December 18th, 9:35pm, I leave Japan. Right now it is December 17th 11:25 pm, and with that gap growing narrower and narrower, nostalgia starts to kick in.
This semester has been a great one. As much as I wanted to cry from fear while sitting in Haneda four months ago, I can't imagine not having this semester as part of my life. I met people from all around the world and fell in love with hearing their stories, traveling with them, singing karaoke with them, and being stupid college kids together. There's some of them I will probably never forget (and I only saw that because my memory sucks) and I hope they also never forget me. They're amazing...
And those are just the people. For four months, I had the privilege of living in and traveling in what I think is one of the most beautiful countries in the world. I took advantage of my time and tried to build the best experience I could. I saw temples, prayed with monks, cooked with strangers who weren't strangers by the end, ran the most I have in my entire life, shared the sorrow over the horrors of the past, sat without a scrap of cloth on in a bath with a group of girls I only met a few months ago, hiked a mountain, got attacked by a homeless man who didn't speak my language, and had an interesting conversation with a drunken Japanese man.
Finally, things I will miss about Japan:
- All of my friends
- Donburi
- Melon pan
- Karaoke
- Meredith
- Awesome public transportation
- Kyoto
- Chu hai
- Sushi!
- My RAs
- Cell phone-eating deer
Things I look forward to in America:
- Cheap food
- Cheese
- Shoes that fit
- Kitkats that taste right
- Faster internet
- My friends at home
- Showers that stay on
- My pets
- My family!
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
And There Were Ten
I have made yet another discovery in Japan, but it is again something that doesn't actually pertain to Japan.
Blogging! Most of us simply aren't cut out for it, and I think those are the same people who couldn't keep a diary/journal as a child. A common phrase to hear around the other international students: "Oh, I should write that blog entry." or "When was the last time I made a blog entry?" Looking at the 11, and now 12 that have summed up my four months in Japan, I realize, for the hundredth time in my life, that I am one of those people.
So ten days. That's such a small number, one you can count out on your fingers in fact, but it honestly didn't seem so small until stuff began to fill up the space of those ten days: exams, papers, packing, moving, last-minute time-wasting shopping.
It's just like all those other countless times in life when hindsight laughs at that naive notion of "a long time" we cling to. Four months I was wringing my hands over for six months prior, summed up in now twelve short interludes. Maybe thirteen.
Blogging! Most of us simply aren't cut out for it, and I think those are the same people who couldn't keep a diary/journal as a child. A common phrase to hear around the other international students: "Oh, I should write that blog entry." or "When was the last time I made a blog entry?" Looking at the 11, and now 12 that have summed up my four months in Japan, I realize, for the hundredth time in my life, that I am one of those people.
So ten days. That's such a small number, one you can count out on your fingers in fact, but it honestly didn't seem so small until stuff began to fill up the space of those ten days: exams, papers, packing, moving, last-minute time-wasting shopping.
It's just like all those other countless times in life when hindsight laughs at that naive notion of "a long time" we cling to. Four months I was wringing my hands over for six months prior, summed up in now twelve short interludes. Maybe thirteen.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Tokyo - For Ones Who Lack A Clever Title
So last week I was a bad student and skipped a day of class to go to Tokyo. One of the most exhausting trips... OF my life.
On Friday night, my roommate Meredith, her friend Stephanie and my friend Eric all headed to the train station to hop on one of the last ones to Kyoto Station. We left in plenty of time, and since nothing went wrong, we also arrived about an hour before departure. Some butchered Japanese and pathetic "I'm lost" gaijin looks later, we found our check-in point and were told to wait a little longer to check-in so we took a quick trip to McDonald's for the 150 yen special on all sizes of french fries. Best special ever.
Even though we dominated the back row on the bus and got a little room to stretch out, I think Stephanie and I were the two who got the most sleep, and even we topped out at maybe 3-4 hours out of the 6-7 hour bus ride. Also, people from the Kansai area don't necessarily know Tokyo any better than gaijin unfortunately, and they can be extremely unhelpful.
Since we couldn't check in to our hostel (the Tokyo NINJA, woot) until 5 pm, we dragged our tired selves around the city, in the rain, for the next 10 hours. I repeat... 10.... hours.
Dumping our stuff off in a few lockers, which are a nifty thing all over Japan, we headed out to Shinjuku, which wasn't too impressive honestly. I might have been the rain too. After Shinjuku was Harajuku, equally as wet, but infinitely better shopping. I oogled many pairs of boots that I only didn't buy because my shoe size in Japan is non-existent. I also got to finally check out Body Line, which my sister could spend the entire Washington State Lottery on.
Originally we also planned to head to Shibuya at night to see it lit up, but by the time 4:30 rolled around, we were all hungry, tired, and probably two seconds from pushing each other down a flight of stairs. A shower and ramen never felt so good.
The next day was spent at TOKYO DISNEYLAND! Which, although not quite as good as Disneyland, was still quite fun. We saw a tranny sneeze on a water fountain a foot away from us, heard "Merry Christmas" five million times in the highest voice I've ever heard, Nightmare Before Christmas themed Haunted Mansion, and told Ishigawa-san thank you for all her hard work after she kept having to chase Japanese people away from an area they weren't supposed to sit in during the parade.
Akihabara took up the brunt of the next day. I bought far too much anime merchandise and even spent 1200 yen on one of those machines akin to the American 25 cent machine. They were Zelda pins and I wanted them... so I got 6.
Again, the plan after was to go to Shibuya, but three days in Tokyo thorough sapped our energy and we simply spent the remaining time in the train station being good college students doing our homework. Finding the bus stop was not a problem thankfully, and in no time we were headed back to Kyoto to stumble in to Japanese classes the next morning, half awake.
More lessons from Tokyo: Apparently only Americans are fond of water fountains, benches, and trash cans; none of these luxuries exist in this city, and Patient Zero has been found. Beware the outbreak.
On Friday night, my roommate Meredith, her friend Stephanie and my friend Eric all headed to the train station to hop on one of the last ones to Kyoto Station. We left in plenty of time, and since nothing went wrong, we also arrived about an hour before departure. Some butchered Japanese and pathetic "I'm lost" gaijin looks later, we found our check-in point and were told to wait a little longer to check-in so we took a quick trip to McDonald's for the 150 yen special on all sizes of french fries. Best special ever.
Even though we dominated the back row on the bus and got a little room to stretch out, I think Stephanie and I were the two who got the most sleep, and even we topped out at maybe 3-4 hours out of the 6-7 hour bus ride. Also, people from the Kansai area don't necessarily know Tokyo any better than gaijin unfortunately, and they can be extremely unhelpful.
Since we couldn't check in to our hostel (the Tokyo NINJA, woot) until 5 pm, we dragged our tired selves around the city, in the rain, for the next 10 hours. I repeat... 10.... hours.
Dumping our stuff off in a few lockers, which are a nifty thing all over Japan, we headed out to Shinjuku, which wasn't too impressive honestly. I might have been the rain too. After Shinjuku was Harajuku, equally as wet, but infinitely better shopping. I oogled many pairs of boots that I only didn't buy because my shoe size in Japan is non-existent. I also got to finally check out Body Line, which my sister could spend the entire Washington State Lottery on.
Originally we also planned to head to Shibuya at night to see it lit up, but by the time 4:30 rolled around, we were all hungry, tired, and probably two seconds from pushing each other down a flight of stairs. A shower and ramen never felt so good.
The next day was spent at TOKYO DISNEYLAND! Which, although not quite as good as Disneyland, was still quite fun. We saw a tranny sneeze on a water fountain a foot away from us, heard "Merry Christmas" five million times in the highest voice I've ever heard, Nightmare Before Christmas themed Haunted Mansion, and told Ishigawa-san thank you for all her hard work after she kept having to chase Japanese people away from an area they weren't supposed to sit in during the parade.
Akihabara took up the brunt of the next day. I bought far too much anime merchandise and even spent 1200 yen on one of those machines akin to the American 25 cent machine. They were Zelda pins and I wanted them... so I got 6.
Again, the plan after was to go to Shibuya, but three days in Tokyo thorough sapped our energy and we simply spent the remaining time in the train station being good college students doing our homework. Finding the bus stop was not a problem thankfully, and in no time we were headed back to Kyoto to stumble in to Japanese classes the next morning, half awake.
More lessons from Tokyo: Apparently only Americans are fond of water fountains, benches, and trash cans; none of these luxuries exist in this city, and Patient Zero has been found. Beware the outbreak.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Gaidai Phenomena - Gaijin Hunters
So in my blog for posterity (title reference, get it?) I thought it best to make an entry about what the international students have come to refer to as "Gaijin Hunters."
Being the minority is not something 95% of Americans can understand. Regardless of race, if you were born in the US, you are not a minority, racially maybe, but not culturally. In Japan, 98% of the population is Japanese, so, as I've mentioned before, foreigners stick out, and are obviously a large minority of the population, which makes us exciting, particularly to students studying some time of internationally related major! Who can't respect that? However, there's a certain line that can be crossed, and in come the "gaijin hunters."
During the first month of school, Gaidai-sei as we call them, were all over the Center for International Education trying to meet gaijin. We were all grateful because we were just as eager to meet them for many of the same reasons. By the last week of the first month, a distinction began to appear between students who would approach you and talk, genuine interested in your thoughts on Japan and stories about your home country and students who would ask for your Facebook and only talk to you again to show you off like a walking trophy.
A friend of mine had this happen her second week. A Japanese girl she had met texted her and invited her to come to a get-together. Her invitation included "Bring some of your other international friends!" When asked who, she probably received an answer for anyone. Not that this was a particularly malicious statement in anyway; it simply just dulled my friend's sense of personal identity. She couldn't help be feel like nothing but a "gaijin" as if her name didn't even exist. This Japanese girl promptly never saw her again, or sent another message.
Everyone is capable of this phenomena I feel, but this is just something I've experience here at Gaidai. Although it shouldn't stop you from trying to make many Japanese friends, it's just a heads up. These kinds of people will find you and add you on Facebook. Worry about deleting them later after they've not spoken to you since your third week.
Being the minority is not something 95% of Americans can understand. Regardless of race, if you were born in the US, you are not a minority, racially maybe, but not culturally. In Japan, 98% of the population is Japanese, so, as I've mentioned before, foreigners stick out, and are obviously a large minority of the population, which makes us exciting, particularly to students studying some time of internationally related major! Who can't respect that? However, there's a certain line that can be crossed, and in come the "gaijin hunters."
During the first month of school, Gaidai-sei as we call them, were all over the Center for International Education trying to meet gaijin. We were all grateful because we were just as eager to meet them for many of the same reasons. By the last week of the first month, a distinction began to appear between students who would approach you and talk, genuine interested in your thoughts on Japan and stories about your home country and students who would ask for your Facebook and only talk to you again to show you off like a walking trophy.
A friend of mine had this happen her second week. A Japanese girl she had met texted her and invited her to come to a get-together. Her invitation included "Bring some of your other international friends!" When asked who, she probably received an answer for anyone. Not that this was a particularly malicious statement in anyway; it simply just dulled my friend's sense of personal identity. She couldn't help be feel like nothing but a "gaijin" as if her name didn't even exist. This Japanese girl promptly never saw her again, or sent another message.
Everyone is capable of this phenomena I feel, but this is just something I've experience here at Gaidai. Although it shouldn't stop you from trying to make many Japanese friends, it's just a heads up. These kinds of people will find you and add you on Facebook. Worry about deleting them later after they've not spoken to you since your third week.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
The Contents of Our Stomach
Long lack of entries! I swore I wouldn't fall into this pitfall of the blogger, but alas. I have. Not that anyone is actually reading this except maybe my older sister... anyway... today's lesson is food culture.
In Japan, the phrase "PB & J" does not exist, except when rolling off the tongue of an American. Call me stupid but this is not something I ever believed possible. This simple meal has been part of my repertoire since before I even knew how to ride a bike and has walked hand-in-hand with my life ever since I ate my first. So, given that, I think my surprise entirely justified when I discovered no one but Americans in this country has ever heard of combining peanut butter and jelly on a sandwich, not even the other international students. In fact, the idea gets the typical Japanese "EEEEH?!"
American culture is one made up almost entirely from other cultures. When you get down to the bare bones, westerns and the bastardization of other cultural foods (which can be a good thing, don't get me wrong) are about the only things truly American. Or at least that's what I thought.
When you think of "cultural dishes," what comes to mind? Blood pudding? Pasta? Sushi? Certainly not PB & J that's for sure, but ironically enough, for American cuisine, it occupies a place on the cultural shelf, along with macaroni and cheese apparently. Fascinating what you can learn about food...
Also, another American and I have come up with a defining trait to any American food: add cheese. Hamburger? Better with cheese. Hispanic food? Add cheese and make it Tex-mex! Eggs? Cheese. Pasta? Parmesan! Ice cream? Can I add cheese to that?
It's true. Think about it.
In Japan, the phrase "PB & J" does not exist, except when rolling off the tongue of an American. Call me stupid but this is not something I ever believed possible. This simple meal has been part of my repertoire since before I even knew how to ride a bike and has walked hand-in-hand with my life ever since I ate my first. So, given that, I think my surprise entirely justified when I discovered no one but Americans in this country has ever heard of combining peanut butter and jelly on a sandwich, not even the other international students. In fact, the idea gets the typical Japanese "EEEEH?!"
American culture is one made up almost entirely from other cultures. When you get down to the bare bones, westerns and the bastardization of other cultural foods (which can be a good thing, don't get me wrong) are about the only things truly American. Or at least that's what I thought.
When you think of "cultural dishes," what comes to mind? Blood pudding? Pasta? Sushi? Certainly not PB & J that's for sure, but ironically enough, for American cuisine, it occupies a place on the cultural shelf, along with macaroni and cheese apparently. Fascinating what you can learn about food...
Also, another American and I have come up with a defining trait to any American food: add cheese. Hamburger? Better with cheese. Hispanic food? Add cheese and make it Tex-mex! Eggs? Cheese. Pasta? Parmesan! Ice cream? Can I add cheese to that?
It's true. Think about it.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Message in a Bottle
The Hiroshima Peace Museum is an experience everyone should have.
America is the hero. This is the perception of our country that children receive in their dealings with American History. We have never lost a declared war, we believe in freedom and democracy and everyone can hold their chin up high seeing our Red, White and Blue. I grew up with this feeling and still love my country with all my heart today, so it was a hard pill to swallow when you realize that just like the comic book heroes, America is capable of horrible faults.
Many Americans still share a sense of blame for the 1945 atomic bombing of Hiroshima, and I'm no different. Inwardly, I took the deep breath before the plunge when I set foot on the Shinkansen toward Hiroshima, knowing that it was going to be a difficult day, but nothing could honestly prepare me for what I would see and hear in the next 24 hours.
The A-bomb dome was a sobering sight in and of itself. The skeletal building, held up from beneath and within by modern scaffolding, was the first relic this modern city had to offer. Chills ran down my spine later when it occurred to me that this was so because the rest of the city around it was leveled. A group of Japanese girls approached us and I couldn't help but smile as they asked us to listen to their short talk about the dome itself. The ease they displayed on the subject was comforting, and it provided a perfect set-up to the museum itself.
Peace. Walking through a museum that presents horrific sights to leave you in tears, peace doesn't necessarily come to mind. When one can stop staring at the life-sized wax figurines of the burned, zombie-like victims and the various artifacts scattered about (most belonging to middle school and high school children), words disappear altogether. All one can do is try to swallow that lump that threatens to choke you as you walk. But peace is actually the most important thing to remember, and it's something that didn't sink in until I sat listening to the words of a Japanese survivor being translated back to me.
In short, everything I had seen in the museum was relayed back to be in a personal account. If the artifacts themselves didn't make you bleed to begin with, hearing her describe her friends' cries for their parents among the collapsed factory wreckage did. I came very close to outward sobbing when someone dared to ask the question "Who do you blame for what happened?" and she began to describe her hatred for the Americans that she harbored as a fourteen year old. "But, now, I don't hate anyone. In fact, I love America. I just hope no one ever has to see what I saw ever again." from the woman who paid witness to unimaginable tragedy. It is the more sincere wish for peace I have ever known, and it is this that still touches me to this very moment.
I do believe, as I read in the museum, that the key to peace lies in Hiroshima, the living monument to the furthest extent our capacity to hurt one another has manifested. There may still be "heroes" and "villains" in war, but everyone is clearly capable of great evil, and until war ceases, this will continue to be true.
To cap off the day, I spent a relaxing evening on Miyajima Island, to remind myself those things we wish to save through pleas for peace, and those things everyone can enjoy when there is peace.
Like deer eating a keitai:
America is the hero. This is the perception of our country that children receive in their dealings with American History. We have never lost a declared war, we believe in freedom and democracy and everyone can hold their chin up high seeing our Red, White and Blue. I grew up with this feeling and still love my country with all my heart today, so it was a hard pill to swallow when you realize that just like the comic book heroes, America is capable of horrible faults.
Many Americans still share a sense of blame for the 1945 atomic bombing of Hiroshima, and I'm no different. Inwardly, I took the deep breath before the plunge when I set foot on the Shinkansen toward Hiroshima, knowing that it was going to be a difficult day, but nothing could honestly prepare me for what I would see and hear in the next 24 hours.
The A-bomb dome was a sobering sight in and of itself. The skeletal building, held up from beneath and within by modern scaffolding, was the first relic this modern city had to offer. Chills ran down my spine later when it occurred to me that this was so because the rest of the city around it was leveled. A group of Japanese girls approached us and I couldn't help but smile as they asked us to listen to their short talk about the dome itself. The ease they displayed on the subject was comforting, and it provided a perfect set-up to the museum itself.
Peace. Walking through a museum that presents horrific sights to leave you in tears, peace doesn't necessarily come to mind. When one can stop staring at the life-sized wax figurines of the burned, zombie-like victims and the various artifacts scattered about (most belonging to middle school and high school children), words disappear altogether. All one can do is try to swallow that lump that threatens to choke you as you walk. But peace is actually the most important thing to remember, and it's something that didn't sink in until I sat listening to the words of a Japanese survivor being translated back to me.
In short, everything I had seen in the museum was relayed back to be in a personal account. If the artifacts themselves didn't make you bleed to begin with, hearing her describe her friends' cries for their parents among the collapsed factory wreckage did. I came very close to outward sobbing when someone dared to ask the question "Who do you blame for what happened?" and she began to describe her hatred for the Americans that she harbored as a fourteen year old. "But, now, I don't hate anyone. In fact, I love America. I just hope no one ever has to see what I saw ever again." from the woman who paid witness to unimaginable tragedy. It is the more sincere wish for peace I have ever known, and it is this that still touches me to this very moment.
I do believe, as I read in the museum, that the key to peace lies in Hiroshima, the living monument to the furthest extent our capacity to hurt one another has manifested. There may still be "heroes" and "villains" in war, but everyone is clearly capable of great evil, and until war ceases, this will continue to be true.
To cap off the day, I spent a relaxing evening on Miyajima Island, to remind myself those things we wish to save through pleas for peace, and those things everyone can enjoy when there is peace.
Like deer eating a keitai:
Friday, October 7, 2011
The Ancient Capital
Last weekend was the history classes' field trip to Asuka. For starters, biking around a beautifully rural little town on a perfect seventy degree day? Amazing.
I could have done without the 7 am wake up call required to get to the meeting place on time, but the delightful little bakery at Tambabashi station was enough to make up for that. I bought lunch, melon bread and a croissant there and went with the rest of my class down to the platform to take the long train ride to Asuka. When we got there, we were greeted by the waves and smiles from a group of Japanese college students doing a similar trip: biking to the historical sites. Hearing people yell "Hello" at you never gets old.
With a quick test drive of our bikes around the parking lot, as some people here are like me and haven't ridden a bike in years, we headed down the street to the first site.
The spread of sites we went to see were excellent, and I don't think the history teacher could have planned a better trip. Everything worked so well, despite a few minor bike accidents, and the scenery was absolutely worth the trip on it's own. For those of you planning to study in Japan, Asuka is a must-see, especially by bike.
As if seeing the oldest Buddha in Japan and joining in prayer with a Buddhist priest weren't enough, the drunken Japanese man just put a metaphorical cherry on top of this most fascinating day.
After being lectured time after time by the CIE staff and our concern professors at Kansai Gaidai that drinking in public is seriously frowned upon, I was a little surprised to smell beer when I got on the train with my class back to Tambabashi. It turned out that a middle-aged Japanese man had spilled his beer all over the seat next to him and the floor and the train attendants were in the middle of cleaning it up. I figured it was no big deal, so I had no problem sitting next to the man with my friends Julius and Cynthia sitting on either side of me. Well, I don't think any of us anticipated just how many beers this man might have had BEFORE the train.
He was drunk and wanted to talk to the fascinating foreigners, so he did. Probably an hour later, after we were given his phone number and an invitation to go to Tokyo together, he finally left the train, smiling, waving and swaying the whole way.
The Japanese lose all inhibitions when they're drunk...
I could have done without the 7 am wake up call required to get to the meeting place on time, but the delightful little bakery at Tambabashi station was enough to make up for that. I bought lunch, melon bread and a croissant there and went with the rest of my class down to the platform to take the long train ride to Asuka. When we got there, we were greeted by the waves and smiles from a group of Japanese college students doing a similar trip: biking to the historical sites. Hearing people yell "Hello" at you never gets old.
With a quick test drive of our bikes around the parking lot, as some people here are like me and haven't ridden a bike in years, we headed down the street to the first site.
The spread of sites we went to see were excellent, and I don't think the history teacher could have planned a better trip. Everything worked so well, despite a few minor bike accidents, and the scenery was absolutely worth the trip on it's own. For those of you planning to study in Japan, Asuka is a must-see, especially by bike.
As if seeing the oldest Buddha in Japan and joining in prayer with a Buddhist priest weren't enough, the drunken Japanese man just put a metaphorical cherry on top of this most fascinating day.
After being lectured time after time by the CIE staff and our concern professors at Kansai Gaidai that drinking in public is seriously frowned upon, I was a little surprised to smell beer when I got on the train with my class back to Tambabashi. It turned out that a middle-aged Japanese man had spilled his beer all over the seat next to him and the floor and the train attendants were in the middle of cleaning it up. I figured it was no big deal, so I had no problem sitting next to the man with my friends Julius and Cynthia sitting on either side of me. Well, I don't think any of us anticipated just how many beers this man might have had BEFORE the train.
He was drunk and wanted to talk to the fascinating foreigners, so he did. Probably an hour later, after we were given his phone number and an invitation to go to Tokyo together, he finally left the train, smiling, waving and swaying the whole way.
The Japanese lose all inhibitions when they're drunk...
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