Hey.
I was thinking today about something. About you.
About what you've meant to me these past 21 years.
About the times I've sighed and cried and whined,
the times even you brought me to tears.
About punishments deserved and gifts given for free,
about the love that can come out over Gilmore Girls and Baked Ziti.
I thought about all you taught me, about honor, persistence, and good sense,
and all the things I hope still to learn as the distance between us grows less.
What you mean to me now is far different from
what a little girl needed, or a teenager thought.
More than home and comfort, food and shelter,
what I get from you I never would have sought.
You are part of the anchor that grounds me,
and what stitches the sails that let me fly free,
you are the spark to the light that shines on my future,
and the trail that leads to my memories.
But I've no flowers or chocolates to send you from here,
not even the hug and house cleaning I would give were I near.
So I find that all I can manage to say,
is I love you Mom, Happy Mother's Day.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Ouch.
Sometimes it sucks to see other people have it easy, have things fall into their hands. Sometimes it hurts to know you could have it too, if only you had put in the effort, made that extra push. Sometimes it wounds to know, to see, other people out there living your dream. Sometimes it smacks you right across the face and tells you to Get. On. With. It. Every new bestseller, every new publication, every new book signing, every knew random post about the latest amazing book some one has read--these things make me squirm.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Wednesday Evenings
My stomach is rumbling aggressively in response to the smell of onions, carrots and potatoes cooking on the stove. Add a can of tomatoes, water, and some bullions cubes and I might just have dinner. With one or two pieces of buttered toast, what could go wrong? It's wednesday, and I've spent the day not in repose. I woke up (albeit late, but hey, I'm on break) had my pot of coffee, played only a little video games, and then I got the doing itch. I got up, I paced. I walked out onto the balcony and breathed in the fresh air warmed by the sun that doesn't seem to understand that February is still winter, damnit! I leave the sliding door open all day, because the bugs aren't out yet and I don't want anything blocking the air and the sun. I cleaned up my room, which daily gets cluttered with the presence of two boys and all their computers. I vacuumed, lit new candles. I recently rearranged my room with pleasing results, reinstating my corner of candle and books. I pulled down Gianni's clothes from outside (he uses my washing machine) and hung up my own, ran another load. With my last cup of coffee I sewed a rip in a pair of jeans and watched an episode of Pirate of Dark Water, which recently "appeared" on my hard drive.
James showed up and I had someone to talk to, bop around with. I still wanted to do something, swirling around in my purple skirt, liking the feeling of being up and awake. I made dinner. It's stewing now. And I'm writing this. I wonder if my life ought to be more interesting. I was assaulted by monkeys a few days ago, does that count? I'm in Japan, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! But that's the thing. I'm not here as a tourist, I'm not here to spend thousands of dollars to see the sights and do all the things you could do. I know some of the students who are. Samantha's family just arrived from France, here for I'm not sure how long. Her mother, father, and younger brother are all here, and she's showing them Japan. I can't even really afford to go see all the places I want to see, let alone have family come over to show them. I'm not a tourist, I'm trying to live here. I should probably be trying to get a job, but there aren't too many options for a foreigner not fluent in Japanese. But I don't mind so much. Even dirt poor, I'm happy, because I'm living here. I'm existing, even thriving, in a country worlds apart. And every day it teaches me something.
Some days it shows me the beauty of a city that is like a world on its own. The lifelines of trains that run back and forth, the faces of the people who walk on and off. The people who look up, stare at you for a moment, then their faces light up as they call 'Hero! How are you?' It is strange, to be instantly recognized as a foreigner. To have people say hello to you simply because they know you are not Japanese, and then assume you speak English, and just want to say something to you.
But most every day I learn something else. As I smell the air of spring and gaze at the stars at night, as I dream about my future, scary and looming as it is (only one more year of school!) something inside of me moves towards home. You might not know it, but I was once scared of traveling. I thought I might fall in love with some other land and want to move away there. I don't think I could have been more wrong. Day by day I want only to be home again. Not that I am not happy here, I am, I am very glad I'm here and that I stayed. I look forward to next semester and the places and people I will see and meet. But every day I know more steadily that it is not here my heart wishes to be. I look to my homecoming with wild joy, and the thought of familiar sights and smells and sounds and faces fills me not with longing but with comfort. I don't need to long for home, because I know where it is. I know I'm going back there. I will enjoy this place and all it can show me, but the most precious thing I've learned here is that Grantwood Ridge is where I want to be.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Saturday Mornings
Everyone's been wanting to hear more, see more, know more about my life and what I'm doing in Japan. I have not been a good updater, but then again come on, what did you expect of me? I will have more pictures posted on Facebook soon. But it is dark in my room, all the doors shut at six past noon on a Saturday. I'm sitting at the end of my bed drinking my second cup of coffee, chilly in pajamas because I haven't bothered getting dressed yet. I have class in two hours, have to leave in one. There is a pot of rice porridge on the stove, with sugar and cinnamon cooked in, that served as late night snack and breakfast. My eyes are dry and sore from this room, that is impenetrably dusty no matter how many times I vacuum. I love this wonderful stillness, because I am not doing anything but drinking and listening and writing. I hear the quiet breaths of Gianni, who has been periodically camping in my house since his internet disappeared, and who couldn't sleep last night and woke up with a frightful headache and sore eyes and won't come to class today. There is almost no food in the apartment, at least none that belongs to me. Gianni and I have been making a joint effort in the food category, because he has very little money and I don't like cooking that often. We have to go shopping tonight if we want another meal. I wonder how many people will be in class today, without Gianni, and I think with out one of the other adults. Perhaps it shall be just myself and Gibbs sensei; a treat both wonderful and a little intimidating.
But it's getting close to time for me to leave. If I want to pay for the train to class I need to go withdraw money on the way, and I'm still in pajamas. When I get home tonight there will be warm food and games and the company of friends. And perhaps, within less than a month this time, there will be a new post for any interested parties to read.
But it's getting close to time for me to leave. If I want to pay for the train to class I need to go withdraw money on the way, and I'm still in pajamas. When I get home tonight there will be warm food and games and the company of friends. And perhaps, within less than a month this time, there will be a new post for any interested parties to read.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Small lessons.
Things I've learned from Japan:
A liter of Orange Juice for 105 yen is a godsend.
The thicker the toast, the better. (Until it's just an uncut loaf.)
Spread the butter thick and the jam thin.
A bicycle and a lot of spunk is all you need to get around in the world.
It is not so much the steepness of the hill, but the length of the incline that matters.
Japanese boys really aren't that cute.
Japanese girls really are that scary. (Not all of them, exactly, but most.)
Trains are abso-bloody-lutely amazing, but that doesn't mean I'll go riding them in America anytime soon.
Somewhere between young-adult and middle-age a profound and beautiful thing happens; people drop their pretenses and their prejudices and become wonderfully nice, helpful, polite and endearing. (At least, in Japan they do.)
Japanese children are the cutest thing on earth. All of them. I have not yet seen a Japanese child I did not think was adorable, and I hate children!
People are really a lot nicer than I give them credit for.
I cannot flirt for the life of me.
Accents are the spice of language, to be used liberally.
I am ashamed to have an American accent, yet proud to have a country accent.
The ophuro(public bath) is only awkward when another foreigner is there.
A dollar's worth of chocolate can sometimes be too much.
Five dollar's worth of chocolate is always too much.
Having a convienence store five feet away, with copious amounts of $1 bags of chocolate snacks, represents a significant drain on both your wallet and your health. (I haven't really learned this one yet.)
It is never ok to drink nine cups of coffee in one day.
I'm incredibly glad English is my native language. Even with crappy U.S. school not teaching foriegn languages with any sort of priority, at least we have the English down. Most of the time.
I'm incredibly ashamed to not know any other language. Most of the exchange students know their native tongue and English, and they're learning Japanese (or can already speak it, the bastards.)
Having small coins be worth 100 and 500 yen makes it far too easy to spend lots of money, feeling one has only spent one's spare change.
Rice is delicious.
Crane games are like gambling with crack.
More to come, some time.
A liter of Orange Juice for 105 yen is a godsend.
The thicker the toast, the better. (Until it's just an uncut loaf.)
Spread the butter thick and the jam thin.
A bicycle and a lot of spunk is all you need to get around in the world.
It is not so much the steepness of the hill, but the length of the incline that matters.
Japanese boys really aren't that cute.
Japanese girls really are that scary. (Not all of them, exactly, but most.)
Trains are abso-bloody-lutely amazing, but that doesn't mean I'll go riding them in America anytime soon.
Somewhere between young-adult and middle-age a profound and beautiful thing happens; people drop their pretenses and their prejudices and become wonderfully nice, helpful, polite and endearing. (At least, in Japan they do.)
Japanese children are the cutest thing on earth. All of them. I have not yet seen a Japanese child I did not think was adorable, and I hate children!
People are really a lot nicer than I give them credit for.
I cannot flirt for the life of me.
Accents are the spice of language, to be used liberally.
I am ashamed to have an American accent, yet proud to have a country accent.
The ophuro(public bath) is only awkward when another foreigner is there.
A dollar's worth of chocolate can sometimes be too much.
Five dollar's worth of chocolate is always too much.
Having a convienence store five feet away, with copious amounts of $1 bags of chocolate snacks, represents a significant drain on both your wallet and your health. (I haven't really learned this one yet.)
It is never ok to drink nine cups of coffee in one day.
I'm incredibly glad English is my native language. Even with crappy U.S. school not teaching foriegn languages with any sort of priority, at least we have the English down. Most of the time.
I'm incredibly ashamed to not know any other language. Most of the exchange students know their native tongue and English, and they're learning Japanese (or can already speak it, the bastards.)
Having small coins be worth 100 and 500 yen makes it far too easy to spend lots of money, feeling one has only spent one's spare change.
Rice is delicious.
Crane games are like gambling with crack.
More to come, some time.
Friend/brother/sibling type thing.
Gianni:
'Do you think we could ever live together without a third party to keep us from killing each other?'
An astute observation, friend. 'Because, we get along and all, but I think that's because we don't see each other all the time. Every now and then one of us dissappears for a while.'
I'm smiling and laughing and I want to just stand up and hug you, for all your boyishness and truth. 'I don't know, but I like this. It works out.'
We are too much like brother and sister, in how we act and react to each other, but we have not had the benefit of twenty years living together to figure out how to handle each other. Like a brother, you can needle and pick at me until I snap. I don't think you do it on purpose, like my sisters do. They know how to push my buttons and do so with glee, but thankfully these days that usually just makes me smile in a kicked-puppy syndrome sort of way. Their abuse shows they love me! (I am kidding, you know.) But you, maybe you know, or guess, but I don't think you do it on purpose. I love to bullshit with you, it's one of the joys of my day, but, like a sibling, you keep going until it's not fun anymore. I get tired, I can't keep up the smile, and then I'm not bullshittting, I'm just annoyed. Only, with siblings, love and hate come in equal measure and can coexist quite easily. I can be raging, spitting mad at Emily one second and turn around and make her a cup of hot chocolate the next (and not even a poisoned one, at that!) It is almost the same with us, it just takes a little more time. I get annoyed, not with you exactly, but with all your boundless energy and your insistance on being right, even playfully. I don't enjoy searching for a counter to your argument when it feels like the argument has turned on me. I shut up, I put my head down, and I walk ahead. To your credit you always notice. But really, nothing is wrong. I really was just tired. It is only when I'm too tired to deal with the world that I turn on it.
But twenty minutes or so later, when you're spinning about your apartment exuding energy and you look at me with that boyish glint in your eyes and ask, 'Do you think we could ever live together without a third party in between?' I smile, and want to hug you out of sheer love and lack of anything else to say. Maybe it is the order of the world for siblings to hate each other sometimes--living with a person, how can you not? But so too is it true that they can always return to that easy love and acceptance--living with a person, how can you not?
We may not have the bonds of blood that tie us together by no choice of our own, and we haven't had twenty years to learn all the nooks and crannies of each other's personalities, but in this short time we have known each other (Think, I only really met you two years ago, and we've only been close friends for one) . . . Well, what am I trying to say at the end of this all? I'm glad we can get pissed at each other now and again, and bounce back from it with such ease. I'm glad we can sit or walk in silence and not feel the need to talk, I'm gald we can get our points across to each other with barely any words at all, I'm glad we can talk about anything and everything, even if we have to make it up as we go. I'm pretty much glad that you're around. I'm glad you exist. Good job, keep it up.
Supplemental:
James--"You two have the strangest platonic relationship I think I've ever seen."
Gianni--"Explain!"
James--"Well, you both act like you've known each other since you were two, but you haven't, you know everything about each other, you're always together and you do everything together, but you still think each other has cooties . . ."
'Do you think we could ever live together without a third party to keep us from killing each other?'
An astute observation, friend. 'Because, we get along and all, but I think that's because we don't see each other all the time. Every now and then one of us dissappears for a while.'
I'm smiling and laughing and I want to just stand up and hug you, for all your boyishness and truth. 'I don't know, but I like this. It works out.'
We are too much like brother and sister, in how we act and react to each other, but we have not had the benefit of twenty years living together to figure out how to handle each other. Like a brother, you can needle and pick at me until I snap. I don't think you do it on purpose, like my sisters do. They know how to push my buttons and do so with glee, but thankfully these days that usually just makes me smile in a kicked-puppy syndrome sort of way. Their abuse shows they love me! (I am kidding, you know.) But you, maybe you know, or guess, but I don't think you do it on purpose. I love to bullshit with you, it's one of the joys of my day, but, like a sibling, you keep going until it's not fun anymore. I get tired, I can't keep up the smile, and then I'm not bullshittting, I'm just annoyed. Only, with siblings, love and hate come in equal measure and can coexist quite easily. I can be raging, spitting mad at Emily one second and turn around and make her a cup of hot chocolate the next (and not even a poisoned one, at that!) It is almost the same with us, it just takes a little more time. I get annoyed, not with you exactly, but with all your boundless energy and your insistance on being right, even playfully. I don't enjoy searching for a counter to your argument when it feels like the argument has turned on me. I shut up, I put my head down, and I walk ahead. To your credit you always notice. But really, nothing is wrong. I really was just tired. It is only when I'm too tired to deal with the world that I turn on it.
But twenty minutes or so later, when you're spinning about your apartment exuding energy and you look at me with that boyish glint in your eyes and ask, 'Do you think we could ever live together without a third party in between?' I smile, and want to hug you out of sheer love and lack of anything else to say. Maybe it is the order of the world for siblings to hate each other sometimes--living with a person, how can you not? But so too is it true that they can always return to that easy love and acceptance--living with a person, how can you not?
We may not have the bonds of blood that tie us together by no choice of our own, and we haven't had twenty years to learn all the nooks and crannies of each other's personalities, but in this short time we have known each other (Think, I only really met you two years ago, and we've only been close friends for one) . . . Well, what am I trying to say at the end of this all? I'm glad we can get pissed at each other now and again, and bounce back from it with such ease. I'm glad we can sit or walk in silence and not feel the need to talk, I'm gald we can get our points across to each other with barely any words at all, I'm glad we can talk about anything and everything, even if we have to make it up as we go. I'm pretty much glad that you're around. I'm glad you exist. Good job, keep it up.
Supplemental:
James--"You two have the strangest platonic relationship I think I've ever seen."
Gianni--"Explain!"
James--"Well, you both act like you've known each other since you were two, but you haven't, you know everything about each other, you're always together and you do everything together, but you still think each other has cooties . . ."
Thanksgiving in Japan
How do I begin to describe this? It was like stepping suddenly into ten different familys, all with their own traditions and quirks. Eddie was the cook, he prepared a spledid dinner for a dozen people, and his slightly-superior attitiude was not one of an egoist but one of a person who has often been hard-pressed to pull off such feats, and only orders and quips because he knows how it must be done. I was duly impressed by his accomplishment. James, slightly exasperated but always laid back, just smiled and shrugged and seemed to watch the proceedings pass him by--you would never have guessed he had a hand in it. Christine rallied the people, marshalling us together with her smile and slight souther drawl, making us all sit and say what we were thankful for before we could begin eating! "Of course, the one thing you always hated most as a child . . ." they said, as laughingly we complied. But had I ever done this as a child? Been forced to say, out loud, just what I was thankful for? Outside of school I cannot remember a time or place that would have happened. Delphine, in her halting rich French-accented voice, gave a good bit of thanks that would have worked up into a real speech if we hadn't forced her to move on. Of course, it was the non-Americans who gave the had the best things to say. Perhpas, suddenly confronted with a new custom, they had no time to resent it and only said what they meant.
What did I say? I'm thankful for Eddie cooking this meal, I'm thankful for all the amazing international students who are here and who are awesome, I'm thankful I got to speak to my family this morning, I'm thankful for Sam who is going to be my roommate next year . . . It's funny but I was nervous as hell. Like a child again, asked to speak in front of class. Like a student being forced to introduce yourself to twenty other awkward, shy kids you just know are going to have cooler things to say than yourself. Directly afterwards of course I remembered other things I should have said, really true things and I should have looked them in the eyes when I said it. So, I'll say them now.
I'm thankful for all the friends I've made in Japan. I never would have thought I could find this many amazing people on the other side of the world. I'm thankful for my family, my mother and my sisters, and the house and home that I can return to. I'm thankful I have a home I can return to. I'm thankful to Nicole for being my best friend, an amazing person, and keeping me grounded when I need to be from so many miles away. I'm thankful to Amanda for letting me be her surrogate sister/child/best friend, and for always--without fail--making me feel better. I'm thankful to Jenni for her smile. And I'm endlessly thankful to Gianni for keeping me sane, and mostly sensible, in Japan. I hope we can do the same for each other for the rest of this year and next.
Then the food began! Broccolli with cheese sauce, delicious carrots cooked to sweet perfection, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing I gladly would have exchanged my stomach for, whole baked chickens (having no way to cook a turkey, we sadly went without (not that it really mattered, the chicken was delicious)) and copius amounts of rolls to sop up all the juices! There was also a wonderful vegetable soup, a corn chowder sort of concoction that was drunk from paper cups--we had no bowls. More specifically, we had no spoons!
For a short time there was that delicious silence of a large group of people too busy eating to talk. It was understood. But eventually the chatter began again as people reached for second helpings (I mostly hounded the stuffing), commented on the food, and Christine began getting drinks for those that asked, pulling a large bottle of vodka out of the fridge. Then began the most comfortable and memorable portion of the meal: the conversation.
I've always enjoyed being in a room with lots of people. Where one person talking can be distracting, I find the buzz of multiple conversations soothing. Listening in on three different debates, not speaking much at all myself, I relaxed at my seat and smiled. I was surrounded by good friends and their voices-nothing could be wrong with the world. Then someone--I don't know who, nor care--began to discuss what the definition of barbeque was. This was a Thanksgiving conversation, to be sure. I don't know exactly what the debate was--something about whether the grill you barbequed on was a barbeque, if the act of barbequeing was in fact an act, or if only the presence of barbeque sauce could warrent the use of the word as a noun. When it got to be about seven people arguing this, including Gianni chiming in just for the sake of making the debate more lively, I looked over and met Christine's eyes. We smiled. We began to laugh. It was the kind of laugh that rises up out of you all unwilling, that rides a warm swell of your heart and you can't tell what you're laughing at nor why nor how long it might last. The kind of laugh that can heal the day. I laughed so hard I cried. I couldn't have been happier.
Of course, after dinner came pie, which no one had saved room for (who would, with all that stuffing!) It was pumpkin pie, store bought perhaps but delicious nonetheless, with a huge can of whipped cream to add to the picture. Gianni pulled out his guitar and led a chorus of thirteen in "I'll Make a Man out of You" from Mulan. Youtube was contacted, and the round of Disney sing-a-longs began. Voices clamored for their favorite songs in French, Spanish, English damnit! The living room was a mess of plates and cups and bodies merrily sprawled about, but we had all, somehow, just accomplished Thanksgiving in Japan, and we glowed with the ridiculous victory of it all.
What did I say? I'm thankful for Eddie cooking this meal, I'm thankful for all the amazing international students who are here and who are awesome, I'm thankful I got to speak to my family this morning, I'm thankful for Sam who is going to be my roommate next year . . . It's funny but I was nervous as hell. Like a child again, asked to speak in front of class. Like a student being forced to introduce yourself to twenty other awkward, shy kids you just know are going to have cooler things to say than yourself. Directly afterwards of course I remembered other things I should have said, really true things and I should have looked them in the eyes when I said it. So, I'll say them now.
I'm thankful for all the friends I've made in Japan. I never would have thought I could find this many amazing people on the other side of the world. I'm thankful for my family, my mother and my sisters, and the house and home that I can return to. I'm thankful I have a home I can return to. I'm thankful to Nicole for being my best friend, an amazing person, and keeping me grounded when I need to be from so many miles away. I'm thankful to Amanda for letting me be her surrogate sister/child/best friend, and for always--without fail--making me feel better. I'm thankful to Jenni for her smile. And I'm endlessly thankful to Gianni for keeping me sane, and mostly sensible, in Japan. I hope we can do the same for each other for the rest of this year and next.
Then the food began! Broccolli with cheese sauce, delicious carrots cooked to sweet perfection, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing I gladly would have exchanged my stomach for, whole baked chickens (having no way to cook a turkey, we sadly went without (not that it really mattered, the chicken was delicious)) and copius amounts of rolls to sop up all the juices! There was also a wonderful vegetable soup, a corn chowder sort of concoction that was drunk from paper cups--we had no bowls. More specifically, we had no spoons!
For a short time there was that delicious silence of a large group of people too busy eating to talk. It was understood. But eventually the chatter began again as people reached for second helpings (I mostly hounded the stuffing), commented on the food, and Christine began getting drinks for those that asked, pulling a large bottle of vodka out of the fridge. Then began the most comfortable and memorable portion of the meal: the conversation.
I've always enjoyed being in a room with lots of people. Where one person talking can be distracting, I find the buzz of multiple conversations soothing. Listening in on three different debates, not speaking much at all myself, I relaxed at my seat and smiled. I was surrounded by good friends and their voices-nothing could be wrong with the world. Then someone--I don't know who, nor care--began to discuss what the definition of barbeque was. This was a Thanksgiving conversation, to be sure. I don't know exactly what the debate was--something about whether the grill you barbequed on was a barbeque, if the act of barbequeing was in fact an act, or if only the presence of barbeque sauce could warrent the use of the word as a noun. When it got to be about seven people arguing this, including Gianni chiming in just for the sake of making the debate more lively, I looked over and met Christine's eyes. We smiled. We began to laugh. It was the kind of laugh that rises up out of you all unwilling, that rides a warm swell of your heart and you can't tell what you're laughing at nor why nor how long it might last. The kind of laugh that can heal the day. I laughed so hard I cried. I couldn't have been happier.
Of course, after dinner came pie, which no one had saved room for (who would, with all that stuffing!) It was pumpkin pie, store bought perhaps but delicious nonetheless, with a huge can of whipped cream to add to the picture. Gianni pulled out his guitar and led a chorus of thirteen in "I'll Make a Man out of You" from Mulan. Youtube was contacted, and the round of Disney sing-a-longs began. Voices clamored for their favorite songs in French, Spanish, English damnit! The living room was a mess of plates and cups and bodies merrily sprawled about, but we had all, somehow, just accomplished Thanksgiving in Japan, and we glowed with the ridiculous victory of it all.
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