On Progress

Confidence

So it’s almost New Year’s here.  Everything is a rush with the holidays.  People are bustling about, school is out for now, and it’s the busiest I’ve been since I’ve gotten here.

I’ve also had time to think and center myself even with the hustle and the bustle.  I like have some time to myself to think about how all of this has gone.  It’s gone good, very, very good.  I’m beyond happy with time in Japan and can’t wait for more.

A major thing I think about is language.  I’ve reached another block in my language skills just like I did when I first got here.  It’s like a mental block where your brain is supplying English and Japanese at once, making your mouth choose on its own without any held form the mind.  It frustrating, saying Japanese when I want to speak English or vice versa.

My Japanese skills have gotten incredibly better over the five months I have been here.

I barely knew a lick of Japanese before I landed.  I knew how to say the important things.  I knew how to ask for important things.  I did not know how to hold a conversation.  I did not know grammar.  I did not have a vocabulary to speak of.

I was pathetically lost for the first while.

People helped me.  I went to classes.  I kept going to school even though I felt discouraged with my lack of ability.  I improved.  I improved to the point that I have a vocabulary, it may not be big, but I can speak what’s on my mind sometimes.  I can add my two cents.  I can answer questions and discuss topics with others.  I have to mentally work myself with each conversation.  I have to push my ability to memorize and utilize.

Learning a language uses a whole new set of skills.

Sure, I’ve taken high school language calls.  I took Spanish.  I remember being pretty good at Spanish, it hadn’t been hard to learn at all.  Using is properly had been the issue.  Turns out Spanish is closely related to English on the language tree.  Sadly, Japanese is not.

I have always, in another language, understood more when being spoken to rather than trying to speak myself.  It’s useful, but at the same time it is very limiting.  I could listen to a conversation in Spanish and get a basis of time, place, what was going on, and who.  I could write in Spanish very well.  I could do just about everything but speak and that was what we were graded on.

I am faced with the same problems here in Japan.  I can write Japanese decently if give the time to think through what I need to say.  I can usually get my particle correct too!  That’s important.  I also understand more when I am spoken to rather than speaking myself.  It’s so frustrating.

With these improvements in speaking comes the bigger and bigger blocks I have to get over.  Each step with this language is fought for.  It is memorized, it is written down, it is stored away for study, and it is dreamed about later.  I dream in Japanese and English now.  It’s always a mix of thing I do and don’t quite understand.  Even in my sleep I am working through the language.

I personally think that that’s pretty cool.  It’s helped me make the leaps and bounds.

When I first came I could tell you my name and age.  Now I can tell you those along with my school club, what majors I want to get, the name of my college, my families relations to me, and so much more.  I can comment on the weather, I can comment on how it’s so cold and that it’s nice to have a cup of hot tea.  I can tell people that I’m tired.  I can tell people that I’m dreaming in Japanese.  I can speak my thoughts if I work on it.  I can tell them what I want to eat.  I can tell them when I’m missing someone or something.

These are things I took for granted.  I took the ability to speak as a common place idea.  What else was I supposed to think about thinking and speaking?  It’s something none of us really remember learning how to do.  Most of us don’t remember learning the basics of our own home tongue.  Sure, we remember expanding our vocabularies and learning the rules of grammar.

How many times have you corrected a kid when the say “That didn’t went well.”  “No, it’s ‘that didn’t go well’.”  You don’t really remember those lessons growing up, but they were there I promise.

We speak and we think without ever thinking a second thought about it.  It’s our language.  Basic English is usually mastered by the end of Elementary if not before that.  It expands over the upcoming years of schooling, but you can function correctly in society with basic speaking and reading after Elementary.

Here in Japan I couldn’t even read a road sign.  There were no familiar alphabets in sight.  It was kanji only.

I’m learning them.  Slowly and surely I am learning them.  They have many meanings depending on how they are arranged, where they are arranged, and what they are paired with.  I have a few mastered.  They are the most basic of basic but it’s a step.

Spoken Japanese isn’t complicated.  It’s a language based on present and past.  It has a base in a lot of emotions and sayings I don’t grasp quite yet.

The other day I was speaking with a classmate over the internet.  We were using Japanese.  They felt brave enough to use kanji with me.  I appreciated that, it gives me a chance to study and learn how to use them correctly.  Learning by mimicking is something I am excelling at.

I used a translator to decipher the words I didn’t know, and in that moment my brain did what the translator was doing but it did it better.  I understood the sentence better if I didn’t use the botched translation given to me by the internet.  I was beyond proud in that moment.  I understood what they were saying and asking far better when I stepped away from the translations.  Yes, I do need to still use it when I have absolutely no clue what the combination of kanji and hiragana mean.

It’s physical proof to how much better I am doing.

It gives me that little push I need to help get over the language and block and delve myself further into the language so I can continue to express myself and my view of the world around me to people who are curious about me.  If that isn’t a confidence boost, being able to communicate, then I don’t know what is.

So I have reached a block, but I have more than enough will and help to get over it just as I did the first one!  I am hungry for communicating with these people.  I want to learn what they have to teach me.  Things I can only learn from them.  It’s another push to get me along my way that’s for sure.

With the New Year I want to continue.  I want to continue until I can function equally in both languages and cultures.  I am striving for that biculturalism I hear so much about.  So here’s to trying for more, for reaching for that star that seems just out of reach right now.  I’m getting closer and I can feel it.

See You Soon

Mata chikaiuchini
また近いうちに

On Holidays Abroad

Tradition

I have the best memories of Christmas as a kid.  My family must have done something right!  I was a really lucky kid.  I say that and I mean it as well.  Christmas was always one of my favorite times of the year growing-up.

I was the baby.  I was always the baby of my family.  I was the first grandchild so of course there is some spoiling that comes with that.  My gifts were awesome, but I liked the time with all of my family far more than any gift I ever received.  From the time I was born till first grade I had lived with everyone in my close family.  I lived with my mom, aunts, uncle, my grandma, and my grandpa.  We all lived in one house.  When I moved, Christmas and other holidays became just that more important to me.

Our tree was real.  Every year the smell of pine makes me think of Christmas.  Our ornaments were old, handmade, and many were worn.  I added a few every year from school projects or special occasions that took place.  I have my favorites for sure.  We would stack the presents under the tree, wherever the tree was placed that year.  Sometimes it was next to the fireplace or in the corner of the room, but it never failed in drawing attention to it.

I loved the tree.  I loved the time spent decorating and taking it down.  It was full of memories and stories.

Holiday food is my favorite kind of food.  I eat holiday food outside of holiday times, but it just tastes better with that atmosphere Christmas gives it.

Everything about Christmas is linked to family and time spent with them.  From the tree, to the presents, to the food, and to the time spent with family.  I’m a family orientated person.

We don’t celebrate Christmas here in Japan.

It’s purely commercial.  Christianity was banned for a number of years, it has yet to gain a real footing here in the land of the rising sun.  There are Santa’s everywhere. There are advertisements for KFC chicken buckets and Christmas Cakes, because that’s how the Japanese celebrate their Christmas.

No trees are put up.  No ornaments are hung.  There is no feast.  Sure there is the Japanese aspect to marvel at, how they celebrate in their own way.  It’s fascinating to me, but at the same time it’s a bit of a disappointment.  The child in me wants to hang my stocking, wants to put up my family tree, and wants American Christmas food.  That little kid in me really, really, wants to be home for the Holidays.

I think it’s because of my history with Christmas and such.  I’ve never been away, truly away, like this before.  It’s taken a little longer than I expected for it to hit me.  I am very far away.

In those moments, where I miss Christmas and the traditions my family have that come with it, I go for a walk.  Kashima is beautiful this time of year, and just the right temperature for me as well.  Just cold enough to see your breath but not so cold that you need a full jacket.

When it all gets a little overwhelming I go on a walk and think about how much I wanted to get here.  I think about the new things I am experiencing.  No, I may not have my traditions here, but that just means I can learn about the Japanese ones.  Sure I want to put up a tree but I think in doing so I would make myself homesick.  I don’t want to do that to myself.  So I look at the Japanese wreaths they put up for Christmas and admire them.  I know I will be missing them next year after all.

It’s hard.  I’m not going to lie to you or myself.  I miss my family right now.  I really miss my family.  That’s all the more reason to soak in what I can.  I’m throwing myself into my studies, into cultural things, and into life with my host family.  I’m keeping busy with learning all I can because it’s all over in a little bit.

It is best not to dwell on what you can’t do.  It’s a far better mentality to go about doing things you could never do in your home country.  That’s my tidbit of advice for the Holiday Season.

See You Soon

Mata chikaiuchini

また近いうちに

On Changing to a New Host Family.

NEW

There’s a sense of attachment I get when I live with someone.  I noticed that here.  I felt connected with my first host family when I lived with them.  I felt like I was one of them because I was treated as such.  I was asked to help cook, to help clean, to help look after kids, and I was asked to be a part of their family.

It didn’t start that way.  I was treated as a guest would be.  Everything was provided, nothing was asked of me.  That made me uncomfortable.  You see, I’m a horrible guest.  I don’t like to sit and watch people clean my spot at the table for me.  I don’t like not being involved with family affairs.  I being a guest has never worked well!

I worked my way to ‘family’ member by offering my help, by asking if I can do something, and hanging around kids always leads to helping in one way or another.

I had a set routine with my last family.  I had times I got up, foods I usually ate, times I usually bathed, and I had a place in the flower shop to talk to people.  I had a normal routine for the first time since coming here.  I’m a creature of habit, but sometimes I don’t mind breaking it.  Right now, having a routine gives me a little comfort in the still very alien world I am living in.

Oh wait, I’m the alien here!

I recently changed host families.  I have a new routine, I have a new family, I have a new bed, I have a new rules, and I have a new route to school.  That’s a lot of new on my plate.  My rug of comfort has once again been pulled out from under my feet.  

I haven’t been cut down at the knees though, this family is very, very kind.  I can’t stress how kind most of the people I have come across here in Japan are.  Sure there are bad apples, but the kindness far outweighs the gloom.  I have friends at school who are supporting me, actively voicing to me (which surprises me, I’ve observed that Japanese are a very closed door society on emotions and such), and my Host Rotary and Families, all of them, are helping me.  They ask if I am okay, ask how I am doing, compliment me on my still horrible Japanese (I TRY!) and much, much, more.

In Rotary we change families, so if any of you are applying, you should know this.  I think it gives you a wider view of daily life, seeing it from varying houses and lifestyles.  I’m not sure if I’m totally sold on it, but I appreciate it nonetheless.  I can tell you already the two houses I have lived in are very, very, different from one another.

My first house was very busy.  Bust in a sense that they were running a flower shop from the main floor.  The second floor was rented to a woman who had a SPA on half of the floor.  There were six young children always in and out of the door, coming and going from school and afterschool activities.  People were always in and out on deliveries, it being a flower shop after all.  I was always doing something, and if I didn’t want to do something I would run up to the third floor and hang out with the littlest of the kids.  It was a style of life I was used to.  My family back home is busy, I never took part in the busyness, not usually at least, but it was a familiar sight.  It was something I knew well and was a welcome sight of a little bit of normality.

My first house was full of women.  Another thing I am used, I come from a family full of strong women and men, but the girls outnumber the boys any day!  I had people around the same ages as my mom, aunts, and uncles.  I’ve always been more comfortable around people older than me, maybe it’s because I’ve always been the baby age wise.  I’ve always been the youngest, so there was comfort in having the older presence of ages I am familiar with being around.

My first house was kind, but I as I said before, I was treated as a guest for a little while.  Once I got over that bump I got into a daily routine that revolved around school, club, and home life.  It was a smooth routine that was occasionally changed if something fun came up or I need to be somewhere for Rotary.

I spent roughly three months with that family, and it was probably the best family for me to start out my year with.  I think I wouldn’t have adjusted as well as I have if it weren’t for them.  The first family is always the one that makes the first impression, they are pretty important and have to deal with us silly exchangers and our lack of knowledge.  I know a lot more thanks to them, they were a wonderful guide.

Now I am living in my second host house.  This house is much more like the home I have back in American, the setup of the family and the house is very modern as well.  Thought there are a few major differences.

One major different is how very quiet this house is.  It is very quiet and laidback.  I like it but I don’t think I could have handled it in the beginning of my exchange.  I appreciate it now, it lets me study and do my thing a lot easier than it was at the last house.  I’ve gotten focused with my studies, so peace and quiet help those along nicely!  Another major difference is that I feel like I’m going to be treated like a family member, but less so than the last house.  That just seems to be how this family operates.

Just a little side lesson on what seems to be traditional Japanese families.  Traditionally it is men who rule the roost.  The mother, well she mothers everyone who comes into her house, guests and her children alike.  The guest will always come first.  They are seated first, they say their thanks to the food first, and most importantly they bathe first.  Family members, they seem to be close, but emotionally Japan is still very much a closed door society.  They don’t really like going against the grain.  There have been psychological experiments and it is proven that a Japanese person will put the group before themselves on most occasion.  Everything is very quiet, very still, and almost feels too detached at sometimes.

Onwards.  My family is very traditional.  I like being able to view it though, seeing the differences between my last family and this family.  It makes me wonder what my third family will be like.

The father is the patriarch, his wife below him, then comes the children, then the male family members, then the female ones it seems.  It’s very traditional in every sense.

It a cultural shock for me even though I studied about this, even though I read about it, it is nothing like living the real thing.  I come from a family where the women rule.  They are the strong figures in my life, not to say I don’t have awesome male relatives as well, it’s just the women who rule the roost!  So having a host father run the show was a bit unsettling at first.  I’m a little more used to it now.  It was interesting for a while at least!

My room is very traditional as well.  The last one I was in had wooden floors and then a carpet rug when it started to get a little chilly out.  My new room has tatami floors.  That is bamboo that is woven into a thick mat that is surprisingly comfortable!  I will tell you now, I will miss taking naps on tatami floors.  I don’t sleep on a futon, or a mattress that is laid flat on the ground.  I sleep in what appears to be a hospital bed.

My whole house is equipped for when my host mother and host father get to be very old.  It will still be able to be used by them and it will still be safe for them to live in.  Japanese people tend to live for a very long time, so while they still can, the older ones plan for the inevitable.  They make their houses so they won’t have to leave, the place where most of them where born.

My bathroom is also much smaller and the tub is very small.  I have to pull my knees in to fit comfortably, but I don’t mind.  It is deeper in this house than in the last.

I’ve got a semi-normal routine now and it’s nice especially right now.  Tis the season to be jolly after all.   My family is very kind, they always worry if I’m eating foods that make me happy, if I need anything, how school is going, and how my studies go.  I’m grateful for them, don’t doubt that.

I’ll give another family update when I switch to my third house in a few months.  I wonder what they will be like!

See You Soon

Mata chikaiuchini
また近いうちに

On Forgotten History

Forgiveness

This seems to be a common aspect of the culture I am surrounded by.  The people I have become close to.  Some people more than others, but all seem to just… forgive.

We all know about World War II.  We are taught about it in school.  It’s basic history, something they teach us so we don’t repeat it.  We are told about the Holocaust survivors, the horrible things that happened to humanity in the face of the Nazi dictatorial reign.  All the pictures of starved babies, men so emaciated they looked like skin wrapped skeletons, mothers and children separated, and many other atrocities I can’t put words to because that would only make it seem shallow.

Many, many things happened in Europe.

There was also Pacific Asian Theater.  There were many others, more than was ever taught to me in school.  I’m just going to focus this lesson on the Pacific side, specifically Japan.

I was not taught much about this, and the majority of what I was taught was about the bombings.  The only nuclear bombings in history, both on a single country.  Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  If you want a true history lesson there are plenty of better informed books written by officials in this field with real sources of information beyond what they personally learned.

I have visited the museum in Nagasaki.  The horrible things caused by one bomb, it was too much.  It was too much for me to look at without being disgusted and horrified, appalled at the sheer level of hurt in the pictures.  I was not mad at either country, I was mad at humanity for having been able to do this to each other.  I was so sick that day.  It wasn’t a physical sickness, it was in my soul.  I ached, I ached for these people who were hurt, who were killed before they were even born, for the huge scars left not only on the skin but the peoples’ spirits, and for those who are still affected by it.

I walked through the streets of the city.  I thought to myself with each step I took, wondering about the history of the earth below my feet.  Was this a site that was once a house?  Was this a site where atrocities of war happened?  Did someone die here?  There were many more similar thoughts, but I think you get the idea.  My soul ached the whole day.

Inside the museum there were also testaments to human strength.

Stories of children dragging their parents to safety, mother surviving just long enough to bring their baby someplace it would be safe, people who survived and told their stories even as they died from radiation poisoning (which was unknown at the time), the doctors and nurses who ran the clinics with limited supplies and patients who died suddenly, and the people who hoped, who loved, hard enough to survive and tell their stories even today.

The last people, stories about them are my favorite.

There are plenty of these stories, but most of them go unnoticed.  So much of our history is forgone in the wake of the bigger battles, the biggest glories, and the largest conflicts.  What of the small stories?  The small deaths that go unnoticed and unnoted.  These stories make my heart break.

Norman.  An American soldier from World War II.  He was twenty three when he died.  He died November 23^rd, 1944.  Sixty-nine years ago, his plane crashed into the mud flats of Kashima.  There were maybe seven or eight people that were on the bomber, but he was the only one pulled from the wreckage.  It is believed the rest jumped with parachutes.  There were three confirmed deaths that day and the rest went missing.  Their history is unknown, their names forgotten, all except Norman.

Maybe he was the pilot, trying to desperately change their course.  Maybe there was important information he couldn’t leave on the plane and was trying to get it off the plane in time.  Maybe it was something else.  We will never know.  He died on contact they think, the crash was pretty violent after all.

Imagine a hug bomber, much like Enola Gay crashing at full speed, gravity pulling it down from the sky, into the mud flats.  That’s like ramming a car at seventy miles plus into a solid cement wall.  Mud is as unforgiving as water in terms of firmness.

This twenty-three year old died violently that day.  His grave says he died fighting though.

He was taken to a hospital, he confirmed dead and was cremated by the people of Kashima and Takeo.

It is unknown if he has family, or any living relatives.  The Navy here has checked the books over and over, but there is no Norman among the names listed.  He is a ghost with no place.  I don’t know how they know his name, no one explained this to me.  It was written on his grave in Katakana and I can’t translate his last name into anything remotely English (Katakana does that to words).

I cleaned his grave.  I swept the years of dirt off of the stones and I pulled the weeds.  My Rotarian friend trimmed weeds and did the heavier work.  We talked about Norman, about what he was doing and who he might have been.

My friend made a comment, one that made my heart break more than just a little.

“You know Gabi, I bet you Norman-san is happy today.”

“Why’s that?”

“You are here.”

That’s when it hit me, this poor sod, this poor boy from war, his remains are all alone here.  He has no home, no family, and no relatives to visit his grave and pay their respects.  Sure Rotary cleans it, the ground his ashes are placed on were donated by a Rotarian out of kindness towards this unknown enemy, but he is alone.  I’m the first American to visit him in probably a decade or two.

“He must be lonely.”

“Today he isn’t, he has someone who he can understand speak to him.”

I almost cried.  I almost broke down on the grave of a fellow American, a fellow human so very far away from home and all things familiar.  The differences between us aren’t small, I’m alive and I’m not alone while he is long dead and so very alone.

I’m not sure what I believe religiously.  I’m not very spiritual, but there is something to be said about isolation.  Norman is isolated, there is no one to pass on his story besides the Japanese.  They don’t like to talk about World War II, I don’t blame them.  I don’t want to offend them so I keep my questions to myself while I’m in a delicate position.

His grave was worn and dirty.  There were weeds growing out of the stones.  There was dirt pilled around.  Nature was reclaiming him as their own.

My heart went out to this boy.  No one comes to visit him, no one tells his story anymore, he is slowly being forgotten, and my heart broke for that.

No one deserves being forgotten.

My mom told me that if history like this can be remembered after sixty-nine years, it can be remembered for another sixty-nine years.  I don’t want to forget him and I don’t want him forgotten.  His story is sad and not well known, his history is a mystery, and I only know a few things about him.  It’s enough for me to take a liking to him.

We have a lot in common.  But I have family, I have people who love me and talk to me and take care of me.  His grave has been left to be forgotten except for cleaning every now and then.

So Norman, this is for you.  You aren’t forgotten, your story is being told to others, and as soon as I know more I will tell a better story.  I’m going to visit him a few more times hopefully, next time I’ll ask if we can give him an offering of beer (tradition calls for Sake but he’s an American).

Here's to the Japanese as well, giving this poor boy a place to rest even if it far away from home.  Even though he was their sworn enemy, they took him to a hospital to try and save his life, even if it was in vain, they tried.  That's more than what most people would even think about doing for their enemy.

This makes me just how many little things in history go unnoted, go untold, and are forgotten after a few years.  It’s sad really.  It also shows just how that even though you may detest someone, may hate their very existence, but you can still put the behind you and move towards a brighter future.  There is much to be said about that.

See You Soon

Mata chikaiuchini

また近いうちに

On Remembering Before You Forget

Documentation 

I use many mediums to capture this year.  I have this blog, two calendar books, my blazer, and my smash book.  All of these have become important, special in their own ways.

My blazer is already heavy with memories and trinkets.  Everywhere I go, every small thing I am gifted, and every stray item that reminds me of someone or something gets pinned to it.  If it won’t get pinned, it will be sewn on or strapped on in some way.  Some of the pins remind me of home, some of my other friends abroad, and of course some of them remind me of what I have done so far here in Japan.

It’s become precious to me, it will only continue to get heavier.  Each gram, each pound, all it represents in a physical way what I am doing.  It’s heavy, many who have held it give me a surprised look.  I don’t honestly blame them.  I don’t have an exact weight but I’d say the whole thing weights the same as my favorite orange car back home.  Yeah, those of you who know me personally, I have the weight of Simba dangling from my shoulders when I wear my blazer.

I have been given handmade pins, old pins, ones that really aren’t pins, and some I’ve just found.  I love them all.  I show them off proudly, telling a story for each, telling the story of the person or event that gave me it.

Now, not all are gifts.  Some I have bought on my own because of various reasons.  I went on a school trip and bought a pin that represented it to me.  Each of my pins have a story, even the bought ones.  That’s what makes it so cool.  I like talking to other Rotarians about their blazers.  Almost all have a story to tell, a person they remember, a home they lived in once, and many other memories connected to the pins on the fabric.

Ask a past exchange student about their blazer, have them tell you a story.  I’m sure it will interesting!

My calendars are very important to me as well.  I write down daily activities, memos, and future dates in them.  I can tell you exactly what I did on any number of days.  Some days I didn’t write anything down, I regret that.  Others I have the whole day told out, who I met with, what I did, where I went, and the rest.  The whole spiel.

They also help me plan accordingly.  Reminding me that I need a speech by this day, I have a party to attend that day, and I’m changing families that week.  The two I have help keep my life straight when I feel like I’m in freefall.

One fits in my purse and backpack, perfect for travel.  My larger one is the almost diary one, it’s too bulky and big to bring most places so it stays home while its twin comes with me.  I like the twin, it’s small and cute, and it has the cat bus on the front of it!

I will be able to look back on them, flip through the old pages and read my history.  Time makes things fade, I’ve already forgotten major details from when I first arrived.  Good thing I wrote them down huh?

They help keep everything orderly, clean, and keep me up to date on what I need to do according to my ever-changing schedule.

This blog is very obvious in how it’s become a major part of this exchange.  It’s how I communicate my news, my information, my emotions, and my observations on what is going on to you all.  I hope it is being used as a some-what guide for those of you who are looking for information about Rotary.  My aim is to help and document, and this blog is perfect.

It’s a way to keep in contact with my family, give them updates on how I am doing apart from other social media mediums.  I also believe it is used by my Rotary club back home to see how I am doing and what I am up to.

Overall it’s a connection and a way to write down my emotions on a certain aspect.  It helps me work out what I really think about something.  It gives me an appropriate medium to express how these changes have changed me as a person, how they have molded me further, and how they are changing my views.

Finally, my smash book.  For those of you who don’t know what a smash book is, think about scrap booking.  Seems kind of old fashioned, but take scrapbooking and throw glue, pictures, notes, and scraps of paper all together between the bindings of a book, and there you go.  It’s a lazy scrapbook, but mine has gotten to be pretty intricate.

I’ve always been artsy.  I love working with my hands, making things ‘pretty’, and documenting.

I put pictures in it, pictures of the people I have spent time with and mean something to me.  I put receipts for my favorite purchases or just cool things in general.  I place tickets and pamphlets from attractions and cultural events I’ve done to.  I write notes next to each, who that person was to me, what the interesting thing was, where I went, and what I saw.

I place letters I have received in it.  I buy postcards of sights I want to remember and paste them in.  I glue my memories, preserving them in a way that can be enjoying long after I am gone from Japan and back in America.

When I go back I can show my family and friends what I did, what cool thing I saw, and what boring or interesting place I went to.  I can show them the faces of my friends and families, I can show them the sights in person that I viewed.  I can show them my life in a way that to me means more than what a computer screen can show them.

Yes I like Facebook and Skype.  I use them both to call home, to tell my Mom what I’m doing and just to bug her sometimes (AM I INVADING YOUR SPACE YET?!  Sorry inside joke here), to tell everyone I’m doing just fine and enjoying myself, and I use it to call home when I’m sad.  I like the internet, but there is something more to a physical picture you can hold and touch.  You can feel the wear on it, the emotions in it seem a little livelier when they aren’t backlighted by a screen.

I can use it to remember when I get sad about being back.  I can use it to feel what I felt with those people, at that place, or in that festival.  I can use it to place myself back in this year.  I always hear about students who go back and feel homesick for their host country.  I can almost guarantee you that will be me.

Between all these mediums I have managed to capture a lot of my experience.  I have managed to find a way to remember before I am able to forget their names and why they were important to me, the dates and what happened on them, and the places I have been to.

 I found a way to remind myself that although this is temporary it if also for the rest of my life.

So a word from me to you.  If you are an outgoing student this year, find a way to remember before you forget.  You may regret it if you don’t. 

See You Soon

Mata chikaiuchini

また近いうちに

On Being the Change

United we stand

Here is the first draft of a speech for college, just the bare bones that I needed to clean up and reorganize with the help of others, but I like it none the less.

An achievement that has helped to shape and is still shaping who I am today would have to be being accepted by the Rotary International Exchange Program.  I worked for three years to finish high school a year early so I could study abroad for a year in Japan and then return to the US to enter college right away.  The application progress was arduous and one has to be very involved in the whole process.  Many people are interviewed but only a select few are chosen.  Rotary International screens through the applicants, choosing those with the best academic history and ability to adjust to a various situation brought on by being in a new environment.  I am currently learning the many aspects of multicultural life.  I am making connections to the world of international teaching, which is what I would like for a career.  This exchange is pushing my limits as a person.  I have thrown myself into a culture that is so vastly different from my own native one.  I have willingly put myself in a position where communication is hard and any level of understanding is fought for.  I am gaining a great appreciation for international relations between countries that were once sworn enemies, but now work together towards a future hand in hand.  Rotary International’s goal is creating an understanding between countries, connecting them in this new generation with new faces and interests.   This is shaping me to be the multicultural person I am becoming.

There is a saying among us exchangees.  “It’s not a year in life, it’s a life in a year.”

I have almost reached the four month mark, I am almost half way done with my time here.  I can’t tell you where it has gone, I feel it slipping between my fingers with no way to grasp it.  It’s a little dramatic to say that way, but I’m sure some of you have felt the same way about one thing or another. 

I waited three years to get back here.  I worked, I sacrificed, I did everything in my power, and here I am.  It’s almost half way done and I can’t explain how this makes me feel.  For all the work, it’s paying off.  I assure you this.  Everything is falling into place as if it were guided such.  I’ve gained friends in the ALT world, I’ve gained important connections that are rooted in these communities, I have made friends, and I have made the beginnings of what I will hope to be working relations in the future.  I miss home, I won’t lie and say I don’t.  I miss my family, some days more than others.  All I have to do is think about how they helped me to get here, how they supported me through Rotary, and how they are supporting me now.  I don’t have room to be sad with all that support.  My mom has assured me so!

This has given me a feeling of what I would like to do for the rest of my life.  I have always had a passion for teaching.  Maybe it’s because I had so many good ones in my time, family based and academically as well.

I work as an ALT here without the fabulous pay and benefits, but Rotary more than makes up for that.  It has given me a demo as to what teaching as a full time ALT would be like.  I enjoy it, I’m passionate about it, and I can’t wait to jump back into it.  I know I haven’t left yet, I still have more than a few months here, but I feel like they will fly by.  I’m afraid to blink.  I live my life day by day here, taking my time and paying attention to the little things.  I think my friends here are a little amazed at my attention to detail, but it’s who I am.

Rotary has given me a step-up over my competition.  It has given me a base to spread myself over safely and test new waters.  I had wanted to work in a business situation, but now I know I would be far happier in the schooling world. 

International relations fascinate me, and Rotary has given me a wonderful gift.  They have given me the beginnings of biculturalism.  It is a gift I can’t put a price on, it’s just too precious for that.  I am understating how the rest of the world, Japan in particular views America.  I knew the world through the eyes of an American raised on the liberal side of life, this new perspective is refreshing.  I never viewed the world through tinted shades, I knew that American wasn’t number one in everything.  I also now know that Japan isn’t number one in everything.  There is a give and take in being able to discern what is stereotype and what is real.

This, I think, is Rotary International’s goal.  They want to unite the world, one exchange at a time.  They want to break down stereotypes one at a time.  They want to change the world, one friendship at a time.  It’s an honorable cause, one I am proud to be a part of.

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, Japan and America did horrible things to each other.  We all know the basics of World War Two, we were all taught the stories in school.  We were taught the American’s side of story.  The winners of war write the history books after all.  Rotary is changing that, one person at a time.  I now have a deeper understanding of just how hard that war was on the world, and not just America.  I saw the damage of the atomic bombs second hand, a horrible thing I hope to never see repeated anywhere.  Right there, that is a goal I believe Rotary to have; to unite the world, to prevent such pain and suffering from ever happening again.  If you have family, friends, memories, and homes in two countries, you become a link between them.

I want to be a link between America and Japan.  I want to be that bridge between the two.  I want to teach children here English, and I want to teach children back in America Japanese.  It would show them that there is a world beyond their city, beyond their country, that is just waiting to be explored.  I want to further this united front Rotary has started and keeps strengthening every year with each exchange student who crosses a countries borders.

This nation I am currently residing in, I find myself falling deeper for the sights, smells, sounds, touches, tastes, and the people.  These people.  Rotary has given me a second place to call home, a second family, a new life view, and so much more that only other exchangees can appreciate.

I am here in Japan to shatter stereotypes.  To learn about the culture.  To learn their language.  To learn everything I can about them in just a year.  It’s a daunting task.  It’s been hard, no joyride I assure you.  It is more than worth every frustrated moment and every racial boundary I cross.  That moment, where I make eye contact with the person I am talking to, I live for that.  To see their perspective change.  Here is another human being, one that does not even think in the same language as me, was not raised in my country, and has no real connections to my nation; but here she stands before me speaking my own tongue.  In that moment they realize that you are so very much like them.

An issue I come across here, one that I feel most will feel or has felt, is being ‘stupid’.  I use that term loosely to describe not really knowing what is going on around you, what the cultural rules are you must follow, and what is being said to you.  We are not ‘stupid’ per say, we just can’t speak your language.

The times I utter what Japanese I am fluent in, I see that change, that understanding that they understand that I am also a being who thinks and observes.  I feel they don’t realize that they do it a lot, where they baby you or treat you as if you know nothing.  Those moments hurt.  But they help as much as they sting; you don’t know how much you really know until someone treats you as if you know nothing. 

I forgive them, I use to do the same without realizing it.  I see the error in my past ways, how I sometimes treated exchange students like children.  I never knew I was doing, not till it happened to myself.  I want to apologize to those people, they may never see this and I may never be able to talk to them again; but I’m sorry.  I really am.  I know how you felt then, I know how much it pains the soul to be treated like a lesser.

It’s changing, as I speak more and more fluently, the views of the people around me are shifting.  Sometimes I have to make a point, or prove myself, but it’s working. 

 United

....we stand

This is me as a Rotarian; changing the world one person at a time, one conversation at a time, and one connection at a time.

It’s something I have to say is beautiful.  No one told me I would be doing it this way, that my heart and soul would be so involved in touching those around me.  Sure, I was told I would be an ambassador between America and Japan.  But no one told me how truly a part of it all you become.  I can only call it beautiful, that singular second of realization.

It makes every pained moment very much worth it.

So Rotary is molding me, changing me, teaching me.  It’s building up the person I was in America, making me into someone a little smarter, a little wiser, and putting my faith back into humanity.  I’m changing the people around me, their views of Americans and international relations.  I’m touching them and in return I am being taught about their world.

Rotary, you amaze me sometimes.

I’m taking so much from this, I feel like I’m overfull and my seams are ready to burst.  But I’m just so happy about it, it’s a good feeling.  It’s a feeling that I’m making a difference.  So this is the middle of my Rotary saga, I’ve nearly hit the halfway mark here.  What else is to come?  As they say, only time can tell.

See You Soon
Mata chikaiuchini

また近いうちに

On Family Expansion

Diversity

My concept of family has always been very loose.  Yes there are blood relations, but there are also those who have no ties to you through genetics that are sometimes more family than the person who have you chunks of genetic code.  A few of my friends in America I even considered close enough to be true family status.  I care about all of my friends, please don't get me wrong, but some just mean a little more than others. 

Here in Japan I have a whole gaggle of lovely new nieces and a nephew.  These little people, I can’t even truly explain them in such a way that covers all that they mean to me at the moment.

  

I like that my Japanese kids sneak into my room and sometimes cuddle with me.  I like that they creep through my door when I’m studying to watch me or enjoy my American music.  I like that they want to be around me because I personally don’t mind being alone, but I like company.

They are cute, can be quiet, and help me with my Japanese a lot.  They get that I don’t understand and they don’t mind repeating themselves over and over.  They think it’s a game whereas adults get frustrated with my inability to hear hidden sounds.

This extends to my American children and my Japanese ones.

Some weekend mornings my usual quartet may be waiting for me to get up to play.  They let me eat, sometimes crawling into my lap to get a bite, but they wait nonetheless.  Then we play.  Sometimes I’m the Oni and chase them.  Sometimes I’m chased.  Now that the kotatsu (I’ll talk about it more in another post soon, for now it’s just a heated table with a blanket that goes over your legs) is out, we have a new hiding and playing zone.

I chase them around and let them hide, then I come barreling around the corner and dive under the table to get at my Pet’s feet.  They giggle and squeal and then run out and away.  Repeat as many times as you desire and there is the game right there.

I was told to call them Pet-chan when I first came.  Japanese doesn’t have plurals, so it stands for all of them.  I have my main four that I usually help out with and play with.

I don’t think I could have adjusted as quickly and easily if I didn’t have them.  They make everything a little bit easier to deal with.

I’m not having to miss having a big family, because I have a huge one here.  I’m not missing on our gathers, because although my family is large, they don’t ‘gather’ much.  I have my foreigner family for that.

My host family is great, don’t get me wrong.  They are very kind, offer me help, tell me their secrets, and entertain me.  In return I teach them, learn from them, and show every bit of kindness I can in return.  I am a part of their family, much like the shop assistants are.  You become an honorary member, and I like that feeling.

The one thing I’m missing from my family here in Japan in an understanding.  They don’t really get what is going on with me.  They don’t understand that my mind is currently in a transition between Japanese and English, constantly flip flopping and trying to grasp at words and sentences to make sense of them.  It gives you headaches that’s for sure.  I’m beginning to make sense of the mess of language in my mind, it’s slow, but I’m getting there.

My host family doesn’t give me the understanding I need, the reassurance that this is normal.  That it’s okay to get snappish every now and then because nothing comes out of your mouth right in either language.  That’s what your foreigner friends are for.  They sort of become a part of your extended family as well.

I can say personally, that I care deeply for my fellow Rotarian students.  I have an idea of what is going on with them, as they do with me.  We get it, there is no need for explanations.  They understand that you would rather talk in English at the moment to give yourself a break.  They understand that you want to try out Japanese with them as to spread your wings and test the waters again.  They get that, and most don’t mind.

I really appreciate what my foreigner friends have done and are doing for me currently.  I feel like a burden to the older ones, the ones that are no longer Rotarians and are now JET teachers.  JET is a program where you teach English abroad in Japan.  I don’t want to go too far into it right now, but that’s the step for me after college.

My extended family, of JET and Rotary, they are a support net.  They are just a phone call away.  They are just a Skype away.  My American family is the same, but as much as I love and adore them, they don’t get that sometimes my head hurts so bad I don’t want to go to school and deal with the onslaught of language on my really bad days.  (Rest assured, my very good days always outweigh my bad ones, but I am human and am allowed to be distressed every now and then.)

Gatherings with any of these people, even just one on one, never fails to boost my confidence and give that little push I need to move on.  Coffee with a friend is therapeutic to me, I hope I keep this habit.  It’s nice to just talk in English for a while with someone who knows what they are doing, what you are going through, and have a view point to compare your own against.  A barbeque with these same people has almost the same effect, but with a more of a family atmosphere.

Some of my very best memories I have made here revolve around shared food and talk with these people.  Both Rotarians and Jet and my Host Family.  Nothing draws people together like food.  Late night cookouts with people you may have just met the day before, the hour before, or may have never met before.  They still smile and hand you a plate, telling you to help yourself to anything, to get comfortable, to enjoy yourself.  Jokes and stories are told, sometimes in two tongues.  Drinks are exchanged between adults and kids run around playing their games.  It’s nice to just sit back and watch it for a minute, to enjoy everything going on around you.  My best memories here are centered on such times, I love every moment and everything seems perfect for a little while.  Watching the moon rise with new friends who you consider family in a sense, listening to them sing, listening to their stories, and just being around them.  For me, there is nothing truly better than such a gathering. 

I loved them in America too.  My family threw the best parties.  I remember one Christmas, I was asked what I wanted.  My reply was that I wanted us to all be together for it.  I love hanging out with my family, playing Mexican train, bocce ball in the dark, bonfires, hay rides, sitting with all of crammed into one living room, and spending vacations together.  It’s nice that although I am not able to do this all with my American family right now, I can still do it with my extended one!

On another note, I was considered a physical person back in America.  My friends could always count on me for a hug, a hand to hold, and a physical presence if they needed it.  Just support through friendly touches whenever they needed some support themselves.

I’m always grateful for a hug from any of them.  Sometimes all you need is a hug from a friend you may not remember the name of.  A hug from a new friend is reassuring in ways that are hard to explain.  I like hugs from any and all of them.

Sometimes that’s all you need to have a sense of normalcy in the world you chose to throw yourself in.

Many of these people, I can tell you right now, I will try and keep contact with them as best as I can.  I will make an effort to upkeep our friendship and comradely.  No one understand better than someone who has done it themselves.

I find myself drawn to them, to their conversation.  I find them truly interesting, my fellow Rotarians and the JETs as well.  We have common ground to converse about, support in almost every sense, help where you may need it, and a sense of that normalcy again.  These are my friends I will keep for years, even after we no longer talk I will still remember them for what they meant to me during the times we did.  Just because the talks end doesn’t mean friendship does as well.  I will always be stretched over the ocean in this way, between my homeland and the home I am making for myself where ever I go.  I will be stretched to the places where my friends reside and are also making homes for themselves.  It’s a giant web of connections, of family that shares no blood but is sometimes stronger than real blood families.

Rotary is also very good about giving care when care is needed most.  People I don’t know, I wouldn’t have known if they weren’t a part of my club, give me kindness in small gestures.  A gift here, a kind word there, encouragements all around, and sense of belonging even when you ask for none.  They genuinely care if I am doing okay, not saying that my family doesn’t, but it’s a surreal feeling when it comes from near complete strangers.  I appreciate there actions, I have stated so before in this blog’s other posts, I will never be able to repay them fully.  I can only prove their efforts by doing my hardest, by doing what I have set out to do, what I left everything familiar behind for.

I have many mothers, fathers, siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles in the sense.

So this is my new family.  My extended family.  It’s a bit strange, not at all normal.  It spans many continents, countries, and cultures.  It’s a jumbled mess of names that I can’t always pronounce correctly, but it’s okay.  Name a country and I can almost guarantee you I can name a friend or acquaintance that lives there or has in the past.  Name a language and I almost give you a contact to help you learn it, or speak it with.  My family encompasses so much and so little when you think hard about it.  We are just specks, but united specks.  There is always a friend awake to talk to, to ask questions, and maybe just talk to for a bit.  My strange family indeed, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t love every minute of it.

This is the home I am creating, and I’m filling it with all these wonderful people and memories.  This is what I left for, what I spread myself out willingly for.  This is exactly what I wanted and needed, and just think.  I’m only two months and nearly two weeks into my exchange. 

So much more is yet to come.

See You Soon

Mata chikaiuchini

また近いうちに

On Fitting Your Life into Suitcases

Space

I came with three suitcases and one backpack.  I don’t have an exact count on everything I had, but I have a general idea.

I brought comfort food, supplies for my smash book (I’ll talk more about that a little lower), clothing for all seasons and most occasions that I could think of (it’s changed around a lot, had to buy some really light shirts for the insanely hot weather in August and September), my computer and a few other electronics, trinkets to give to my families, and a few personal belongings.

That had expanded, adding books to study from, random gifts from family members and classmates, magazines that I wasn’t able to walk out of the store with.  You’d understand if you ever saw a Japanese fashion magazine, the things are wicked man.

Doesn’t sound like a lot, and it really isn’t a lot.  But when piled together, it takes up three suitcases and one large backpack.  When you think about it, this is my life support from one year.

I can’t go back and grab that book I should have brought, I can’t shift through my belongings in my room like I used to, I can’t add that one other shirt I thought didn’t look cute but now I want really badly, there is so much I can’t do that I feel like I need to do because the things to do it are in my room back home.

My life is convenient to move around.  I can easily pack up everything I need in under thirty minutes and be on my way.  I can cram everything I need into those three suitcases and backpack.  That’s not a lot of space when you really think about it.

We exchange students live a minimal life, or at least most of the ones I personally know do.  Anything you honestly don’t need can be thrown away to make room for something you do need.  Any extra clothing can be tossed into the next second hand shop so you can add that new shirt or pair of pants.  Those books can be passed onto others as well.

I don’t have much room for extras, but the extras I carry have a meaning.

Here’s just a few of the extra things I don’t need but keep with me anyway.

I keep a pink and white panda made from felt, with writing on it.  It was made by my cousin for me.

I keep a blue and white crochet afghan corner.  It was made for me by a dear friend.

I keep a stuffed cat toy.  I’ve had it for a long time and I personally felt bad leaving it behind as I went on my adventure.

I keep my baby blankies with me.  They are my baby blankies and will go everywhere with me in life.  I’m a Linus and am okay with this.

I keep my extra books.  I don’t know if I’ll need them again and will keep them until they are proven useless.

I keep a few plastic toys.  They were given to me by my host nieces and I would feel horrible throwing them out.

I keep a set of posters given to me by my host sister because I’m living in her room while she is away.  They are cool and I like them, so why not keep them?

I keep my smashbook.  It is a messy diary of sorts.  Everywhere I go, various receipts  pictures, and brochures are slapped, tapped, or glued into the poor thing.  I scribble down important notes, good thoughts, and many other things into.  It wasn't really a need at first but it's become a good way to remember the details of my exchange.  It had been officially placed up on my scale of important things to reside beside my Rotary Blazer.  You exchange students know the importance of such and item, you now understand what my abused smashbook is to me!

Everything else is needed in some form, worn in some form, can be eaten, or used for personal life in some form.

It was a shock to me, a semi-hoarder in my life in America, that I could live on minimal money and items.  That I could be content without my multitudes of trinkets I’m known to keep.  I can be content with a computer, Ipod, Wi-Fi, a small stash of food, and clothing.  I don’t honestly need much to survive and thrive, and I’m glad I learned this.

I now know I can make anywhere feel like home, as long as I have a suitcase, backpack, and Wi-Fi.

I like this feeling of being free.  Of not really owning much in my life here.  It’s a relief that I have so little to worry about, that I know if I have to I can easily move and go on with my life.

It’s not a lot of space, but it’s the only space I need.

Yes my small collection of items has surely grown, but I know I can thin it out easily.  Clothing can be replaced, hygiene products are easy to buy, and you can always find new books.  It’s the special ones you keep and the normal ones you get rid of.  Even then the decision is hard, but choices have to be made after all.

So to all of you packing out there for your own adventure, or thinking about it, take a minute would you?  Think, do I honestly need this?  Do I need it because it’s useful or because I want it?  Would I honestly wear this is a few months?  Could I save my money and buy something else with it?

I have a few pieces of clothing I wish I had saved money on and bought here in Japan instead.  Maybe my mind will change in the upcoming months.  Apart from that, I’m quite content with my living style.  It makes my life easier, less stressful, and a heck of a lot less cluttered.

I like being less cluttered.  It’s one thing I’ve noticed I’ve gained while being here for two months already.

See You Soon

Mata chikaiuchiniまた近いうちに

On Japanese Graves

 DEAD

Japan is very eerie in the sense that everything is left as is.  No one really messes with anything.  That building is rotting, better not touch it.  That stone has crumbled, let’s only move the bits that hinder our daily lives and let the rest fall to bits.  I can walk through my town and see both ancient history for the area and a bit of the future all at once.

Japan is a fine balance between both.  It’s an odd mix but it works well for these people.  Japanese people themselves are a mix between then, now, and the future. 

Their language is a relic with no true history, no one know the true origin of spoken Japanese.  Their written form of language has roots in Chinese, but other than that, it is unknown.  Their actions are the exact same their ancestors did.  They bowed, they sat on their knees in the Seiza position, their schools are run the exact same way they were in the past with only a few variations, their homes are styled traditionally with the commodities of modern day living installed into the already existing frame usually, and their physical features really have not changed much over the past thousand years.

Mixed in with these ancient traits, there are peeks into the future as well.

They have made incredible leaps and bounds in trading, manufacturing, and trading since opening their borders back to the world.

Here’s a little lesson in history before we move back into the topic;

From the years 1633-1853, Japan was in a Sakoku state.  Sakoku means chained country.  They may have begun trading with countries that sailed to them, mainly the Dutch, but they didn’t allow people to be able to leave japan until 1868 though.

They were not completely isolation, just very strict regulations on trading, who could and could not leave the country, and extremely strict rules on foreigners.  The only place that was truly ‘allowed’ to trade in was Dejima, Nagasaki at the Dutch Factory.  (I’ve personally seen this place, was pretty cool)  Trade with China was also allowed in Nagasaki.  Korea could trade in Tsushima Domain, which a part of modern day Nagasaki.  The only other trading posts were further up north, in Hokkaido.  Almost everywhere else it was barred and seen as treason to trade with foreigners.

This policy over trading was put in place by the Tokugawa Shogunate (that’s another story).  They were afraid of Japan losing its ‘Japan-ness’.

Lesson END

There’s a lot more to the story, I’m only sharing the basics because there are books out there that could teach you more and better than what I can explain.  But the point has been made, Japan was cut off, they had nearly three hundred years of nearly total isolation so they missed the big economy and technology booms of the world.

This just adds to the fact that they truly are people rooted in their own traditions and rules.  They are not a melting pot like Europe and America.  That is slowly changing, but they are still very much their own people.

The new is beginning to take root around the old, and the old crumbles yet still remains.

I went on a bike ride as I usually do when I don’t want to study and have little else to do.  This time I went to an area of town I didn’t know quite well, figured I’d make an adventure out of it.  I nearly missed it as I flew by.  There were steps going up, that usually means something interesting here in Japan.

I came to a squealing stop, my bike not appreciating my reckless breakage.  I turned around and parked beyond the three metal posts meant to keep cars from running into the stairs.

These stairs were old and worn, their edges rounded and breaking a part.  And yet a hand rail had been put in rather recently from the look of the white concrete that stuck out like a sore thumb in the dark stone.  I climbed up, not sure what would greet me.

I came to the first landing, one path led to what looked like an overgrown patch of farm land.  The other path led to a very, very, old grave stone.  So old it was green and blue with growths and nearly rounded all the way around.  I kept going up, Japanese stairs are extremely steep and very narrow width wise.

A quiet came over the area.  Japan has two noise settings.  Extremely and unbearably loud, or so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat.  Sometimes there is a balance between the two, but it is rare and hard to find.  It was quiet, a nearly dead quiet.

It’s eerie to hear the sounds of cars and life fade away as you come out of the various levels of chaos.  This mini mountain was apparently above them all, or at least a strange bubble of peace between two of them.

I kept on climbing, getting a decent idea of what was to come thanks to the tombstone and field.

I was greeted with another landing, this I walked along the path.  This one was stone, crumbled and fading, but still stone.  The earth was reclaiming it as it does here in Japan.  It’s a creeping process that can be avoided, but people just allow it to happen out what I only can call respect for the old.

The entire walkway was lined, in single file, with various sized headstones.

A mini lesson in Japan again;

You are not buried, ever.  You are burned, turned into ashes, have your bones picked from the ashes in a whole process that it taboo to copy outside of the funeral procession, and your bones are placed in your ancestral grave-headstone-vault-thing.  I haven’t seen this process and it’s not wildly popular to talk about over dinner, so I don’t know much beyond the basis.

A woman who marries a man is drafted into his family if she takes on his name and is placed under his family’s stone, as will her all her male, unmarried female, or married but didn’t take on the man’s name female, child.

Lesson END

These headstones are not very ornate in most cases.  They usually are just a long, skinny, block of granite with the families name embossed into it and maybe some message.  I can’t read kanji well enough yet to really say what was written on the ones I have personally seen.  They are a timeless beauty that I appreciate.  They are art.

Families wash these stone with water and brushes, they offer sake and rice to the ancestors, they visit the stones to consult with their ancestors in a time of need, and they teach their children the names of their past family members.

These stones are a big deal.

Until a family forgets where theirs is, or when the last member of a family dies.  These stones are left to crumble peacefully.  No one daring to touch them, least they piss of a slew of ghosts.  It is beyond rude to touch another family’s stone, since it is an embodiment of their family.

These ‘dead’ stones are mixed in among the ones that you can tell were either recently replaced or are well taken care of.

It’s these ‘dead’ stones that are my favorite.  They are old, they seem unloved, and they seem to emit a sense of calm.  Like the stone itself has come to realize that the family is no longer coming back, that it is alone in this world, and that it will crumble and die.  It’s a peace of accepting ones fate and not fighting it.

I could sit under a stone, a forgotten stone, and just be for a while.  I did that and I enjoyed it wholly.  There is just a Zen that can be found in these quiet places of reverence.  I’m not personally very religious, but I enjoy the peace that comes with holy places.

The ones that are well taken care of, I appreciate their beauty and the work the family has put into keeping it all clean.  They don’t have this peaceful feel though, these stones don’t know abandonment and so they are just a stone to me.  Beautiful and expensive, but unfeeling and unanimated.

The tragic ones, I always seem to love them more. The moss growing thicker, the smell of light mold and a slight hit of rotting stone, the dirt around them piling up and beginning to eat away at the base, the overturned areas to place incense sticks, and the missing bottles of sake and tea cups; these all add a sense of solitude and peace.

There was barely any sound besides that of my shoes crunching the gravel and sand.  It was a good time to just not think, to just appreciate the beauty and peace around me.

I then continued on my down the path lined with stones, still not having reached the top.

I stepped on something that didn’t crunch, but shattered in a sound I’m familiar with.  The sound of breaking china.  It sounded just like that time my sister threw one of mum’s fiesta ware plates.  It was an eerie flashback to have in an eerie place.

I looked down to see that I had wondered into a small corner patch, thick with weeds and dead grass.  A small piece of blue and white china of what could have only been the remains of a tea cup under my foot.  This prompted me to look for whole cups or bottles, a little forgotten tragic from a patch of forsaken and forgotten land.  With all my efforts I found two beautifully designed cups, elegant and certainly expensive, left there to rot and break with the rest of them.  I also found an old sake bottle.  It was brown, which is rare to find.  They are all clear glass now.  So I knew it was old.

I have a habit of ‘rescuing things’.

I kept my treasures in hand and went back to the main path, going back up the stairs. There was more to see, I was certain of that.

I reached the top layer of stones, and that was all I could see.  Tombstones, row after row.  All in various states of repair or disintegration.  It was a sight to see.  I wandered around these stones, peering at the ones still wet or a stick still burning.  I watched those whose mold was blossoming and saw a few pieces actually fall from their bodies.

It was a sight to see.  A quiet, peaceful, and sad sight.  I found a basin to wash my cups and bottles in, I also found a huge marble in an unruly pile of grass in a corner I found.

The rows were not endless, but I spend the better part of two hours exploring and offering my thanks to having stopped and turned around.

I found another stone, all alone in a corner.  There was no true path to it, the grass around it was gray and brown, the stone itself was broken in half, and it looked so sad.  It was clearly ancient, even the kanji on it old and worn down, I almost couldn’t tell there was any kanji until I peeled back a section of moss, I don’t care if it went against tradition.  I grabbed a bucket and brush and washed the poor thing, there was no way I could clean off the moss and grime. 

I did my best, washing it for the first time in who knows how long.  I couldn’t find a lighter so I couldn’t burn any incense.  I found an abandoned can of ceremonial sake and placed it next to the shattered alter.  I gave it maybe its first prayer in a long time, I don’t think I did it right though.  I did the same thing I do for Kyudo.  Bow three times, clap twice, and bow twice more.  It may not have been right, but I put my heart into it so I hope that counts for something.

I felt bad leaving it behind.  The poor, forgotten, stone. 

I had to return to my home though, there was dinner to help make, and children to watch.  I couldn’t spend the rest of the day meditating in front of it after all….

The very old graves

The newer ones!

Some more old ones.

My little abandoned one I washed.

See You Soon
Mata chikaiuchini
また近いうちに