This entry is an update. I told someone recently that I couldn't really write lately, said, it just comes and goes, you know? Just haven't been in the mood... I have no real way to predict its entrances or exits. Writing has always been improvisational to me. The inspiration is something that possess me rather than I it. It comes for me when it is ready and leaves me as it pleases. However, I enjoy writing and never worry much when it goes because it always comes back. And so I admit, I have been a little without words lately (no decent reason) but for the purpose of this blog and the virtue of exercise, I will attempt to extemporize here. 

Here in Shizuoka, Japan seems to have achieved an extended fall, just the thing I love in weather patterns! Its is perpetually 50 or so degrees during the day/in the 40's at night and though sometimes rainy, something is managing to keep winter at bay and also on the downside, the monkeys in the mountains. I have heard rumors that once it gets really cold, the monkeys who live in the surrounding mountains sometimes come into town and take what they please for food. The idea of errant monkeys looting markets and convenient stores sends my mind swimming. And although I have been asking everyone about it, almost no one cares to engage me. I sincerely cannot imagine why. They all act kind of blase about it. 

The weather is just enough for all my favorite layers but not so much that I cant still take long walks or have weekend beers in the park, where I take a blanket with me for my lap and imagine this is what it feels like to go to football games. Only lately I try my best not to talk to people.  Two weeks ago I met a Canadian in the park or rather a Canadian met me, and for all my resisting to speak to him, he wouldn't give it up with the chipper and cheerful anecdotes and questions so eventually I gave in and actually allowed myself to enjoy his company. We bought shochu from plastic jars at the convenient store and he showed me how he mixes it with juice, right in the box.  He bought me a 78 yen curry bun and told me where to find the cheapest food in town and also how to sneak past the guards at the train station if I'm short on cash. As we sat shivering on separate benches late at night in the park, feasting on convenient store food and drinking cheap liquor from a juice box I had this vision of myself as some little homeless girl or rather the outcast foreigner, the stranger in a strange land. It was like this guy was showing me the ropes. Sounds a little weird right. Maybe it was the fingerless gloves he was wearing or more than likely the alcohol because a few days later on our way home from work, Andrew and I ran into him. He chatted us both up for a little too long and after he left Andrew called him sticky. Andrew was certainly right but all in all the guy is harmless, just a little eager, maybe a little lonely but nonetheless quite knowledgeable about the city. Perhaps he's lived here too long. By the end of our evening together he only wanted talk about how awesome Bruce Springsteen is and which Pink Floyd album is my favorite. I finished my juice box and politely said goodnight. In his defense, he put me hip to a tiny little market which sells real coffee, real cheap and also pointed me in the direction of a bike shop where a girl speaks English. My bike is out of commission recently and I am meaning to get it fixed. I am totally on foot these days save for when I beg, borrow or steal Andrew's bike. After we ran into said Canadian again the very next night and he eagerly told us he usually takes that route into town, Andrew and I privately agreed we should start taking a new route home. 

I feel really lucky for Andrew because except for him and the German, every other foreigner I've met here is, well, frankly a little annoying. They are mostly just a little off, creepy, nerdy or smelly. Though to be fair, you could easily describe me in those terms, some days. Anyway, Andrew gets me and shares my sense of humor. Though we don't really have much in common save for making jokes about school, there is definitely plenty of material there. And even though we don't usually hang out outside of school, he is easily my best friend in Japan, I only have 3. Yuji is pretty amazing as well, he got me a thermos for my birthday!  "I'm picking out a thermos for you..." Last weekend it was my birthday and Andrew took me out to a lovely little place around the corner from our building. The place is called Cham and I guess it was one of the first places I inquired to him about when I got here. And while I don't remember that per se, I do know I have wanted to go there since basically day one. Dinner was wonderful and Cham might just be the best place we've discovered yet. All natural and everything house made, we were both really impressed. House made tofu and a salad of exotic steamed vegetables that I haven't stopped craving. A few weeks ago we also went out for Thai food and noticed a distinct flavor of mayonnaise in the pad thai. Japanese people love mayo for some reason. Eww, what is that? 

A few weeks ago I was really restless. Perhaps this has something to do with my writing. I was bored and felt guilty for being lazy, felt like I was slacking on all my goals. I guess I was preoccupied and lost sight a little of the big picture. I was in a slump. I had nothing going on and everyone around me seemed busy. After a week or so of this, I had a talk with myself. Grow up, pull yourself together, stop moping. If you are bored or restless, do something about it. I knew damn well it was no one's problem but my own. So after a refresh of perspective, I am back. I am studying Katakana. Now, I can recognize a few characters in the Katakana alphabet, though still not enough to read but I am on my way! If I practice a little each day--or each week I should be in good shape to read the menus in the airport by the time my contract is up. I am exaggerating. IF I study, I should be able to read Katakana in a few weeks. It's the easiest alphabet to decipher that the Japanese use. As a kid, I distinctly remember learning to read and how exciting it was as words came alive to me before my very eyes. Suddenly there was new meaning in everything I looked at. The world opened up to me. I remember reading everything and marveling that while I may not know the meaning of all words, at least I could read them! It didn't last long because pretty soon, reading was easy, second nature and there was no longer a trick to it And though reading fast became an obsession and more a life long compulsion, the novelty did not last. I want that again. I think Katakana will give that to me, it has already started to. Also I have made arrangements for a membership at the hot yoga studio in town (just in time for winter)! I am writing more letters, taking longer walks, waking up earlier.  I know it doesn't sound like much and truly it's not but more or less it was the perspective shift that was in order. I am a big fan of the perspective shift change game. It seems almost anything is possible there. And so currently, the little things are making me very happy all over again. I take super hot baths with fancy peppermint bath salts, read good books in the tub, wear my new big glasses with hair pinned up. I still visit the beach at least once a week and my time there is without question, invaluable. I feel a relationship with the water and have even made a few local friends who happen walk their dogs at the same time each week that I visit the sea. One old man in particular speaks to me every week and every week I re-establish with him that I cannot speak or understand Japanese. Still he chats at me and now I just agree with him wholeheartedly (whatever he is saying). I know enough Japanese to agree. I figure he is saying things like, "isn't it a lovely day" or "water's sure pretty today, eh..." Any rate, I look forward to seeing him there each Tuesday. Also on Tuesdays as I approach the Mochimune train station to head back to school from the company lesson there is a man who stands just outside the turn-style drinking a beer, near the vending machines. He clearly has some kind of mental disability. Each week as people enter the station to depart he waves at them and repeatedly yells a cheery, "bye-bye!" to all who pass him. Everyone ignores him and maybe even seems a little embarrassed by his presence but I have always returned his farewells with just as many chipper bye-byes as he gives me. Besides, who else is talking to me? In my mind he is the "bye-bye guy" and along with "dog walking guy," I also look forward to seeing him each week. Recently I made a breakthrough with the Bye-Bye guy. Before he was saying "bye-bye, bye-bye" over and over as I approached the station but once I entered my fare and was inside the station, I was some kind of defunct departure to him. I could still see and hear him clearly (the station is open air, no walls) but he would not turn to look towards me, never looking inside the station. Not that I really crave his attention, it was just something that I noticed. He never waved to people inside the station.  Inside is where it's at if you're trying to say farewell. That's what done there, people leave. Well. A few weeks ago, after returning his bye-byes outside the station for more than six months, we crossed over. And now even once I am inside the station, he'll bat a few "bye-byes" my way. He even waved to me last week once I was on the departing train and I could see him saying, "bye-bye!" 

I am over here making connections left and right.  

As I edit this post, it is 11 am on a Thursday morning. I have decided to have coffee as a treat and am listening to Opera. My balcony door is wide open, sun shining in and construction pounding loudly from next door. They are raising the building next to mine all month. 

I am powerful and strong and wild and willful.  I have magic inside passed down through generations. 

 

When I am in New York, one of my favorite spots is the Lower East Side and the old tenement neighborhoods that so many immigrants inhabited at the turn of the last century.  I visit the tenement museums and walk through the neighborhoods, lofty. I read about the lives of the immigrants and picture myself among them. I have spent many an afternoon alone in Battery Park, standing at the water, staring at The Statue. The streets definitely feel haunted but in that benign New York way. You know you are alone and it's spooky and always potentially dangerous but for sure but you get the feeling that the spirits aren't out to get you. The ghosts of New York are the last people you need to worry about. They are your sympathizers, your protectors. You are not alone because history is your companion. This is true anywhere on earth. New York alone is one of my best friends. I have always romanticized the past and fantasized about the lives of not only my own ancestors but all people of that era, all over my country. My country that I am quite absent from physically but never far from emotionally. True, life then for most people, by most accounts should have been hell; squalor, prejudice and poverty, crime and disease abounded but there is something about the spirit or the hope or maybe it's the possibility of the era that gets to me. 

I am in my own era of incredible possibility.

Yesterday I decided to see a movie. Of all my travels and time spent so far abroad (not that its an incredible amount of time or vast distance covered) I realized this would be my first movie seen in a theatre, in a foreign country. It's the little things, you know! So I had a date with myself. Walked around the city in my new tall boots and old corduroy shorts, turning heads it seemed but I think mostly it was for my turned out hair; had it piled high and in some typical strange weird twist that sticks up in the back, one skinny long side braid and a bouffant in the front. Generally speaking, Native American warriors are my hair inspiration. It's getting longer lately and that pleases me, a visual representation of the passage of time. A year ago we chopped it after I shattered one of the joints in my left elbow and couldn't do anything to it. Jesee decided it was best. Jesee always decides what's best for my hair and occasionally for my overall look. I remember on the day of her wedding after I got the upside down sideways french braid I wanted and finished with the Amy Winehouse (not quite but almost) eyes and then started putting on all the gold bangles, Jess said gingerly, "That's enough Kate." I had to oblige. 

Anyway, yesterday, I walked all around Shizuoka. Since Nathan's visit, I hate my bike and walk mostly lately. My bike really is a wreck and showing it to someone who knows more than a thing or two about bikes kind of broke the spell I was under. I knew it was no gem before but having showed it to him, now it's hard to ignore. Now I see it for what is really is, a total mess with a completely rusted chain, cut gears and no breaks. Eh, I am usually an autumn walker anyway. I so enjoy taking my time and looking in all the windows. 

Alright, Nathan side bar. The man is beautiful and sweet and gentle and strong. He is smart and fun and didn't get annoyed one bit when one night I drank too much shochu and went through all the motions; laugh, cry, argue, love. In that order I suspect. In fact he played right along with me, bought a full body purple sweatsuit, put my bike lock around his neck and carried me home. Needless to say, we had a great time. We ate sushi and sashimi, went to the beach at night and drank beers through a typhoon. Before I moved to Japan, a few people somewhat cautiously offered me a, "I sure hope you find what you are looking for," with a little doubt in their voice and a pensive sigh. "I'm not looking for anything," I repeatedly insisted. And I really wasn't (am still not) except maybe a little adventure and admittedly an alley to the next avenue. Well, I found something. And somehow, in this wild world, a person from Columbus, Ohio, a person who unbeknown to me was living blocks away from me downtown earlier this year, a person on a strangely parallel path to mine, found something too. My pages are turning and in the next chapter I go to India. Now there are two main characters. 

OK, where was I? I walked around Shizuoka, window peeped, ate lunch at a place that had STD burgers and STD tacos on the menu--what the hell is that? I had to ask and the waiter told me it was a mistake and that they had meant 'standard.' Yeah, I'd say that's a mistake alright, in more ways than one. I ordered a salad.  I happened upon some teenage girls in the park practicing a dance routine in sweatpants and boots. They were cute and I watched for a bit, thinking little girls must be the same everywhere. I window shopped here and there and bought some postcards at a gallery that was selling the most beautiful Japanese woodblock prints of local landscapes, landscapes I now recognize firsthand. The cards were by far the only things I could afford but the little old lady humored me and told me some of the prices of the giant, gorgeous things. I would have to spend two whole paychecks. Miraculously, this weekend 3 or 4 second hand shops popped into my peripheral, in the corners of places I pass all the time. I have been seeking some such thing for months now and had nearly decided this was a trade that simply wasn't popular here when, last Saturday, on my way to work, I passed a huge flea market in Aoba Park. I was thrilled but on my way to work with no time to spare, as usual. I went directly to check it out on my lunch break but by then, 5pm, everyone had packed up and gone home, there was not so much as a trace of the massive market I witnessed hours earlier. It was definitely an only the smoke remains moment. But since then, within two days, I have stumbled on three or four different second hand shops. Japan is kind of magical like that. None have been especially incredible but still, happy to know they are here and that if I continue to visit, I will likely find some cool stuff. Mostly, I seek photographs. I like to collect old anonymous family photographs. Black and whites are usually best. Perhaps I like them so much because of the anonymity and the sheer possibility they represent. With random found photos, I can make up my own stories and often I do. Too be fair, I love my own families old photographs first, histories are written there. If I had to pinpoint the time or rather the photograph where my fascination began, I can easily tell you. It's that old Oliva Family portrait taken somewhere circa 1955, 56... can anyone confirm? I can stare at that picture for hours, imagining the pandemonium that was for one brief moment quelled. And in that moment time stopped and the family has remained, in that photograph, forever as they were once and then never again; complete, young, beautiful, full of possibility. Some of the members there have already passed on and surely, eventually, all will but in that photograph, in that moment, nothing will ever change.  

Possibility + permanence. 

In August, when I was in Tokyo, I found a small little antique stand in Asakusa that sold mostly old prints of Ukiyo-e and some mismatched nick knacks and used kimonos and yukatas but on his counter the dealer had these two old photos of Japanese peasants, they were a couple I think. Stern, proud and ragged, fully Showa Era. They stared directly at the camera eye, captured forever on the cusp of Japanese history, straddling the global border of east and west that would never, ever be the same. Mighty yet defenseless. The couple was nearly emotionless- mysterious and telling all at once; stories like these seduce me. I wanted them. I covet photographs like this. The man said in broken English that he didn't have any other photos and that those two were not for sale. Perhaps they were not anonymous characters to him... or perhaps my curiosity as a foreigner held no provocation for him...I can understand a motivation to protect and preserve relics like this from the casual tourist and outsider. At any rate, I quest. This is what I am looking for and luckily I can collect as many as I might please, as many as I might be fortunate enough to find. Unlike massive woodblock prints, I can afford to accumulate such souvenirs both financially and spatially. 

Back to the movie. I decided to see the new Audrey Tautou film about the life of Coco Chanel, the famous and pioneering female French designer.  There's not a ton of western films showing at the theatres here and the ones that are mostly look totally bo bo so the idea of seeing something artistic, biographical was enticing. French subject, French star, don't know why I didn't even consider that it would be, in French. I thought, English with Japanese subtitles, right? Actually, it was in French with Japanese subtitles. Still, I watched and enjoyed the experience in all it's absurdity. I gathered what information I could and then came home to fill in the blanks with a little Internet research. So it goes.

Picture me, alone, at the movies in Japan in a nearly empty theatre smiling to myself, watching a beautiful film about a woman I admire in two languages that I can't understand. Do this and you are pretty accurately picturing my life in Japan. 

I have been told that my Gran enjoys reading these so, this one is for you, Margaret. I miss you and I love you. 

So much has been happening in my life...as for the biggest thing it's a little soon to tell but I'll just say that I have met someone, only I haven't. Yet. Not exactly. It's kind of a long story that is beautifully uncomplicated. Surely some of my close friends may have a hard time believing this and I can even see some of you, your eyes rolling right now, as it seems I may have inadvertently become this archetype for independence and the ultimate hard heart amongst us. The girl who needs no one and never really likes anyone, not like that at least. Still, the oldest of the close friends will remember a time when I was in love once and a few of the dearest may know my heart well enough to know that it is nothing if not love. That's the way I see it at least. Anyway, something is happening, its more of a vision at this point and I have no real way of knowing what may come. But Cat Power likes to remind me that, "what comes is always better than what came before" and I'll tell you what, that sounds pretty damn good. 

And no Dad, he's not a sumo wrestler so you can relax. 

There is, however, a bigger picture that I will not loose sight of. I remind myself daily, why I am here, why I quite deliberately chose this journey. Nothing shall derail me, I have worked too hard. This is still my adventure. I am more than happy to share but I cannot forfeit. Luckily, I have every confidence that this is a very mutual understanding. 

Last night, another dream of Tero. My friends and I were out, in Columbus drinking in what was a combination of several familiar haunts. Camu appeared across the bar and started a one sided argument with Myles. I watched the whole thing from my spot near the door. He was in Myles' face yelling at him in regards to some recent irrelevant altercation that I have recently been hearing different versions of. All of this happened exactly as it would have in real life. Mu in Myles' face, Myles barely even turning to acknowledge him, acting as if he didn't care, sitting at the bar, legs crossed, acting like Paris must be burning; Mu heated and fierce, as if he was defending his own mother's honor. The only anachronism was that it was old Camu, before he got sick. I only wish Myles had known him like that; they didn't meet until after he got cancer. I hope I should always dream of him like this; large, prideful, full of life and totally dominant. The thing was, I soon realized that only I could see Tero. The reason Myles was paying no attention to him, was because he couldn't see him. And then there was Gayle, his practical widow, one of my dearest friends, standing directly next to me. I was trying to point him out, all full of excitement that he had showed but she couldn't see him and that only saddened her, "Why can't I see him?" she was pleading with me. "Why am I the only one who can see him?" I was pleading with her. And why shouldn't she be able to see him? However, it didn't take long for me to realize that only I could see him. Maybe this is because it was my dream, but each dream I've had about him since he passed has been somewhat like this. He and I both always know that he's dead and when I see him he makes it seem like only I can see him, for now at least or that I have to be all hush hush that he's here. We spend my dreams of him, driving around unfamiliar neighborhoods and hiding the car in secret garages, covering it up like they do in 'Back to the Future,' we go to secret barber shops, coney stands and out of the way car washes, navigated of course, all by him. Come to think of it, mostly all we do is run errands. In last night's dream, I went to him, out back of the bar and tried to talk him down, it wasn't hard, of course he wasn't really mad, still just likes to argue, even in death I guess. I left him for a moment, I think I went inside to grab us a couple drinks and when I returned he was gone; just vanished like he'd left out the back door or gone around the corner to smoke a blunt. Typical Camu. And of course no one saw him leave because, well, no one could see him. I was left standing there, two drinks in my hand. I gave one to Gayle and the other to Myles and exited myself.  

But, this blog is not a dream journal. Not really. 

There is so much more to tell, more to report of my spirit which is very much alive and feels brighter than ever.  I am focused and clear headed. I pray and I meditate. I have even started jogging though I won't mention it again. I have never enjoyed people who talk about their exercise.  Same with prayer really. 

But first, I really think I deserve a beer. My weekend is officially here and people have been talking English at me for 5 days straight which believe it or not can be as exhausting as it is hysterical. So I am going out into the full moon night to have a coldie or two in the park. This time, I will not bother speaking to strangers. Though, perhaps the German will join me. I have been blowing him off too much lately and as my only official, self made friend outside of work in Japan, I should at least try to keep him around. I shall return.

3 days later.  The German did join me and together we sat in the park drinking a couple of beers out of cans. I am trying not to spend too much these days so I deliberately only took 1000 yen with me, about 10 bucks. I surprised myself at how excited I was to see the German. I guess it's really more I was excited to have someone to joke around with, someone who doesn't mind if I am vulgar or irreverent, someone who perhaps even prefers it. Within moments, I had tears in the corners of my eyes from laughing so hard. When he showed up all sweaty and discombobulated I think I told him that he peed on the poop or something stupid (using inside jokes from your friends back home with people abroad is never as funny as you want it to be). "Wow, your drunk," he told me. "Not at all, these are my very first sips!" I replied as I held up the Japanese version of a tall boy up for proof. I miss my friends and sisters so much, I miss constant jokes! I am ready to laugh at anything even remotely funny these days... course, I guess that's not really new. Anyway, we sat in the park, he was trying to get me to go to karaoke and honestly I just didn't feel like it, besides remember, the dough. The German is decent fun but we have gone to karaoke before and it always turns into endurance drinking and singing which I am not really in the mood for lately. I am feeling rather holistic these days, I feel mild and calm and peaceful. To be fair though, it is always fun, the last time we went, my left arm hurt all next day, at first I was puzzled as to why but then I realized,  I rocked it so hard singing every Journey song I could think of, why wouldn't my mic arm be sore?? Anyway by now, we had run into two other foreigners that said German knew. The girl was from England and the guy, Canadian. They were pretty OK, amusing at least. The girl had lived in Shizuoka for something like 2 years and it was her last night in town. While the boys went to get money for karaoke that I would not be going to, I picked her brain for the marvelous spots in the area that she knew of. Her advice alone made the evening worth it. Then I ran into the Family Mart to buy another beer and there was this sort of hard looking guy with steps shaved into his hair dressed like a cartoon on acid, shoveling fruit flavored Volvics into his basket. Only in Japan. Anyway, I selected my beer and waited behind him in line. He turned around, looked at me, and then took the beer from my hand and added it to his purchases.  "Aeon, Aeon, Aeon" (this is the name of the school I work for) he was saying to me and trying also to make the check out guy (who could have cared less) understand. "Aeon, Aeon," and he is pointing in the general direction of my school.  "Huh?" what the hell is going on here? I am thinking and say out loud because it doesn't matter and is fun to do here, "Look you can buy my beer if you want to but I am not hanging out with you." And that is exactly what happened! He paid for my beer and then totally left me alone. I love Japan! Sexual harassment is ten times easier here than in the States. I walked back to the foreigners in the park and said, "I think I just got recognized."

We laughed about it and then parted ways, them to all night marathon karaoke no doubt and me home, happy and fancy free. 

  

The universe works in mysterious ways. I do enjoy finding clues from time to time. 

Earlier today as I was teaching my last class for the day and kind of zoning out in my own head, I began to feel bad for making fun of Japanese people or more perhaps for taking them for granted. I don't think it's bad to laugh at the cultural differences here, they are apparent and abundant and to be clear, I am no way claiming superiority but sometimes, this shit just makes me laugh. It's different from what I am used to is all. And sometimes teaching English here feels like being in a sitcom. 

If anything, I am the fumbling outcast, the one who should be made fun of. I'm nowhere near as neat, put together or docile as most Japanese women. I hate dressing up, I ride my bike fast while standing up, I drink too much occasionally and always hog the mic at karaoke (I never mean too, it's just turns out that I can sing every song a little better). Typically I don't mind if other people laugh at my expense, I would laugh at me. I give credit for a good zinger as much as I take credit and if you actually manage to offend me, well somehow I am impressed. Occasionally, Yuji will tell me that I am "totally wrong" and from time to time the female management staff can't help but laugh at my absurdity. I bring tea to work in a mason jar, I eat carrots whole, I make stupid faces, things like this. 

Still, almost everyone I have met or encountered here has been extremely patient and kind to me. My students will periodically check in with me to ask, how am I liking Japan or more often, "How is your Japanese life?" To which I always reply, "Great! How is yours?" They frequently ask, do I need anything and if I have any questions to please ask them! They introduce me to their mothers and confide in me when their father has died.  My manager has dropped everything more than once to walk me to the bank or to the drug store to find some common item or to help me read labels. They bring me gifts and sweets weekly and several of them have taken me out and treated me to wonderful meals and asked heartfelt questions about my life and my family. They really are truly interested in and concerned for me with a curiosity and sincerity that is perhaps lost on strangers in the West.  

Japanese people are funny though, in my "foreigner" opinion. They cannot for the life of them pronounce L's, R's or W's. They wear asinine tee-shirts with nonsense English phrases, the women will wear pantyhose no matter what the temperature is, even if it's with jean shorts and sandals and sometimes the men carry purses. They have a knack for all asking the same cannon of kind of boring questions, as in "What's your hobby?" or "Can you eat Japanese food?"  Oh! And the high school girls use this glue they call 'sock attach' to keep their socks up for that famous Japanese school girl look! Sock attach about killed me when I found out about it. 

 

Still, these things are trivial and account for nothing towards the real heart and soul of these people. I don't want to loose admiration for the things I am seeing and experiencing. Maybe I should have a little more reverence?

Just as I am thinking all this to myself and somewhat on auto pilot teaching my class techniques for interrupting and changing subjects in conversation, they clamor all at once, I turn around from the board where I am writing, thinking I have said something they didn't understand or maybe something I didn't mean to and I pause, "What's wrong?" They look somewhat panicked.  And then all at once they are still, silent, alert.  "An earthquake," they tell me and we all freeze waiting to see or feel rather what comes next.  Makoto does the calculation out loud and says, "Sixth floor." Youriko, points at the ceiling and says, "It swayed, the room swayed." All four of my adult students are at attention and I'm a little freaked out, thinking that the first thing I will do is kick off my heels if I need to so I can run better. I don't think you are supposed to run but damn those heels were bugging me today. 

But also, I am confused. I didn't feel anything. "Why didn't I feel anything?" I ask. 

"We are sensitive," they say and kind of laugh at me. "We are very sensitive people."  

So. That about sums it up, I will try to be more sensitive. Not to say that I will cut out the goofing, because I refuse to, but I will try to remember to grant more grace for all the differences and marvel a little more here and there. 

 

My four year old niece broke her arm. This would like to break my heart. But she is a spirited child and and resilient to say the least. She was rough and tumble in my imagination even before she was born. 

I miss my nieces more than words can say. I have two.

When the oldest was born I was a senior in High School and my brave older sister had just left her boyfriend maybe 4 or 5 months into her pregnancy because she realized it was not for the best. So she lived at home with my mom, my other sister and I. This is when Ann and I became really close. After the child was born, I would rush home everyday after school to make it in time to take a nap with the newborn and give my sister a chance to relax or shower or just to cope with her new life as it had been handed to her. The baby would sleep on my chest and wiggle her body, head first, up towards my neck until I could barely breathe and was sweaty all over. Bet I loved every minute . That one is 10 years old in a few short weeks. On her 8th birthday she made me promise to buy her a bra for her 10th birthday. She has no need for one but how could I break such an important womanly promise? 

Jesee is in labor, right now. This makes me antsy and inspired and sorry I can't be there to hold her hand, brush the hair out of her face and tell everyone else what to do. Admittedly, perhaps the person I may miss seeing most in this scenario, aside from the baby itself is Andy. Jess has thought about this for a long time and will be calm and graceful I imagine, collected and in control. Andy on the other hand, will likely be a mess. I could tell him to relax and comfort him. He listens to me pretty good. I am picturing him every step of the way. How priceless it would be to see his face and his new Dad tears. He is one of the sweetest guys I know. They will be great parents. Here's to Pony Brannin!

Today is my Gran's 96th birthday. I drank beers and ate fish and chips with her before I left. When we said goodbye, I probably don't need to say what we were both thinking, nor do I want to....she has a great sense of humor and I've never heard her complain, even about the weather. Which is exactly what I am about to do...

I am in Japan and it hasn't stopped raining here for days. Every time I go to or from work I get soaked. Completely soaked. Japanese people don't move on the sidewalk for you when you are trying to pass them and cars seem to try to drive extra close. I am feeling the foreigner scorn. A group of teen girls cut me off earlier today. We were all riding bikes, in the rain, holding umbrellas in the pouring rain and these brats were trying to pass me. They sped up and passed me just to cut me off. They had to get to the 7/11 super fast I guess. Time to stand up and read magazines for hours and socialize at the convenience store in your school uniform on a Saturday, while talking to no one. Tight. Also, as a result of the incessant rain I haven't been able to get to the grocery. I have eaten almost every last morsel in my entire tiny mansion. Tonight for dinner I had an egg and lots of raisins. I am rationing the remaining carrot for tomorrow in case the rain persists. Which it will. 

Night Vivian. 

News Flash: Known loner admits to feeling lonely. 

It's true. It's a small feeling and it is by no means overwhelming or debilitating but still it lingers here and there. Strange though, in Japan it only seems to happen when I am around other people. Last night, I decided to drink a couple beers in the park. This is my new drinking spot I've decided because you spend way less money than in a bar and enjoy yourself just as much + you get to be outside! What is really wrong with drinking in public anyway? Aoba Park in Shizuoka is a formidable city park, it runs the length of the central urban area (several blocks) has nice benches with good lamps, a few statues and two fountains. There is always something going on there no matter what time of day so its perfect for people watching midnight beers. I sat drinking my Asahis, watching sweaty boys with their shirts off do tricks on BMX bikes and writing a letter to Noah. I was perfectly content and in fact really, really happy. Writing to No feels a bit like talking with him and he is one of my favorite people to bullshit with. The night was clear and warm and not too balmy. The nights here are a real treat. I had just finished my letter and was almost through the second beer when a painfully cute boy approached me, sat down next to me and asked in broken English what I was doing. We sort of struck up a conversation and began chatting in that limited way that I am able to chat with people in Japan. He said he was 25 and a salaryman. I lied about my age and said I was 25 too. I love "salaryman." It's so weird and sounds so depressing but tons of Japanese people will proudly tell you that's what they do. "I'm a salaryman." Yes, but what do you do?  

Anyway, he was kind of trying to get a hold of his friends and seemed to be having a little difficulty with reception or something and apparently gave up. He said let's go have a beer. Sounds great, you are totally cute.  Anyway we are on our way to have some sips and he is telling me that I am pretty and he likes my face, all that bullshit and I've already decided that I would kiss him back if he tried when his phone rings and its his friends. He is yelling at them incomprehensible in Japanese and before I know it he is asking for my phone number saying that he is sorry but he promised his friends he'd meet them and to please wait for him, he'll call me soon. What? This guy is ditching me? And asking me to wait around? I don't know if that shit works with Japanese girls but it sure don't with me. So he leaves. We aren't even out of the park yet. Whatever. I wasn't dying to kiss a stranger anyway even if he was an adorable salaryman but then it hit, that lonely feeling. I had been ditched. Alone. Again. I didn't even feel lonely before. Not fair. 

Fine, good, better anyway. I'll just head home I am thinking when I see this blond girl walking alone dressed all in white. I had noticed her walking earlier and we kind of gave each other that look of acknowledgement that we were both single female foreigners in Japan, a silent greeting. She just kind of appeared out from around the corner and this time it was the most natural thing for us to stop and greet each other. "Hey girl, how are you?" I said to her. I could use a new gal pal. Especially after the incident with the salaryman.....She doesn't speak English. She is Russian. She seems kind of sweet though and there is something about her. She seemed like she wanted to talk to me too. We can't communicate though. She speaks Russian and Japanese and I speak, well, English. "Ah hell, let's have a drink?" I say and explain by gesture. Whatever, sometimes the communication barrier dissolves a little with a beer and this could be fun anyway, she looks sympathetic. She motions that she doesn't drink. She doesn't drink? She's Russian?  All right then. Have a good night. I guess it's a wrap there too. 

On my way home, for some reason I start thinking about Tero, the friend I lost last year to cancer and I'm missing him, although if he were still alive it's not like he'd be in Japan so I guess I'd miss him anyway but you understand it's not the same....

When I got home, as I was climbing the outdoor stairs to the third floor, I noticed this little bird sitting on the railing. She was quite still and just sat there looking at me. It occurred to me that she was there for me to see. I understand that birds are often messengers and representatives of lost loved ones. I wondered if she was hurt. I sat on the stairs watching her for a long time. She was a comfort but also I was concerned for her. I began to sing, lowly and quietly to her as I did to Tero just before he died.  This seemed to settle her a little and it looked as if she was falling asleep. It made me feel better too. Eventually though a neighbor came home drunk, clamoring up the stairs. The neighbor joined me on the stairs and together we sat watching the bird for a little while, he shared a few sips of his beer with me and we began that awkward limited half English half Japanese conversation of introduction that by now I am accustomed to. Soon, he stood up to continue his stumble upstairs and to his apartment. In doing this, he started my little bird and she flew away. I was relieved to see that she could fly and felt blessed that she had joined me for so long. But now the bird was gone and so was the neighbor. 

I started thinking about the Russian girl and it occurred to me that she was a prostitute.  Super blond hair in this weird white dress and white high heels walking around the city alone. Tonight I almost kissed a stranger and almost made friends with a prostitute. Almost. Maybe the park is not the best place for midnight drinking....

Tomorrow I will mail Noah's letter, go to the market for produce, buy more tea, try to find a pair of slim black slacks for work and take a bike ride along the Pacific coast trail that I just discovered.  If I accomplish all of this it will be a very successful day off. 

I already feel better. 

I learned more about the Shrine I visited and this one in particular was designed to celebrate women, so my prayer should have fallen on appropriate ears. The bad news is, I was supposed to leave coins as an offering and that, I did not do. So I will have to return and pay double, how careless of me! 

Everything in more confusing in Japanese.  When I try to use appliances,  I cannot read the buttons so I usually just try to mash everything and hope something kicks on, it's quite comical. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesnt. I feel like Eddie in Absolutely Fabulous when she dials the phone. She just pounds it with her hand without looking at any of the numbers, it gets me every time. Cooking, for instance is much less clear in Japanese. Ingredients, measurements and directions are left to my imagination.  Speaking of cooking, my kitchen might as well be a kitchen in a hotel suite. Small fridge, even smaller stove top with tiny (although deep) sink directly next to it so that if I’m washing dishes while cooking something on the stove I am more than likely to splash suds into the pan. Oh well, I stopped being a picky eater long ago. Anyone who knows me will probably tell you I’ll eat just about anything. Jenny always likes to tell me I’m, “a snackin’ ass bitch.” It’s true what they said when I was a kid, I am a good eater. The other night I tried horse sashimi. That's right, the former vegetarian and pony lover ate horse meat, raw! It wasn’t bad really. I did it mostly for the shock value and to be able to brag about it here but also for the cultural experience. Andrew, the other American teacher and Yuji, the Japanese teacher and I went out last Saturday after work to celebrate the completion of the week. Yuji is my guide, mostly, to all things Japanese and when he said he liked it, I said, I’ll try it. I said, "I want to eat what you like to eat." This is my philosophy, to do as the natives do. “When in Rome”....precisely. So its as easy as that, plus to be picky and finicky I suspect may be annoying or even offensive and you'll only end up unsatisfied. 

Years ago when my friends Kelly, Michelle and I traveled across the U.S. in my old beat up Toyota van, recklessly almost, me with no auto insurance, Michelle with very little cash and Kelly with no driver’s license (really just more irresponsible than reckless but man did we have fun!) we stopped over night in Phoenix to visit Michelle’s Mexican relatives. They couldn't have been more hospitable or made more of an impression on me. To this day I think about them and their beautiful Mexican American home, Tio Dedo y Tia Lula. I was so impressed by the manifestation of the American dream, the votive of Guadeloupe that burned continuously and the secrecy and discrepancy of their families legitimacy as American citizens (Tio, it turned out had two names and two birthdays). There was a twenty something cousin, Pearla that lived with them. She was a Chula in all the glory of the word. Lipliner, eyebrows, and eyeliner all tattooed on.  Short and plump with hair bleached in streaks. I was beside myself to meet her. I thought she was amazing. She wanted to take us out that night, on the town and show us around. By all means. This was the point of this trip really, to see the country and enjoy local color. Really this should be the point of any trip. Michelle who is half white (Irish, I think) and half Mexican and beautiful might I add, was hesitant. This was the first time she had ever met her cousin. Pearla at first wanted to take us to the “safe” places, I think, places she “thought” we would like. These are actually the kind of places we could go to any day and more so kind of hate going to. I kept telling her, Pearla take us to the places you go. I want to go where you go. She seemed reluctant. So did Michelle. Kelly pretty much goes along with me. So after pulling up her little beat down Ford 4-door to several ranchero bars that Michelle acted bent out of shape about going into, I said, this is it. This is where we are going. This is where Pearla goes, so this is where we should go. It was this little out of the way salsa y meringue bar next to a bucher’s shop called ‘Meat Market.’ "Here we go," I thought but this is it, this is what I asked for. "Keep your wits about you and enjoy," I told myself. I’m always telling myself shit like this. It was one of the most amazing nights of my life. We danced, drank tequila and made friends with everyone in there and the next morning we rolled on to San Diego through the cruelest desert heat, a little hungover with Jack Daniels temporary tattoos on our arms eating popsicles and signing at the tops of our lungs the whole way. Pearla seemed nervous at first, it was an all Mexican bar but soon she relaxed and man did we have fun. Again we had that language barrier that I am dealing with in Japan but there is something I call the 'language that eyes speak' and that was all we really needed. Not in a sexy way but in a 'we are harmless and respect you way.' I remember thinking how funny the language issue was and how little it seemed to matter until the end of the night when all vaqueros were acting as if they didn't understand, "no" as a reply to their ask for a date. Of course, "no" is the same in Spanish. Really they were harmless and respectful if only a little persistant. I would probably never have even been able to find a place like that without a local or necessarily even been welcome, so Pearla was our golden ticket. We got invited to after hours at the bartenders apartment which was much more tame than I could have imagined. Very little furniture, boarding Mexicans sleeping, fully clothed, boots and hats and all, all over the floor, some in pairs, and Gabriella’s (the bartender) infant son asleep on the bed under the watchful eye of the television and her nine year old younger brother...or maybe that was her son too.  I had this feeling that these were my people, I just felt so much affection for them. I kept telling Kelly that and she would laugh at me but I think she believed me. 

On the reservation in Oklahoma, it was a whisper as I turned my head to Kel, “These are my people.” 

In Phoenix, at the ranchero bar and later in Gabriella’s apartment on the balcony, “These are my people.” 

In Harlem, in New York at the market on 125th St.,  late night buying beer when the woman in line behind me asked, “Excuse me, are these all purpose potatoes?” to myself, stalled as my friends were out the door already shouting to me to hurry up, “These are my people.”  

In Ecuador, in the mountains listening to ghost stories and local legends about ‘El Diablo’ it was a look in Justin’s direction and a confirmation later. “I know babe,” he said, “These are your people.” 

I don’t have this feeling (yet) about the Japanese people. Nor do I suspect it will come. I’m not saying this is a bad thing or even that it was something I am looking for or require. I suspected as much really even before I left. I joked before I left that I don’t even like Asians. Gawd, I kid, I kid!  This is my mere observation. Not that I don’t think this culture is beautiful and fascinating with lots to offer, I just don’t have this same feeling of affection or maybe its infatuation or sympathy. Though to say 'sympathy' sounds like I pity those people and that's not what I want to express at all.  I don’t know. 

Though to be fair what the Japanese people lack in my adoration or infatuation or whatever it is that I am drawn to in certain cultures, they make up for in a safe environment  that has honest and kind people who I can trust and are willing to help me every step of the way in any way they can. I know enough to know that I couldn't exactly say this about most cultures, sadly not even my own.  Also let me just say, that I have met some really wonderful and fascinating people so far. I think perhaps that it is the Japanese style to revel yourself slowly and little by little and people that I have so far overlooked or underestimated occasionally surprise me with depth I wouldn't have imagined. 

This entry feels kind of full of shit....for the record, I dislike this entry. 

All I know is that I don’t know anything. Blah! 

 

It hasn’t stopped raining all weekend and everything in my apartment is hot and sticky, after a through cleaning I am left feeling hotter and stickier than ever. My hair is trifling. The words hot mess come to mind.

I didn’t do much this weekend because of the rain, also because I am short on cash, payday is Thursday. Rode my bike when the rain let up and read lots. Reading three books currently and they all belong to different times of the day. Obama’s, Dreams From My Father in the morning after breakfast and usually before work when I am sharp and focused, the book is beautiful and I couldn't put it down until I acquired the next: Will Ferguson’s, Hitching Rides With Buddha (I just started this one, the German lent it to me, have I mentioned the German?) it's about an English teacher who hitchhikes his way across Japan, north to south, following the cherry blossoms. I read this one most of the day here and there when I get a chance. And finally, the short stories of O. Henry at night before bed. 

I am not drinking, one because of the money and two because it seems pointless here. Wait, is there ever a point? My head hurts due to the pressure in the air and my new fake elbow apparently kills in the rain. Also, I am bored with beer and sobriety is my new diet strategy.  

On a more positive note, I read up on Shinto shrine ritual and visited a shrine today. I rang the bell to get the gods' attention, said my prayer then clapped twice to let the gods know I was finished and then slowly backed away (in the rain) so as to not turn my back on the gods. I guess this really pisses them off and if there's one thing I don't want to do in Japan... 

I prayed for a certain unborn child I know. And it's not mine or my sisters so everyone can just relax. 

 

Tonight as I am riding my bike home from one of my new favorite bars around 3 am, I stop at the crosswalk for traffic to pass and just as I am remarking to myself, "Goddamn does the sun rise early here," I look up to the sky and see a shooting star. I have rarely seen the moon here so far this month and only recently have seen the stars. Shooting stars always feel like a blessing. I am reminded of my luck. I am reminded of this constantly. When I arrived back at my apartment there was a bag hanging on my door with some sweet cakes inside and a note that read, "Kate, here is some gift for you. I hope you like it." Signed Mariko, my co-worker's Japanese girlfriend. She is incredible. So are the treats! I have already eaten all of them. 

Tonight at All Tomorrow's Parties, they began to teach me Katakana, one of the Japanese ways of writing, maybe the easiest and most crucial for forgiveness in all my fumbling foreigner moments. Hisake gave me "homework, " and I've finished it but am by no means close to the prize! 

Here we go. This one may be brief. Just talked to Myles, he "broke through the line" and reached my Japanese cellphone. Its good to hear his bullshit stories from home.... "Guess who I saw? Guess who smelled good? Guess who was wearing....? Guess what Brett did?" Most of it is pointless ramblings but it pleases me. 

At night when I sleep my dream are still in the United States as if my subconsciousness hasn't quite caught up to my waking reality. My dreams are about a month behind in real time. They are full of painfully trying to explain to the girls why I'm leaving, dreading saying goodbye to my family, wondering what it will be like here. In one dream I actually went deep sea diving into a cold black ocean at night with my 95 year old Grandmother. We weren't scared. I woke up thinking, how crazy it would be of me to ask her to swim in the bottomless ocean, then wondering, well, do you ever forget how to swim? She learned how to swim almost a century ago with a bag of corks for floaters. Last night, in my dreams I gripped on to a break wall for dear life as huge waves kept coming like tsunamis and some people were being  swept away mercilessly to drown but I was enjoying it! It felt like surfing. My water dreams seem to be back. I wonder did they ever leave? 

Lots is new everyday. Yesterday I went out for lunch and since I cant read any label or signs here eating can be a bit of a gamble. But I love food and I am always willing to eat so I roll the dice. I went out to this little bodega down the street from school which is actually called a bento here and picked out what I thought maybe looked like meatballs...? When I got back to school I asked the Japanese teacher, excitedly, "What did I get? What did I get?" He started laughing at me and told me I had just bought octopus balls. What? The whole thing was pretty funny. I wasn't about to admit that the idea of eating octopus balls totally freaked me out nor did I want to be insulting or wasteful by throwing them out. So whatever, I dig in, octopus balls, here I come. Yuji started laughing at me even harder when he realized I was just eating them cold, he said you're supposed to heat them up. Ha ha. So, the laughs on me. I don't mind, at least we were laughing. To be fair I asked for clarification. They are not exactly the balls of octopus but rather balls made from octopus. Whatever. They were good. This has made me decide that I must learn how to read Katakana.

Ive had this incredible feeling all day, like I am reliving scenes from a dream that I cant quite remember.  A strong and unshakable notion that something that Ive seen before is right around the corner. Maybe this means I am where I am supposed to be but it feels much more secretive than that for Ive have the dream like deva ju lots of times and usually I can place it, I can remember the dream or the feeling but today, today the feeling is almost on the tip of my tongue so to speak...

Still trying to catch up by now I'm weeks behind. . . So after the German boy took me to Jane Mar, he took me to an "international" bar called Our Boozer. The place was as gross as the name suggests. In the Germans' defense he warned me that it wouldn't be great. He said, "I just think you should know where this place is." Fair enough. The place was empty save for a couple of regulars that were like fixtures. One British owner/tender, one washed up old British bar maid named Kate (great) and a big weird looking Chilean by way of Australia. They were pretty friendly with me to tell the truth and Kate who acted like she had a problem that we had the same name, offered me her phone number by the time we left. We didn't stay long. I ended up going back here the following weekend when a bunch of the area teachers were in town and we all went out. Not my idea, for some reason they all wanted to go here, being the new girl with no other options to suggest (I was not about to take them to my secret discoveries) I couldn't object. I actually liked the place a little better and felt kind of cool walking in and already knowing the regulars who seemed sort of happy to see me. Kate was less surly this time and even kind of cute, the weird looking Aussie gave me his phone number and talked with me very kindly about his family and life story and the big tired looking English bloke who runs the place bought me a drink and told me about his family as well. Also with this group there was a Japanese man they introduced me to who asked if I was half Japanese. No one believes me but people ask me this all the time. I don't get it. Anyway Our Boozer was okay + I realized they have vegetarian taco salad on the menu. This fact alone may forever redeem them in my opinion.

Its been too long. Part of the point of this journey is to reflect and write MORE. Not less. 

I haven't been able to stop playing facebook. 

For days.

Its not productive, although it is pretty fun and a little satisfying. 

So much has happened. I will try to start with the present and work my way back....

Tonight after work I followed Andrew, my co-worker who is actually from Cincinnatti, to the market. He showed me his second favorite place last week and tonight we had time to make it to his supermarket of choice, Mom. Andrew loves to cook and I am working up the courage to ask him do a time share of sorts or rather food share....If I give you an allowance each week will you cook for me? We live in the same building so its not completely rude, is it?? 

I am just not in the mood to cook these days. . . ever since Hamlet street really. I haven't had the bug. Don't get me wrong, always in the mood to eat, always. Just not in the mood to prepare. Never in the mood to prepare, anything really. I blame this on waiting tables for too long. 

Drinking Kirin whiskey. Smokey and peaty....drinking alone, I blame this on bar tending for too long. Or maybe I should point the finger at my family. When I met a German boy the other day and told him my family was mostly Irish and Italian he rolled his eyes with grief as if to say, 'Sheesh, what a combo.' I've had this reaction before and I can't say I mind it. B likes to say, "That's what I get for trusting an Irish-Italian girl...actually its not the Mick I don't trust, its the Dago." He's proud Irish so we like to fight. I'm just proud. I just like to fight.   Same goes for him, I guess, both. 

Back to the supermarket fiasco.... so Andrew shows me to these places and then I tell him to just leave me. I like to browse and look at everything, take my time, I can't read any labels here so I have to go on context clues based on labels and isle placement and whatnot. Andrew from Cincinnati who is actually from Dayton knows exactly what he wants, where to find it and wants to get it and go. I don't like to keep people waiting so I say just go, Ill find my way. So far here, my sense of direction has been infallible. I feel infallible. Well, tonight I failed. I got completely lost. Totally turned around and mixed up. I blew it.  I was a real mixed up pup. I tried and I tried but eventually after about an hour I knew I was so tangled within the streets of Shizuoka I had to ask for help. I just got a phone over the weekend and I could have called Andrew but I really didn't want to, besides, I don't really have much faith in his directions to tell you the truth....I mean he's the one who tried to tell me how to get home in the first place. So after I knew I was fucked, I pulled my little mountain bike into the first (not really it was about the fifth) Lawson's I saw. Lawson's is like UDF or something comparable and they are all over Japan. My Japanese is shameful and so I beg pathetic in English can someone tell me how to get home. Like a little kid, I have my address written down on a piece of paper and have to point at it like a child, "Where?" "Help please? I'm lost." I must say this is a travel first experience for me. Exciting. People in Japan are too nice. They are all like falling to help. I really do feel guilty about my Japanese. I feel like a hoggy American. Maybe I am. Some of the really old people look at me like I am walking Napalm. Its weird. I am all sunny and sweet and care free and they see in me years of pain and suffering and blame. All I can offer is my smile. I can barely say hello in Japanese. "Sorry for the sins of my people before I was born...." It'd be hard to say this even in English. 

Anyway at the Lawson's there was a guy whose English was decent--ish and he got out this huge map of the city, "Ey Eye Ey...." I do best if you just point me in the general direction don't deal with maps.  Honestly, that's how I get around, just point in the direction. Usually, it works fantastic for me, except tonight. I was far too lost.  They must have known that I was screwed because pretty soon this cute little girl behind the counter made motion to her bike, she was waving her  bike lock key and indicated that she would just show me the way herself. 

I love these people. 

This would never happen in the US it'd just be dangerous and stupid.  So this sweet little girl with the cutest style, sort of motions, 'follow me' and we were off. What an angel. Now I'm having fun again. I only wish I could find my way back to that Lawson's to thank her. She spoke minimal English and along the way we exchanged names, hers was Mari I think. I told her I liked her style, but 'Nike' was the only thing that translated I think. She was cute as hell,  a fresh little outfit with cute leather zip up jacket, the kind that me and Myles love, flossy high top dunks, tight slim fit jeans, a side pony and a sweet round face. She told me I was pretty. I said I thought she was too. I asked her age and she said she was 28. Me too! I said even though I am 27. By the time she got me home I was indebted, I tried to invite her up for a drink...."You like whiskey?" I asked, I had just bought a nice looking bottle at the grocery that she so graciously returned me from. . . "what about beer?"  I think she had to go back to work. Besides the whole sitch was strange. I was just grateful plus maybe a little lonely and looking for cool company even if the language isn't there. I wanted to like shower her with gifts and give her all my American Apparel T-shits or something she might appreciate oor find novel. Brett told me before I left that Japanese people love American Apparel. Brett knows everything, so. I wanted to show her my Nikes. If she had been the same size, she could have had them. What an angel. I enjoyed the ride. 

On Tuesdays I get to leave the school and go off site to teach a lesson at a rural factory called Tomoegawa. I think they produce paper or something paper related there. its actually a really big place and I've come to understand that it employs nearly the whole town.  Its two train stops away and about a twenty minute walk. I love the commute.  I love everything about this lesson. The fact that I get to leave the office for 3 hours to go teach these insanely cute and sweaty country factory boys in the mountains of Japan, that I have to walk across the countryside, that I am all alone with my thoughts....perhaps most of all I love that the Tomoegawa train stop happens to be right on the coast of the Pacific ocean and my lunch break precedes my commute. So for  lunch I take an early train to Mochimune and put my feet in the water on the black sand. I roll my suit pants up as far as they go and try to meditate and pray in the water or to the water. Next week I will bring my lunch and have a picnic, party of one. I love the water and I cant really decide if anything makes me happier.  Water beast here. I love this commute. Everyone at school keeps telling me to wait for the rainy season which is right around the corner to see of I still like the commute. We'll see. As long as I get my rain gear game on I think I ll be fine. Each time is a mini adventure. These boys are really cute although their English is low low level. They are not like my typical students at all. I came here to write, be near water, see Kabuki and stretch my legs and by legs I mean mind. So, so far, so good. My actual legs are aching and my elbow is killing me. My heart misses my family and friends but I don't feel bad (yet) for being here.  I love home, I just didn't love where I was at home. I think anyone who knows me understands this. 

Moving on, yesterday was the one year anniversary of the day we lost Mu. My friends and I. Being away was hard, then again the day was hard regardless. Maybe being away was easier, I don't really know. My loved ones....T's loved ones managed to be together. I watched that man die and I felt so alone yet then again I felt so empowered, like he passed me some of his energy. Or I absorbed it osmosis. If I earned even one shred of Tero's energy then I will be superwoman someday. The man was incredible more than any words I currently have or feel like finding. He was too much and missing him feels like a blessing somehow buried beneath the grief. 

Moving on. 

I am burning out but lets try for a brief recap. In reverse. 

Lost Tero a year ago today. 

Talked to Bran. Not much was said.

Got my first Japanese period, so its starting to feel like I live here. 

Meet a German boy who took me to the cutest bar Ive ever been called Jane Mar which is a combo of the owners' fav actress, Jane Birkin slashed with the word nightmare. Jane Birkin + nightmare = Jane Mare. Here the tender has the best taste in music, better than any bar Ive ever been, so charming and enchanting in there. He keeps a stool open/reserved with a full glass of white wine in the middle of the bar with a framed picture of Vivian Leigh illuminated by a candle. When I asked through my German translator what or rather who that homage was for the bartender who turns out you're supposed to call, 'bar master' said it was for his friend, a woman who committed suicide six years ago and loved Vivian Leigh, so she called herself Vivian. I found one of my friends dead, suicide less than a year ago. Not T, he had cancer and tried with everything he had not to go but someone else, a girl I used to work with... last year was not the best.... So his monument was touching in more ways than one. T's anniversary, that painful memory of suicide, my own love too for Vivian Leigh.  

I will go here again for sure.  Spirit world come to me. 

OK So I'm still a week behind. I will do my best to get caught up. 

Night Vivian.

XOKO

Oh and I was showing the Kiwi pics from home and she said, "Oh Black people, you know Black people..." SO darling. 

Tomorrow is the last day of training. It has been kind of grueling. I have Sunday off and then on Monday I move to Shizuoka and into my new apartment in the Leo Palace building! Sounds fancy but I think it's going to be tiny. Tiny is OK with me. I am looking forward to settling in and getting to know the people I will be spending the year with. Maybe I'll even make neighbor friends. Looking forward to buying groceries and cooking for myself, setting up shop so to speak. I packed a very limited few comforts from home. The blanket from the reservation, a picture of me and the girls.... that may be it. I don't know, they just forwarded my bags on ahead to Shizuoka so I already forget whats in there.   

I feel sort of antsy tonight. I haven't seen the moon in Nagoya once since I've been here and it is beginning to mess with me. I am assuming it is because of light pollution. I can forget about seeing stars here. I decided a long time ago that I can be content anywhere in this world as long as there is moon. I can only hope they have moonlight in Shizuoka. Anything else I can deal with. I shouldn't complain, the sunshine during the day here is marvelous. I spent part of the evening chatting with the Kiwi. She is really sweet. I started this blog at her urging so I have linked her on here, I love her accent and I can hear it when I read her writing. She is native Maori and I cant stop asking her questions about her culture. I've never met a Native Maori! I think it looks beautiful, the culture. Everyone knows how much I love Indians. Is that un-PC? Sorry, indigenous peoples. It is interesting getting used to other cultures' modes of communication. 

I know I can be a little frenetic at times. I like the frenzy. You can take the girl out of the rowdy but you cant take the rowdy out of the girl. I am jumping out of my skin to have someone to run around and scream and goof with. Not that I mind being alone but it's easy for me to crack myself up, I need a little challenge. 

Listening to Erykah Badu. I had strawberries and bon bons for dinner. Going for a walk before I settle in. It's 12:13 am

I now begin blogging. Wait a minute. Not without a little Japanese beer. So I go, out into the Nagoya night. It's almost 1 am. The air is cool and breezy and the streets are quiet but that is not to say that they are empty, I see business men, in pairs or groups of three stumbling around, still in their suits and shoes. I also spy some rowdy looking teens in crazy outfits, lurking on stoops but even they are calm, calm for being so rowdy looking. This city is always quiet. It almost feels haunted but in a benign way. Even during the day, it's peaceful here. Often I feel like the loudest person around, when I laugh out loud in restaurants or shout at a friend across the street (well, if I had a friend across the street.) I like being loud, is that the American in me? I am giddy to be out alone in Japan in the middle of night, so far from home. Each corner feels like an adventure. I feel like myself. I always feel like myself. It is a good feeling. I stop in the Mini mart around the corner from my hotel, it's kind of like a hangout in there and people really shop, like for groceries. I cant tell you, I've spent more time shopping in convenient stores this past week then maybe in all my life. This facet is not amazing but it certainly is...well, convenient. Japan is very convenient. There are vending machines on every corner and sometimes even in between. But there are also wonderful little markets that one can only witness in the early morning hours, they must close shop by noon or so and disappear again until the next morning. It's funny, they just like, slink away and once there gone, you don't even notice that something goes there. They don't have store fronts or signs. The markets are beautiful.  Tiny and jam packed with the best looking produce. Of course plenty of the markets are full of meat and seafood, they are exotic and stinky, I like to look but generally steer clear. I can't read Japanese and I confess, I am not even trying. I don't want to bump my precious Spanish out of my head. Earlier, this morning I bought 3 clementines and the most tender, delicious box of strawberries. You should hear the way Japanese say 'strawberry,' it's pretty funny, they add 2 extra syllables. That being said, I miss hummus and almonds and most of all almond butter, no hummus, no almond butter! Let me just say, it's a good thing I'm no longer vegetarian because even the tofu here comes with pork. The salads are wonderful though and fresh and abundant with the exception of the one the other night that came with cornflakes all over it. Even I thought that was weird. Not bad actually, just odd.  They serve salad here with every meal, even breakfast. I love that!

Dinner tonight was amazing. Not so much for the food, although it was good, but for the people and the atmosphere.  My fellow trainees and I got out of work late, after 9 pm and by the time we changed clothes and met back up it must have been after 10. We were pretty beat (or as Blair from Australia puts it, knockered)  and definitely hungry. We sort of picked the first place that appeared to be open and even kind of bustling. . . .

It was a Chinese/Japanese restaurant and when we walked in I picked up an English language magazine about club scenes and reggae music. It's always a little tentative in these situations. You don't really know who speaks English and who doesn't....

The place was cute with little curtains separating each table from the next. our waiter came and he was charming, cute even. Obviously we looked like foreigners so he began speaking to us in pigeon English. He pointed at the magazine I had grabbed and asked, "Do you like this??" Do you like this kind of music??? The he said something like he was a DJ and he loved reggae. only I think he called it a selector. I think he said that he was a selector and that the music we were listening to was his set. It was good too.  I say, "I love reggae!" I do. Skip to the part where I sing my favorite reggae song (lately) to him, "No, No, No... you don't love me and I know now" and he joins in. 'Dawn Penn!' he says and we sing more together: "If you ask me, I'll get on my knees and pray boy." That song has been on my mind for weeks.  He made my night.