Monday, July 20, 2009
Rise Again!
Osaka Boogie will rise again! Please give me a little time to figure out what I want to do with it.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Mother's Day
It's Mother's Day, and I want to write about my mother. I don't want to write about all of the struggles we've been through together, though, and I don't want to write about how my mother, above any and all people I know, is a fighter and a survivor. These are all true things, but when I think about my mother, my first thoughts aren't of her ever present bravery and strength.
Let me tell you about my mother.
The other day at work, one of the staff members had put in Rihanna's album. The heavy beats to Don't Stop the Music came on and I was transported from the staff room in a small suburb of Osaka to the passenger side seat of my mother's car. We were riding down the stretch from the nearest shopping center to our house, singing the nonsense words to Rihanna's song while bobbing up and down in the awkward sort of dance that you can only properly replicate in cars. Passangers from nearby vehicles occasionally shot us an odd glance, but we paid them no mind. They couldn't stop the music.
I have a picture of my mother on my cell phone, and when I show people it, they always -- without fail -- exclaim that my mother looks so young. I've always felt blessed by my mother's youth, because I never feel the presence of an isolating generation gap between us. To be honest, my mother is probably more hip than I am; my idea of good rock is Styx or Aerosmith, while my mother rocks out to System of a Down.
I love this.
I love that I can talk to my mother about anything in the entire world and she will listen without being judgemental. My mother is one of my best friends. There is pretty much nothing I hide from her and nothing I'd feel I'd have to hide. I know that even if I did something that disappointed my mother, she would always forgive me and try her hardest to understand why I did whatever it was. I think all parents should be like this, but I know from both observations and from my own personal experiences that this is an ideal and very rarely a reality.
I am very, very lucky to have the mother that I do.
My best friend told me that my mother reminded her so strongly of me that she was moved. I felt like that was the best compliment I could have received. I aspire to be like my mother, a hard worker who never loses sight of her sincerity and her open mind. Since moving to my new place, I've found that I feel uneasy leaving dishes from a hastily eaten meal in the sink as I go to work and that the sight of grime on my carpet distresses me. I have to laugh at myself, because these are most assuredly traits I'd picked up from living with my mother between my graduation and moving here. I used to hate cleaning, but now I find it a source of pride, because it's something -- a small, silly something, perhaps -- that links me with my mother, dyes the color of my thread a closer hue to hers.
I love my mother. She has always accepted me for who I am while pushing me to better myself. She never once displayed any sort of unhappiness over having been given an oddball of a daughter with a deep love for Super Mario and robots. She always loved me regardless of the fact that, at 25, I still can't properly apply makeup. I cannot remember a single time in which she'd dismayed over my lack of feminity or my overall oddness when compared to most of my female peers growing up. She nurtured my personality, allowing me to discover who I was on my own terms, and I am so deeply grateful for that. I know that she will love me even if I'm still mouthing off about video games when I'm 35, 45, and I know that she will support me no matter what random path I ultimately decide to take. She never questioned my desire to go to Japan but instead did everything in her power to make it happen.
I wanted to write something well-written and beautiful. I've failed; my allergies have been kicking in lately, and my sleep has been random and shallow, leaving me in a perpetual state of drowsy. I just love my mother. For all that we've been through, Mom, and for all that you may sometimes feel like you've screwed up, I really just want to tell you this: from my heart, I honestly feel like you are the perfect mom, and I thank God that you were the mother I was given. Thank you so much for everything.
You're the Mario to my Luigi.
Happy, happy Mother's Day.
PS: Nose.
Let me tell you about my mother.
The other day at work, one of the staff members had put in Rihanna's album. The heavy beats to Don't Stop the Music came on and I was transported from the staff room in a small suburb of Osaka to the passenger side seat of my mother's car. We were riding down the stretch from the nearest shopping center to our house, singing the nonsense words to Rihanna's song while bobbing up and down in the awkward sort of dance that you can only properly replicate in cars. Passangers from nearby vehicles occasionally shot us an odd glance, but we paid them no mind. They couldn't stop the music.
I have a picture of my mother on my cell phone, and when I show people it, they always -- without fail -- exclaim that my mother looks so young. I've always felt blessed by my mother's youth, because I never feel the presence of an isolating generation gap between us. To be honest, my mother is probably more hip than I am; my idea of good rock is Styx or Aerosmith, while my mother rocks out to System of a Down.
I love this.
I love that I can talk to my mother about anything in the entire world and she will listen without being judgemental. My mother is one of my best friends. There is pretty much nothing I hide from her and nothing I'd feel I'd have to hide. I know that even if I did something that disappointed my mother, she would always forgive me and try her hardest to understand why I did whatever it was. I think all parents should be like this, but I know from both observations and from my own personal experiences that this is an ideal and very rarely a reality.
I am very, very lucky to have the mother that I do.
My best friend told me that my mother reminded her so strongly of me that she was moved. I felt like that was the best compliment I could have received. I aspire to be like my mother, a hard worker who never loses sight of her sincerity and her open mind. Since moving to my new place, I've found that I feel uneasy leaving dishes from a hastily eaten meal in the sink as I go to work and that the sight of grime on my carpet distresses me. I have to laugh at myself, because these are most assuredly traits I'd picked up from living with my mother between my graduation and moving here. I used to hate cleaning, but now I find it a source of pride, because it's something -- a small, silly something, perhaps -- that links me with my mother, dyes the color of my thread a closer hue to hers.
I love my mother. She has always accepted me for who I am while pushing me to better myself. She never once displayed any sort of unhappiness over having been given an oddball of a daughter with a deep love for Super Mario and robots. She always loved me regardless of the fact that, at 25, I still can't properly apply makeup. I cannot remember a single time in which she'd dismayed over my lack of feminity or my overall oddness when compared to most of my female peers growing up. She nurtured my personality, allowing me to discover who I was on my own terms, and I am so deeply grateful for that. I know that she will love me even if I'm still mouthing off about video games when I'm 35, 45, and I know that she will support me no matter what random path I ultimately decide to take. She never questioned my desire to go to Japan but instead did everything in her power to make it happen.
I wanted to write something well-written and beautiful. I've failed; my allergies have been kicking in lately, and my sleep has been random and shallow, leaving me in a perpetual state of drowsy. I just love my mother. For all that we've been through, Mom, and for all that you may sometimes feel like you've screwed up, I really just want to tell you this: from my heart, I honestly feel like you are the perfect mom, and I thank God that you were the mother I was given. Thank you so much for everything.
You're the Mario to my Luigi.
Happy, happy Mother's Day.
PS: Nose.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
japanniversary
So today marks the one year point since I came to Japan last May.
I feel like I should say something deep and meaningful. I don't know what, though. I pondered this entry on my way home from the train station, walking through the narrow passageway connecting the entrance gate to the western part of town. Two competing Korean barbecue restaurants had their doors open, filling the path with the scent of beef and flame. It was dark, as night had fallen far before my train reached my destination, and a gaudy casino glittered shamelessly in the overcast sky.
The moon was blurred by a persistent cloud.
I realized I had no clue what to say.
I hate people who always go on about finding themselves, as if self-actualization was something you could easily encourage and measure. I used to be like that. I used to be a lot of things, and most of them would not be easily defined by positive adjectives. Now I'm starting to realize that the self is always changing, and hence the best that we can manage is a vague awareness of the change.
I don't feel like I've changed so much this year. But I know that I have.
My general attitude towards life has changed. Before, I was very goal driven -- almost stupidly so, to be honest. I knew where I wanted to be in one, two, five years, and I knew the general steps towards achieving those goals. There's nothing particularly wrong with being that sort of person, except for the fact that life isn't always so easy to predict and control. I was going to come here, learn Japanese, make a billion friends, fall in love, and then come home and go to graduate school and blah blah blah.
What really happened was that I came here, realized quickly that my Japanese has, to a large degree, fossilized, and the best that I could do would be to become more comfortable with the language that I did possess and slowly build up my everyday vocabulary. I would never be a professor of Japanese. I probably, upon reflection, wouldn't want to be. But I had wanted to want to be, which is the greatest folly of all.
I had underestimated the degree to which making friends would be difficult. I've managed a few new friends, but not the endless karaoke partners I had been dreaming of before boarding my initial flight.
Let's not even talk about love.
My first reaction to all of these realizations was, well, then, Japan is useless, there is no point in me being here, I am going home. But something held me here. It was probably something silly, like a boy band, or a well paying job. But as the months went by, I began to realize that perhaps the things that I had defined as my future (my language skills, my teaching experience, etc.) were really just tools for me to use to enjoy my present. Perhaps it was okay to not have a large goal in mind, but rather to explore the road presented before me until the time comes for me to choose a different branch.
This has been a huge shift in my outlook on life. I find myself enjoying my life a lot more now that I don't feel pressure to "keep focused." I am happy with my functional fluency. I am happy with my friends, and will be several times more happy with my friends in one month, when my best friend makes her way over here. And, to be honest, I am happy with my job. I went through times in which I felt like an impostor and a talking monkey, but now I think I understand the nature of the beast a little more. I've started studying Italian on my own as a hobby, and while it's a lot of fun, I do catch myself thinking things like "I wish I could pay some Italian person to correct my pronunciation and teach me basic conversational tidbits." It's a good job. It's a fun job and my students are great.
So a year in Osaka City has passed! What will the next year bring? I don't know, but I hope it's delicious.
I feel like I should say something deep and meaningful. I don't know what, though. I pondered this entry on my way home from the train station, walking through the narrow passageway connecting the entrance gate to the western part of town. Two competing Korean barbecue restaurants had their doors open, filling the path with the scent of beef and flame. It was dark, as night had fallen far before my train reached my destination, and a gaudy casino glittered shamelessly in the overcast sky.
The moon was blurred by a persistent cloud.
I realized I had no clue what to say.
I hate people who always go on about finding themselves, as if self-actualization was something you could easily encourage and measure. I used to be like that. I used to be a lot of things, and most of them would not be easily defined by positive adjectives. Now I'm starting to realize that the self is always changing, and hence the best that we can manage is a vague awareness of the change.
I don't feel like I've changed so much this year. But I know that I have.
My general attitude towards life has changed. Before, I was very goal driven -- almost stupidly so, to be honest. I knew where I wanted to be in one, two, five years, and I knew the general steps towards achieving those goals. There's nothing particularly wrong with being that sort of person, except for the fact that life isn't always so easy to predict and control. I was going to come here, learn Japanese, make a billion friends, fall in love, and then come home and go to graduate school and blah blah blah.
What really happened was that I came here, realized quickly that my Japanese has, to a large degree, fossilized, and the best that I could do would be to become more comfortable with the language that I did possess and slowly build up my everyday vocabulary. I would never be a professor of Japanese. I probably, upon reflection, wouldn't want to be. But I had wanted to want to be, which is the greatest folly of all.
I had underestimated the degree to which making friends would be difficult. I've managed a few new friends, but not the endless karaoke partners I had been dreaming of before boarding my initial flight.
Let's not even talk about love.
My first reaction to all of these realizations was, well, then, Japan is useless, there is no point in me being here, I am going home. But something held me here. It was probably something silly, like a boy band, or a well paying job. But as the months went by, I began to realize that perhaps the things that I had defined as my future (my language skills, my teaching experience, etc.) were really just tools for me to use to enjoy my present. Perhaps it was okay to not have a large goal in mind, but rather to explore the road presented before me until the time comes for me to choose a different branch.
This has been a huge shift in my outlook on life. I find myself enjoying my life a lot more now that I don't feel pressure to "keep focused." I am happy with my functional fluency. I am happy with my friends, and will be several times more happy with my friends in one month, when my best friend makes her way over here. And, to be honest, I am happy with my job. I went through times in which I felt like an impostor and a talking monkey, but now I think I understand the nature of the beast a little more. I've started studying Italian on my own as a hobby, and while it's a lot of fun, I do catch myself thinking things like "I wish I could pay some Italian person to correct my pronunciation and teach me basic conversational tidbits." It's a good job. It's a fun job and my students are great.
So a year in Osaka City has passed! What will the next year bring? I don't know, but I hope it's delicious.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Taking a Bath
I spent my "Greenery Day" doing pretty much nothing. It was nice. I usually run around like a crazed chicken on my days off, trying to not 'waste time' by staying cooped up, but I realized today that I felt stressed out about which leisure activity I was going to enjoy. Hence I took a vacation day from my vacation day and only went out once to see if my favorite supermarket really was a five minute bike ride away. (Answer: yes!)
Anyway, I digress.
One of the things I wanted to do today was take a bath. It might surprise those of you who know about Japanese bathing styles to hear that I actually hadn't taken a Japanese style bath since my homestay in 2001. My first apartment here had a tiny, shallow bathtub and my second place had no bathtub at all, so this is the first time I was able to get naked like a Nihonjin since coming back.
My bathroom is by far the ugliest room in my new place, but here's a picture anyway:
Anyway, I digress.
One of the things I wanted to do today was take a bath. It might surprise those of you who know about Japanese bathing styles to hear that I actually hadn't taken a Japanese style bath since my homestay in 2001. My first apartment here had a tiny, shallow bathtub and my second place had no bathtub at all, so this is the first time I was able to get naked like a Nihonjin since coming back.
My bathroom is by far the ugliest room in my new place, but here's a picture anyway:
For those of you not in the know, a typical Japanese house (or apartment) will have separate rooms for bathing/showering and for using the toilet. This is my bathroom. The gist is, you shower outside the tub -- there's a drain in the floor, although I don't think you can see it in my picture -- and, once you're clean, you get into the tub. The tub is small but deep, and you fill it with hot water and soak your stressors away.
That's what I did today, and, my God, it was amazing. My skin is still pink from the hot water and, while my muscles are still sore (they always will be, thanks to years of bad posture, heavy backpacks, and an inclination to stress), they are much more tender and soft than before. I want to make this a habit, like vacuuming and taking out my trash every day and not eating out if I don't have to. Speaking of which, I've made every single meal I've eaten these past few days since the mysterious ways of operating my gas stove were explained to me. I can't tell if I'm eating healthier or not, but I definitely FEEL better. I seem to have inadvertently changed my primary protein sources to tofu and eggs. I think I can live with that.
This is for my mother: I got my bangs cut yesterday, and while I ended up asking for them cut a little too short, they kinda work in a weird way, don't they?
That's what I did today, and, my God, it was amazing. My skin is still pink from the hot water and, while my muscles are still sore (they always will be, thanks to years of bad posture, heavy backpacks, and an inclination to stress), they are much more tender and soft than before. I want to make this a habit, like vacuuming and taking out my trash every day and not eating out if I don't have to. Speaking of which, I've made every single meal I've eaten these past few days since the mysterious ways of operating my gas stove were explained to me. I can't tell if I'm eating healthier or not, but I definitely FEEL better. I seem to have inadvertently changed my primary protein sources to tofu and eggs. I think I can live with that.
This is for my mother: I got my bangs cut yesterday, and while I ended up asking for them cut a little too short, they kinda work in a weird way, don't they?
I am addicted to cute things, especially household goods. This cannot end well.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Today in Japan
While walking down Sennichimae St. looking for a place that would cut my bangs on a Sunday, I saw the following:
These were taken with my cell phone camera, so the quality isn't so awesome. You might not be able to read the bottom sign, which is for a cafe named BOBOS. It states:
You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll BOBOS And the world will be as one.
I totally need to go in there someday.
You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll BOBOS And the world will be as one.
I totally need to go in there someday.
Home Again
I'm back.
First, I want to talk about this blog. My original idea for this blog was that it would be a place where I'd post daily pictures of my life here and talk about my experiences living in Osaka. I had a strong start and ended up puttering out once life got busy for me, as I'm sure any regular visitors to the site must have realized.
The truth is, taking daily pictures became more stressful than fun. Of course there was always something for me to photograph, but as work and life became busier, I found myself forgetting to bring my camera with me when I went out. This meant that there were many days in which I came home at 11:30 at night and realized I had half an hour to try and take a picture; I took pictures through most of April, but the majority of them are hastily taken photographs of whatever I was eating or sitting next to at the time.
That's fairly meaningless to me.
I also felt bad about writing in here if I'd been slacking off on my photos. And, really, I want to write here. I have so many thoughts about this city, this crazy place that I've come to think of as home, and I want to share them without the guilt of "oh my God, I haven't uploaded new pictures in weeks" holding me back.
I officially quit Project365.
This doesn't mean that I won't take pictures -- actually, without the stress of taking one every day, I probably will take MORE pictures -- but I just don't want to waste my time and your time with posting meaningless pictures of red bean balls or stuffed animals. I want to make this blog mine again.
I love Osaka. I've been here for almost a year now and am planning at least one, maybe two more. (Five years later, watch me still be here...) I've had my ups and downs but I finally feel like I'm safely in the "adjustment phase" of culture shock. To be honest, I enjoy pretty much every day of my life now. I've never really been the sort of person who could say that, but I think I'm on my way to really finding a lifestyle that suits me here.
Moving into a larger apartment hasn't hurt, ahaha.
I came to Japan in 2001 and stayed for four months as an exchange student. This was in Kawachinagano City in southern Osaka prefecture, about forty minutes away on train from here. I spent seven years in America, fixed on my goal of eventually returning to Japan. Last May I made my way back and had a ridiculously hard time of it. I almost came home more than once. (Or twice... or three times...)
The whole time I was feeling miserable here, I kept thinking... why did I come here? What was my purpose? I found it difficult to practice my Japanese while working as an English teacher. I had a hard time making friends because I'm not so into the bar and drinking scene. My standard of living was pathetically low, living in pest-infested shoebox apartments and tiny "shared" dorm-style buildings. What had driven me to come back? I left a job I loved and people I cared deeply about back home... for what?
I don't know why I'm here. But the angle with which I approach that question is different now; before, I wanted to know my goal so I could take steps towards accomplishing it. Now I'm far more interested in the journey. Maybe I'll never figure out why I just had to come back here. Perhaps there's no deep reason for it at all. Maybe I studied Japanese so hard just to have the skills to survive here. I know I can't get a job using Japanese at my current level; while my listening skills are great, my reading isn't so strong and I speak with an uncontrollable Osakan accent. But perhaps that isn't important after all. Maybe just being here is enough.
I love this city. I love that I can get on my bike and -- if I have a vague idea of my destination's general location -- go anywhere in city limits. I love the local food. I love the cabbage pancakes, the octopus balls, the fried noodles. I love how loud people are here. I love that I can watch strangers come up to each other on the street to ask for directions and burst into laughter moments later. I love the dialect, the architecture, the trains, the style. I just love it here. I can ride my bike down one major street and see so many different ways of life.
That's the best. Osaka is the best.
That's what I want to do with this blog. I want to turn it into a love letter to this city, this country, to my time here. I'm blessed to be young enough and unattached enough (especially the latter, ahaha) to have the chance to spend a few years living abroad. I've even come to love my job.
My favorite band is a crappy Japanese boyband called w-inds. They're my favorite thing ever. They have a song called Beautiful Life that has been playing in my head nonstop lately. The main lyric of the song predictably states that it's a beautiful life. I honestly feel that way.
First, I want to talk about this blog. My original idea for this blog was that it would be a place where I'd post daily pictures of my life here and talk about my experiences living in Osaka. I had a strong start and ended up puttering out once life got busy for me, as I'm sure any regular visitors to the site must have realized.
The truth is, taking daily pictures became more stressful than fun. Of course there was always something for me to photograph, but as work and life became busier, I found myself forgetting to bring my camera with me when I went out. This meant that there were many days in which I came home at 11:30 at night and realized I had half an hour to try and take a picture; I took pictures through most of April, but the majority of them are hastily taken photographs of whatever I was eating or sitting next to at the time.
That's fairly meaningless to me.
I also felt bad about writing in here if I'd been slacking off on my photos. And, really, I want to write here. I have so many thoughts about this city, this crazy place that I've come to think of as home, and I want to share them without the guilt of "oh my God, I haven't uploaded new pictures in weeks" holding me back.
I officially quit Project365.
This doesn't mean that I won't take pictures -- actually, without the stress of taking one every day, I probably will take MORE pictures -- but I just don't want to waste my time and your time with posting meaningless pictures of red bean balls or stuffed animals. I want to make this blog mine again.
I love Osaka. I've been here for almost a year now and am planning at least one, maybe two more. (Five years later, watch me still be here...) I've had my ups and downs but I finally feel like I'm safely in the "adjustment phase" of culture shock. To be honest, I enjoy pretty much every day of my life now. I've never really been the sort of person who could say that, but I think I'm on my way to really finding a lifestyle that suits me here.
Moving into a larger apartment hasn't hurt, ahaha.
I came to Japan in 2001 and stayed for four months as an exchange student. This was in Kawachinagano City in southern Osaka prefecture, about forty minutes away on train from here. I spent seven years in America, fixed on my goal of eventually returning to Japan. Last May I made my way back and had a ridiculously hard time of it. I almost came home more than once. (Or twice... or three times...)
The whole time I was feeling miserable here, I kept thinking... why did I come here? What was my purpose? I found it difficult to practice my Japanese while working as an English teacher. I had a hard time making friends because I'm not so into the bar and drinking scene. My standard of living was pathetically low, living in pest-infested shoebox apartments and tiny "shared" dorm-style buildings. What had driven me to come back? I left a job I loved and people I cared deeply about back home... for what?
I don't know why I'm here. But the angle with which I approach that question is different now; before, I wanted to know my goal so I could take steps towards accomplishing it. Now I'm far more interested in the journey. Maybe I'll never figure out why I just had to come back here. Perhaps there's no deep reason for it at all. Maybe I studied Japanese so hard just to have the skills to survive here. I know I can't get a job using Japanese at my current level; while my listening skills are great, my reading isn't so strong and I speak with an uncontrollable Osakan accent. But perhaps that isn't important after all. Maybe just being here is enough.
I love this city. I love that I can get on my bike and -- if I have a vague idea of my destination's general location -- go anywhere in city limits. I love the local food. I love the cabbage pancakes, the octopus balls, the fried noodles. I love how loud people are here. I love that I can watch strangers come up to each other on the street to ask for directions and burst into laughter moments later. I love the dialect, the architecture, the trains, the style. I just love it here. I can ride my bike down one major street and see so many different ways of life.
That's the best. Osaka is the best.
That's what I want to do with this blog. I want to turn it into a love letter to this city, this country, to my time here. I'm blessed to be young enough and unattached enough (especially the latter, ahaha) to have the chance to spend a few years living abroad. I've even come to love my job.
My favorite band is a crappy Japanese boyband called w-inds. They're my favorite thing ever. They have a song called Beautiful Life that has been playing in my head nonstop lately. The main lyric of the song predictably states that it's a beautiful life. I honestly feel that way.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
notice
The blog will be officially suspended until sometime next week, since I am moving on Monday and have been incredibly busy with that and the start of the new school here.
See you in May!
See you in May!
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