gently fall out from under her and I thought..glad I didn't. Across the street from me an old man wearing a surgical mask and heavy dark jacket walked his old golden retriever. The dog was dressed in a Ronald- McDonald red fleece jacket with yellow piped pockets on the outside, complete with sleeves for his front legs. He happily pranced next to his slow moving owner, both oblivious to how much pleasure this sight provided for me.

Outside school the kids in their matching navy wool jackets were having snowballfights. More smiles from their red faces, foggy glasses and snow drenched hair. Two of the girls threw snowballs at me that fell apart in the air. They looked at me pensively and invitingly. I played with them for a bit before I went into the school. The kids here make snowmen with two round balls of snow...Not three like back home. At the entrance of the school three of these little misshaped men stood with the word "ohayo" written in the snow.

The first day of an extreme weather change always makes me nostalgic for a certain moment in time, a person or a place. I haven't lived in Milwaukee or Wisconsin for about seven years, but my mind is stuck on a Midwestern reaction to a big snowfall. The camaraderie it brings out in people. Watching strangers run out of a bar to push a tire spinning car out of the grey snow. Neighbors anonymously shoveling out each others driveways. A good Samaritan pulling trucks out of ditches and then leaving before he can be thanked. Dogs galloping through the snow and burying their faces in it. Sitting in the coolest upper apartment I have ever lived in, listening to Baby It's Cold Outside and watching it all from the comfort of the warmth. I'm excited at the thought of walking down the middle of the snowfilled street to the neighborhood bar, the Nomad, for a glass of wine with friends to laugh and watch the snowdrifts take shape. A pang of disappointment interrupts this as I remember this is my past I'm thinking about.

Everyone here is in a good mood today. We are all talking about the weather.

Nihon Buyo

I hit Megumi with my knuckle hard on her leg. She jolts her head up halfway and then smiles. I can't blame her. These are perfect sleeping conditions. The auditorium is dark and the heat is that of the perfect body temperature you feel when you wake up early on a cold morning and realize you have warmed the bed to such a pleasurable temperature that it would be a shame to get up and waste it. All the other people in the audience are obaasan (grandmothers). The room is completely quiet except for a slow tempo Japanese melody, accompanied by a languid female voice crooning of spring rain as an analogy for heartbreak.

Megumi is my "Japanese sister" and we're watching okaasan(mother) give her performance of traditional Japanese dance, or Buyo, a lifelong hobby.

I have learned to love the little things in Japan. By the same token, when I have a cranky day, it is the little things that will send me to cheaptickets.com, to check the price of plane tickets back home. Convienence store clerk's robotic stuttering movements. My students, who I sometimes think all suffer from obsessive compulsive syndrome. Fifteen minutes to draw a simple smiley face, drawing and erasing, drawing and erasing, until everything is just perfect. Me,eating out, making the unprecedented request of an extra tomato on a salad and the exhausting, chaos it creates. There are times I wonder how anything gets done around here. But the truth of it is...Once it is done...It is done from then on....Perfectly.

This perfection translated through Buyo converts details into second upon second of unfaltering beauty.

The women performing today are all in their late fifties and over. In their colorful kimonos, hair ornaments and makeup, they are dancing emotions. Their presence is elegant, timeless and empowering. The dance is done with a parasol,hankercheif or a fan. Every minute movement is perfect. Where the beauty of Spanish or African dance lies in spontaneity of the body, Buyo is the exact opposite. Yet watching the Japanese dancers carry out their dance invoke the same feeling of inspiration and inadequacy. Every move is precise. Every small shuffled step, blink, slight tilt of the head, touch of the fan is calculated down to the millimeter. No energy is wasted on a shift of the body that is not meant to be. In Spanish of African dance, the seductiveness comes from a casual sensuality that swings naturally from the hips and muscles of the dancer. In Buyo, the control of the audience is achieved through restrained, bashful movements. The fan drawn open with the flick of the wrist. The exaggerated, timid eyes that look up into the sky. The slow,linear gestures of the arms, for the purpose of showing off the intricate pattern of the kimono, all done without exposing the hands. The parasol, put into the compromising position of being thrown in the air, lands on the ground in what must be the expected position, as it wouldn't have landed that way otherwise. Every second of this performance is a still framed photo. The movements do not move from one the the next. They are one...and then, the next. A graceful cartoon flipbook. Logical I think I must be missing something, the unperfect movements of transition, but I can't figure out where. It is only one picture to the next in seamless succession.

Okaasan performs her dance with 5 other women,they are samurai and dance with both fans and fake swords as accessories. I'm so relaxed that I am dreaming with my eyes open. My mind is blank, my breathing slow and my eyes are filled with images that are too organized and colorful for my sleep to create. When I come to, I feel like I'm waking up out of a dream, except it is all real. I'm really here. I am watching this. Megumi really is sleeping again. I can't blame her. I just let her sleep.

megumi and okaasan 

The Tea Lady

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her walking toward my desk. 3 o clock already? Today went fast. Life here can easily be a series of repetitive daily details. But this one I like. She holds her right arm close against her body. Her rounded fingers making a fist, conceal today's gift. She palms it gently the way a magician does a dove. Just as discreetly, she twists the back of her hand away from me and exposes my surprise. I look up at her eyes first before I look at her hand. It would be rude to look at her hand first, as if I am expecting something. In a hushed nervous voice she asks me, "tabereru?" (will you eat this?). Her eyes don't motion to her hand for me to look,she just keeps staring straight at me. I raise my eyebrows and upen my mouth in feigned surprise, then I look at her hand. It's an orange. I immediately back up from her and put my hands out in front of me and slightly wave them back and forth, while uttering out a noise that sounds like "yay yay yay ". I am expressing to her that it is too much, I cannot accept it. She pushes the orange closer to me and in her same quite voice says, " ee-yo, ee-yo, tabetekudasai" (it's ok, please eat it). This is our daily ritual. Almost daily. Not enough that it is everyday, but enough that when we don't to it, I feel like I forgot to do something.

Her name is Ichikawa-san. In my mind, she is the tea lady. This being a culture steeped in tradition and tea, it's a good name for her. She is a geisha for the teacher's office. She brings me hot tea in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon too. She picks up after me and worry if I may be catching a cold the way a mother does. If I seem lonely or out of sorts she engages me in conversation about a new restaurant, the weather, or what a nice sweater I'm wearing today, just like a grandmother would.

Mid afternoon she breaks out the snacks, there are not enough for everyone, as I assume she does this out of her own pocket. She has her favorites. I started turning down the chocolate or donuts a long time ago, foreseeing the addictive qualities of this habit in the future. So instead, she brings me fruit, which I am always happy to receive.

I have spoken more to her than I have all the other teachers combined. This is not to say that the other teachers are rude or unfriendly,but busy with their work. Often it is she and I who are left in the big empty room while the others are in meetings or class. She always has a huge smile on her face, her large teeth glaring when she talks. Her lips move, but her teeth don't. She laughs too easily, but it is not irritating. Every sentence is punctuated by her giggles. Only recently have I been able to translate her cheerful, quick speech. My first few months here I had many long, uncomfortable, one -sided conversations with her. I would smile and nod, understanding nothing. I do know that she was telling me secrets, about the other teachers or about her own family. I watched her eyes well up with tears once while she laid her right hand over her heart, clutching at her sweater. I offered her my sympathy for her suffering. It didn't really matter anyway if I knew what suffering she was talking about, just that she hurt.

Now, I understand her. The secrets aren't secrets really. Just details of ordinary things you talk to people about.

The characters say there is water that runs underneath..manhole cover 

It just wouldn't be as fun to hear about Japan if I completely lost my edge, now would it?

Rock and roll business men. Vidal Sassoon stunt doubles. Orange haired pretty boys. Man boys. Mamma's boys. And other less blog friendly names, are what I, and other foreigners call them.

When I first arrived in Japan and started spotting these lovely creatures on the street, I was in awe.
Radiating cool in their maroon pinstripe suits, leather wingtips, spiky tinted hair and maybe an earring or two. Angular faces with heart shaped lips on pouty mouths. They walk with their hands in their pockets, slouching just enough to give their hips a little swagger without looking sloppy. Yes, in my first month here I though, 'oh yes, I want one of these'. And then I started noticing small things: the outline of foundation makeup where it wasn't well blended on the edge of their jaws, the repetitive Rod Stewart hairstyle which was only ever variations of the color orange, the Louis Vuitton man purses carried under their arms, the pinstripes suits they rocked so well....Cheap and stinky. The worst of it was that they were very cocky, and often rude. I saw that my interest was not infactuation but fascination. The way a woman looks at a beautiful drag queen. Half in amazement and half in jealousy for such a outlandish sense of style and the confidence to carry it off. But even that has worn off for me. The coolness, the look that they woke up in their penthouse apartment, threw on a suit and loafers and I only happened to catch sight of them on the street or subway because they were between a rock and roll board meeting, a dinner date and a manicure appointment. The reality is different. They are kept men. Kept by their mothers. This realization had the same effect on me like when everyone found out the rapper Vanilla Ice was not a gangbanger from the bad side of LA, but a suburbanite raised by parents who probably drove volvos and had an American standard poodle named "Winner". The image changes. The reality is that these men live at home, their every whim is catered to by their mothers and the suits are just an outfit, a look. Like wearing fluorescent green leg warmers and bad bangs to an 80s party. But these guys do it every day. The fact is they are probably unemployed or working at a convenience store because they are living at home and there is little pressure to achieve more. They are in their twenties and thirties. They are rude like teenagers and have the responsibilities of five year olds. To questions posed by those to whom they not wish to speak ,the rock stars reply with aggressive unintelligible noises, grunted through barely opened lips and pouty mouths. This is also the type of man boy who would unabashedly sit on the subway and not offer his seat to the 5 old women standing around him. Unlike the hole in the ground toilet, I have never learned to prefer these man boys.

I encountered one of these right side up worn out orange brooms the other day. On the subway. Subways here, not during rush hour, are fine examples of orderly polite Japanese life. People sit exactly in their seat, up straight, knees together, hands folded in laps, careful not to let their body spill outside of the markers for the seat next to them so that another may sit. Not this feminine excuse for a Japanese Rod Stewart. He was tall. He sat slouched in the bench seat with his legs crossed so that his top leg kicked out into the middle of the aisle. His arms were outstretched, one around a woman who may have been a girlfriend ( or a mother, it was hard to tell...He was rude to her like mother, but she looked young like a girlfriend ) and the other around the emptily seat. His long wool trench jacket was unbuttoned and opened around him, also occupying the seat next to him. I looked at him, to the right one half of a space, to the right of that, another man reading a paper, and that man was at the end of the seat bench. I wanted to sit. Easily one person could sit in that space if rock star boy would sit up straight and move his jacket. Everyone else who got on the looked at the space, quietly passed it and stood. Me... .Well, I have to keep myself entertained over here, don't I? I walked up to the space and he didn't budge. I turned around and positioned my posterior in the direction of the seat and he didn't budge. I went through the normal sitting down motion and felt the top of his pinstripe clad shoulder under my butt. There was no going back. Then, I sat on him. Hoping I wouldn't take out his shoulder blade or end up with having to pull pointy orange moussed spikes of hair out of my side. I had positioned my body toward him and not the man on the other side of the seat. After all it was Michel Jackson's suit wearing Japanese counterpart that was being a jackass, not the other guy. Rockstar made a little grunt and moved over, although I continued to sit on his jacket. It wasn't about me,it was about him remaining and looking cool,in the face of a gaijin who sat on him.

The only regrettable part of this story was that I was alone and I had no one to laugh with. I pulled my scarf over my mouth to hide my smile. When his stop finally came, he slowly stood while pulling his jacket out from under me. Once outside, he passed the window and casually looked in to get a look at me. No doubt wondering how I got my foundation to blend so well around my jawline. It's natural, baby. But thanks for noticing.