If I ever get back, I'm never leaving home again...

Okay, this is it. I'm done rehashing my Japan experiences. Haha, SO not true. But in any case, I'm done with this journal.

Home is wonderful, culture shock is nonexistant, and I am breathing a sigh of relief as we speak. Well, that, and it's wonderful to have Big Bird Goes to Japan to watch when I forget what i think about Japan. It really is the greatest movie ever. It explains so much, you all ought to see it.

Big Bird and Barkley travel to Tokyo, they get immensely lost, and when they meet the beautiful moon princess, she asks, "What kind of tour group would leave behind a bird and a dog?"

To which Big Bird replies, "Well, probably the kind of tour guide that would take a bird and a dog to begin with!"

And that, my friends, is all I have to say about that. Sayonara.

OTSUKARESAMADESHITA!

honto ni honto ni...everything is so truly madly deeply these days

So that's it, Jude Law and my Semester Abroad are over. And no, that doesn't make the title of this journal make any more sense than it ever did (you only would understand if you were a fan of Brand New, and even then it's inappropriate, given my situation...).

I will continue to update from home as long as I am still having closing thoughts on the matter, but then I believe it's back to my other life. The one where things make sense, and where I don't cry as much (yes, it's true, I teared up a great deal when I saw my parents at the airport, and then when I came home and saw the welcome home banner erected in my honor).

Already I feel overwhelmed by the sheer diversity and warmth of America. How thrilling it is to step into a room full of people who look different from each other, who act different and don't mind, and who don't immediately classify you as an outsider. How thrilling it is that when you bump into someone, they smile and say sorry, and perhaps give a little sass or joke. I'm waiting for the annoyance factor, but hopefully I'll have a little space to be blissful. I think I deserve it.

More to come, but now I must crash.

Totally worth it

yukio
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Yesterday my friend Graham (journalism student at Northwestern) and I interviewed this woman (anchorwoman, commentator, and writer) as part of a Q & A series at JMR, and it was INCREDIBLE. She talked to us for over an hour in a teahouse (in perfect English) about the state of Japanese journalism, the difficulties of being a woman within "the most undereducated and conservative" industry (Japanese media), her close friendship with the imperial family, and her various experiences (including flying like some fighter plane last week).

She's an amazing woman, and it would be wonderful if I could do a more in-depth profile on her for something better than JMR. We'll see. Look how adorable she is in this picture, she was like, "Should I look all bossy?" Good times in Tokyo.

Here's the article:
Royals Insider Defies Press Club System and Gender Bias

As the end draws near...

ICU
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Everytime someone asks me what I think about Japan, I have to find some different way to describe it. There is no one way to summarize my experiences here; there never will be, of course. Just a lot of frustration with being unable to truly explain myself. When you ask me this question, and I give you a truncated response, realize that it's only half a truth (or perhaps not at all), and the true range of my opinion on the subject is hidden somewhere so deeply that even I can't access it yet.

So. As my final days draw to a close, my friends and I have started to wonder what reverse culture shock will be like. No one could have explained to us what culture shock would mean before we arrived, and it's undoubtedly different for everyone, but it doesn't stop me from wondering. What will I miss about Japan? What will home feel like? While I like to imagine that there will be nothing but a misty-eyed sentimental outpouring of love upon my return, it's also quite likely that home won't feel just right, at least not at first. How banal. How expected. Despite my constant search for the universal chord (the writer's dream), the fact is that I like to arrive at it from unexpected angles. And yet there I will be, thinking "how wonderful it is to view home from a new perspective after these travels," and "how I appreciate my experiences abroad so that I can come home with a better sense of who I am and where I fit into the world," just like every other sap. Oh well. The world is too small to be truly unique. Unless you're Bjork.

In any case, what is certain is that I will miss my girly girls. Today at lunch we were sitting around, cracking up about Bobby falling asleep in class and the thrills of yeasty cheese and imitating our least favorite profs, and it felt like things weren't so bad after all. Like I'd reached a tolerable plateau, and maybe if I could just get over the hump of these first 5 months, I would acclimate to the 日本の生活 after all. But I'll never know, because I only have the privilege of this way of thinking while holding my homebound ticket in my hands, and knowing that this is not the case.

I find that our professors are an interesting resource when it comes to living in Japan. Because on the one hand, these are 外人 who have bitten the bullet and decided to actually LIVE in Japan, but on the other hand, such professors are not necessarily *normal* people. They are often people who are inwardly motivated, introspective, solitude-loving bookworms who are not looking for the same kinds of relationships with other people that I am (like all the generalizations there?).

The head of the Japanese Langauge Program spoke to our class about his experiences learning Japanese, and he readily admitted that he felt Japan was a racist country where an outsider can never feel truly comfortable, that Japanese people often go through life without close friends, that ICU's dream of being "borderless" is bullshit, and that the only way that he has been able to survive is because he "doesn't mind the racism and doesn't need a lot of friends." 面白いね？ Even a highly respected professor, who is completely immersed in the system through his own choosing, considers such statements factual.

Japan is an odd place. I made this statement in the very beginning, and five months later I still stand by it. It may be true that the more you travel the world, the more you realize that everywhere is the same, and even my own current sense of comfort and complacency leads me to believe that humans are adaptable enough to thrive in even the most starkly contrasting cultures, but -- Japan is a place unto itself. Negativity, cynism and pessimism aside, I think you'll have to agree (or else I'm going to beat you up!).

Look ma, I'm online!

Here's a silly little article I wrote for Japan Media Review about cell phones in Japan:

Lost in Translation

Have you ever been to a party where all of the guests dress the same?

yukata
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

It was kind of like that on Mt. Fuji this weekend, when the six of us wore these trendy purple robes for pretty much the entirety of our stay. David and Raphael's gracious host family paid for all of us to chill out at Hotel Mt. Fuji Friday night (dude, host families are so bogus...), which was a wonderful and much-needed departure from the hustle of the city.

Part of the loveliness of this trip was, of course, the steamy public baths. It was so nice to be naked and warm and to gaze out at the view with my most wonderfulest of friends.

Fuji-san proved elusive when we reached the hotel, but we woke in the morning to see the snowy peaks and oft-depicted shape looming above us. Quite, quite beautiful.

So now it's back to the books for 11 more days. If I were at Pomona I would provide the traditional rundown of precisely how many tests and finals and papers and presentations and projects I have to complete before heading home, but I'll reserve that list for my own personal countdown. Let's just say, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and it looks amazing indeed.

Yum. That's all I can say.

In good ol' Mike Fish style (he writes me these tomes from Sri Lanka, and I swear the whole things consist of how good Sri Lankan food is...), I'm going to let you in on a little secret. There is something I'm going to miss desperately about Japan. (shh! don't tell!) Here is just a sampling:

Sukiyaki and Shabu-Shabu. Kaitenzushi. Tonkatsu and ebi fry and all things crispy-fied. Curry Rice straight from the shokudo. Poifulls, Hi Chews and Pur. Agedashi Tofu. Curry Udon in extra large size. Okonomiyaki (though Janesta just doesn't put out). Kareage. Daikon salad. Ramen with seasoned boiled egg. Japanese-style pizza (which has oddly grown on me, despite the lack of crust and insistence on seafood topping). Yakisoba. Croquette. Those little hot dog sandwiches. The ICU Pan-ya and good ol' Shinri. Soft cream (sesame and squid ink flavor?). Ice cream crepes. Dita. Gyoza. Steam cake (sweet love straight from the bini). Mayonnaise flavoring. Pipin' hot! Fried rice. Takoyaki turned from sheets to balls before your eyes. Imagawayaki (filled with creamy). The list goes on and on.

The point isn't that you can't find these things in the States; undoubtedly these things are all SOMEwhere, in Little Tokyo or Uwajimaya or something. The upsetting thing is that they're EVERYwhere here, and I will miss walking down the street, hungry as hell and following my nose to the nearest ramen shop. Or tracing my fingers over every last option at the conbini, because where else can you get such delicacies at a 7-11? Storming the streets of Kichijoji, plastic foods beckoning from every window.

Above all else, it is my mouth that will miss Tokyo.

Halloween lasts forever some days.

dead man on train
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Yesterday was Halloween, but it wasn't a very Halloween-y Halloween. Nick and I slept in enormously late, and I had little desire for costumes or candy, to be honest. Sometime in the afternoon I headed out to Roppongi Hills to buy some postcards for my friends (the museum store at Mori is supa-fly, by the way...), and though I only had about 600 yen to my name, also bought food for the apartment.

I'm not sure why I'm telling you the story of yesterday, except that it was an ordinary and extraordinary day. My life and not my life. Hm, maybe I should just continue. Nick and I have been surviving off of ramen with egg for far too long, so I bought baguettes and pesto and tomatoes and cheese and toasted some right fancy hors d'eouvres for the two of us before he headed off to Ginza.

Then it was David's birthday, so we met up at Musashi-Sakai for some nomihodai at Ikyuu (and got a free bottle of shochu for my october birthday!) with an interesting assortment of kids. Met a kid from the Air Force (or something, was I supposed to remember?) and his girlfriend, exchanged numbers so when they come into Roppongi for tequila tasting they can give us a ring.

Headed home around 11:30, fearing we'd missed the last train, and hopped into the car to find a large Japanese man SPRAWLED out, dead asleep in the middle of the floor. This delightfully ludicrous sight proved the catalyst for instant bonding with the other members of the car--without a doubt, more camaraderie with other train-riders than I've seen in my entire time here--who laughed and poked and took pictures and loudly commented on his sabishii state. Some time in between Musashi Sakai and Shinjuku, we started chatting up the cute girl across the aisle who spoke English really well (between the two of us, who could say no?). Turns out she lives really close to us, so we exchanged numbers and info before parting.

Then we headed home to our neighborhood restaurant, Alambique, a posh little place that Nick and I frequent so often, they give us drinks half off (or free) and extra food, and, you know, all that other stuff that happens when you're friends with the cooks and servers and bartenders. We hung out while they closed up, and then Rin (the captain of the bar?) came back to our place and hung out til like 3 in the morning.

Wow, my life sounds like...cool, and fun. I mean, I don't really make it sound like that (my detached tone doesn't imply much in the way of enjoyment, does it), but this is the stuff of Caleb's Crazy Tales from Paris (except everyone would be speaking French, and there would be a lot more "But I am le tired") or Pilar's Stupendous Tales from Brasil. Huh. Who knew.

sometimes you have to travel the world to see what's right in front of you

"I had been wondering about taking part in a student theatre project about being Asian American, and I said to Tommy, "The thing is, I don't feel as thought I've really lived the...Asian American experience." (Whatever I thought that was.)

Tommy kind of looked at me. And he said, "But, Claire, you ARE Asian American. So whatever experience you have lived, THAT is the Asian American experience."

I have never forgotten that."

- Claire Huang Kinsley, "Questions People Have Asked Me. Questions I Have Asked Myself."

happy birthday to meeeee

Ah, 21 years old, can you believe it? So frickin old. My friends here threw me a great bash on Sunday night, complete with tabehodai-nomihodai sukiyaki (all you can eat, all you can drink) and all-out clubbin at the Shibs Gas Panic. We got SO LOUD during dinner (come on, they seated the 7 Americans RIGHT in the middle of the restaurant, it was just too easy) and very nearly got kicked out (or maybe we did get kicked out?), but not before consuming so many little slices of beef and pitchers of beer and sake and Japanese deliciousness.... ah, the memory makes me smile.

Thank you to everyone who sent cards and presents, I received so many on the actual day of my birthday, the mailman must have KNOWN or something. Hmm. But then he is still hiding the package from my mom, so I don't know.

Either way, things are winding down positively over here. At least, that one day was loads o' fun. Today we had another earthquake (how many is that now? too many to even count), except this time it was during class, and I was astounded to discover that in a country as earthquake-riddled as this one, they don't teach kids ANYthing about how to survive an earthquake. We've had no fire drills since I've been here, and the concept of hiding under a desk or doorway when the floor starts to sway (to the sound of Gary Crossman's whistle, of course!) is relatively unknown. Moreover, our teacher actually told us to stand NEAR the windows if there's an earthquake. Come on, people! No wonder shinkansens derail over here... Just kidding, it's actually pretty spiffy how earthquake-proof the buildings are here.

attacku! attacku!

shibs
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

I feel like it's been a long time since I've written one of those "what I've learned about Japan and thusly myself" kinds of entries, which means that there are lots of little seedlings swimming around ferociously inside my vacuous spaces, desperately seeking the light. Who knows what form they will take by the time I get around to birthing them all.

But, as a new friend referred to me casually as "profoundly negative," and as this comment has impacted me in a profound way (we won't even get into my existential crisis, it's still a bit of a sore spot), I've decided to have a go at Japan. Just for a little while. Just to give you a glimpse of the seething underbelly (in case you thought that it had evaporated).

So one of my ways of dealing with this experience was to try not to make generalizations, and to wait as long as possible before lumping any observations into what could be called a trend. I just think life is safer that way. I mean, it's fun to go around blurting out statements like "Japanese people are so fucking annoying because they never bend the rules...EVER!" or maybe "Japanese people are all so vain and appearance-obsessed...do they ever leave their pocket mirrors at home!?!" and feel a sense of gaijin-solidarity in what you are certain is a brilliantly insightful statement about the Japanese people as a whole. But I do think it's valuable to refrain from the ease of these generalizations. Oh yeah, it's also fun to say things like, "The Japanese language is so inexact and lacking in nuance...there's only one acceptable way to say anything!" (I'll let you figure out the problem with that statement on your own)

Okay so here's where I get hypocritical and try to posit my own insightful observations and anecdotal evidence, but after that introduction you're supposed to be more inclined to believe me, as well as to think that my observations are superior to the ones that most people make. It's all part of the plan, you see.

It is a very frequent occurrence here that people look at me with that "you're so kawaiso" face and then say something like, "Japan is very different from the United States, isn't it" or "Japan is just a hard place for foreigners to understand, ne!" While both of these statements might be true, I think that slapping a label onto one's seikatsu like that (it's so easy, isn't it!) just gives you a place to hide, instead of forcing you to probe further into it.

What if I said that Japan was NOT so different from the United States? What if I said that Japan is so modernized and Westernized that living here is pretty much as close as you can get to living at home in a foreign country? After all, nearly everything can be found in English, nearly everything in the stores/on the streets/inside your home is recognizable and easy to figure out, and to top if off, your gaijin status makes you immutable to cultural faux pas (not true, by the way, but it helps my argument).

Okay, so if it's not the "difference" (what a buzz word...dynamics of difference and all) that makes adjustment difficult, what is it? The clue is in the second statement (made by a Japanese person) that a non-Japanese person can never understand Japan. What I've found to be the definitive barrier in ever passing through that 4th stage of culture shock (bicultural adaptation or something along those lines) is not that Japan is such a different place than the United States, but that Japanese people believe it is.

It's one of those things where you can walk down the street and imagine that you're in the States -- all of the store fronts are in English, cars are whizzing by, McDonalds and Starbucks are rearing their ugly heads...things just feel American -- except that everyone around you is Japanese. This in itself isn't even the problem (after all, you imagine that you can conversationally engage most of them, right? What else have your 3 hours of Japanese a day taught you?). The problem is that each of these people is carrying around an idea of their own Japaneseness, and this idea involves looking at you as the antithesis to that.

At the very least, this explains the consistency of comments like "You can use chopsticks so well!" and "Your Japanese is so jouzu!" after only the most nominal displays of usage. In general, I feel that this assumption about one's relationship to Japan and Japanese culture is the underpinning for every interaction between Japanese people and foreigners, and the one that has forever barred me from seeing this place as "home" (though Pomona gained such status after I'd lived there for only a handful of months). I've found that Japanese people are extremely dedicated to (obsessed with?) defining themselves in relation to their national identity (are Americans as obsessed with teaching you about American culture and traditions? No, because Americans don't believe they "have any culture"...another fundamental problem that I can't delve into at this point), but that they are astonishingly misinformed about what this identity means.

In my experiences here (look how well I utilize qualifiers and shy from making bold statements like "Japanese people ARE this and that..."), I would say that Japanese people define themselves first by their nationality, and then by their cultural identifiers, which consist of things like Japanese food (which Americans probably don't like), Japanese traditional art forms (which Americans should look at, but won't really understand), and the Japanese language (which is obviously too difficult for Americans to learn). What about the rest, people!? I won't even begin to suggest the things that I would attribute to the construction of the true"Japanese identity," or the ways in which these things are systemically repressed. (p.s. if you've gotten this far, congratulations and I owe you a coke or something)

Instead, I'll poke the obvious holes in my argument that you should have thought of by now. 1) I am in no position to tell you how Japanese people define themselves, if you've listened at all to my experiences here. 2) There are different levels that do exist, but they are not accessible to me at this point. 3) The hypocrisy of this entry is too blinding to even allow for consideration, let alone agreement.

So I still have more thinking to do. I'd just like you to know that when I say things like, "I really can't wait to go home, " it's not my queen-sized bed in Portland that I have in mind. And for my sake, at the very least, please don't think that it's because "Japan is so different from the United States." Maybe for some people it is. Maybe for me it is, and I'm just in denial. But I'd like to think it's something different than that.

Proof that living too long in Japan makes you fundamentally messed up

Professor Wilson to our art history class, in the prelude to his lecture about T'ang Dynasty artifacts: "Yesterday we had an earthquake. Now, I'd like you to consider the fact that we could all DIE in an earthquake. Look at this building. The hallways are too small for everyone to evacuate if we had a really big earthquake. We would just all die. Maybe we'd jump out the windows. You need to be prepared for that. Imagine it in your head -- what would you do if it happened? Every day for at least one minute, you need to contemplate the fact that you might die in an earthquake. I've seen people die in earthquakes, and they weren't prepared. All of your classmates might die. You might die. You need to seriously think about this."

Professor Kiyama to our Japanese lit class, as part of a discussion of the Battle of Okinawa: "Have any of you been in a disaster? Where like everyone around you was dying and you had to decide whether you would save yourself or save other people? I mean, I don't know about you, but if my husband seemed like he was dead, I'd just leave him and save myself. Anyone been in a situation like that? Hands?"

free at last, free at last

nick
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

My friend Nick (introduced to me by Emily; they're old boarding school buds...which means he's also friends with Nicole from Pomona...) has officially SAVED ME from the depths of despair, offering his posh Roppongi Hills mansion (that's Japanese for apaato...i mean apartment) as a crashing pad for my last six weeks in Japan. Do you even UNDERSTAND how wonderful this is!? I've escaped from the Kuzumas...forever! And this makes me (drumroll please) both happy AND living in Japan, which are two things I never thought could coexist in the world as we know it.

A little about Nick, because I feel like I haven't given him due press yet (despite his ever-present, um, presence on this blog via comments). He's a graphic artist/business consultant (taking his junior year off from Babson, but should be at RISD) for an engineering company in Shinjuku, and he's here for the whole year (or maybe more...he definitely jives with this place better than I). Whoa man, the parentheses are out of CONTROL here.

Anyways, he and I get along like old childhood playmates (he reminds me a lot of Caleb sometimes?). We indulge each others' artistic/nerdy sides, and we're SO PSYCHED to be roomies it's not even funny. Okay, I admit this may lead to us driving each other CRAZY at some point in the future, but maybe it will be in a good way, and this situation is only for six weeks so...oh well? We have the same ideas about the city life and experiencing Japan, and all in all, I can only say that things are finally seeming to look up.

HELP! GET ME OUT!

sister
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

I just found out that Jessica from Pomona stayed with this family last year, so I wrote to her for advice, and this is what I got:

"Yes, I did live with the Kuzuma family last year, and yes, I did survive. But I remember thinking that I wasn't going to. Here are a couple of things to expect, if you haven't experienced them already.

The mother and daughter will fight viciously several times a week. They will have screaming matches and will sound like they are about to kill each other. This is normal.

The mother will try to find ways to make you feel bad about yourself. For instance, she called me fat a few times.
If they tell you they are going to give you a key and you haven't received one yet, don't hold your breath. They will leave the door open for you if you tell them you are going to be home late.

I pretty much just kept to myself in that little room all semester and stayed out as much as possible. The mother will talk to you about Buddhism for hours on end if you let her. The father will assume that you speak no or very little Japanese. The daughter probably won't become your best friend.

Oh, and the laundry machine is really annoying to use. But you probably know all of this by now. Just try to stay out as much as you can. Have fun and stay positive."

Yeah. That's pretty much it in a nutshell. This weekend my bike got stolen from outside the train station (I swear, I locked it to itself like a good Japanese person and everything!) so now it takes me approximately 50 minutes to walk home every day. In the rain. And get this -- it's the best part of the day. Being alone, listening to the stellar mix my friend Nick made me, just walking around the streets of Musashino.

Fun stuff. Only 7 more weeks.

fucking come on and break the door down. i'm ready.

Japan and I are in a fight; a Cold War of sorts. You know, things started out so nicely. I had a little crush back in my formative days (okay fine, a big crush. Puppy love, that sort of thing). She was so beautiful and intriguing, full of mystery and newness, and when I was with her, I felt happy and comfortable and alive.

When did things start to go wrong? I suppose I've gotten to know her better. She may be pretty on the outside, but now I know her to be self-absorbed, wracked with insecurities, cold and harsh at times, phony and deceptive at others. I'm different now too; less trusting, more cynical. Maybe that's the problem. Instead of waiting to be swept off my feet by her, I kept pushing back, asking tough questions, looking behind curtains and jabbing with skepticism.

In any case, now we're officially in a fight. Sometimes I give her the silent treatment, but she doesn't really notice (selfish bitch, who does she think she is?). Sometimes I relent a little and try to see things from her point of view, and then we can get along for a couple of days, but then she'll just go and piss me off again, or maybe hurt my feelings in that inexplicable way that she does, and then we're back to square one. It's kind of an abusive relationship.

I'm not sure if we'll ever really smooth things out. At best, I'm hoping for mutual cohabitation in which we don't constantly try to scratch each others' eyes out. Maybe one of these days she'll show me a side of her I hadn't seen before, or maybe I'll grow to see her with new eyes again. Somehow I doubt it, but who knows. We all have some work to do in the meantime.

the longest semester of my life

Since I recently developed a nasty cold, my family finally broke down and gave me a real blanket. Now I sleep better at night, though that may also be due to the heavy dosages of Tylenol PM with which I self-medicate.

The weather today reminds me of home. The sky is bright and blue and the wind is blowing and the sun is shining. It reminds me of my Bridlemile days, when my mom used to take me out of school for piano competitions or whatnot, and then we'd just spend the day pal-ing around together, getting frosties at Wendy's and shopping at Washington Square. My dreams are so transparent these days.

Since I've got the floor...

There are a lot of things about Japan that I didn't expect. There are a lot of things about Japan that I did expect. I don't like to feel cheated, but I don't like to have low expectations. Sometimes there's no way around either of these things.

For instance, I expected to make friends in Japan, and this has happened. What I didn't expect was that none of them would be Japanese. To be sure, my life here is full of people, and interesting people at that. There's the Pomona people I didn't know as well before, but who now form my strongest support system. There's the SCJ kids who stuck around for the duration, and now suffer alongside me in good ol' J4. There's the JETs who somehow mistook the celebritydom of grade schools for a reason to study Japanese at ICU (oh how wrong they were). There's the artists and the writers making their way in Tokyo, livening up my evenings. There's the hapas and the APAs who I can talk to about all my favorite issues of identity, and who enlighten me as to their varied backgrounds.

But who are these people really? They're Americans. From Cali and Boston and Pennsylvania and New York and Washington, and yes, sometimes even Venezuela. They're not Japanese. Where have all the kindred Japanese spirits gone? Maybe it has something to do with the whole in-group out-group thing, maybe it has something to do with the fact that I don't live in the Japanese dorms, maybe it has just has something to do with the type of people I'm attracted to. Who really knows. But certainly, having zero conversations with real Japanese college students was something I never expected.

As Emily says, I could always go out and MAKE Japanese friends, but that's not all there is to it. I don't befriend people for their national origins, and if it hasn't happened now, nearly 13 weeks into this whole shebang, the reason for that is interesting enough. I would say it has something to do with my gender, but it also has something to do with the way that I approach people as friends.

In other news, I'd just like to say that if you play the organ, you should enter this competition in Tokyo. The grand prize was nearly FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS! Sheesh man. Who knew there was so much money in organs.

I'm tired of thinking about Japan. When does this become just living, instead of living in Japan? I guess it never does. Someday we should all stop lying about this.

Random musings

host family
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Here's my host mom and dad, if you wanted a visual representation for all the crazy stories I tell about them. Most recently, though, I was having a huge craving for sashimi (how Japanese have I become?), and I stumbled downstairs to the shout of "SHOKUJI RORI" (like the robot I have become) and found what else, but a pile of fresh sliced maguro, mayonnaise-filled macaroni salad, fried chicken, steamed spinach, nashi, and miso soup. Ahh, my host father had assembled a fine dinner. It's okay that we don't talk; yesterday he satisfied my foodless soul.

Etienne Pierron, our resident Frenchy, has been providing many a linguistic challenge. I feel fantastically fluent as a translator, given that my mother speaks in simple Japanese and he speaks in simple English. Oh the semantic simplicities of 2nd languages. Or, as I like to say, it's really the blind leading the blind leading the blind. Brilliant. But, sadly, he lost his organ competition, and he won't be here for much longer, so things will be back to normal at the Kuzuma household. Did I mention that my host mother tried to extort money from him? She is so hilarious. And by hilarious I mean gruesome.

I have to write an essay about how I've changed since I was a child, and although I could delve deeply into the way that my perceptions of most everything in life have been altered by this experience -- as CrisHarris might ask, is life made of watershed experiences, or do we hack at it bit by bit? -- but more likely I will talk about how I used to not like mustard, and now I do. I also used to not like onions, but now I like them in big chunks (do you think I can mention that if they're in small chunks I still find them frightening?).

sorry, dad...

tongue
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Only 3 more months...

room
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

My new homestay family in Tokyo is somewhat of a nightmare. This is my bedroom (at least I have one to myself) -- Yes, that's a desk pushed right up against my bed; yes, there are no sheets or blankets on the bed; and yes, you can see the interior of my neighbor's bedroom straight through my lacy transparent curtains. There is no room for my luggage, no closet space, no drawers, and worst of all, no air conditioning.

My host mother, who is from Taiwan, commandeers my life in a combination of poor Japanese and even worse English, telling me when to shower, when to brush my teeth, what to eat, and everything else she can think of. She also expresses loud disapproval of my facial piercing. I am not allowed to receive incoming calls, I cannot use the family computer, and who knows what my 60,000 yen a month rent goes toward, because they are loath to even lend me a spare towel.

Besides my yammering host mother, I have a sulking, sullen high school-age host sister, and a dim-witted toothless host father. When they speak to each other, their speech is so slurry I can't tell if they're speaking Japanese or Chinese, or perhaps a language they have concocted together that consists only of consonants and wheezy barking.

I fear I will never want to leave the hallowed halls of my college campus, or that I will instead develop a tenacious craving for the pachinko parlors. At least they have loaned me a jitensha, by which I will escape every night.

Sometimes you have pink eye and an ear infection and there's a typhoon outside and you have become a deaf-mute and think that everyone is speaking to you in tongues and still you have to catch an airplane and find a motel by yourself and you think that things can't get any worse. But of course they always can, and that's the beauty of the thing. You just never know.

wherein all of the pieces of my life miraculously fit together...

I was doing a little research online (who knows what variety), and I stumbled upon a webpage called the Japan Media Review. Lo and behold, I had stumbled upon the answer to my life's quest for meaning -- an online journal dedicated to examining the practice of journalism in Japan! I mean really, what else does a girl with a double major in Media Studies and Asian Studies who is currently located in Tokyo really expect to do with her life?

Okay, just kidding, I never really intended to combine my majors into one tangible project, and the site is less than revolutionary. Still, the coincidence was more than enough to pique my interest. But wait. It gets better.

I discovered that the project was run through the Annenberg School of Communication at USC (my journalism alma mater of sorts, I like to think), and the Editor in Chief was none other than my former journalism teacher! Before I could shout "God bless Tommmy Trojan!" with glee, I fired off an email to Professor Pryor, informing him of my location in Japan, the culmination of my studies in this field, and my interest in helping propagate the project.

He wrote back almost immediately, reminiscing fondly about our days covering the 2000 Democratic National Convention together (ok, he probably doesn't really remember me, but he still refers to me as a "veteran reporter from that summer"), and mentioned that he had forwarded my email on to the students who now run the site.

Yeah, the story had a great build-up huh? But that's the end of it. No one ever responded after that, and Pryor is no longer the editor of the site. Too bad. Oh well.

In other news, I deeply regret ever posting my cartoon characters onto cafepress.com (the merchandise section of my website), because people often misinterpret it as an actual business. My Japanese relatives went a little crazy when they saw it, and told all their friends I was the shachyo of a "Lori brand" clothing company, and then made me draw pictures of them. This is bad news, I think it needs to stop.

Sometimes I feel my entire life has been a fraud. Was I ever really a journalist? An artist? A writer? A photographer? We already know I'm not really Japanese. Oh well, we will see how far I can slide along. In my postmodern view of myself, these representations of reality can withstand more than this. I think I'll just let them be.


[edit: The editor of JMR has since gotten back to me, and I am now writing for the site...that is, if I could think of the right story to write...]

i think i missed the memo

gym
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

I have now visited every grade school, middle school, juvenile delinquency center, old folks home, technical trade school, seaweed museum, and potato farm in Nanae Cho. I think. And if I've visited it, that means I've endured being placed on stage, given a microphone, and being made to speak in Japanese about myself, my home country, and my interest in Japanese food. To much loud applause, flash photography, and song-singing, of course. Then I'm shuttled off to individual classrooms to be given the rock star treatment -- AKA, everyone asks me whatever they can think of in Japanese (which one of us do you think is the best looking? do you like japanese food? do you have a boyfriend?), then asks for my autograph, then trails me for the rest of my stay (without saying anything, just following and maybe grabbing). Very odd indeed.

Things they should have put on the list of what to bring to Hokkaido: Fluency in Japanese (nothing is ever translated), Desire to Speak in Public (usually as part of a special ceremony. Also: Desire to Give Interviews, Have Picture Taken, and Meet Important People), Shareable Special Talent (singing of national anthem, juggling, or riding a unicycle would be nice), Knowledge of Home Country's Cuisine (and preferably a way to make a dish to serve 50 that doesn't require ovens, as Japanese people don't own any), and last but not least, Willingness to Put Up With Weird Formalities.

Don't even ask how many of these things I thought to bring with me beforehand.

I would also like to add that I have summarily been put on what I like to call the Japanese Schoolchild Diet. Maybe they're trying to tell me I'm fat, but I don't really appreciate the sentiment when it comes by way of a lunch portion the same size as a 7-year old's. Yeah, it's cute when Japanese schoolchildren don white hats and aprons and then serve you one bite of meat, two bites of vegetable, a bowl of soup, and a carton of warm whole milk, but it's also a tad unsatisfying.

One-Track Mind

edamame
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Does't David look happy with his edamame? Hard to believe that yesterday was one of my most frustrating days in Japan to date.

I could pretend the problem was that they tried to pack too many activities into one day (oh, you don't think that visiting a grade school, picking potatoes and squash at one farm and edamame at another, going to an onsen, bowling with the local rotary club, and attending a speech-filled dinner was to much for one day? well i did), but mostly I'm just tired of Hokkaido.

I do enjoy my host family; they are amazingly interesting people and they seem to like me. Sometimes I even feel like myself around them. But this whole program is just a joke. They speak to us constantly in Japanese that I can't understand, they treat us like children, and they are obsessed with formalities.

In Japan, there is only one appropriate answer to the question, "Dou deshita ka?" (How was it?) No, scratch that, there are three answers. In the case of activities (for example, digging in the dirt) the answer is always "Tanoshikatta!" (it was fun!). In the case of food (smelly fish paste mixed with fermented glue, perhaps), the answer is always "Oishikatta!" (it was delicious!). And if you learn something (a toothless old man explains automobile servicing for two hours), the answer is alway "Omoshirokatta!"

At this point, I'm not even sure why they continue to ask me how I liked everything, because it's obvious what the answer is going to be. Gritting my teeth, barely concealing my sarcasm, I will always give the appropriate response. It's like when they catch me seeming slightly unhappy or tired, and they tell me, "Ganbatte Rori! Ganbatte!" The only meaning concealed in this pet phrase is, "I don't give a FUCK how you feel, SACK UP and act like you're ENJOYING yourself."

And I am, oh how I am. Omoshiroi, ne?

Photo op! Photo op!

nhk
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

While the purpose of this Hokkaido program was described to us in the brochure as "WORLD PEACE" (a commendable goal, no?), I have long since decided that it is instead to have a giant week-long photo op to publicize the wonders of Nanaecho.

Everywhere we go, newspaper reporters, television cameras, and photographers follow us. Majorly obnoxious. I rebel by refusing to smile in any of the photographs. This process is made ten times worse by the fact that all 20 members of our tour group add their own cameras to the pile when we start to take a group picture. Even the most serene moments here are always punctuated by the snap, whir, and flash of countless cameras.

We have also perfected the fine art of the self introduction and the gracious thank you, as we must perform them together at least half a dozen times a day at each various site. After all, we are FOREVER INDEBTED to the people of Hokkaido for GRACIOUSLY sharing their PRECIOUS time to guide our HUMBLE minds with their BOUNTIFUL knowledge.

farm girl i ain't

cowsme
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

On Saturday, I woke up bright and early to accompany my host father to the farm and see what real Japanese cowboys do. Highlights included: feeding a baby calf a bottle of milk and then watching it follow him around like a pet dog. Trying to cut a new path to the pasture, but realizing it was too narrow when the cows jostled into the electric fence and then were too scared (or perhaps too jolted) to take the path any more. Standing as a human wall as the cows were guided by the road into the new pasture. Driving through the pasture to look for new calves; finding one, lassoing it, and piercing an identifying tag onto its ear. Repairing the electric fence. Cutting the greenery around the fence. Repairing the barbed wire.

cows Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

The most interesting/gross activity of the day was surely dehorning the new batch of cows. Wait, cows or bulls? Hmm. Anyway, the process involves shooing one cow at a time into this little metal cage, and then when they stick their head through the end, slamming a metal bar down to catch their head. Then they are relatively unmoveable, and their ears are free to be tagged and their horns are free to be clipped off (as my otoosan demonstrates in this picture). The horns come off with a clean clip, but as soon as they're set free, the blood starts to gush.... Yeah, not so pretty.

being all confined

kimono
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Today we learned how to put on a kimono -- aka, hold your breath, suck in your stomach, and smile for the camera!

kimono2
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

I have to admit, being corned in folds of heavy cloth, standing in a ladylike fashion, and folding my hands appropriately in my lap are all not really my style. These things are right up there with speaking in a squeakily high voice, bowing to all authority figures, and acting demure and coy...which is to say, maybe I'm being a rude American, but I don't believe in them. It's fun for a little while to play pretend, but then it just gets old. And demeaning.

Realizations in Japan

tsugumi
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

1. The world is a very small place. (also, I have famous friends)
Proof: Tsugumi, my 13 year old host sister, was trying to figure out the theme song to Mario Brothers on the piano. She showed me a video on her computer where this kid is playing the whole song on the piano, and she wants to imitate him. Before I can formulate the Japanese translation of "My friend at home who took lessons from the same teacher as me used to play that song too," the kid in the video turns around to smile at the camera and I realize that it IS my friend...it's Ben Kim! Internet superstar, even in a tiny rural town in Japan.

2. My host father is secretly fluent in English. (also, he is a genius)
Proof: I was showing him the TSL website to prove that I really was a journalist, and he started to read my article about the Scripps wall that was repainted/graffitied during the racial controversies at Pomona.
"Muzukashisugiru," I told him, insisting that the words I used to describe the incident were too difficult for me to translate, when all of the sudden he not only completely understands the article, but whips out an obscure Billie Holiday reference to the song "Strange Fruit" that I allude to in the article (but which he hasn't even gotten to yet), and starts explaining the meaning of her song and its reference to the lynching of slaves in the South. Um, WHAT?

Hokkaido-ing

beds
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Getting up north to Hokkaido was quite the nightmare...In summary, a large ship and nearly an entire day spent rockin it, sleeping with 40 girls on the floor of aforementioned ship ("refuge camp" or "girl's orphanage," we liked to call it), moving (barely) up to an odd campsite in the mountains to sleep in bunk beds (see, moving up a little) and take gang showers (does no one else call them this?) or perhaps to NOT, singing around a campfire (or NOT, as I conveniently went to bed early instead), and generally avoiding being treated like a five year old at summer camp. Blech. Plus, us eight Pomona kids are the only representatives of America on the whole program, which means that everyone else is Chinese or Korean or Vietnamese, which provides an interesting linguistic challenge.

Today there is a typhoon in Hokkaido, and with the enormous gusts of wind and torrential rainfall, the power went out, which could only mean one thing...yasumi no hi! So my siblings and I are happily indoors playing video games and internetting all day long. My dad still had to go feed the cows and whatnot, and I don't know where my mom is, but I'm happy as a clam here in the house. TOO BAD, no zazen or middle school - visiting.

Time for lunch, I hope. Whee!

slish slosh

Today I celebrated my departure from Global House and the end of Summer Courses in Japanese by finally dipping my fingers into my laundry-smelling gel air freshener. The thing has been tempting me daily for the last six weeks, those little gel-beads all squishy and fragrant, sloshing around. I couldn't take it anymore. Casting aside all fears of rashes and hives (hey man, I have sensitive skin, and fragrance products are not meant to be rubbed onto me), I took the plunge. I grabbed great handfuls of the stuff and let the slippery beads slide through my fingers. It was FANTASTIC. Then I went to the bathroom and flung it all into the toilet. When Emily wasn't looking, I stole her air freshener and scattered the lumpy gel bits all over her sink.

This, my friends, is what Japan is all about.

Disappearing like a blip does

class
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

After tomorrow's final exam, I'm outa here. Off to Hokkaido, where it will be cool (again, if only I understood the fine mechanics of Celsius...) and English-less, I do believe. Which will be a wonderful (read: totally impossible) undertaking for me and my six-weeks-worth of learned Japanese.

I'm doing that thing again where I make friends with people right before I have to say goodbye to them. Congratulations, me. Way to (not) improve your quality of life here. Oh well. When I return to Tokyo in 3 weeks or so, all of the regular Japanese students will have returned as well, and school will start in earnest. Classes in things like literature and international relations and philosophy. Hip hip!

Anyhow, today I am only packing, so if you were hoping to find the interior of my brain splattered across the page (oh interweb, how you do coax brain dripples and spurts), I'm sorry to disappoint. I had to return all of my library books, and now my brain has ceased to function properly. Sad. I was enjoying the literary works of expatriates in Japan, as well as a Susan Sontag reader. Much inspiration to be found there. And now all I can think of is how to properly conjugate causative-passives and the correct stroke order for 6 weeks of crammed kanji.

Alright, time to study. Jaa ne.

A Story in Three Parts

matsuri
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Part I: Reliving Augusts Past

If you didn't know already, I haven't done anything very traditionally Japanese since I've been here. I went to one temple with Flueckiger Sensei and briefly remembered how unenlightening such visits can be. Moreover, well, ok, I don't feel like explaining myself, but the point is that I had been unimpressed and uninterested in such things.

But once upon a time, the Obon Festival used to play a big part in my life. At least, I think it did, but I can't really remember. All I know is, this Saturday as I walked into the lantern-lit matsuri, Japanese tunesters warbling in that traditional fashion, small children in yukata dancing in a big circle around the taiko...it reminded me of my childhood. Odori lessons in the basement where I never really learned anything, dressing up in yukata and eating Japanese food, and always feeling silly but proud.

Part II: Feeling Silly But Proud

Attending those Obon Festivals marks my first memory of wanting to be more Asian. Amidst all of those dancing, singing, sushi-eating Japanese Americans, I always had a feeling that they looked at me and saw a little white girl who somehow knew how to dance japanese dances. I always wanted to shout at them, No! I'm half Japanese! I wished that my eyelids didn't have a crease so that my face would show my ethnicity. I wished that they knew I was one of them.

And now I finally realize that all the wishing in the world won't make it so; I'm simply not Japanese. The feeling hit me like a wall of bricks a couple of days ago when one of my new friends started talking about hapas and I realized he didn't know that I was half-Japanese. Instead of simply filling him in on his missing information, I started asking around the table. "When you first met me, did you think I was white?" The answer was always yes. Always yes.

I went home and started asking other people. Their answers were all the same. You're white. You're white. You're white.

Part III: In Which I Lose Everything

If race is only a social construct, and inside we are all still made of star stuff, what does it mean to not look like your race? What does it mean when you are only half of that race to begin with, and a watered-down half at that? In this case, does your race even matter?

I have always been so proud to be half-Japanese, so empowered by my biraciality. While I have never, ever thought of myself as white, I have often accidentally thought of myself as Asian. Being identified as Asian by the Office of Student Affairs at Pomona College, and being embraced by the AAMP mentors also gave me confidence that my Asian half deserved attention.

But today I feel that I am living a fraud. If everyone, upon first meeting me, assumes that I am white, does that not MAKE me white? I'm like the litle manchild who was raised by wolves, who tries to run with the wolves, but one day realizes that he's all gangly pink flesh and finally needs to move into the village. There's no need for him to run anymore; instead of the hunted, he blends in with the hunters.

I still believe it's a worthy cause to fight for the rights of Asian Americans, as we do with AAMP and my other various race-based organizations, but whose cause am I fighting for? I now believe that it is not my own. There is no cultural understanding, no laughter of recognition, no empathy. I might as well have signed up to be an African American mentor, and simply admitted that I was a person who was concerned with race and social equality, but who has never experienced discrimination or racism, and never will.

I want to send back my scholarship from the Japanese American Citizens League, I want to cancel my membership to the Asian American Journalists Association. I feel guilty that I was a mentor within a group that does not allow white students to become mentors. Perhaps they should change their rules, given that they accidentally accepted me.

What about me is Asian American at all? I did not grow up in an Asian American community, my family is not bilingual, I do not experience the prejudices that come along with being Asian American. What do I have to offer the Asian American community? When my future employers look at my face, will they see someone who is submissive, a lotus blossom, who doesn't understand English, or will they see a white woman? And when I excel in my field, will I be able to say that I am paving the way for other Asian American women?

ouch, this hurts my heart. Why didn't anyone ever tell me this before? So this is my burning question: What part of me is Asian American, and, more importantly, what difference does it make?

no wonder i love spider monkeys...

No one told me that travelling to Japan meant entering the jungle. And no, I don't mean a metaphorical jungle in the way that Robert Sullivan or Stephen Dunn turn steel beams and cigarette buts into images of wildness. I don't even mean a theoretical jungle of confusion and chaos. I really mean the jungle.

Step outside my dorm, and creatures are everywhere. I hack my way to the cafeteria, machete in hand, to the sound of what can best be identified as a curious symphony of howler monkeys, cicadas, rattle snakes, bullfrogs, and parakeets. I'm not sure how the Japanese wildlife manifests itself in such deafening form, but it's true -- I can barely hear myself think above the din of this jungle.

When it rains, it gets louder. They warn us of a typhoon headed in off the eastern coast, and while all of the non-Portlanders are scurrying to procure umbrellas, I'm mostly afraid that the jungle creatures will double in volume when it finally arrives. Then how will I learn to speak Japanese?

"someone's gotta show a little butt crack" -mai

I've been reading travelogues, travel magazines, travel guides, searching for the answer to why we leave home. In its most simple form, the editor of The Best American Travel Writing writes that we travel "to see new places, meet new people, have exciting experiences. Also, I travel just because I like to move." He then goes on to explain what best can be described as a some kind of circumabulatory disorder, with symptoms ranging from enjoyment of microfiche to the misuse of rolling dishwashers. I don't particularly trust him, his disorder, or his simplicity.

It is clear that trekking through Africa or perhaps South America both make winning fodder for travel writing, only second best to traveling to war-ravaged countries, as contemplating the political state of a living in poverty while being surrounded by machine guns never fails to pique interest.

(don't tell, but I also remembered the secret to avoiding cliches. i'd share it with you, but not here, not now)

In any case, I feel that I can breathe easier these days, which is a relief. I am beginning to realize what I am and what I am not, what I can do here and what I cannot.

This afternoon I spent an hour conversing with an ICU professor about the state of gender studies in Asia -- in Japanese, no less. Of course, she cheated a little and used English vocabulary when the Japanese was too difficult, but given the subject matter, I think that we accomplished a great deal. You win some, you lose some. Some days I am incompetent, some days I speak Japanese.

I have decided that some people come here to find what makes "us" different from "them," whereas I came here to find what is universal. Perhaps neither of these things exist, perhaps both quests are inherently flawed. Perhaps we'll never know. As they say in the islands, "A bird in the hand is better than shooting five with your foot in your mouth." Right? Right??

instead of studying honorific and humble forms, which i have both studied before and have decided are unnecessary for stupid gaijins like myself to ever construct, i am going to spend the next hour translating an interview with james franco that i found in the japanese Elle. now that's putting my japanese to good use!

today i bought two cute very japanese-looking shirts, and i was so proud of myself for figuring out how to ask for a dressing room (took my shoes off before entering the room, but secretly didn't cover my face with the cloth before slipping the shirt over my head...hey, i didn't even have any makeup on!) and how to pay for the pretty things (want a picture? i'll send you one from my cell phone!), and then the cashier girl had to go and confuse me with some indecipherable question. just when you think you've conquered something as easy as buying a shirt, someone has to go and throw some phrase you've never heard of into the mix. and no, i don't want to hear that perhaps studying up on those honorifics and humbles might have made the situation any better... ok fine, maybe you're right.

oh well, i am now the proud owner of two extremely cute and extremely japanese shirts. no matter what the linguistic difficulties, no matter how stupid the gaijin, eventually you will make your purchase, you will find a way to get home, and you will get by just fine. whoever said that it was hard to get by in japan without understanding the language just wasn't willing to make a big enough fool of him or herself.

partying in japan=hardcore!

drinks
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Going in clubbing in Japan entails one thing for which American partygoers are wholly unprepared ... Once the last train stops running (and in our case, the last bus, which ends at the unfairly early hour of 10PM) you are stuck at your current location until 4 or 5AM, when the trains start running again. Yes, this means that after you start partying around midnight, you must continue dancing, sweating, drinking, laughing, ALL NIGHT LONG.

And then, at that point, it is 5 in the morning (nearly 6 after eating breakfast at McDonalds) and all you can think of is your nice soft bed (or perhaps your rock-hard grain-filled pillow, which is sounding deliciously enticing right now), but there looms a 40 minute train ride from Yokohama to Shibuya, a 40 minute transfer from Shibuya to Shinjuku to Mitaka (Musashi-Sakai only if you're lucky enough to navigate the rapid versus local trains at this hour, which you're not), a 20 minute bus ride home, and the walk from the bus stop to your doorway, which suddenly seems like the longest trek in the world.

It was amazing. We came, we partied, we conquered.

We also made the acquaintance of a Japanese ballerina, a Japanese Brit, and the only Japanese girl I've ever seen to sport a side ponytail, nose ring, jeans shorts, and cornrows...all at once. Believe me, it was spicy. So much more fun than our standard foreigner-at-ICU fare.

In other news, I have been informed that this 100+ degree weather (I assume, no one is really certain how to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit over here) is the hottest Japan has seen in the last 50 years. Moreover, the day that Emily decided to go out for the lacrosse team, it was the hottest day all summer. Makes me feel like less of a baby for whining about feeling sticky all the time. Cho atsui!

i am such a nerd

It is a difficult thing to obsess over language, to revel in the complexities of word choice and pacing, rhythm and syntax, to find joy in the underlying meaning behind a delicately crafted juxtoposition of verbiage (to recognize when you are grammatically incorrect, and do nothing to reverse it, because sometimes it just SOUNDS good), and then...

to enter a land where the most complex statement you can make runs parallel to "Even though it is hot outside, he still plays tennis!". And it's not only that your level of fluency would amuse only a grade schooler, but you spend countless hours each day engrossed in the construction and repetition of such sentences. Where is my poetry? Where is my lyricism? No wonder I find myself disappointed and frustrated on a daily basis.

The English language is my lover, my confidante. We understand each other, we exist through each other. Japanese will forever remain my partially retarded stepchild, even on my best days.

If I were stranded on a desert island, I would bring with me the latest issue of Creative Nonfiction, my favorite Annie Dillard essays, and a collection of the year's most excellent magazine writing. I do believe Japan is the closest thing to my desert island I will ever come to.

So, when I'm finished writing Japanese essays entitled "My Favorite Store in Kichijoji" and studying for oral examinations on "How To Help A Friend Prepare for A Trip to Kyoto," I relax by reading Living Like Weasels, or Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Over and over. *sigh*

As I depart to go hammer into my skull the best example for the Japanese proverb equal to "When in Rome...", I leave with you a little gem from Sallie Tisdale's essay, "On Being Text":

"Most of a writer's decisions are unconscious. A stroke of paint here, a switch to a minor key there, the use of flaccid instead of soft. At this level, expression simply appears; it is expression expressing itself, images, ideas, states of mind and feeling being acted out, evoked, displayed. An idea appears, connects to another, a layer appears and then another--suddenly there is a leap--Ah-ha! This connects to this, this idea hides under this idea, and if I move this detail to the end, then suddenly the whole tone becomes suspenseful. I don't know how one knows the right word or the right tense, how exactly I know when a sentence needs two fewer or one more syllable. I can go on about rhythm and prosody, about mood and tone, but sometimes one just has to take the gifts the world gives us.

Maybe literature lives only in the reader--born in the writer's changing life, taking its breath in the reader's changing life, a different story for each person who reads it. If a tree falls in the woods and no one hears, does it make a sound? Who cares? Until I open the book, there are no words inside."

my professional career awaits my return...

Latest email from my mom:

A guy from the NY Times just called and he asked for you and I told him you were in Japan and he said, "that won't help. We wanted her to shoot a job for us." OH MY GOD, YOU'RE A PROFESSIONAL PHOTOGRAPHER!!! I assumed he needed more paperwork filled out for that skateboarding thing, but he wanted you to do more!!!

Consider this your [ironic] mass email

icu
Originally uploaded by sillyhapa.

Week three in Tokyo has come and gone, marking the official halfway point of the summer. Exciting, ne! I live in a dorm at the International Christian University, where there are about 125 foreign students in my intensive Japanese course. We study Japanese from 8 -12 every morning (which is far too much, if you ask me, but I'm sure it's good for me), and then have the rest of the afternoon and evening to ourselves.

The campus is very green and pretty for being in Tokyo, which I guess is one of the perks of being on the outskirts of the city. The downside is that we have to take a bus to get to the train station, and then most of the cool areas of the city are about a 30-45 minute train ride from there. Public transportation in Tokyo is amazing, and we certainly take advantage of it.

On the schooldays we generally take the bus to Musashi-Sakai for dinner, but then come home to study (or watch movies, or read, or go to bed early) since it's time-consuming and tiring to go out much more than that. But on the weekends we've been doing our good share of sightseeing, shopping, clubbing, karaoke-ing, and walking around.

Living on campus in the dorms means we don't get much interaction with the locals, but in the fall I'll be with a homestay, so that should change. I've also been trying to get involved with groups on campus that are run by the Japanese students (hiphop club, taiko drumming, working at the Japanese equivalent of the Women's Union).

Mostly I would describe my time here as quiet, thoughtful. It's not the party-central study abroad experience of the Prague-ers, the academic powerhouse of the Oxford-ites, or the roughing-it immersion of the Cameroon-folk...it's something else. I can't wait to hear about everyone else's abroad experiences once they begin.

this experience has been told already. I demand better.

Perhaps what I struggle with here is the inevitability of the cliche. I despise cliches, I run from them at all costs. I deride what I believe to be an overused and obvious observation, even when I know that it makes me a fucking hypocrite. I believe it is the goal of any writer, any artist, to attempt to be original, to portray what one believes to be universal in a way that is startling in its presentation, to innovate, to provoke, to make your audience see something in a way they'd never even imagined was possible.

And yet here, all I see, all I hear, all I experience is a walloping huge cliche.  Perhaps it's why I feel so loath to participate in "cultural activities," like going to the tea ceremony, learning Japanese calligraphy, watching kabuki theatre, even eating sushi. Maybe you think I'm lazy, maybe you think I'm not taking advantage of these awe-inspiring opportunities, but to me, these things are not enough.  They mock what it is I want to learn, what it is I want to find. 

I just read a week's worth of articles on slate.com written by a journalist who spent two months in Tokyo on a media fellowship from the Japan Society. Okay no I DIDN'T read them, because they were titled as such: Japanese Cliche No 1: Wacky Food. No 2: Manga. Then came Inane Protocol, Capsule Hotels, Earthquakes...the list goes on and on. I couldn't bear to continue. And do any of those things even sound interesting? Maybe they do to you (you stupid gaijin!), but to me, they're clearly things we all have read about, all have heard stories about, and all could have written before stepping off the plane into the iconic land of the fucking rising sun. In fact, I could add dozens of facile, inane cliches to the list, and let me tell you, reading about them would be boring, unenlightening, and a waste of time.

What MORE is there to this country? Has Japanese culture become so commodified, so prized for its wackiness, so overdepicted that we have nothing left to discover? Wow Lori, but why don't you go to Japan and REALLY see what it's like. Maybe what we dream about over in America is WRONG, and you can find the REAL JAPAN!

Give me a break. You think that Seth Stevenson, with his precious funds from the Japan Society, didn't try to depict Japan as it really is? You think Dave Barry didn't really come here? You think that watching Lost in Translation didn't give you an accurate picture of Tokyo? He did. They did. They all did exactly what I'm doing right now.

Yeah, it's different over here than it is back home. That's why Americans like to come here, right? To marvel at the fact that you have to take your shoes off and bow, that you can eat Japanese food and listen to J-Pop, that people are so polite that they'll come chasing after you when you leave an extra 20 yen tip (and hey, that was going to be my trump card, the one story I actually found amusing. but no, it's simply fodder to add to the pile of cliches). But we already know the differences. We come here to get lost in them. Why else would Sofia Coppola have chosen such a place, where the neon lights filled with chinese characters and ubiquitous karaoke machines and drunken salarymen and oh-so-hilarious television programming make an American feel exactly not at home?

Don't get me wrong, I neither know nor understand this place and how it operates. There is something subtle and complex about the interactions between Japanese people, there is something indescribably beautiful about an outlook on life that I will never be able to voice, there is something melancholy about social trends and emotional consequences that I can't put my finger on just yet, and surely never will. What I mean is that what I have the ability to see, and what is handed to me on a daily basis is what I have described thus far, and that it frustrates me to no end. Finding my way out of this mess is what leaves me at a loss.  It is not the country or the culture that are at fault here; I am debilitated by my own inability to observe.  I disappoint myself.  Something is missing that I can neither name nor find the means to remedy.

So. I'm off to the city to drown myself in sake. Then maybe I'll watch some anime and finish my homework outlining a path to the nearest temple. Gotta love it here. It's just so Japanese.

when will i post a happy post?

the gender dynamics of this place are making me uncomfortable. any american boy, with no discernible capital, becomes the most popular kid in town; japanese girls fall over themselves trying to befriend them, speaking in fractured english, embarrassingly eager. if you are a girl in japan, it is your job to be cute and servile. you will grow up to be an office lady or a teacher and most certainly a wife, and you will never be able to progress beyond these roles.  archaic, i know, and they have progressed beyond this as a society, but in practice, it still feels like this.  in everyday interactions, it still feels like this.

frustrating, to say the least.