Itadakimasu - American Edition

Anata swears that I am not his wife.  I am some doppelganger or changeling that has come back in her place.  This is especially true when it comes to food.

Before I left for Japan, I was a very picky eater.  I hated vegetables.  Anata had to almost trick me into eating them.  I had no trouble with lettuce, but I hated cabbage and wouldn’t even let it in the house.  As a northern boy, this made him very sad.  I had the same aversion to cucumbers, radishes, and most root vegetables.  Really, the only vegetables I liked were lettuce, tomato, carrots, potatoes, broccoli, green beans, and onions (and that was only recently).  I would grudgingly eat some other vegetables, like beets or kohlrabi, but it took a lot of coaxing. 

I was equally picky with the prepared foods.  I liked foods that were slightly outside my childhood staples, but I wasn’t one to travel too far off the beaten culinary path.  He was able to get me to experiment with Greek, Indian, and Middle Eastern foods before I left, but even that tended to end in a fight.  I was a by the recipe cook.  He was not.  It made things tense. 

Fast forward two years.  Things are completely different.  Living in Japan forced me out of my food comfort zone.  When you can’t read the menu, you just have to eat what comes out.  I never did develop a taste for daikon, but I found that I could handle, and actually came to enjoy just about everything else.  There were parts of animals I had never heard of.  Raw fish I had never seen.  Vegetables that were not much to look at, but tasted great when they were cooked.  I made a point to try everything once, and I usually went back for seconds.  I even discovered I liked things like cabbage and cucumbers that I could never stand in the U.S.

Anata is excited and frightened by this dietary change.  There is almost always cabbage in the house now.  We had a garden full of Asian vegetables, including cucumbers, that I happily munched on all summer and fall.  I have tried to recreate my favorite Japanese dishes for him with great success, even when I don’t use a recipe at all.  I really am like a different person when it comes to food.

Samurai Pie

Kimchi Nabe

Kabocha Pudding

Ramen from Scratch

Omurisu

Ochazuke

Steak Ssam

Sukiyaki

Hiyashi Chuka

Zaru Soba

Anata is taking it well.  It has made the transition to a gluten-free diet, which he needs for health reasons, easier.  Sometimes he makes a game out of having me try things I hated to see if there is any change.  But that hasn’t always worked out in his favor. He wasn’t pleased when we found out I like eggnog this winter.  That had always been his thing.  He was not too thrilled to share.

If you had told me two years ago that I would be eating ketchup fried rice covered in egg and mayo, I would have called you crazy.  If you had told me that my fridge would be stuffed with leeks, cabbage, carrots, and eggplant, I would have shaken my head in denial.  But it happened.  Maybe I am a doppelganger.  Or a clone.  Imprinted with the memories of the old me, but with taste buds. 

木

The death that shocks me the most is the death of trees.  I find it much easier to accept the death of animals, pets, and people.  The death of people and animals close to me affects me much more than the loss of a tree, but there is something so tragic in the death of a tree.  I find it deeply unnerving. 

Otosan is a landscape architect, so growing up our yard was full of beautiful trees.  There was the American Elm in the middle of the front yard.  It had a hole in it that bled and was terrifying to me as a child.  Roaches lived there.  And who knew what else.  We had to stand on tiptoe to reach the hole, so it naturally became the ultimate dare in any childhood test of courage.  Then there was the mulberry that grew between our house and the neighbors to the north.  Easy to climb – that one was our escape from summer heat.  The bark was always cool – even on the hottest Texas day.  I always remember the waxy green leaves being bigger than they were.  Must just be because I was smaller.  On the opposite side, between our house and the southern neighbors was one of my favorite trees – a Japanese Black Pine that Otosan had been grooming since before I was born.  The needles were so thick that they were a solid surface.  Otosan spent days pruning it every year, thinning the needles by hand until his fingers were black as tar.  One year we found a nest of morning doves nestled back near the trunk.  We watched them grow and fly away.  Two sprawling Yaupon Hollys shaded the front porch.  Every winter the branches almost broke under the weight of all the bright red berries.  We waited patiently every year for the arrival of the Wax Wings that came and stripped the trees bare in just a few days.  There was a fence just below the Yaupons, for privacy.  Every Halloween picture growing up has Imōto and me sitting on that fence with our pumpkins.  And in front of my bedroom window, a Texas Pistachio with small, fern-like leaves where we buried our pet hamster when I was in 5^th grade. 

Out back there were the trees with nice straight, thin branches perfect for making bows and arrows out of.  Easy to climb, too.  The great big Pecan tree left over from when the area was a Pecan orchard.  Our first dog used to chase squirrels around it, and Anata and I hung purple lanterns in it for our wedding reception.  There was the clump of Sweet Gums that we built the most well-enforced treehouse in.  We were never really good at carpentry – I think there ended up being more nails than wood.  There was the Weeping River Birch, and the Japanese Red Maple tucked away in the corner by the hose.  Otosan created a tiny moss and rock garden under it, his personal Japanese garden. 

Inside, we had two potted trees – one in the front window and one in Otosan’s office at the back of the house.  They would switch places from time to time.  One was a Fiddle-leaf Ficus.  I don’t remember the species of the other one, only that it had a beige bark, sprawling, spidery roots, and small, diamond-shaped leaves that were the brightest spring green.  Imōto and I liked to eat the dirt out of their pots, much to Otosan’s dismay.  We also used the trees as jungles for our toys and a place for our favorite rocks collected on our adventures. 

And then there were the bonsai.  In Japan, Otosan had picked up the tedious and beautiful art of bonsai.  The Black Pine by the driveway was bonsai on a large scale, but he also had also used native plants to create smaller bonsai.  At worksites, he would collect moss and tiny trees.  He would sit on the porch for hours sculpting and pruning.  We had a shelf of blue, brown, footed, and glazed pots in the garage.  I don’t think I saw a terracotta pot till I was well into elementary school.

But now, despite Otosan’s best efforts, almost all of those trees are gone.  The Mulberry was the first to go.  I was too young to understand why.  We played Robin Hood in Sherwood Forest in the branches before they were hauled off.  Then the Elm and the skinny trees out back.  The Sweet Gums were in the way of the power lines.  Inside, the tree with the diamond leaves went first, then the Ficus after.  The River Birch came down while I was in college.  Finally, and most tragically, the Black Pine struggled for a few years of drought and record heat before Otosan finally had to admit defeat. 

I remember crying at the picture Okasan sent me of the now empty spot.  Not just because that tree had been such an important part of my life till that point, but because it made my father human.  He couldn’t save it.  Until then, he had always had a miracle green thumb.  I couldn’t keep a cactus alive, but he was a gardening god.  Until that day. 

The only trees left from my childhood are the Japanese Red Maple, the Yaupon Holly out front, the Pistachio in front of my bedroom window that has tripled in size, and the faithful Pecan.  A few of the bonsai are still around, but many have been replaced with new specimens over the years. 

Driving up to my childhood home, I am struck by vastly different trees that greet me.  First, it was just our yard, but now trees all along the block – touchstones of my childhood – are gone forever.  New trees have taken their place and flourished, but the trees I played under, climbed, and loved are gone.

I guess I always thought of trees as immortal.  I toured the bonsai nurseries in Omiya with Okasan on one of her last trips to Japan.  Though they were still houseplant size, many of the trees were hundreds of years old.  The National Arboretum has a 390-year-old pine that survived Hiroshima. 

In Japan, ancient trees are everywhere!  Every shrine, even the tiny one near my house in Osaka, had a tree over 400 years old.  That is older than the United States!  The larger shrines had even older trees.  And deep in the forest, I am sure there are trees that have seen the world change over a thousand years. 

While civilization grew up around them, these trees remained.  Their roots dug deeper and deeper into the soil.  Their branches reached high and higher into the sky.  There is a reason that many pagan beliefs use trees as a symbol of the divine.  It represents our connection to the past and the future, creates a bridge between the gods and us, or remains steadfast while families grow and change around it. 

So for me, the death of a tree is something shocking.  Humans and animals are fragile.  Our lifespans are sadly short.  But trees are supposed to be immortal.

Every year I offer to buy Otosan a new tree – whatever kind he wants – but he always turns me down.  Last time I was home, he mentioned that he might have to cut down the Yaupon Hollys out front and that the Red Maple was struggling.  It hurt when he said that.  I understand now that trees die, and sometimes you can’t save them, that Otosan has done all he could to keep them alive this long in an alien environment, but the child in me is still deeply hurt by the thought of losing them.  They are a part of me.  They watched me grow.  They inspired me and challenged me.  Their roots are my roots.  I accept that the animals and people I love will pass out of my life, but the trees are supposed to be immortal.

私は感謝しています

For the first time in two years, I will get to have turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, more mashed potatoes, and all of my Thanksgiving favorites.  I am so excited!

American Thanksgiving

It won’t surprise anyone that Japan doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving.  It seems to be only us and Canada.  So for two years, I went without the family and the fixings that made Thanksgiving one of my favorite holidays. 

But even without the traditional trappings, there was still plenty to be thankful for.  American Thanksgiving happened to fall right around the anniversary of Otose opening her acupuncture practice.  For her, the anniversary was a reason for celebration and giving thanks.  So, every year, she hosted a dinner party, invited all her friends and neighbors, and gave thanks for all the blessings that year had brought.  That is how I spent my first Thanksgiving in Japan – sharing nabe with new friends and celebrating the woman who had brought us all together.   

Japanese Thanksgiving

I don’t know if Otose knows how much that meant to me. How much all the things she did for me meant.  I have told her many times that I was only able to stay in Japan because of the support and friendship I found living next door to her.  I don’t know if she believes me.  Or maybe it is that Japanese modesty that made her shrug it off.   

As I get ready for this year’s Thanksgiving celebrations, I can’t help but think back on those two, special Japanese Thanksgivings.  The food was of course very different (though Anata has already asked if we could have the kabocha pudding I made for my first holiday in Japan), but I will still be surrounded by people I love.  I will also be missing those friends who can’t be there.  I can’t imagine what Otose would think of a turkey! 

I have been blessed with many amazing people in my life.  Through them I have grown, learned, laughed, and loved.  Sadly, I can never keep all of them as close to me as I would like.  Maybe one day I will have a chance to gather all of these wonderful people up in one large room and tell each of them how much they mean to me.  How glad I am that fate threw us together, even if it was only for a short time.  And how thankful I am for the lasting impressions they have made on my life.

私は本当に感謝しています.

Keeping in touch

Despite advances in technology, I have always been terrible at keeping in touch with people.  When I was in college, and Facebook came out, I was excited that at least now I had a way to marginally keep up with people I cared about.  As more and more people joined, I found more and more friends from my past.  When I made new friends in Japan, we immediately connected on Facebook and Line.  As those friends drifted away – to new cities or returned home – we promised to stay in touch.  The same way all of those junior high yearbook messages promised to stay in touch.

It isn’t that I don’t care.  But it is more I don’t know how. 

With Facebook, Line, Skype, and all the other amazing advances in technology, keeping in touch should be the easiest thing in the world.  Time zones and language barriers have been all but erased!  All I need are a few seconds and an internet connection.  I don’t even have to write in full paragraphs.  I have access to all of these amazing tools, as do my friends, but for some reason, we don’t really know how to use them.

When do you keep in touch?  It seems insincere to do it just when something important happens, like a birthday.  But it can be awkward just to text, “hey, how are you?  I was thinking about you.”  It is nice that Facebook lets you share things like recipes or funny pictures that can make the “I was just thinking about you,” seem less weird, but there is still a little awkward turtle going on when you hit send and wait for a reply (especially when you see that they have read it and just haven’t responded).  In person, it just seemed like the conversation flowed, it was natural.  But now you have to have an excuse to make contact.  On top of that, you are living in different time zones, you are doing different things, you are all getting on with your lives and enjoying the here and now.  It is intimidating – or, at least for me it is.

But once you get past the awkwardness, it can also be rewarding.  Despite the fact that you are not as much a part of that person’s immediate life, you are still a part of their past.  The conversations will change, of course; they will be more a recap of what is going on in each other’s lives and probably lose some of their depth, but I am learning that keeping those connections is important. 

Friendships aren’t just about a particular moment in your life.  They are about people that burrow into your heart while you are close together and stay there even after you drift apart.  You still care about what they are doing, even if it doesn’t involve you.  Friendships take work.  That is the hardest part.  Finding the energy and courage to say, “hey, how are you?  I was just thinking about you.” 

I am still not very good at it.  Sometimes life gets in the way.  If you don’t hear from me, don’t feel bad.  I am still thinking of you, and I am working on it.  

Gaijin behaving badly

Before I left, Otosan gave me the usual speech – “You are representing the family.  Don’t do anything embarrassing.”  What any southern child hears every time they leave the nest for parts unknown.  For the most part, I think I managed pretty well.  There were a few times I made a fool of myself that weren’t really my fault.  I was kind of thrown into the deep end of a culture I didn’t know a whole lot about.  I read the etiquette books and did my best, but I still made mistakes.  Like the white shirt episode at my first Danjiri (it was my only white shirt, and I didn’t realize anything below the collarbone was considered indecent) or any of the times Japanese men got the wrong impression because I am just a friendly person who will strike up a conversation with almost anyone.  There were times I didn’t speak up or spoke up too much.  Times I gave presents when I shouldn't have or didn’t give them when I should.  Times I offered to help with a task that was only for students or didn’t realize I was supposed to be helping staff with another task.  Times I addressed people in a less polite manner than I should have (but hey, at least I addressed them in Japanese).  I was louder than I should have been.  I touched people more than I should have.  I made a lot of mistakes.  But for the most part, my Japanese friends, and really every Japanese person I met, was so kind and understanding that these small infractions were glossed over or ignored.  Some people would try to correct my bad behavior, and I am thankful for that.  Mostly I tried my best and Japan accepted my minor social gaffes. 

However, there were a couple of times I really messed up, and I have no excuse.  申し訳ございませんでした!  The memory of one such instance still haunts me.  I was coming home after a night out on the town in Namba.  Obviously, I was pretty tired after staying out all night, but that is still no excuse for what happened next.  Usually, I would take the Nankai line from Namba straight to Kinokawa station, my stop.  But I was traveling with a friend this particular morning, and we decided to take the train from Tennoji to Wakayama.  We used google to find the train we needed, but were having some trouble finding which particular platform that train left from.  We knew what time it departed, but since Tennoji is a very large station, there were several trains that took off at the same time.  Our train also split with some cars going to Kansai Airport and some continuing to Wakayama.  We just weren’t finding it.  So, we decided to ask an employee.  Just inside the front gate, we found a station agent with a smile on her face and English pinned to her chest.    

“Excuse me.  What track for this train?”  I held my phone up for her, pointing to the train name and departure time. 

“Where are you going?”

“Wakayama.”

“The trains for Wakayama depart from platforms 3, 5, and 11.”

Okay.  Not exactly the answer I expected.  I looked at my phone again and pointed to the specific train I wanted.  “This train.  What track?”

“The trains from Wakayama depart from platforms 3, 5, and 11.”

I stared at the woman.  I tried again.  I got the same answer.  Our train was arriving soon, and I still didn’t know which platform.  I was losing my patience.

“Kono densha wa nani bango desu ka?”  It wasn’t good Japanese, but maybe…

“The trains for Wakayama depart from platforms 3, 5, and 11.”  The edge of uncertainty had been building in her voice with each repetition.  Just as I am sure the agitation was building in mine. 

Now this type of thing had happened before, many, many times.  Communication was a constant struggle.  Usually, I would just smile, say thank you, then find someone else to help me if I couldn’t manage to understand.  But for some reason, that morning I couldn’t do it.  Instead, I threw my hand in the air and walked away with a growl.

We did manage to make our train.  It left from platform 5.  We managed to score a front corner with two sets of seats facing each other.  We took all four and closed our eyes.  But Karma caught up with us pretty quickly.  High winds stopped the train well before our intended destination.  Still groggy, we were hustled off onto the platform with no idea what was going on.  We spent an hour in limbo trying to figure out when the next train would come or how we could get to the Nankai line.  Ironically, there was no information broadcast in English over the loudspeaker and no employees to ask for help. 

A journey that should only have taken us an hour ended up taking three.  I realize that the delays were a mere coincidence due to natural phenomena, but I can’t help feel that they were also divine retribution for my deplorable behavior. 

I am ashamed at how I treated that woman.  On many of my adventures I came across gaijin behaving badly and looked down my nose at them.  But the instant I threw up my hand and stormed off, I was worse than any of them. 

If I could, I would beg that woman for forgiveness.  I would also apologize to all my Japanese friends who were so patient with me as I struggled to communicate.  I learned a valuable lesson that day about who I really was.  I wasn’t a very nice person.  It was just a single moment, a really bad morning, but that is the only moment that woman and I will ever share.  She didn’t know my circumstances, she was only doing her job, and she won’t ever know how sorry I am for my behavior. 

Otosan, I let you down that day, and I am sorry.  I let myself down, too.  And gaijin.  It only takes a single moment of bad behavior to ruin everything.  

At the threshold

For a while I have struggled to sit down and write for this blog.  When I was still in Japan I put off a lot of topics because I just didn’t have the time to research them and present my ideas in the logical and intelligent way I wanted to.  I wanted to write about social issues I saw, but I felt that I owed it to everyone to make sure I backed up my opinions with evidence and research.  I wanted to talk about observations I made in art and culture, but needed to know more about my subjects before I started acting like an expert.  I said that I would have the time when I got home to really put in the background work to talk about topics like art, popular culture, school systems, suicide, sexism, and other hot button topics.  That hasn’t exactly happened. 

While I still want to write about these topics, I still haven’t found the time to do the research.  Life didn’t just stop when I came home.  I am not sure why I thought it would.  I wasn’t constantly traveling like I had been in Japan.  I didn’t have a regular 9-5 job.  But I also didn’t have the daily inspiration and interactions that fueled my desire to discuss these topics with the world.  It seems like the fire dies a little more each day as Japan slips further and further from my immediate existence.  I have started writing for a local newspaper which monopolizes a lot of my research and writing time.  I have also started picking at my fiction writing – something that gathered dust on the shelves in Japan as Okashi and my adventures took up most of my time. 

If I am not careful, I realize that Okashi might end up abandoned, like many of my previous projects.  I don’t want that.  Japan had such an amazing impact on my life that I would hate to let it slip away.  There is still so much to explore, so much to learn, and so much to reconcile within myself about my time there. 

Going forward, I will try and make more of an effort to write down my reflections before they are too faded in my memory.  I might have to sacrifice some of the research I wanted to do in order to just publish a piece.  I might have to get up a little earlier or spend a little more time in front of the computer when I really don’t want to.  I might have to make the sacrifices I didn’t want to make when I was actually in Japan.  My time in Japan has ended and it is time finish this chapter of my life.  A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, but it also has to end with one. 

Now it is time to reflect and apply the things I learned on that journey.  As I finish up the reflections I started in Japan and do the research I need to write some of the more controversial pieces, Okashi will begin to change.  It will be more about the continuing influence of Japan in my life. I have a lot of work to do before I get there, but I am excited to see where this new adventure will take me! 

More than any other point in my life I feel like I am standing at a great threshold.  The next step leads to something amazing.  I can feel it.

Coming Full Circle

Disclaimer: This is in no way my last entry; I still have many posts to write.  But August 15th marks two years since I stepped off the plane into the blazing heat of Osaka and began my journey.  I felt I needed to mark the occasion.  So don’t worry 皆さん, Okashi will continue, hopefully for many years, but here is something I have been working on for this momentous occasion.

Saying さようなら to Japan was a long process.  There were goodbyes at my schools, goodbyes with friends, and goodbyes to places that had come to mean a lot to me in my time there.  But it was my goodbye to Osaka that was the hardest and also the best. 

Okasan came to help me move.  I had been sending stuff home over the past few months, but it was amazing the amount of things I had collected in just under two years.  Like amazing.  I needed her help.  I was super busy with all the trips I wanted to squeeze into my last few months, making sure to say goodbye to everyone, and the massive amounts of paperwork required to leave the country, so I left the travel plans up to her.  She sent me the address of our hotel in Osaka, but I honestly didn’t look at it until we were on the train, pulling away from Kinokawa Eki.  As I stared at the location on Google Maps through teary eyes, I couldn’t help but laugh.  Somehow she had picked a place that was in the same area as the hotel I stayed at when I first arrived.

So.Much.Stuff!

We caught a taxi from  難波駅 because we just had so much luggage.  As we twisted and turned through the Osaka streets, things became more and more familiar.  I hadn’t been back to this part of town since I finished with training.  We drove past the laundry I had used with friends not even a week into my journey.  It was August then and none of us were ready for the heat and humidity.  We were going through several changes of clothes a day just to stay dry.  Next to it was the izakaiya where I had my first kakigori.  I didn’t know what it was then.  Wouldn’t know for quite a while, actually.  I just know it was the best thing ever that night.  We were dripping sweat and the laundry was even hotter than outside.

Okasan and I made it to the hotel and got checked in.  The weather was warm, it was almost May, but still nothing compared to the stifling, humid mess my first week.  We had dinner plans with Sunny in the northern part of town.  As we headed out for the evening, we moved down the familiar route I had taken from my hotel to training every day for a week.   We passed the grocery where I had died a little realizing how expensive fruit was in Japan.  And that what I considered bacon didn’t really exist here.  I had spent an hour walking up and down aisles, amazed and concerned by all the new products that I couldn’t identify or read the labels for.  I had worried how I would afford to eat more than just ramen and water.   Or how I would ever figure out exactly what everything was.

We kept walking, past the izakaiya where I had my first drink of sake.  I had been so confused when they served it in a box!  This is where I learned about seating fees and that you pay for the little snacks they bring to your table.  Past the building that my company had been in before moving to 梅田.  I would have turned on this street to go to the municipal building I spent my first week in the basement of for training.  Memories with every step. 

Passing over the river, we left the tiny area that had been my home and first introduction to Japan.  I had been so scared that first week; unable to navigate streets, subways, or buses.  I had survived in an area of only a few square blocks, branching out just far enough to reach a mall and Osaka-jo.  At the time, those few blocks had seemed like a whole world and that if I ventured further, I would lose myself.  I couldn’t imagine taking off to Namba every night like some of my new coworkers.  It was too far!  I would never make it back!  But as Okasan and I hopped on the subway and headed north, I realized how much smaller Osaka seemed now.  And how familiar.  When had I stopped being scared of taking a new train?

Ahhhhhh!  This is the point
where I almost turned around
to go back home.

I was almost to the hotel.
Just a few more steps.

After a fabulous tempura dinner with Okasan and Sunny, I was eager to get back to 谷町四丁目 and relive those first few days a little more.  I wanted to show Sunny the steps up from the subway that nearly broke me just hours after stepping off the plane – where a kind Japanese woman had offered to help a tired, overweight, sweaty, disgusting gaijin carry her super heavy suitcase even though the case probably weighed as much as her.  I wanted to share a drink with my new friends at my first watering hole, celebrating the woman I had become in such a short time.  I wanted to soak it all in – relive the amazement, fear, and confusion that came with the start of this crazy journey.  Sunny and Brook hadn’t known me then – we wouldn’t meet for another year or so – so it was fun to tell them about the me who had gawked, cried, cursed, and began to settle into Japanese life right on these very streets. 

The APA Hotel.
My first home in Japan

As I spent the next couple days in that Osaka neighborhood, walking past important places from my past – the place where I first met Otose, where I had my first taste of natto, my first Japanese McDonalds, my first experience with being caught without a 傘 during the rainy season and being soaked to the skin – and realizing the metamorphosis I had made, made leaving Japan much easier.  It was still hard to say goodbye to my friends and the city that had felt so much like home.  There was a lot I hadn’t accomplished.  But as I walked past the APA Hotel, I realized just how much I had.  I still couldn’t read many of the labels in the supermarket, but I knew what most things were and how to cook with them.  My Japanese skills hadn’t improved as much as I would have hoped, but I had learned to communicate in a more universal language of humanity.  My linguistic challenges helped broaden my empathy for those who struggle with speaking and reading (regardless of their native language).  I learned to live with nature, rather than fight against it and try and bend it to my will.  I found a deep appreciation of another culture, but did not lose myself in the process.  Instead I gained a better understanding of myself and my own culture through the Japanese lens. 

My time in Japan changed me, enhancing who I was rather than remaking me altogether.  Much the same way the Japanese cherry-pick ideas from other cultures and create something uniquely Japanese, I took many things from my experiences in Japan and used them to create a new me.  Coming back to the very beginning, walking the streets of that tiny, scary world of my arrival, it was clear how far this journey had taken me – well more than a thousand miles from the woman who stepped onto that plane in Bismarck two years ago.  

I'm not dead!: A long overdue update

I know I haven't posted in a long, long time.  Sumimasen! Moushiwake gomenasai!  But as my date of departure approached, there was just too much to get done (and by get done, I mean too many adventures left on my list).  I took full advantage of my last few months in Japan to travel, eat, and visit as much as I could.  There were many, many sayonara parties as well as all the trips down memory lane.  There was also the incredibly difficult moving process.  I thought moving to Japan was hard, but it was nothing compared to the hurdles involved with leaving!  Trying to squeeze everything in to just a few weeks left little time for writing.  But fear not, I took lots of notes (and pictures), so this is not the end of Okashi!

Now I am back in South Dakota with Anata and the fur babies after spending some time with Otosan and Okasan in Texas.  It is really great to be home.  I am missing Japan, but so happy to be back with my loved ones.  And they seem pretty pleased to have me back too.  After I get settled in, you can expect to see a lot more activity here.  There are so many things I wanted to write about, but never found the time or right frame to do so.  I also held back on many posts that involved my trips and my job for various reasons.  I hope to share a little more of what my life was like now that I have time to reflect and polish my ideas.  Stay tuned!

Thank you so much to everyone that followed and supported me during this amazing journey.  Since I have been home, I have had many people ask me how my experience was.  They don't understand what a loaded question that is.  In the end I usually go with amazing, fabulous, or wonderful, but these just don't cover the true impact this experience had on me.  I haven't quite figured out how to put it in words, it was something so special and ... I just can't do it.  But when I do figure it out, I will post it here.  Minasan, itsu made hotoni arigatou gozaimashita!

Looking toward the future

As my time in Japan speeds to a close – move out date is set for April 25^th! – I must admit how loathe I am to leave this wonderful country.  I have had so many amazing adventures, met so many wonderful people, and experienced so many spectacular things.  I am running out of adjectives for just how fantastic my time here has been.  Still, I guess I have to accept that it is time to return home from this amazing, two year vacation and start the next phase of my life.

The change from one life phase to another will be a little different this time, though.  Before I rushed from one phase to the next, too excited about what came next to really appreciate or make the most of my time where I was.  I didn’t particularly enjoy college.  I rushed through in three years in order to start my life with Anata.  High school was even worse.  I couldn’t wait to graduate and find a place where I felt like I really belonged.  Each time the next phase, the future, always promised the opportunity to learn who I really was, to grow, and to really have fun with life.  But I never quite got there.  When I was supposed to be making memories, growing, and enjoying my time on this planet, I was too busy thinking of what would come next.  That is not to say I didn’t have any fun, but looking back all I can see is a girl rushing through life without stopping to enjoy it.

Japan has taught me to approach life a bit differently.  It has taught me to take time and enjoy the moment.  To take full advantage of the opportunities around me.  To be happy where I am.  It has taught me to slow down.  I have always thought life was an amazing thing – people are fascinating and the nature is such a beautiful mystery – but in my rush to get to a place where I could really enjoy the discovery and exploration of these things I kind of missed them.  Being in Japan gave me an excuse to stop rushing.  I knew I was only here for a limited time.  I knew I needed to use that time wisely – to take in as much of the culture, geography, and humanity as I possibly could before returning home.  It allowed me to say yes to experiences I would have skipped out on in America (experiences many of my coworkers and students miss out on because they are just everyday life for them).  In those experience I was able to see myself through new eyes and better understand, and eventually accept, things about myself that I had been ignoring.  It allowed me to do the growing, thinking, and self-reflection I kept saying would come with the next phase of my life.  I learned how to like myself, flaws and all, something that I have struggled for about as long as I can remember. 

I am excited to return home and start the next phase of my life, but unlike previous transitions, I am not in a hurry for it to get here.  I am content to let it come at its own pace.  I have realized that pushing and planning just make time slip by faster.  But if I just let things take their course, take advantage of the adventures the people and places around me have to offer, and just slow down and appreciate the moment I will have a lot more fun.  The future will become the present soon enough without any help from me.  By rushing toward it, all I am doing is blurring the scenery.  And Japan has taught me that the scenery is sometimes the best part.

Turn, turn, turn

Sakura season has arrived in Japan.  There is still a month or so before the actual blooms arrive, but sakura inspired things are already turning store shelves into a wall of light pink.  But where America is just starting its borderline insane love affair with seasonal flavors (cough, cough, pumpkin spice kale chips anyone?), Japan has woven seasonal things into the very fabric of life.

Throughout its history, Japan has been an agricultural based society.  Therefore, like most agricultural based societies, the changing of seasons became a very important part of Japanese culture.  Traditions, religions, and life developed while keeping an eye on and also celebrating the beauty and bounty of each season.  But while industrialization distanced other traditionally agricultural societies from their close bond with nature, Japan’s self-imposed isolation kept farming, and the seasons, at the heart of Japanese life until very recently. 

Acknowledgement of the seasons is so deeply ingrained in Japanese culture that even in the neon and concrete canyons of Osaka and Tokyo one can’t help but be aware of the variations in Earth’s journey around the sun.  From plastic sakura and momiji branches hung on shopping arcades during the appropriate season, to lavish window displays at Takashimai, Daimaru, and even small mom and pop stores.  However, it is the food that most reflects the change of season.  Japanese food is always a showcase of the best of each season.  From fish to fruit and everything in between, restaurants change their menu on an almost weekly basis to take advantage of ingredients at their peak.  And with their leap into the industrial age, came a chance to create new, synthetic seasonal flavors.  Which has led to today’s revolving door of chuhi, ice cream, coffee, pastry, confection, chip, and pretty much any ingestible konbini item being offered on a short term, seasonal basis.

There is already a great deal of variety in Japanese food and drink options (have you seen my post on vending machines?), but this system leads to almost infinite possibilities.  I have greatly enjoyed my games of seasonal chuhi Russian roulette.  Some of the flavors have been amazing!  Other make me wonder what Japanese people are thinking sometimes – like umeboshi (sour plum), it was salty!  There is always a new flavor of Pocky or KitKat to try, a new pudding type sweet to enjoy with lunch.  It is impossible to have a regular order at any local restaurant since there are new things to try each visit.  Even home cooking becomes an adventure as seasonal produce and fruits offer new and exciting recipes to try at a lower cost. 

However, this embracing of seasonal flavors also has a pretty big down side.  As quickly as sakura flavor season arrived, it will be replaced with soda, melon, and other summer flavors.  Like the blooms it is meant to represent, it has a shelf life of but a moment.  The Japanese seem okay with this.  But as an American, used to getting whatever I want, in season on not, it is a little bit soul crushing when a flavor I have really come to enjoy is suddenly not available anymore.  Or when the prices of a certain fruit soar to five or ten dollars for just a few pieces.  But perhaps this is the point.  Perhaps even Japanese people mourn the loss of their favorite seasonal flavors and eagerly anticipate their return the next year.  Perhaps in this modern Japan, where people have replaced the vast green rice paddies of their ancestors with towering forests of metal and stone, seasonal flavors are the new almanac to keep Japanese people tied to nature and the help the younger generation appreciate the beauty and bounty of each brief season.

Only old men like this flavor.  Well, old men and Anata.

Some things never change

Looking through my posts here, I must admit this blogging thing didn’t go exactly the way I intended.  I had hoped to write more often for one.  To include travel articles and slice of life vignettes.  I am not displeased with what I have written.  I am actually really proud of some of my posts.  And I have written many things to give insight into this beautiful, crazy, amazing country. But looking at my running list of ideas, I just feel I haven’t done enough.  Some of my ideas go all the way back to my first months here! Adventures and thoughts that were poignant to my emerging self at the start of this journey.  Thinking about writing them now I know they will lose some of the magic and feeling.  I cannot recapture the innocence.  Not truly.

But this is nothing new.  Back home there is a file cabinet full of great ideas that I just never really got around to writing.  You see, I have always been a procrastinator.  But it took moving half way around the world to realize just how much deeper it really went.  It isn’t just procrastination, it is a disbelief in the future.  Or at least an apathy toward any solid plans for tomorrow.  For almost two years I have been living in a dream world full of adventure and inspiration.  There was always something better to do.  Something more exciting to keep me busy.  I have always had a deep fear of missing out.  I want to be at the center of things, always moving and experiencing.  This has led to many all-nighters, benders, and poor life choices.  But I never seem to learn.  Tomorrow, the future, was always something I was aware of, but not really interested in thinking about.  In all honesty, I would be content to keep living this way for years – a rootless gaijin completely at the whim of her own wanderlust, living paycheck to paycheck with no thought of what comes after.

Writing about my wonderful experiences takes time away from other adventures I could be having.  But then what is my excuse for not writing when I have time – when I am stuck at work with nothing much to do.  Well that is another personality quirk that I have struggled with.  It surprises many people to know that I have poor perseverance.  I am full of dreams, ideas, and ambitions, but lack the focus to follow through and achieve them.  This is a trait that developed later in life, after graduation, when I was finally released into the adult world.  When I am left to my own devices, I seem to choose the path of least resistance, responsibility, and actual effort.  I am sure this is tied to the instant gratification attitude I have come to realize dominates my personality, but I am sure there are other contributing factors as well.  Regardless of why I do it, being in Japan has made me realize how much I do it.  It’s a lot.

I have no grand plans for what I will do with this new understanding of myself.  Recognizing something and productively addressing it are two very different things.  There are two warring people inside me; the one who is upset at the lack of progress and commitment, this one sets goals and makes lists, she believes in the unlimited potential of my other self if other self would just get her ass in gear.  The other is content to just float, letting the river of life move her from one amazing experience to another, soaking it all in, learning, growing, and doing nothing but living.  However, I know returning home will bring about major conflict between these two.  But I guess that is something to worry about tomorrow.  For now, I will squeeze in as much adventure as possible.  And do my best to write about them in my down time.

The first frost

I really dislike winter.  Not necessarily the season itself, but all the things that come with it – the cold, the late sunrise and early sunset, dreary weather (snow or rain), the whole collection of winter that makes winter most people’s least favorite season.

However, walking to school on the first day of frost, I can’t help being a little elated.  Just a little.  The air is crisp.  Just a hint of smoke in it.  It pricks at my exposed cheeks, making the skin feel more alive than the rest of my tired body.  I inhale, the cold rushing all the way down into my core, coming back out in a cloud.

The sun is almost over the mountains.  It catches the frost covering the harvested rice fields, turning them a shimmering white/grey like some expensive fabric.  As the sun climbs higher, the frost sparkles.

Yes, the weather this morning was beautiful and invigorating.  The pink cheeks and noses of the elementary students hurrying to school were adorable.  Does it make me love winter?  No.  But it makes me pause to appreciate that every day, even a winter day, can be amazing.  But my nose is staring to run and my toes are frozen.  Time to hurry on to school.

Christmas in Japan

Celebrating the holidays away from home is always a little strange.  I remember my first holiday with Anata’s family.  I was a little overwhelmed with all the new traditions and events.  Even though we are both American, our families had very different ways of celebrating this important holiday.  But it was nothing compared to the strangeness of Christmas time in Japan. 

Japan has embraced many international holidays.  I have written already about my experiences on Halloween.  But their adaptation of Christmas is something very unique and, to be honest, quite funny from an American point of view.  Because Japanese Christmas has absolutely nothing to do with Christ.  It is purely commercial – an excuse to buy and sell.  It is the inevitable end of American Christmas, if Christmas continues on its current capitalist path.  In many ways I find this blatant consumerism refreshing, especially after all the ridiculous stories coming out of America this year about the design of some coffee shop’s cups or the “War on Christmas.”  At least Japanese Christmas is honest with itself about its purpose.

I guess I should explain what Japanese Christmas traditions are a little more.  In Japan, Christmas is a time for children and couples.  Christmas music floats through the air at department stores and malls.  Christmas trees pop up in public areas.  Lights adorn streets and shopping malls.  A few private residences will put up a tree or other decorations, but this is quite rare.  Christmas cheer is pretty much taken care of by retailers and the city.  This is a time for illuminations, like those in Kobe, where the cities dazzle visitors with nighttime light extravaganzas.  Nowhere will you see a nativity scene, or a menorah for that matter, because Christmas in Japan is a secular event.  Many of my students had never heard the word Hanukah or Yule.  But, to be fair, we never talked about Shōgatsu, Japanese New Year, in our Christmas around the world lessons in elementary school.  So even though it is called Christmas by the Japanese people, don’t expect any religious significance.  No more than you would find in any Coca-Cola commercial, anyway.

The main aspects of Christmas that Japan has borrowed are the songs, decorations, and presents.  Because who doesn’t want an excuse for presents!  Japan loves gift giving.  I have written many, many times about how they have turned gift giving into a delicate art form and a social minefield for gaijin.  But unlike America, where there are gifts for coworkers, friends, family, and then presents for the ones you really care about, Japan focuses on gifts between two main groups – children and the person you are dating.  Santa is very popular in Japan.  On the 24^th, he leaves presents on the pillows of all the good boys and girls.  That part is pretty similar.  However, there is not the epic family gift exchange and wrapping paper apocalypse that most Americans know and love. 

If you are over the age of ten, you shouldn’t expect much for Christmas.  Unless you are dating.  In America, Christmas is a time for family, but New Year’s is the time to be with the one you love and want to spend the next year with (or at least the night).  In Japan, Christmas is a time for couples to flaunt their happiness.  There are gifts, special events, and just a whole lot of lovey-dovey things targeted at young couples.  One of my students even asked who I was spending Christmas with, like it was a huge and embarrassing secret.  Not understanding the implication, I said my husband.  It took a little chat with the teacher after class to help me understand the eruption of giggles at my response. 

So what do Japanese people do if they don’t spend Christmas eating turkey and celebrating their chosen religion?  Honestly, nothing.  December 25^th is just a normal day.  The trains run the same as every other day.  The mail gets delivered.  Businesses are open and people go about their regular lives.  I saw a bunch of store employees in reindeer and Santa outfits, but I think any excuse to dress up is welcome in Japan.  Most schools are closed, but only just.  I had work on the 24^th!  The only real difference I have seen is that many families will have a bucket of KFC for dinner followed by a Christmas cake.  That is about it.

As an American, it was strange to watch this very different version of Christmas.  There were some parts I found really amusing, but other parts that made me miss home and my family’s traditions.  I think the biggest thing I missed was being with family.   I was lucky enough to have visitors both years, but it wasn’t the same as spending the holidays with friends and family.  Regardless of your religion, winter celebrations seem to all have this at their heart.  And Japan has its own version of this family and religious centered holiday.  It falls on the 1^st of January.  During the New Year celebration, people spend the days with their family – eating, celebrating, and counting their blessings.  Though the date and trappings may be different, the sentiment is the same.  It is a time to be thankful and surrounded by those you love. 

Spending the holiday season in this amazing country reminds me of how different yet similar we all are.  We all find it necessary to gather together with family and friends at the close of the year.  To count our blessings and express our hopes for the year to come.  It is a time of presents, commercialism, spirituality, merriment, and love.  I will miss KFC, Christmas cake, mochi, and kotatsu next year, but I am excited to celebrating with the foods, traditions, and people I grew up with.  After all, the trappings don’t matter, it is the spirit of the season that spreads through us all.

Absence does not always make the heart grow fonder

In many ways my time here has made me appreciate my loved ones more – especially Anata.  Being on my own has made me realize all the little things I took for granted – like being able to call Okasan whenever I wanted, having someone to cook with and for, sharing a bottle of wine and gossip with a best friend, or just having another presence in the house.  With time and distance I was able to see the things that really mattered, rather than all the mundane gripes and complaints that build up over the years.  So in many ways the old adage is true, I did grow fonder of Anata and all of those I love back home.  I found new value in my relationships and new layers to people.

However, this wasn’t the case every minute of our time apart.  The honest truth is I would go days and weeks without thinking of those back home.  I was busy having adventures, meeting new people, trying new food, seeing new sights.  While there was always a small part of me that wished I could share these things with friends and family back home, they were not forefront in my thoughts.  This has been a very selfish adventure.  I know I haven’t thought of them, worried about them, or missed them half as much as they have missed me.  It is something I feel guilty about, when I do think about those back home.  It is also something I will have to keep in mind when I return – especially with those closest to me who have missed me the most.  While I was off exploring a whole new world, wrapped up in myself, their thoughts were on me.  I could not have done this without their love and support, I am truly grateful, and I only hope the change they see in me from this experience is enough to make up for not always thinking about them.

Use it or lose it

In college I took two semesters of Spanish during summer school.  For six weeks I spent like three hours a day in practically an emersion environment.  Pretty soon, I started thinking in Spanish.  I could hold a fairly long conversation.  I was actually speaking and understanding a foreign language.  And then summer ended and I was done with my language requirements.  Despite the face I was living in Tucson, Arizona, just an hour from Mexico, all the Spanish I had studied that summer (and the four years before) slipped away like desert sand in the wind till I can hardly ask where is the bathroom anymore.

When it comes to language, if you don’t use it, you lose it.  I learned that with Spanish.  As soon as I stopped studying and moved to an area with less Spanish speaking people, it all faded away.  I am sure it is still there, if I started studying again.  In fact, when I am searching for a Japanese word, a Spanish one sometimes slips out.  But what I didn’t realize is you can still lose what you have picked up even if you are still immersed in the language!

I have not done much to study Japanese while I have been in Japan.  There have been a few half-hearted attempts at kanji.  I had some success trying to translate the first volume of One Piece, an anime and manga I enjoy and know the story for.  But mostly I have learned by listening and talking to people.  When I lived in Osaka, this was easy.  I had my flat mates, the people on the shopping street, and neighborhood friends to practice with.  At school my desk was right in the middle of things and my coworkers really tried to talk to me.  But when I moved to Wakayama, I started to slip.  Traveling between two schools kind of distanced me from my coworkers.  Not to mention high school teachers are a lot busier.  So where I used to chat with the nurse and other teachers without classes, I now find myself sitting quietly at my desk in the back of the teachers’ room.  This is not to say my teachers ignore me or avoid me, it is just different.

My situation at home is different, too.  I no longer stroll past mom and pop businesses on a daily basis, stopping to chat about weather, family, and work.  I no longer have flat mates to listen to, much less discuss life with.  My apartment is in the middle of a residential neighborhood, but I hardly see my neighbors.  My commute is long and by the time I get home it is easier to cook for myself than find a restaurant or take away close by.  So my weeknights are spent quietly.  I still watch anime, but I have found myself reading more than listening.

 Now this would not be so much of a problem if I had kept up studying on my own.  But without people to practice with, the studying is hard.  I never really figured out how to learn language.  I have tried different things, but nothing really seemed to work.  Or, more likely, I never really gave it the time to work.  I have never been really good at commitment.  But studying on my own, I was always left with questions of why and how with no way to answer them.  Conjugation, counters, levels of politeness – Japanese is a very difficult language to understand the ins and outs of.  Flash cards and kanji didn’t help me speak or listen.  I need a structured class, I think.  Something with other people that will give me support and keep me accountable.

It sounds counter intuitive, but I have kind of put learning Japanese on the back burner for now.  My time here is drawing to a close, and I would rather spend the time exploring and interacting than holed up studying.  Perhaps when I am back in the US I will have the time and resources to learn the language I have been living with for over a year. 

My struggle with language has been my biggest frustration in my time here.  Being unable to communicate has left me isolated, confused, and often frustrated.  Learning while living here turned out to be very difficult with a full time job and a world of amazing things to explore.  If I could do it again, I would put off moving here until I could speak and read the language at least a little bit.