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