Surviving zombies, Jokers, and lines at USJ

Growing up in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, I was spoiled.  There were sports stadiums, beautiful parks, well respected museums for history and art, good food, and lots of entertainment.  There was never a lack of things to do.  But my favorite was always the amusement parks.  Summer vacation was spent at Six Flags and Wet N’ Wild (now Hurricane Harbor).  We got season passes each year for Christmas and we definitely got our money’s worth.  

Because of this, I became a sort of theme park elitist.  While my college friends were crazy for Disney World, I just scoffed.  Give me Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck any day.  I came to love roller coasters, the bigger the better.  Shows were just what you did when it was raining or if you really, really wanted to see it.  The soul of theme parks were the rides, baby!

When I moved away from the Metroplex, I began to realize how amazing my hometown really was.  I had so many opportunities and amusements that the rest of my peers just didn’t share.  But I digress; let me get back to what this post is really about – my trip to Universal Studios Japan in Osaka.

Last October (yes, I am really far behind), I went to USJ with a friend for her birthday.  I was pretty excited to go.  I hadn’t been to an amusement park since visiting Sea World with my sister quite a few years before.  The fact that USJ has The Wizarding World of Harry Potter was also part of the excitement.  I really, really, wanted to see Hogwarts. 

We got to USJ no problem.  Kantan desu yo.  Living near Tennoji, I had easy access to the Osaka Loop Line which has a train that will take you directly to USJ.  So we were quickly and efficiently ushered to USJ.  Us and several thousand other people.

And this was the main problem with USJ.  There were lines for everything.  And we aren’t talking like a thirty minute wait.  We are talking three plus hours.  We spent the entire day at the park.  In that time we only managed to ride four rides.  In hindsight, spending the extra money on the pass that lets you skip to the front of the line would have been money well spent. 

Not that the waiting was all bad.  Because it was close to Halloween, there were lots of people in costume in the park.  Standing in line, my friend and I were able to people watch and psychoanalyze the unsuspecting Japanese people around us. 

The first thing that struck us, as we stood in line for tickets to Bio Hazard the Real, was how much effort went into the costumes.  These were not just something you pickup at Walmart or Spirit (that seasonal Halloween store that shows up in the mall every year).  There was attention to detail that would give any Hollywood costume designer or makeup artist a run for their money.  We saw the typical vampires, zombies, and bogiemen, but there were also a lot of original costumes or at least characters we were unfamiliar with. 

But this observation led to another.  You didn’t see just one zombie or vampire – you always saw a group of them.  The group costume is becoming more popular in America, I know this.  My last few Halloweens, I have gone as part of group (it was even a zombie theme one year).  The difference here was that the costumes were not based on a theme, in many cases they were based on a single character.  So instead of an Alice in Wonderland theme where you would have an Alice, a Queen of Hearts, a Mad Hatter, and so on, you had a group of five Alices.  All dressed the same.  This even extended to couples.  We saw one group with three identical witches and three identical demons in very tight body suits.  This struck us as a little odd.  We couldn’t imagine planning to show up in the same costume.  I mean, that is like the biggest fear when you show up to a Halloween party in a store bought costume.  It made us reflect on the independent nature of America versus the more homogonous attitude of Japan.  This train of thought kept us busy as we slowly moved through the line.

Now this is the second thing you need to know about going to USJ, you have to stand in line to get a ticket to enter places.  When we finally got to the front of the line we realized it was not to actually go to Bio Hazard the Real.  It was to get a ticket for a later time when we could go into the attraction.  It was the same with The Wizarding World.  We had to wait in line for a ticket to go into the area.  This caught us by surprise.  In actuality, it is quite efficient.  It means that the areas aren’t too crowded since only so many can go in at a time (but there is no rule about coming out once you are in), but it meant we had to watch the clock and judge if we had time to stand in line for this ride or that ride.  So, tip number two would be to get these tickets out of the way early so you can plan around them.

We did finally get into The Wizarding World.  We got to drink butter beer (oishii!) and eat real ribs and corn on the cob.  It was almost like home, something both of us were needing right around our birthdays.  And for once, the three hour line was actually worth it.  Well, not really.  The line was still epicly long, but the actual ride was one of the best I have ever been on.  I highly recommend the Forbidden Journey ride.  It is really like magic; like you are flying with Harry and being attacked by big spiders.  I would have ridden it a million times if it didn’t mean standing in line for three million hours.

Just be sure to get in the right line.  We got in the wrong line the first time and ended up taking a tour of the castle.  Not that this was a bad thing.  It was really cool, but with Japan’s obsession with photography, this ended up taking a lot longer than it should have.  However, it did us lead us to another realization about Japanese people.  We were behind this group of young people – maybe high school or college.  As the line inched closer and closer to the castle, they spent the time taking selfies.  I am not sure how their phones did not run out of memory.  They must have taken a picture with each half inch.  Eventually, my friend and I started making faces behind them to amuse ourselves.  Now this wasn’t so much an observation on Japanese culture, but on youth in general.  Young people in America are just as attached to their phones as those here in Japan.

I guess that is enough for this post.  It kind of spun round in circles.  Universal Studios Japan was a lot of fun, despite the lines.  It was a great chance to people watch and philosophize about humanity.  While there were less rides, especially roller coasters, than I was hoping for, there was a lot of work put into the atmosphere.  You really felt like you were at Hogwarts in the Wizarding World, you could actually believe you were being chased by a raptor in Jurassic Park.  With it being close to Halloween we were pretty lucky because Halloween isn’t something that people in Japan really celebrate.  It was a little slice of home.  It brought up a lot of soul searching and deep thinking, not something usually associated with a theme park, but it only enriched the experience (and gave us something to talk about in line).  So I guess I would recommend going to USJ if you are in Osaka and have a good chunk of spare change.  Splurge and buy the fast pass and get in the lines early.  Then just enjoy your time watching the people.

Up close and personal in Japan

Summer is a time for matsuri in Japan.  There are parades and festivals throughout the year, but it seems the heat of summer brings out the best festivals.  There are snow cones, called kakigori, and ice cold beer.  Children’s games and lots of delicious fair food.  During the day there are parades and at night there are fireworks. 

Wakayama has a particularly old matsuri held around the second week in May every year.  Called Wakamatsuri, this festival celebrates Shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu who has a special connection to Kishu-Toshogu Shrine (it was built by one of his descendants).  The main celebration is a parade filled with many groups of people in various traditional costumes.  The parade itself is four hundred years old and many of the costumes are beyond vintage, so I was lucky to have sunny weather the day of the parade this year.

The parade itself was not huge (like Mardi Gras or Kishiwada Danjiri), but the level of participation was impressive.  There were dancers, singers, musicians, warriors, sumo wrestlers, maidens, monsters, and many more.  It was truly a spectacle.  But what struck me the most was how accessible it all was.  Parades in America always seemed like an us and them type relationship.  Even in my small South Dakota town, the annual town parade was more about performance than interacting.  Larger parades have physical barriers to separate those watching the parade and those in the parade, but even small town events seem to have a mental barricade between these two groups.

But this wasn’t the case at Wakamatsuri.  The parade made a lot of stops (carrying a god on your shoulders can be hard work) and during these the parade members talked, laughed, and took pictures with the crowd.  Granted, many of these were friends and family, Wakayama is essentially a big small town, but even the gaijin were invited into the merriment.  We were allowed to touch, photograph, and play with traditional (and probably antique) regalia.  We were plied with sake and snacks along with the rest of the participants by a local business.  The barriers, mental and physical, were removed.

I know some of the larger parades still have barriers.  This is a safety thing.  In Kishiwada groups can get those danjiri going really fast and there can be serious injuries if an unwitting spectator were to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  But the emotional barrier between spectators and participants, those watching and those being watched, seems nonexistent in Japan.  Even at the bigger festivals, it seems like everyone is just there to have a good time.

Finding a universal humanity

I came to Japan in search of understanding difference.  Asian culture seemed like something so unlike the culture I was raised in.  Philosophy, medicine, art, beauty, community – to a westerner, the Japanese mindset in all areas seemed excitingly strange.  However, as days turned to weeks and weeks to months, I started to realize something; despite very different cultures, Japanese people are just like us.

It started with a stroll through Osaka-jo koen one of my first weekends in Japan.  The day was sunny and hot, like a perfect summer day pretty much anywhere.  The park was crowded with families and groups.  People were picnicking, biking, running, and playing.  A father was teaching his little girl to ride a bike, while his wife looked on from a blanket in the shade with a younger child in her lap.  The man held tight to the back of the bike seat, jogging along as the little girl pedaled.  They moved a little faster.  Then faster.  His hand left the seat, but he continued to run behind her.  She didn’t realize he let go till she wobbled a little bit.  Then he had hold of her again before she crashed.  I smiled, trying to remember my own first ride sans training wheels.  Had Otosan had the same grin on his face?  The same flash of panic as he let go the first time?  Had Okasan watched from the porch of our house?

I continued toward the castle.  I passed groups of picnickers, laughing and sharing stories over food and drink.  It was odd to see small camp grills in a public park.  Even odder to see men and women drinking beer in what is essentially a city park (as opposed to campground or lake/river space where such behavior is acceptable).  But despite these slight differences, the feeling of fun and camaraderie was the same as countless BBQs, lake days, and Fourth of July picnics.  Some groups even called to me as I passed; asking where I was from and wishing me a good visit in their wonderful town.

All around me children ran, laughed, and shreiked with delight.  Much of this joyful cacophony was focused around the large fountain at the park entrance.  Children in various states of undress splashed thorugh the clear, cool water.  Parents watched with a mixture of pride and envy.  Part of me was shocked by this.  Some children were quite naked.  But I quickly realized this fear was unnecessary in Japan.  After all, I ran naked though sprinklers in my own front yard when I was much older than some of these kodomotachi.  America was different then.  It seems Japan still is.  While I did not dally, I was still a little uncomfortable, I walked on remember times Imoto and I had rolled up our pants and waded into fountains for a cooling respite from the summer heat.  Even in places as classy as the Louvre, this is a common occurance in the heat of summer.

What started as an excursion to a unique Japanese landmark ended up highlighting how similar people can be.  It was a humanity lesson I greatly appreciated.  It also made me what to find more of the similarities between me and the people of my new home.  After all, it was universal humanity I came to find.

But what is universal humanity?  To me, it is the core emotions that all humans share – love, hate, envy, joy, happiness, sadness…  We are all built the same – same parts, same wiring.  The differences in appearance are superficial, figuratively only skin deep.  Our cultures shape our emotions, but our hearts are universal.  As I spent more time with Japanese friends, I was realizing just how universal.

Several months into being here, I was invited to be part of my local Danjiri celebration.  This was a huge honor and a lot of fun.  We spent all day pulling and pushing a large wooden shrine through the neighborhood, making a huge racket and having a blast.  That night, when we finally returned to the temple, there was a feast for everyone involved.  Sushi and fried food platters were shared.  There was beer, of course, and sake provided by the temple (Japanese gods love sake just as much as I do).  We ate and drank late into the night.  Despite the language barrier, I was welcomed and engaged in this very special experience.  Jokes were told and stories exchanged.  There was arm wrestling and children’s games.  There were even tests of courage when the young men dared each other to eat quantities of wasabi and spicy mustard.  As I looked around the room, I realize that this was just like the many family parties my own kazoku had hosted.  Children darted among the seated adults, communal charges for the evening.  The older men gathered near the head of the tables with glasses of stronger alcohol, swapping stories and shaking the shoji with their deep, rich laughter.  The younger people also banded together.  It was this group that told the loudest jokes and caused the most mayhem (clearing space for wrestling or rolling on the floor laughing as someone chokes and gags on wasabi).  And the women were everywhere – talking, filling glasses, offering handkerchiefs for watering eyes.  For a moment I saw Christmas at Grandma’s, Fourth of July in Elgin, and summer evenings at the ranch.  For a moment I was no longer in Japan, but rather somewhere timeless and placeless – an ethereal moment of every party, celebration, and banquet throughout time.  A universal humanity. 

My understanding and appreciation for this undercurrent of sameness has grown over the months.  Instead of focusing on the differences, as I did when I first arrived, I now revel in the similarities I find in each interaction.  For Hanami, I noticed the bentos instead of picnic baskets and the neat rows of shoes at the corner of each tarp, but I was more enthralled with the laughter and sense of friendship.  At matsuri I am blown away by the costumes and pageantry, but my eyes seek out the smiles of the performers and the wonder in the expressions of the children.  As the fireworks boom and blossom overhead, I marvel at the shapes and colors I have never seen in America, but I can’t help but smile as my Japanese friends react with the same ooohs and ahhs as the ones tumbling from my own lips.  No matter how different our outside appearance or our culture, our hearts beat the same.  Hearts are universal.

The skies are much friendlier in Japan

Air travel has always been an important part of my life.  The massive amount of traveling I have been able to do is mostly due to some great retirement benefits Okasan received from her years with American Airlines.  Because of this, we were able to fly standby all over the world.  Later, I also worked for American, but only for a short time.  I worked in baggage, so I learned the ins, outs, and secrets of the things that go on after your bag disappears behind the counter.  It was a physical job, though, and incredibly inflexible for the low man on the totem pole, so it only lasted about six months before I left to work in education.  So I know a thing or two about airlines.  Which is why I was incredibly impressed with domestic air travel in Japan.

I have done the majority of my traveling within Japan by train.  It is efficient, comfortable, convenient, and a bit of a novelty for an American.  I enjoy watching the landscape zip past, the brief glimpses of towns and communities at each stop.  But recently I found it necessary to fly.  In less than a month, I had gone from no domestic flights to four.  All to the same places – Osaka to Narita and back – but on two different carriers – JetStar and Peach.

As with most things in Japan, I was impressed with the efficiency and degree of customer service provided by Japanese companies.  Check in was quick and easy.  The staff were helpful and friendly.  Instructions were given Japanese and English (this was especially well done by JetStar who had very proficient bilingual cabin crew).  The ground crew even bowed and waved as we taxied away from the gate.  I found this especially nice since I only waved to a handful of people, mostly children, when I was escorting planes.

But perhaps the most shocking differences of my air travels in Japan was the difference in airport security.

America is a frightened nation.  I have come to realize we are afraid, sometimes overly so, when it comes to children and families.  Some very terrible things have happened in America – I grew up in a world with child abductions, school shootings, terrorist attacks, and so much violence.  So it is always jarring for me when the safety measures and general fear I have become accustomed to are suddenly gone.  At first I am shocked and nervous.  But then I get a little euphoric – this is what trust is, this is the freedom and innocence that have slowly disappeared over my lifetime.  Nowhere have I felt this more than at the domestic terminal at KIX.  I did not have to cram all my liquids into a tiny quart bag.  I did not have to take off my shoes and worry about my privacy being violated by x-rays or pat downs.  I didn’t even have to throw out my grande latte, the only thing keeping me upright for our early morning flight.  Just open the top and give the security personnel a cursory sniff of the contents.  Now there were still prohibited items – gas, knives, explosives, etc. – but so many of the rules and hoops I have come to expect with air travel were just not there.

Sadly, as Japan moves to take a bigger role on the world stage, I am afraid this sense of safety will slowly erode.  A man recently set himself on fire on a shinkansen train, killing himself and one other and injuring over a dozen.  Two Japanese citizens were beheaded by terrorists last year.  The country has been rocked by the murders of several junior high students this spring and summer.  The image of a preternaturally safe Japan may be fading somewhat in today’s hyper connected and disenfranchised society, but as an American used to much worse, the feeling of safety and trust I find in Japan are a breath of fresh air.  It also means I don’t have to figure in quite so much time for getting through security when I decide to fly.

Pieces of me

Life is not a one way exchange.  We do not only receive, we also leave pieces of ourselves in the places we inhabit.

I returned to my old house in Osaka this weekend for a party with Otose and my flat mates.  It was a wonderful evening of music, food, and friendship.  There were physical pieces I had left behind – spices used for the food, an umbrella “borrowed” from my previous school on a day I forgot mine still hanging outside the front door, dishes and other things left behind in the move.  But there were also intangible pieces, memories and emotions, I had left with the people I shared my life and space with for several months. 

We don’t often get a chance to really see how much of ourselves we have left with others.  Perhaps it is the cultural difference.  Or maybe my sense for these things is heightened due to the special nature of this adventure.  Whatever the reason, spending an evening with these wonderful women made me realize the give and take of life – the pieces of ourselves we exchange with each experience.  And although I still feel I came out ahead in the bargain, I was glad to see how much they cherished these pieces of me.

Take me out to the ball game…

Just like America, spring is time for baseball in Japan.  The days grow longer and hotter, the cicadas start singing, and through it all there is the call of strike, ball, safe, and out.  The thwak of a pop fly snagged by a leather glove.  The clink of a grand slam on its way out of the park.  The cheers of the crowd, the dugout, and the announcer.

School is winding down as natsu yasumi, summer vacation, approaches.  After final exams, classes are pretty much lame duck sessions, just filling time required by the government.  Instead, students and teachers buzz with excitement.  The prefectural baseball tournament starts this week! 

The last hurrah for third year students, they practice tirelessly, determined to make a good showing in the last games of their high school careers.

In Japan, sports and extracurricular activities work a bit differently.  In their first year, students join a club, a single activity that will define their identity and schedule for the rest of their enrollment.  In Japan, clubs, even sports, are run by students.  They arrange their activities, budgets, and training regimens.  There is a coach, but most of the responsibility falls on the students.  Students will remain in this club throughout their high school career, working their way up through the ranks of the club from kohai to sempai.  Their club mates will become their closest friends and mentors.  They will spend evenings, weekends, and holidays with their club.  As a multi-sport athlete and someone who could only have been involved in more after school activities if I had Hermione’s time turner, I can’t help but feel sad for the opportunities my students miss by having such a strict system.  But then I watch them interact with their club – see the camaraderie they have.  Closer than teammates, they are family.  And this alleviates some of my anxiety.  They may not be as well rounded or indulging in all their interests, but they are happy.  They have friends and support.  And boy are they good at that one thing they have chosen to focus on.  Like insanely good.  Just imagine if you had a whole team with the dedication and focus of the star on an American team.  They eat, sleep, and breath their club activity.  Even those not naturally gifted end up pretty darn impressive after years of constant, intensive practice.  But then it all ends halfway through their senior year.  All their effort is focused on doing their best in one summer tournament their third year of high school because after that they retire.

And so everyone is excited for the coming tournament.  Baseball is incredibly more popular in Japan, but our school is also really good at it.  Our pitcher has a great arm.  We have a strong batting lineup.  This should be a really good tournament for the team and the school.  The whole tournament will be televised, but about a hundred students and a handful of teachers will be allowed to play hooky for the afternoon and attend the team’s first game.  I am super excited to be invited to such an important event.  I want to know what all the fuss is about.  Baseball in Japan is a very different experience than baseball in America.

Unlike Texas, where I grew up and where football is king, baseball seems to be the apex sport in Japan.  But there is a fundamental difference between Japan and America when it comes to school sports.  In Japan there are no pep rallies, no homecoming, no Friday night lights.  Sports in Japan are for the athletes, not the spectator.  Games take place as part of tournaments; attended by a few parents and the members of the club not on the playing roster.  Unlike America where staff and students, parents and alumni wear school colors and cheer on their team, Japanese games are quite and subdued.  No concession stand, no cheering squad, no fanfare.  Students are usually busy with their own club activities.  Staff are accompanying their own clubs to events and games.  There are some parents and families, but the atmosphere is wholly different.  I found this out when I attended a basketball tournament earlier in the year.  My students were shocked and thrilled when they saw me.  As I said, staff don’t usually attend.  Not that there is room for them if they did.  The gym had no bleachers.  I ended up standing with a small group of parents in the catwalk that surrounded the gym floor.  I couldn’t see the score or the clock, kept on a small tabletop display.  Baskets were met with polite applause and disappointment was met with silence.  While I will admit this is better than the jeers and angry shouts at refs and players heard in the States, I couldn’t help feeling the whole affair was too subdued for a real game.  But it was not meant for fans.  It was meant for players only.

Baseball on the other hand, was completely different.  I boarded the bus with student fans, the brass band, and the Japanese equivalent of a cheer squad.  Excitement was palpable as students twittered excitedly while passing around tubes of sunscreen.  At the stadium we were met by a parent organization, much like a booster club.  We were given hats, towels, and fans with the school name and logo.  Waiting for us inside were large blue trashcans filled with ice and various drinks – canned coffee, sports drinks, water, tea, and soda – free for the taking.  They were provided by the boosters and available for all staff, students, and fans.  As we settled in, Okasans passed out megaphones – two per person.  These were blue, the school color, and meant for banging together.  Everything needed to show school pride had been provided!  Which was great because the students were still in their school uniforms of white shirts and plaid trousers or skirts.  No face paint or t-shirts in school colors.

The game started with bows rather than handshakes.  Then our boys took the field first.  I found it hard to watch the play, though.  My attention was constantly dragged away by the band and cheer squad of the other team.  Unlike American sports where cheering is usually suppressed till the end of a play and music only blasted during down time, the band and cheers never stop during a high school Japanese baseball game.  Each school chants, plays, and shakes their pompoms while their team bats.  The songs and chants include the batter’s name and are sometimes completely customized.  Members of the baseball club not on the playing roster don’t sit the bench in Japan, they lead the chants and dances from the stands.  They hold up signs with the batter’s name and the whole fan base stands and shouts as the batter faces off against the pitcher on the field below. It is a bit distracting to say the least.  Before I knew it, our team was running toward the dugout and our first batter was taking his practice swings on deck.

It was our side’s turn to stand and chant.  Ike, ike, ike, Takashi! Ose, ose, ose, Takashi! Ikotoba, Ta-Ka-Shi!  We cheered for each batter by name.  Beat our megaphones together.  Thrust them into the air and yelled with each hit.  Sighed and groaned with each out.

The game went quickly, but sadly not very well for our team.  In the first inning we had given up a run.  In the third, our pitcher seemed to be struggling.  Several walks filled the bases and allowed the other team to make second run on an error.  Our batters were having a tough time as well, getting only a piece of a pitch, enough to send the ball foul, but never enough to get all the way around the bases.  By the fourth inning we were down 3-0.  In the fifth inning, things really fell apart.  Our pitcher came out with a hand injury.  The relief pitcher, caught off guard and walking onto the mound with a full count, allowed a walk and several hits.  The fielders, frustrated by the course of the game, struggled.  By the end of the fifth it was 8-1.  Our team held them for the 6^th, but the game was called in the 7^th under Japanese mercy rules.  It was a blowout and a tragedy for the players and fans.

As a former athlete and coach, the end was inevitable.  One error let to two, led to three.  Frustration and tension running amuck.  Players losing heart.  I had seen it before.  I had lived it before.  But it didn’t make it hurt less.  And my own pain was nothing compared to the disappointment of the players – especially the third years.  We gathered in the trees outside the stadium.  The players wept openly as they apologized for the loss and thanked family, friends, and fans for their support.  Personally, I have shed many tears after an important loss, but always in the locker room or in the car after.  Never in public.  The openness of this emotional display was difficult to watch.  Don’t ever believe the Japanese are unemotional.  In many ways they are far more in touch with their feelings than us moody Americans.  Especially when it comes to the men.  The third year students tried to stem their tears for pictures.  Many just looked red faced and angry.  Others quickly wiped the tears away between takes.  This had been their last game as high school students.  Instead of the triumph they had worked so hard for, they had been eliminated in the first round.  They were devastated.

The bus ride back was a quite affair.  The sun, heat, and loss had robbed the students of their energy.  We rode in silence, all lost in our own thoughts.

While the outcome was far from what I hoped, I am still glad I got to see high school baseball Japanese style.  It was a strange and exhilarating experience.  So unlike baseball in America.

１周年

It is like I closed my eyes for a moment and suddenly a year has passed.  It is hard to believe.  And like those nights where you feel you just closed your eyes for a second and all of a sudden the alarm is blaring, I feel a great sense of anxiety and loss.  Not that I did not fill the days and weeks with as many experiences as possible, but that there is still so much I want to do.  When emotions like this well up in my throat, it is best to take a step back and reflect on all the amazing things I have seen, experienced, and learned this past year.  They haven’t all been good, but they have all helped reshape me, physically and mentally, on this journey of self discovery.

If only it were a year made up completely of weekends (and if I had an infinite supply of money).  But I have managed to see many of the quintessential Japanese sights, as well as man more of the type you only see by living in a place – the striking beauty of the mundane and the special sights only locals know about.  Without a time turner and a vault full of gold at Gringotts it would have been hard to do more.  The things I have seen have inspired me to rethink my understanding of beauty, art, and architecture.  They have refilled my well of inspiration for characters, settings, and scenes.  They have taught me patience and the benefit of taking time to appreciate details.

But they have also challenged me.  And shown me my weakness.  I have felt defeated at many museums by my illiteracy in Japanese.  At theater, dance, and school performances, too.  My inability to read and speak Japanese has been a constant hurdle.  But there is also my physical weakness.  I have lost close to forty pounds since moving here.  Friends from a year ago hardly recognize me now.  This is a huge accomplishment, but it has come from hard work.  I have lost it all through walking – miles and miles a day.  But all that walking on a still unhealed injury has created new problems with my posture and feet.  It doesn’t help that Japanese shoes are not designed for western feet with arches.  And there is the unhealed injury itself.  Almost five years ago I ruptured my Achilles tendon in my left leg.  The injury was difficult to repair and my health care shoddy.  The following depression did not improve matters.  So when I came to Japan it was as a broken person.  As the weight melted away and I got used to walking a lot, some of the lost muscle and ability returned.  However, I am still unable to support my weight on the toes of my left foot.  I am missing half the muscles in my calf on that leg.  At this point I am unsure if I will ever get them back.  My recent attempt to climb Fujisan put this in perspective.  While the switchbacks from the fifth to seventh station were annoying and left me winded, I was still able to make the climb.  However, at the seventh station I was faced with a wall of ancient lava.  The only way up was a scramble that cut into hands and shoes.  Before my accident, this would have been no problem.  But in my current state, I had to accept it would be impossible.  I needed a place to put my whole left foot in order to use that leg.  Going up I could use my arms to help, but going down I had to rely on my footing.  And I couldn’t.  I was defeated.  This failure detracted somewhat from the beauty and majesty of the mountain, but it also reminded me that I am human.  Not a reminder one is excited to have as they approach a birthday, but one I needed all the same.  We will never be able to overcome every challenge, but we can meet it head on, do our best, and learn from failure.  I learned I need to keep trying, visit a doctor when I get home and figure out exactly what damage remains, and focus on building up the lost muscle.  Then I can return and conquer Fuji.

But all the setbacks, minor defeats, and slight negatives cannot overshadow the amazing things I have seen here in Japan.  Just as a few bad experiences cannot dampen my desire to do all the things.  I will admit that some days the stares and whispers can be overwhelming.  Being different in such a homogonous society can be isolating and I have felt loneliness, frustration, and on one occasion anger.  There is also a degree of sexism here that has not always sat well with me.  But there is also a kindness I have never experienced.  A friendliness.  A desire to share a special cultural occasion or ceremony that is rare in the world.  I have been briefly instructed in the tea ceremony and kendo.  Knowing what I do about the Japanese tradition of learning these culturally important things – mainly that it takes years and student must work up form the very bottom, not even touching the instruments for years – I understand what an honor this is.  I have been dressed in kimono and hapi with no thought of cultural appropriation.  I have sung, danced, and beat the drum in religious ceremonies.  I have been welcomed into acting troupes, circles of friends, communities, and families.  I have been able to experience so many wonderful things in this country and most of them with some degree of English.  It has really shown me what an amazing and rich culture Japan has, but also how kind its people are.  The understanding, tolerance, and friendliness of the Japanese people is something I doubt I could find in any other group.  There are things I don’t understand, appreciate, or sometimes like, but even then I am learning to accept the differences brought about by culture and understand what the core of humanity really is.

And this is perhaps the hardest and best lesson Japan has taught me.  That I will never truly understand the nuances of another culture, but I can emphasize with them using my own background.  I can also appreciate these differences since they allow for color and pattern variations in the tapestry of the human species.  And I have learned more personal lessons, too.  Like patience, silence, and how to be alone.  I have learned a lot about myself – what makes me happy and inspires me, what my shortcomings and downfalls are.  I have learned to be self reliant, but I am still working on self motivated.  I have learned to accept and live somewhat in harmony with the weather – taking off or adding clothes rather than reaching for the aircon remote.  I have learned that I don’t need much (as there is no room for it in my tiny apartment).  This limited space has also taught me how to use the area I have more efficiently, especially the kitchen.  I have learned about my thought process and the bits of history, culture, and personality that go into who I am and the choices I make.  I have learned how to evaluate relationships and balance the needs of others with my own needs.  I have learned a lot in this past year. 

I am not the same person I was a year ago.  It would be foolish to say all of the changes have been good (my cooking and house cleaning have devolved to college levels), but I believe I have come a long way to achieving the goals I set for myself when I embarked on this journey last August.  I have lived every moment, exposed myself to as much as I possibly could, and used each experience as a tool for greater understanding of myself and humanity.  I have taken the good and the bad (although there has definitely been way more on the good side of the scales) and found meaning in both.  I have met with adversity and acceptance and grown through each.  The time passed in a flash, and there is still so much that I want to do, but I think I can be satisfied with the progress I have made so far.  But don’t expect me to rest on my laurels.  After all, my adventures are far from over.